Dad let out an audible sigh. He sounded downright defeated. “Imperfect clone, Jekyll/Hyde syndrome, power leech…”
“Statistically insignificant. Much less than one percent,” Mom repeated, just a touch of victory in her emphasis. “A Jekyll/Hyde scenario would be realistic, if only around a ten percent probability, but Misty is a professional, and a better parent than we are. She would not have missed that.”
Dad sounded surprised. “Are Jekyll/Hydes that common?”
“My data is ten years old, but for mental powers? Yes.”
Claire’s mom hadn’t missed anything. I felt weird, itchy and uncomfortable listening to my mother follow a chain of numbers down the wrong track. That she hadn’t figured me out was a detail. I knew that already. Really, Mom, where was this going?
I had two minions and a crazed pretend demoness waiting for me, so this had better be good.
Dad thought it would be. I heard dread in his voice as he pointed out, “You’ve left Penny for last.”
Mom returned a question. “How good is Penny’s power, Brian?”
Even the grim topic couldn’t erase Dad’s pride. “Well, she may not have inherited my power, but her breakout invention was a Tier Three. If there was a Tier Four, her Machine would be it. It doesn’t just work on unknown principles; it shouldn’t work at all. I’ve seen her demonstrate a Tier Two upgrade, and her lunchbox is Tier One, unrelated to her breakout invention but retaining the clockwork theme. I know she’s made at least a Tier One electrical invention unconnected to theme or breakout invention, but she considered it a failure and wouldn’t show us. She mentioned an invention in her programming class. It sounded Tier Two, an AI more advanced than regular science knows how to make yet.”
Mom was more businesslike. In fact, she sounded more solemn than ever. “All within the first month of emergence. That places her within the top one percent of mad science powers. There’s no way to know how much farther her power will grow, because she’s off the charts. You wanted a daughter to inherit your legacy, Brian. You got it. She’ll be famous if this is as good as she gets. Realistically, she could grow up to be the most powerful mad scientist of her generation, a Tesla or da Vinci or Krebs level talent.”
I tried not to feel really, really smug. Guess what, Mom and Dad? When I get this supervillain thing worked out, you’ll see what I can really do!
Dad went, “Huh,” with the tone of a father also trying not to feel really, really smug.
Mom was still going somewhere. “Now, how good is Bad Penny’s power?”
Dad started to list. He doesn’t actually do the counting on his fingers thing, but each item had that perfect pause as if he was. “The rag dolls were Tier Three. The sugar chemical tank was Tier Two in a similar theme, but a different technology. Marvelous described a set of Tier Two toys in the same theme but a third type of technology. The pennies she probably didn’t make herself. The air cannon was Tier Two, in a theme matched by her costume, whose tech level I can’t say. No one knows how she teleports, but if it’s not an inherent power, it has to be at least Tier Three in a tech type and theme I don’t…” Dad drifted into silence.
It did sound impressive when you put it that way, Dad.
“How many mad scientists are you aware of with that diverse and high level a talent?”
“Organism One has a broad tech level base and has achieved multiple Tier Three inventions. Thematically, he can branch out a little. Edison had a very broad thematic base, although he never achieved Tier Three. If he had, his inventions wouldn’t have been useful. By definition, Tier Three can’t be copied, because it’s based on unknown properties of physics. There are rumors Tesla disappeared because he was hiding multiple Tier Three inventions.” Dad was hedging.
Mom knew it. “So, none.”
“Assuming she made all those inventions herself, which we know she didn’t.”
Wait, wait. Holy crumbs. Did Dad just say I was a better mad scientist than Tesla?!
“More than you know, in fact. Do you remember Wonderland?” Yes, yes, Mom. Could we get back to me being a better mad scientist than Tesla?
Dad answered slowly, “No…?”
“Not surprising. She responded well to medication, and her career was very brief. Not a bad mad scientist, but the schizophrenic cognitive damage took care of that. She primarily used a wand and sugar chemical tank weapon. She was said to have other toy-based inventions, but no one kept track after her capture.”
