Replication: A Kid Sensation Novel (Kid Sensation #6)
Page 9
I reappeared at Alpha League HQ, just outside Mouse’s lab. Ordinarily I would have just teleported inside, but I was trying to be more conscientious about things like that. (Basically, teleporting directly inside was like going to visit a friend and just walking into their home instead of ringing the doorbell.) Mouse had never complained – he probably didn’t even care – but I didn’t want to get into the habit of taking liberties in that fashion.
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Mouse’s number; he picked up on the first ring.
“Hey, Jim,” he said. “Sorry – you’re probably wondering where I am.”
I wrinkled my brow in confusion. “Huh?”
“You’re in the lab, right?”
“Uh, no. I’m actually outside. I thought it would be more appropriate if I announced myself instead of just popping up out of the blue.”
“Oh,” he said, sounding surprised, then jokingly added, “That’s a first.”
“I was trying to be considerate,” I admonished. “But if you don’t appreciate the effort…”
I trailed off as Mouse started laughing.
“Actually,” he stated a moment later, still chuckling, “your popping up doesn’t bother me. That said, it’s probably good to get in the habit of announcing yourself first, so bravo.”
“Thanks,” I said, pleased at the fact that my mentor had complimented my behavior. “Anyway, I was coming by for the debrief, but we can reschedule if you aren’t here.”
He shook his head. “No, we can go ahead. I’m in the Alpha conference room.”
I nodded. “Okay. Be there in a sec.” I then hung up the phone and teleported.
I reappeared in a stately, rectangular room that was home to a large executive conference table. Mouse was seated at one end of it, with his computer tablet in front of him. I walked down and took a seat diagonally to his right.
“Been awhile since I’ve been in here,” I intoned, glancing around. “Something wrong with the lab?”
Mouse shook his head. “No, but Vixen says I need to get out more.”
I laughed. “I’m sure she meant ‘out’ as in fresh air, sunshine, and such.”
“Probably, but she’s my girlfriend, not my mother. She’ll have to take what she can get.”
I chuckled some more at that. Vixen – in addition to being Mouse’s significant other – was also a member of the Alpha League. As a Siren, she had the ability to manipulate the opposite sex, but Mouse was somehow immune to her charms. I briefly wondered if she had tried to use her power to get him to take her advice about getting out and this was his way of defying her, but then dismissed the idea. Mouse wasn’t like that, and it was my understanding that Vixen had moved beyond trying to control him the way she’d done other men in the past.
“Anyway,” Mouse droned, changing the subject, “how do you think the mission went yesterday?”
I let out a disgusted sigh. “Everyone else seemingly did fine. I was a disaster.”
Mouse shook his head. “Not true. You took your eye off the ball for a minute, but managed to recover.”
“And almost got us killed in the process – not quite how I wanted my first official mission to go.”
“Actually, it’s a good thing that we were beset by a little mishap. It’s better if something untoward happens the first time you’re out in the field.”
I raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
“Because after that you’re more likely to be on your toes when you go on a mission. If it’s a piece of cake the first time, you’re more apt to let your guard down in the future.”
“Well, you can bet that I’ll be completely mission-oriented from now on. I’m just glad no one got hurt.”
“Even if someone had gotten injured, it wouldn’t necessarily have been your fault. What we do – stopping bad guys – is inherently dangerous, like being a cop, a fireman, or working high steel. Occasionally, people are going to get hurt. It’s a professional hazard.”
“I know,” I said with a nod. “I suppose I should be grateful that Dream Machine only sent a train at us. I’d have thought he’d utilize something more lethal, but maybe he relied too heavily on his hallucinatory abilities – not that I’m complaining.”
“Oh, he had more pernicious items at his disposal, like turrets and such in the walls, but I shut them down. It’s the first thing I did when I connected to his system.”
Well, that explains some things, I thought.
“Unfortunately,” Mouse went on, “I wasn’t able to shut down everything, as you saw. In addition, I didn’t have time to cut off Dream Machine’s escape route before my connection got terminated.”
“You mean before I screwed up,” I corrected, feeling awful.
Mouse laid a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Look, don’t go beating yourself up about what happened. Even if everything else had gone perfectly, there’s no guarantee that I would have been able to use my tablet to stop the upload or keep Dream Machine from hightailing it to the internet.”
