“Well, if you're up to carrying some pipes...” A shuddering outside, a loud hum, and a shadow fell across the light from above. Then it was gone as quickly as it had shown up.
Joan nodded in satisfaction. “That'll be the agents heading out.”
I smiled, feeling a subtle tension leave my shoulders. I hadn't liked Kingsley, not one bit. “Time to grab those pipes, then.”
It took Julio and I several hours to fix the shower. He'd dug up some tape and putty from somewhere— which was good, because as soon as we'd joined together one section of pipe, a leak would come up somewhere else. It took more than just swapping in pipes, we had to pretty much cannibalize a section to half of the stalls just to get full functionality in the rest.
I was in there with a wrench, tightening up one of the smaller pipes in its socket when Julio started yelling. Heading out, I took in the scene at a glance... two of the men from the camp had come up. The bigger of them had half a foot on me, and was standing over Julio. Julio was sitting down on the ground, bleeding from his nose. The smaller one, a scraggly black-haired man, was going through my backpack. I'd left it outside to avoid getting it wet, and as he drew out my mask, I shouted.
“Put that down!”
He jumped to his feet, shuffled back, and the big one shook his head, and moved in front of me as I marched up. His head was shaved, though he had a small brown beard and mustache that twitched as he snarled at me. “You don't belong here. Go back wherever you—”
I was inside of his reach before he could react. Teeth sprayed as my wrench met his jaw, and he toppled. The little one took off running, my mask still in his hands. He was fast, but I was angry beyond reason, and I chased behind him until he threw the mask back at me. I almost cried out as it skittered across the rocky shore, and slowed to scoop it up. When I looked back up, he was far down the beach, fear aiding his velocity.
I reached for my gun, pulled it out and aimed at his back... and forced my hand down.
No, he wasn't worth it. Hadn't done enough to warrant killing.
I examined the mask as I moved back to Julio. It seemed unharmed. The big man who I'd de-toothed was up and staggering away, and Julio was carefully picking up tools. He wiped them clean on his jacket, and put them back in the toolbox one by one. I wanted to hug him for it. His nose was still bleeding; I hoped it wasn't serious. He snuffled as he peered at me, shame in his eyes.
“Senorita. I'm sorry. I couldn't do nothing.”
“It's all right, Julio. You tried, eh?” I slapped him on the shoulder, like Joan had done to me. It seemed to indicate camaraderie, and he calmed down, handing me the toolbox.
I checked the backpack. The ball drone was still there in the innermost pocket, but the cash I'd put in there was gone, as well as the wallet. I smiled. The wallet wasn't so important right now, and I still had the bulk of the cash. I'd taken Joan's suggestion and split it, storing it in different locations. The bulk of it was back at the women's tent, tucked into a crack in the floorboards, well-hidden by the sheets. No, no great loss. The fake ID and cards in the wallet might have come in handy at some point, I suspected, but I didn't think they were irreplaceable. I put the mask back into the pack, zipped it up tight.
“Here. I think we're about done with the pipes. You want to go in and check on Dire's work?”
I passed the wrench in to him when he called for it, spending the rest of the time sitting next to my backpack. The big man didn't come back, and as I looked at the handful of teeth and smear of blood on the sand, and felt a grim satisfaction fill my heart. He'd earned that, and it had felt good to deliver it.
I saw the big guy disappear into a tent, and after a few minutes, the young man I'd met last night came out. He looked over to me, and I gave him a lazy wave. Martin, that was his name? Yes.
He approached with a hell of a lot of caution, and my smile grew. When he got about twenty feet away, he stopped and whistled. “Damn.”
“Hm?”
“That's about a grand in dental reconstruction on the ground there. Not counting the busted jaw.” His voice was gentle, and he was avoiding eye contact with me. He kept his hands out slightly, open. Nonthreatening.
“Who was that guy, anyway? He have a name?” I asked.
“Rick. Came to us about six months ago. He said you jumped him. That how it went down?”
“He tell you why she jumped him?”
“No, and frankly it'd set my mind at ease if there was a why.”