I went from grinning like a manic idiot to frowning like a clueless idiot so fast my face hurt. This conversation had just detoured onto Weird Street.
“We do already know she’s a weapon thief.” Dad’s voice got so thoughtful that I could picture him, leaning way back in his kitchen chair and scratching his chin, like he always did.
Mom’s tone didn’t change. She was still leading him somewhere. “Eighty percent of mad scientists use only their own inventions, but twenty percent are realistic odds. The odds Bad Penny made even most of her own inventions-”
“-are not realistic,” Dad finished for her. “Okay, Beebee. You’ve made your point. What’s the punchline?”
“The odds overwhelmingly favor Bad Penny being a frustrated minor mad scientist jealous of Penny’s incredible breakout. E-Claire is similarly jealous of Claire. With Reviled they became a trio to express their jealousy by busting up a science fair, and things snowballed when Bad Penny started to crave more toys.”
Wow. Mom was remarkably close, assuming that my superpower was too awesome to be believably likely. I’d been launched into this life of crime by Ray destroying the science fair over a fit of jealousy, so she’d even gotten that right.
Ha! Mom always said you couldn’t beat the numbers. I had!
My phone roared.
Oh, criminy.
Mom couldn’t catch me here. I teleported into the garage, scrambled up on my bike, pedaled two steps, and teleported to the road. My muscles went stiff and achy and I had to take a deep breath, but I kept pedaling, and teleported to the next block.
The bike wobbled as blue spots flashed before my eyes, but they faded, and despite the pain I kept pedaling. I was in good shape, now. My wind would come back in a minute. I was way, way late, and I had to get to my secret lab as fast as superhumanly possible.
To brag, obviously.
Not that I had time. I was wheezy from taking as many teleports as I dared when I pulled open the grungy old doors around the far corner of Northeast West Hollywood Middle and dragged my bike into the concealed elevator. It didn’t have proper railings, so as soon as it rattled down far enough for me to see into the lower level, I slid out and jumped to the ground.
Claire gave me the fists-on-hips look. “It’s eleven thirty already, Penny!”
“I know. I’m getting changed as fast as I can!” I grabbed my helmet and jumpsuit, and ran out of the big domed central chamber into the little side room where I kept the cursed jade statue.
Ray, of course, suddenly unglued himself from the wall. I yelled back, “Claire!” She understood what I meant, and stood in Ray’s way. His grin never faltered. He’d just been teasing. Probably. What had I started with that one kiss?
Let’s see, judging from all the other kids and adults I’d seen dating, the answer should be ‘years of ridiculousness.’
I struggled out of my civilian clothes and into my grey-and-white jumpsuit, whose high tech insulation was meant to power my inventions and protect me from work-related burns, but did look uncannily like armor. The full helmet with the visor that was only transparent from the inside completed that look.
Scooping pennies out of the cursed statue’s change bowl, I poured them into a belt pouch. I wasn’t totally unarmed. As near as I could tell, the pennies only made anyone they touched (except me, thank goodness) make dumb mistakes. That was still the greatest weapon you could hope for in a tense superpowered battle.
Hurrying back out, I pulled the fancy hubcap shaped disk off the wall. I’d
only been able to make two toys before school started and my super brain got obsessed with bioengineering. One had been the lunchbox I could show my parents. The other I very definitely could not show my parents. Time to test it and find out if it did at all what I thought it did.
I used the ports embedded in my jumpsuit to stick it to my back, turned, and tossed my teleport bracelets to Ray. “Okay, Claire. I’ll watch the dog while you get into costume.”
Ray spun a copper bracer on one finger. He didn’t say anything, because he didn’t have to. He just had to grin evilly.
Claire propped a fist on her hip, giving me a sarcastically amused stare. “I am in costume.”