“Except there won’t be a note that says ‘Lacks focus’ in your League dossier.”
Mouse laughed. “We don’t keep a tally of stuff like that around here. We’re not some military school, tracking demerits to see if we need to kick you out.”
“But there’s got to be some kind of scoreboard – some way to rate mission performance.”
Mouse contemplated for a second before answering. “It’s really on a case-by-case basis, and individualized towards the person.”
“So you’re saying that if two people – say, me and Smokey – go on a mission, we might be rated on different things in terms of efficacy.”
“Exactly.”
I drummed my fingers on the table for a moment. “So what was I graded on this time?”
“You weren’t really being evaluated. Based on everything you’ve been dealing with since you came back from Caeles, I was really just hoping the mission would give you a sense of perspective.”
“You mean, did it take my mind off the raging trash fire that’s my personal life?”
Mouse chuckled. “The key word you were supposed to focus on was ‘perspective,’ wiseacre.”
“Oh. You’re asking if the mission made me realize that the raging trash fire I mentioned was really more of a sputtering matchhead. In that case, the answer is yes. My personal problems pale in comparison to the threats the League faces on a daily basis.”
Mouse nodded. “Bingo. All of our personal problems – breakups, bad investments, car in the shop, what have you – they’re mostly inconsequential when you look at the big picture of what we do.”
“Agreed,” I said, knowing he was right.
“Great. That’s one important aspect of the mission covered.”
“Uh,” I mumbled hesitantly, “before we move on to anything else, can we talk about the people we saw underground?”
Mouse’s brow creased. “What about them?”
I leaned forward, unsure of how to phrase what I wanted to say. “It bothered me when I saw them. I mean, they looked like they were having a hard time – especially some of the children. Isn’t there anything we can do to help them?”
“You don’t need to do anything to help them,” Mouse said flatly.
I stared at him for a moment, unsure that I’d heard him correctly. “Excuse me?”
“I said that you don’t need to do anything for those people,” he repeated in a sincere tone.
I blinked, so confused that I had trouble articulating my thoughts. “I’m sorry…I don’t…I’m not…”
I was beyond bewildered. Mouse was one of the most compassionate people I knew, so I was having a real issue coming to terms with his statements. I’d never seen him voice this kind of callous disregard for others. Hoping for answers, I reached out empathically and sensed something unexpected: mirth, and a self-satisfied air of contentment.
“Wait a minute,” I muttered, still trying to make sense of everything as a sly smile crept onto my
mentor’s face. And then the truth hit me.
“You already did it,” I asserted, more a statement of fact than anything else.
Mouse responded by bursting into laughter.
“Yes,” he said a few moments later, after regaining his composure. “After you left, I made some calls to a few shelters and humanitarian organizations. We got most of the people placed, but a few stubbornly refused to leave, so we arranged to have some meals and blankets sent down to them. So, as I said, there’s nothing you need to do because it’s already been done.”
“Thanks,” I said. “For a moment there, I thought you were serious.”
“You should have seen the look on your face,” Mouse chuckled. “It was hilarious.”
“Well, I’m glad you were entertained,” I stated with mock indignation. “Hopefully you’ll consider me for the position of League jester. But in the meantime, if we’re done with the debriefing, I’ll take my leave.”
Mouse nodded, still grinning. “Yes, we’re done. However, I could use your assistance with something else.”
Chapter 14
I teleported Mouse and myself to my father’s mansion – the palatial estate where the gala for my grandparents was going to be held. We popped up in the foyer, which opened into a lavish great room that was characterized by marble floors, exquisite furnishings, and rare artwork.
Even though we were hours away from the night’s festivities, the place was already bustling. The great room was filled with an army of staff and personnel, hurriedly trying to do a million things: bring in food, set up tables, install temporary bars, and so on.
“You see BT anywhere?” Mouse asked.
“No,” I replied, “but give me a sec.”
I reached out empathically, searching for the familiar emotional vibe of Braintrust (whom Mouse had casually referred to as “BT”).
“She’s out by the pool,” I announced a moment later. “Hang on.”
I teleported us again, this time taking us to an exotic, poolside terrace at the rear of the mansion that was home to, among other things, an outdoor fireplace, lavish furnishings, and a built-in bar. The pool itself was oversized, with various amenities, including a waterfall and hot tub.