“Does Rick have a friend who's a little guy? Greasy black hair, fast runner?”
Martin sighed, and brought a hand up to rub his head. “Sheeeeeit. You're talkin' about Tugs, yeah?”
“She doesn't know. She was in the middle of helping Julio fix your showerhouse, when Julio yelled. Found a little black-haired guy going through her backpack. Found Rick standing over Julio.”
He squinted at me, looked into the darkness of the doorway.
“Hey Julio?”
“Si?” Julio called back from the showerhouse.
“Fue Ricky el que formo bronca?”
“Si.” Julio came out, pointed to his nose. Martin's face went blank for a minute, then his mouth snapped shut. White, gritted teeth stood out against his dark skin as he scowled. Julio shook his head and went back inside, to keep working.
“Motherfucker. Okay, thanks man. I'll see to this shit.” He looked back to me, shook his head. “Yeah. It ain't all sweetness and light round here. Roy doesn't put up with shit, but Roy ain't everywhere all the time. I'll have a talk with him about Rick. This is the first time he's done something like this, but Tugs is a troublemaker. Good at convincin' retards to do shit they shouldn't. I think it's about time he found some other shithole to haunt.”
He looked at me, meeting my eyes for the first time. “You gonna give Rick more trouble over this?”
“If he comes looking for more, Dire will provide. If he doesn't, Dire won't.”
He smiled. “That is a healthy ass attitude to have, lady. Can't believe I thought you looked soft when you got here.”
A shout from the showerhouse, and a hiss as water spurted. Julio laughed, and Martin and I moved over to the doorway into the stalls. We both grinned, as we saw a beautiful sight: Water pouring down from the taps, sluicing away the mud on the floor. Oh, it'd take a while to clean up, but the place was operational again.
Martin glanced at me. I looked over to him, and his face was blank as he pointed an open hand at me, sideways.
I looked at it, and he gestured again. I put my own hand up, mimicking him, and he took it and shook it. Ah, okay. More camraderie.
We collected Julio, and went back to the fire. For all that his nose was black and purple and swollen, the old man walked with pride.
I kept my smile to myself, and the wrench in the pocket of my hoodie. Just in case.
Joan waved at me as I came in, motioned to take a seat next to her. “Hey,” I said, sliding in on the bench.
“Heya, hun. Saved some food for you, since you missed the breakfast handout. Water, too.”
My stomach informed me that I was famished, and I smiled my thanks as I took the plastic grocery bag she handed me, and looked inside. An apple, a few slices of bread, a slice of cheese, and a slice of lunchmeat of some sort. Something pink and meatlike, anyway. I pulled out the bottled water, cracked open the lid, and took a long pull before munching on the bag's contents.
“So how'd it go?”
“We have achieved water,” I grinned as I spoke. “Julio recommended letting the taps run until tomorrow, clear out the mud and keep things moving so that the lines don't freeze tonight.”
“Aaaaaahhhhh.” Joan grinned, eased her bulk back onto the bench. “Water. Working water. Showers if we can stand the cold, and refills in case of an emergency so we're not stuck relying on our bottled stock. Good deal. Thanks, Dire.”
I finished the last slice of bread, and brushed crumbs from my hands. “Thank Julio. It would have taken Dire a few days to get
it done had she been by herself. The ins and outs of plumbing are more troublesome then you might think from a glance.”
She turned her head sideways, looked at me out of the corner of her eyes. Like a bird perhaps, or some other small, cautious creature. “You don't have plumbing experience?”
“Not as such,” I confessed. “Though that's all debatable. It... Dire's got memory problems. But her skills seem intact, and the pipes were an engineering problem. That part's relatively easy for Dire.”
“Easy as busting a guy in the jaw so bad that he goes down with one hit?”
I looked away, folding the bag. “You saw that.” For some reason I felt guilty.
“No. But it was all the talk when Rick came back, with his wrecked mouth. I figured you had a reason. Rick's an ex-con, and he's never fit in well. He didn't try anything... forward, did he?”