Ray had it easy. A big hat, his blasting gloves, and a long-beaked black masquerade mask replacing his glasses, and he turned from ‘kid wearing black’ into ‘sinister supervillain.’ Claire…
Well, the teddy bear pajamas had been awkward. I couldn’t blame her for wanting something new. This costume hardly looked like a costume at all, just a knee-length skirt with poufy petticoats, a stiff white blouse, a blue neckerchief, a white chrysanthemum where she’d tied her hair back into a ponytail, bouncy sneakers with rolled up socks…
I threw my arms up over my eyes. “The cuteness! It burns!” I wasn’t even sure if she’d turned her power on, yet.
Ray slid the bracelets on under his shirtsleeves, telling me what I’d been about to tell him. “Your bike is the fastest transportation we have, so you take it while I carry Slowpoke Poppins and use these.”
Yep. Got it in one, Ray.
Claire stomped one foot. Her skirts rustled. They had kittens embroidered around the hem. Then she kicked with that foot, sliding backwards along the floor in a smooth spiral. “I’m not slow. I switched the friction soles into these shoes. I tried roller skates, but they didn’t work together.”
“You’re not fast enough. We’re late already, remember?” I added an exasperated sigh. If Claire wanted to play the villainous banter game, I knew my lines.
Ray knew his. He stepped up to Claire, dropped down on one knee, and held out his arms. “Shall we get a move on, my lady?”
Claire set her foot in one of his hands, hopped over Ray’s shoulder, and spun around to drop onto his back with her arms around his neck. “If I have to ride, then I’m sitting in the saddle. Hyah, mule!”
Ray had already risen to his feet by the time she hooked her legs around his waist. Neither of them showed any more strain than if Claire had handed him a sandwich. Half of me wanted to give Claire a kick and point out that was my Ray she was cuddled up to, and half of me wanted to drop this whole mission and go rooting through my lab to find the beaker I’d made their Super Cheerleader Serum in. Come on, superpower. One drop! That’s all I’m asking for!
My friends were punishing me for being late. Well, I knew how to hit back.
Walking over to the elevator, I said as if it was an apology, “I caught my parents comparing mad scientists on the way out. How would you guys rate my powers?”
They knew the terminology, of course. Claire went, “Red Eye’s pretty good. She’s limited to energy beam themes and projective lens based technology, but she’s got one, two… three Tier Threes and about a hundred Tier Twos. Not including her eye. Mech is about the same. It’s his ability to integrate devices into his power armor that’s impressive.”
We stepped into the elevator. I pushed the button, and it ground its way up. Ray took over. “You’ve displayed Tier Threes in… four different themes I can think of, all with different tech types, Twos in one, two, three―” He stopped himself, and gave me a surprised look. His eyebrows went up around the edge of the mask. “Okay, wow.”
I hit the button on my chest, forming my light bike right in the doorway as the elevator reached ground level. Hopping on, I shoved the pedal and left my best friends to listen to my triumphant laughter.
“Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!”
loved this bike. No clue what it was made of or how it worked. It was one of those inventions that happened in a complete blackout while trying to make Claire’s skates. It felt hard and cold against my butt, like chrome, but all I could really see were shining white highlights.
The important thing was, the bike took me down the freeway at blinding speeds. I only had to point it in a general direction. Traffic on the I-5 was pretty bad, but that didn’t affect me. My bike slid between cars like grease, immune to honking.
An alarmed driver swerved away from me into the next lane, and a pang of guilt suddenly hit. Sure, I was safe, but I’d never thought about the other drivers! I took a quick peek behind me.
Ha! LA drivers for the win! Traffic dropped back and congested pretty badly as I passed, but no wrecks. I should have known nobody panicked at supervillain driving in this town.
Duh. If they did, I’d have noticed it weeks ago.
I, on the other hand, nearly jumped out of my skin as a siren started up right next to me. I’d been paying absolutely no attention to the road ahead or the police car I had just passed.
In seconds, my bike swerved between six other cars. As they slowed, they trapped the police car, keeping it from chasing me.
Still.
A few minutes later, I zipped up a tidy and boringly generic street next to the foot of the Hollywood hills. If the sky weren’t gloomy and contemplating rain, the pavements and little office buildings would all be shining white.
I pulled up onto the curb where Lucyfar, hands tucked into jeans, stood grinning at the world. Seconds later, Mister Showoff Ray Viles blinked into existence about ten feet up, landing as smoothly as a cat.
