by K. M. Herkes
“You're a goddamned Jesus at the Last Supper with a touch of the Pieta and all the little children thrown in for good measure,” Jefferson said. “Looks like you paid attention to all those psy-ops classes you thought no one knew you audited. Surrendering like that was a brilliant propaganda stunt. Did you expect to survive it?”
Sergeant Coby's chin rose slightly. “I had two hundred and ninety four children and fifty-plus civilian adults in retreat. The best I could do was offer a distraction and spike the opposition's propaganda machine as conspicuously as possible.”
“What possessed you to add three children to the distraction?”
“Sir, I didn't—and she—I—” Coby fumbled to a halt. “Have you met her, sir?”
“Elena Moreno? Yes.” Jefferson savored the memory for a few seconds. “I sat in on her debrief. She says she going to study politics and law so she can get elected to Congress. And she's trading in her extra-curricular athletics for internship with DPS. She has nerves of steel and a sharp mind behind that sweet face. Give her ten years and some training, and she might actually change the world. “
“Well, sir, it was her idea, and I didn't have time to argue with her.”
Jefferson nodded. “I understand. But the result was so perfect I've been accused of staging the whole event. I am happy that the opposition was so busy arguing over the impact of martyring you that we captured them without further losses, but that’s no excuse doing it in the first place. What kind of punishment do you think would be appropriate for endangering children, Staff Sergeant?”
“Sir, I told her to stay—” Coby stopped cold again. “Staff sergeant, sir?”
He seriously had thought he was about to be reprimanded. Jefferson stood up and held out a hand. “I did. Congratulations, Staff. You saved lives at the risk of your own, and I’m proud of your performance. The promotion is only a temporary bump though, so don’t get used to it.”
“Sir, I’m—” Coby paused after shaking hands and tried again. “I don't understand, sir. Temporary?”
“You can’t be an officer and a non-com, can you? Didn’t I mention that you’re applying for OCS? My aide has the papers all ready for your signature.” Jefferson allowed himself a smile, saw the expression reflected in the sergeant’s sunglasses and grinned wider. “At ease, Staff. Ask your questions.”
Coby relaxed to parade rest, and his jaw worked sideways. “Why bother, sir? You know the odds of me living long enough to get through OCS? I’m weeks into that age record.”
“Long odds.” Jefferson pretended to give the objection some thought before shrugging. “You faced longer ones last week, and here you are. I’ll bet on you again. Besides, like it or not, you're the Company’s shiny public face right now, and shiny faces get shiny jobs. Since I can't have less than a lieutenant as a DPS liaison, Lieutenant Coby you shall be.”
The mutter of voices in the outer office sounded loud in the silence that met his words.
He added gently, “Your line is, thank you, sir.”
Coby nodded. “Thank you for the opportunity, sir. And I mean that. Not for the dip job, but for the vote of confidence.”
“You earned it.” Jefferson sat down and made a show of picking up his pen. “You’re dismissed until tomorrow at oh-nine-hundred, when you will report to the local DPS office. You’re going through orientation with the new crop of interns.”
That news brought Coby’s chin up. Suspicion colored his voice when he said, “Interns, sir? You mentioned earlier—Is Elena Moreno one of them?”
“Of course she is.” Jefferson made a supreme effort to keep a straight face. “Sometimes politics stinks, but sometimes a little good comes out of it. I cannot wait to read about the headaches the pair of you will cause DPS administration just by being yourselves. For now, dismissed means go away, in case you’ve forgotten.”
The staff sergeant was still shaking his head on his way out the door.
Jefferson chuckled under his breath and got back to his paperwork. Some days he really enjoyed his job.
Interview with a Hero
The Set:
Television talk show set lit at “intimate conversation” levels. Live audience.
The players:
One, a bespectacled, earnest male interviewer sitting in an easy chair grinning ear to ear. Blond hair in a spiky moussed cut, heavy beige face makeup, gym-lean body clad in double-breasted dark pinstripes. He looks like a child next to the man sitting on the heavy steel bench opposite him.