I frowned. “What?”
“Did he, ah, try to put his hands on you? Push you for sex?”
“Ah. No. Apparently some man named Tugs convinced Rick to help him rob Dire. Martin said he'd see to it.” I frowned. “Come to think of it, Tugs did get a few things. Money, some ID. Nothing major.”
Her eyes had grown wider and wider through this, and finally they narrowed as she leaned in. “Oh that ass— uh, jerk. I'll have a talk with Martin. This is the last damn straw.”
“Tugs does this?”
“He's a troublemaker. Only been around a couple of months, but he's started fights, he's stolen things and not bothered to hide it, and we're pretty sure he mugged a couple of drunk students two months ago. No proof on that, but it brought the cops around a few times, and they hassled us through most of December. We've never sat right with them, squatting here like we do. Even for the northside, we're a little rough. Too much of an ugly truth.” She rubbed her cheek. “Anyway, Tugs needs to go. But if Martin said he'd see to it, he'll take care of it. Truth be told, I'd rather not know how.”
I frowned. “How is it that he was tolerated for so long?”
“Roy. He's got a soft heart. Tugs is good at whining and pretending to be sorry. We kicked him out twice, and each time he showed up a few days later, pleading that he had nowhere else to go. Martin, now... Martin's probably going to hurt him, or threaten him with his friends. And Martin usually follows through with his threats if he's pushed, and Tugs will know that.”
“Martin didn't seem that threatening at the time.”
“Looks deceive, hun. He's a drug dealer. That's why he's here. Some stuff went bad in his old life so he's lying low away from his old neighborhood. But he's still slinging.” She pursed her lips. “I don't like it, but I can't deny we need cash, and he splits what he makes with us. It's how we can afford food, clothes, and stuff like insulin. The donations don't cover nearly enough, and until this thing gets fixed with the city, they're gonna be a lot leaner. If they happen at all.”
I looked around the camp, at the cobbled-together buildings and tents. Looked at the people moving between them, or resting out of the wind. Then looked back to Joan. “She's been meaning to ask about that.”
“About what? Supplies?”
“No. About this place. What function does it serve within society? What do you do for the city, how do you earn your recompense?”
She started laughing, then quieted as she scrutinized my face. “You're serious.”
“Very much so. This place does not seem to be an efficient component of its parent society.”
“You got a weird way of talking. No, this is a place full of people with no place to go. Down and out, you know? No money, no jobs, no family that cares, nothing left.” Her eyes went faraway, as she stared out to sea. “It was just a few of us at the first. Me, Lily, Rob and Gladys, a bunch of us banded together so we didn't have to worry about getting raped or killed. Then Sparky showed up, and Roy came to watch him. Roy dressed nicer then and wasn't around as much, I think he might've had a job. But the time came when he moved here full time, built the first shack.” She gestured to the structure where I'd traded in my sweater for my current clothes. “Once Sparky got here, he and Roy had it out with the Black Bloods. A group came through and they ran them off, but they came back and Lily and Rob... didn't make it. But Roy and Sparky made the Black Bloods pay.” Her lips pushed together, thinning down and disappearing as she stared out and her eyes reflected an old pain. “Oh, they made them pay.”
It was silent for a minute, save for the hoarse coughing of a sick man in one of the tents, and the wash of the waves on the shore. Then she continued. “They'd lost face for that, and the Militia hit them while they were farting around with us. Martin showed up not long after, and convinced us that we could maybe make peace with them while we had a strong hand. So we did, and once word got around that the Black Bloods didn't care to mess with us, more people started showing up. Over the last year and a half, it turned into this. We got help along the way, went semi-legit. A local women's shelter is sponsoring us as a halfway house, so we get some support there. St. Augustine's over on Jefferson Street collects donations for us, acts as a backup shelter when times are really rough. Like when Aquatica caused the tidal wave last spring, we went and got sheltered there for a while. But as to what we do...”