Before Claire could finish sliding off his back, I warned, “The police saw me on the way up. It won’t take them long to find us.”
Lucyfar wasn’t spooked. She rubbed her hands together in glee, and half told us, half told the world, “Beautifully intertwined purposes. The authorities will keep superheroes off our case, and crawl all over this place like ants on a plate of crushed cherries when we leave. If we miss anything, they won’t. Let us commence!”
She stepped right into the street. Liquid black crawled out of the holes in her ragged jeans, over her pants and up her sleeveless t-shirt. It must have dissolved her clothing, because she was left wearing a black cat suit so skin-tight, only its light-absorbing colorlessness kept her modest. Spikes hung off the back like wings. Everyone was feeling showy today.
Screeching tires made my head jerk. One lone car had been driving up the road, only to slam on the brakes in front of a wall of hovering black knives. Sheesh, Lucy. He would have stopped!
I let it go. There were more important things to talk about. “Is it just us?”
She shook her head, long black hair bouncing with her manic glee. “Oh, we’re more than enough. You kids are going to love this!”
Claire skated a few feet ahead, leaning forward to peer into the tinted windows of Happy Days Durable Medical Supplies. Aside from the glass fronting around the doors and the sign with its smiling yellow sun, the single-story building had zilch in the way of distinguishing features. Nothing but cement block walls painted cheerfully, soullessly white.
What caught Claire’s attention were the signs next to the revolving doors. ‘Sorry, We’re Closed!’ and ‘This facility does not handle retail.’
Ray gave the door a one-handed shake. Locked. He looked up at Lucyfar. She shrugged, her smile never wavering.
Gripping the door with both hands this time, Ray shoved. Metal squealed and snapped. Glass broke. The revolving door skidded into the lobby, and fell over on the tiles.
A pair of receptionists, a young man and woman, recoiled. The lobby held them, their slanted kinda triangular art deco desk, a door, and a big sign behind the desk with the smiling sun logo and the words ‘Things You Need!!!’ Three exclamation marks. Wow. They didn’t make the sign, or the room, any more interesting at all. It probably wasn’t the dullest room in the world, but it tried.
Lucy swaggered up to the desk, and leaned on it wit
h one elbow. Grandly, she began, “Hello, my good sinners. We’re here―”
The woman, in her horrible yellow shirt with a smiling sun on the chest, recovered enough to press a button on the counter. I was expecting an alarm. Instead, I got a badly synthesized female voice. “Hi! My name is Byron Slade. How may I forward motivate your ejection for maximum speed and satisfaction today?” I was pretty sure Byron Slade wasn’t this girl’s name. I was completely sure the deep male voice reciting it wasn’t hers either.
None of this flustered or surprised Lucyfar. She just picked up right where she’d left off. “―to loot, rampage, destroy, and misuse, without an appointment.”
Once they got over the surprise of their door being destroyed, the two receptionists didn’t look afraid at all. The guy asided to his coworker, “That’s Lucyfar and the Inscrutable Machine. I thought we’d get heroes first.”
The girl looked flustered, almost desperate, but still not scared like I’d expected. She leaned against the wall behind her, and put her face in her hands. “Please leave. Please.” She sounded dully defeated. Of course, asking us to leave wouldn’t work, but geez, I was starting to feel guilty.
Not Lucyfar. She straightened up, pointing at the only other door. “So we’ll let ourselves in, then?”
Out of nowhere, the synthetic female voice piped up. “Thank you for your patronage. As you leave our facility, Byron Slade will give you our special low-cost satisfaction survey.”
The guy, who didn’t have the same voice as Byron Slade either, groaned. “Well, there go our metrics. We are so fired.”
The girl thumped the wall with both fists and jerked upright. “No we’re not. I quit! I should have quit a month ago!”
“We can’t quit, Jenny!” Now the guy looked worried.
“Why not? What am I giving up? The money? The regular hours? The job security?”
Please Don't Tell My Parents I Blew Up the Moon Page 3