Two, a giant dressed in a crisply-starched white dress shirt and black dress trousers, but ordinary clothes cannot disguise his eight-foot height or his stiff, thick skin. He is sporting a black baseball cap and mirrored sunglasses, and he has a case of the fidgets.
Scene begins:
Host: Welcome to the Brian Grimm show. I’m Brian Grimm, but of course you all know that.
Brian: What should I call you? I’m not very knowledgeable about the military. Ranks and all that. I want to get it right.
Guest: You can call me Jack.
Brian: Oh, please. Come at me with the whole deal. Name, what you do, all of it. My viewers like to get all the juicy details.
Jack: Full name and rank? Jack Coby, lieutenant, retired, United States Marine Corps. Gateway Company, Mercury Battalion. I work for the Department of Public Safety now. Not a lot of employment opportunities for an eight-foot tall armor-plated dude. I don’t think you need my serial number on top of all that, do you?
Brian: No, that is quite complicated enough. So is it Jack like Jack and the Beanstalk, only you’re the giant?
Jack: No, I’m Jack, not John or Jackson or anything else. My only nickname…can I say Jackass on TV? That’s the only other thing people call me.
Brian: I wouldn’t dare call you that. I was delighted when the Department approached my producers about having you on the show, but I confess you are one scary fellow. Will you tell us more about your powers? What’s it like, being what you are?
Jack: Getting nervous, are you? I read somewhere you test positive for R-factor yourself. Is that true?
Brian:
Jack: Didn’t you? Isn’t that your job? That sure sounded like a soft-pitch so I could reassure you that you’ll still be human even if you end up like me.
Brian: Errm.
Jack:
Brian
Jack: Yes and no. I’m T5, in the middle for power, with a Y-variant, so I still look mostly human. Minimal armoring, no horns or major spines, and claws not much longer than fingernails. I’m also photosensitive, so I’d appreciate the camera light aiming a little higher, thanks. The prime Tees are twelve feet tall at baseline, and bigger yet in rampage high-power mode.
Jack: Oh, hey. That was an exercise in Hawaii. I remember that. I�
�m the little guy there by the rightmost troop carrier. See the difference? I’m only big and have the turtle-skin. Oh, and we’re all nearly impossible to kill between the armor and the regeneration. But the thing that makes me rare? I hit rollover at fourteen instead of forty or older like most people. Only ever been a couple of early-onset Tees who survived rollover. That’s what most people obsess about.
Brian: Fourteen. When the average rollover age is forty-seven? Remarkable. That must have been such a shock. Your family, how did they handle it?
Jack: Don’t know. Haven’t seen my parents since I rolled. Something about me being a murderer and a monster and all that.
Brian: …
Jack:
Brian: You are an astonishing young man. Thank you for sharing that. Now, about rampage mode. That’s unique to Tee’s, correct? How does it work? Can you demonstrate for us?
Jack: Do you have something handy for me to demolish? No? Okay, then. No rampage. If I call up the energy, I have to expend it. It isn’t a rage thing. Couldn’t be good soldiers if we were always going crazy, could we? It isn’t unique to Tee’s, either. It shows up as a variant in a bunch of other series. . Uncontrolled emotion makes anybody dangerous. There’s a feedback loop for us. Fight-or-flight impulses can trigger a power burst and increase in abilities. A lot of variables can bring it on. Rampage mode is just one more power we learn to control and channel.
Brian: And you do marvelously. Speaking of soldiering…you certainly had a busy time in uniform. Maybe you’ll tell us a little about that? And you hold the world record for age past rollover, too, don’t you?
Jack: Oh, heck, no. Alice Akiyama is the record-holder. She was in her sixties when she rolled on First Night, back in ’43, and she hasn’t aged a day since. She’s a hundred something. But for early-onset cases? Yeah. I break that record every day I wake up. No big deal.
Brian: No big de–How can you be so calm about it? Nothing shakes you, does it? I’m in awe, honestly. The Crisis Night incident, the Elgin School bombings, the Gulf rescues…
Brian: Look at all that. You and your unit, they saved so many lives. Your bravery is just mind-boggling.