She spread her hands. “Mostly we try to find ways out of here. Try to find jobs, try to get into rehab programs, try to help ourselves to get stable again. Nobody's really here because they want to be, no matter what some of the politicians say. It's a rough life, and about the only service we give is that occasionally we help people survive, give them shelter and food and support and a place that doesn't judge them until they can get back on their feet.”
I looked at her for a long moment, nodded. “She understands. This is a valuable function. You are doing good work.”
Joan barked laughter. “Oh, we're not saints. Lord, no. Some of the people around here do bad things to get by, and we turn a blind eye so long as they don't cause trouble. We're squatting on a public beach, and the only reason nobody's turned us out is because the city's written it off until some major development money comes along. But once it does, we'll be gone. They'll send a few squads of cops to run us off and tear down our tents. No one really wants us. No one cares if we die.”
“Dire cares,” I said. “You sheltered her when you didn't need to. You fed and sheltered her, and asked nothing in return. Rick and Tugs aside, her stay has been rather pleasant. It's given her time to think.” And it had. I'd come to a few conclusions, during my work with the pipes. Though I didn't have a firm plan yet, I had a few ideas of how to proceed, some goals to work toward.
She patted my arm. “Thanks, hun.” A wan smile drifted onto her face. “Just remember us when you make it out of here, huh?”
“Going to take a while, probably,” I mused. “Need to obtain transportation, first. Find a place to work and study. After that? Take stock of resources, consolidate. Figure out who her enemies are, before they assault her again. Gather strength before that happens.”
She stared at me while I spoke, waiting until I finished my train of thought to comment. “You're kind of worrying me, hun. Everything okay? Anything we should know about?”
“Not at this time,” I shook my head. “Things are currently stable. If it turns out her past may interfere with your life, she will depart. No sense in causing trouble to allies, being a burden. Impolite.”
She smiled again. “Hey. Look. If you've got trouble, don't be afraid to ask for help, okay? A lot of people wouldn't be here if they'd done that in the first place. When you get down to it, you can only go so far alone. Good people help people who need it. You know?”
“Not really,” I shook my head. “What Dire knows is very little at this point. But she'll take your word on that. For now.”
“Good enough for me. So... you busy?”
I looked at my empty grocery bag, and shook my head. “Lunch is done, pipes are fixed. Still got some hours of daylight left, yes?”
“Yes. Are you up for helping
me sort out the pantry, maybe figure out something good and hot for the evening meal?” She rose and offered me a hand up.
I took it, and smiled. “Be happy to.”
CHAPTER 4: Home Improvement
“A lot of the support for the idea of Tesla's experiments being the vector of superpowers comes from the three impacts in nineteen-oh-eight. Tunguska, the Bay of Biscay, and the airburst over Icon City. There's no denying that people from those areas, or with ancestors from those areas, are approximately three times as likely to express superpowers than the average individual. But the Tesla theory isn't proven, yet. We need more data.”
--On Powers and Progenitors: A lecture delivered by Professor Pyre at Icon City's Isler University to the Metahuman Studies fall quarter class, November of 1998
Like plumbing, there's more to cooking than you'd think. My mind translated it as a simple confluence of chemistry and physics. Follow the recipe, introduce heat and motion at the required intervals, and proceed until a satisfactory result occurs.
As I found, it was not so easy as it appeared. My first couple of attempts at utilizing the stove came close to burning the stew. Joan had to call Minna in to help her, while I was delegated to chopping ingredients.
Minna's child found her way in, and solemnly watched me chop carrots. I watched her back with an equal solemnity, and when she extended a hand I put a carrot in it, which seemed to satisfy her. “Ankoo,” she said, and wandered over to Minna, who shoved her away from the stove with a torrent of strange words. The girl took it in stride, retreating to the side of the kitchen, gnawing her carrot.
The kitchen merited a shack to itself. The stove was an old, wood-burning affair. A more modern one sat nearby, but without available power, it wasn't seeing any use anytime soon.
Oddly enough, whenever the kid got close to Joan, the older woman would get nervous, and move her hands away from the girl. I thought it impolite to ask why. Besides, I had other questions.
DIRE : BORN Page 5