Jack:I never felt brave. I do seem to end up in the thick of things a lot. I volunteered for most of those missions. My CO said it’s an early-onset thing. He says because we know we won’t be around for long, we either go in hard or check out. Mostly I feel like I’m a regular guy. Dying young? That’s the straw I drew. Getting upset wouldn’t change it. I like to have some fun, have a few drinks, goof off. You know, regular stuff.
Brian: So would you say you’re someone who can handle pressure?
Jack: Pressure? Sure I can handle it. Oh– you’re fishing for a story again, aren’t you? My interview coach told me you people like stories. Okay, how about this thing my Mercury squad handled a few days before Crisis Night, what, a year ago or more now? It’s the kind of thing Mercury Battalion handles ten, twelve times a year, all over the country. No privacy violations, I won’t name names or places.
Brian:
Jack: This lady, she and her whole family were members of some Denial group. She refused to report to internment camp when her R-factor spiked, and she started rolling hot at home. Worse, you know how one house in every block is the one where all the kids go? Her place.
Brian: Oooh, I can’t even imagine.
Brian: Wow.
Jack: Yeah. Tell me about pressure. It’s all about keeping your head. There’s a standard procedure, believe it or not. I called the play, Corporal Amy Goodall picked me up and launched me after the car — I was the smallest Tee in the squad, she’s the largest, twelve foot plus, no big deal — I land on the car roof, it crumples and entraps, my ‘porter sends me and it to the secured containment block back on base, and containment techs pulled the dad and me from the cell before the mom ignited. Boom, major crisis averted.
Brian: How close was it?
Jack: Ten seconds. She melted the containment block. Any hesitation from us, and she would’ve leveled ten blocks and killed hundreds of people. I guess she did good, once she got with the program. She ended up in reboot camp for Mercury once she got minimum control of course Talent like that always goes through the military first.
Brian: Not everyone does so well. How do you feel about the public anger directed towards the government’s Public Safety policies?
Jack: I was a Marine, ma’am, and now I work for Public Safety. It’s not my place to have feelings about policies. I go where I’m ordered. Mercury Battalion is a specialist unit, they handle the R-factor breakouts and containment and do a lot of R-null population outreach with the DPS, but we’re soldiers, first. Bottom line, all enemies of the United States, foreign and domestic, they’re my business.
Brian
Jack: …
Brian
Jack: That’s a joke, right? Look at me. You think I wouldn’t rather be normal size, lead a normal life? You think I wouldn’t rather live longer than–hell, do I even know if I’ll wake up tomorrow morning? What do you think I would pick? I would wish to be for plain old regular human, null-factor, no chance of rolling over. That’d mean I would have a chance of seeing twenty-five, maybe even getting married and have kids or something someday.
Brian: That was…honest. Brutally honest. There I was thinking you’d toss off a joke.
Jack:
Brian: That does sound fun. Now here’s one question I ask all my guests. Will
you tell us a secret?
Jack: No. If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret, would it?
Brian:
Jack: Oh, that one I don’t mind at all. I have two big fears. First, look at me. I can bench-press a pickup truck, and I’m bigger than two bulls stacked on top of each other. I’m afraid I’ll hurt someone innocent by mistake. That’s a no-brainer, that one. My other fear? I’m afraid of people being afraid of me. Frightened people attack in self defense. Frightened people lash out. Some people really don’t think the poz are human. They see monsters when they look at you, Brian, as much as when they see me. And that–that should scare you a lot more than rollover itself. That’s what keeps me awake nights.
Brian: …
Brian:
APPENDICES
Appendix 1: Powers and Rankings
Those who might develop special abilities are known poz, for positive R-factor potential. If they “roll over” from potential to active in middle age, the Department of Public Safety assigns their new abilities a letter-number-letter classification. The first letter designates their primary ability, the number gives an idea of their power level relative to others with similar abilities, and the second letter indicates any number of assorted variations or secondary characteristics.
It’s a lousy system, but there are reasons for it persisting despite its flaws. An explanation can be found below this list of the power classifications currently used by the Department of Public Safety.