“Hey, you two,” said a feminine voice from behind us.
We both turned almost in unison and found ourselves facing a stunning blonde wearing jeans and a sweatshirt: BT.
It was a little breezy on the terrace, but Braintrust didn’t appear uncomfortable (and probably wasn’t). Although she looked like a normal person, BT was actually an extensive array of clones all sharing a single hive mind. I had known BT most of my life, but during the bulk of that time the clone I’d dealt with had been male. Thus, even though I had been interacting primarily with this new blonde for months now, I was only just reaching the point where I could think of Braintrust as a “she” (although I’d always known that BT had clones of both genders).
“Jim,” she said in greeting. “Let me guess: Mouse has recruited you for our little project.”
I nodded. “Yeah, but he’s been skimpy on the details.”
She smiled. “Well, allow me to enlighten you.”
She gestured towards a couple of open wooden crates that I hadn’t noticed before. Standing just a few feet from BT, the first was rectangular in shape and roughly five feet in height. The second was smaller – approximately two-by-two feet in size – and sat on a table next to the first.
Curious, I walked over and took a look inside the larger crate. It was full of cylindrical metal rods that reminded me of tent poles. The crate on the table contained some kind of advanced machinery that seemed to have more than an ample number of buttons and dials, as well as a screen and small keyboard. I couldn’t immediately identify it, but the equipment in the crates all seemed familiar – and then it hit me.
“A force field generator?” I asked hesitantly.
Mouse and BT both grinned at that, with the latter saying, “No, but close.”
“It’s a localized temperate clime converter,” Mouse added. “It does generate a field, but – unlike a force field – one that’s permeable, and within which we can make subtle alterations to atmospheric conditions.”
I wrinkled my brow for a second, trying to make sense of what Mouse’s words. A moment later, the clouds parted in my mind.
“Oh,” I said solemnly. “It’s a weather dominator.”
BT laughed. “That’s what I said!”
“No,” Mouse insisted. “It’s a temperate clime–”
“Weather. Dominator,” BT plainly declared in a surprisingly loud voice as she cut my mentor off. Still laughing, she held up a hand, palm outward, in my direction. Chuckling as well, I promptly high-fived her.
Shaking his head in disgust, Mouse mumbled something incoherent about “amateurs” and “belittling my work.”
My mentor then cleared his throat, getting our attention. “Well, if you two are done congratulating yourselves on your equally inept skill at nomenclature, we can get started.”
*****
Almost immediately, the rod began extending, stretching up until it reached a height of about nine feet. At the same time, a small diode – previously unnoticeable – began flashing near the upper end as a small metallic canopy opened up, covering the top of the rod like a conical hat.
This was the same scenario that had played out with all of the other rods, which I had – at BT and Mouse’s direction – placed equidistant from each other around the edge of my father’s estate. As I understood it, the metal poles generally framed the area that would fall under the control of the weather dominator, which was the device that had been in the smaller crate.
The work had naturally gone a lot faster with me involved, since I could essentially teleport to each spot where the rods needed to be placed. Moreover, rather than having to dig or force the poles into the frost-hardened earth, I simply phased the necessary portion of the ground and then slid the rod into it before making it solid again.
I thought about his question for a moment.
“Good job,” Mouse said, barely looking up.
“Thanks,” I replied. “How soon before I can whip out the T-shirt and shorts?”
“The immediate cessation of wind was expected,” Mouse explained. “The actual temperature change will be more gradual, but should be comfortable by the time of the party.”
That sounded good to me, and I was about to say as much when a deep baritone sounded from the direction of the mansion’s interior.
“How’s it going out here?”
I looked around to find Alpha Prime, dressed in a black thermal shirt and dark khakis, stepping out to join us.
At six-foot-seven, my father typically stood at least a head taller than anyone else around. On most occasions, however, he appeared even taller because – rather than walk – he usually just floated from one place to another. Thus, it still occasionally caught me by surprise whenever I saw him trudging along the ground like the rest of the mere mortals.
“I think we’re good,” BT asserted in answer to my father’s question. “This entire place should be nice and cozy – at least in terms of temperature – by the time guests start arriving.”
“I’ve also locked the controls,” Mouse added, “so no one will accidentally turn this place into a burning desert or a landlocked iceberg. Still, we prob
ably need to put this” – he pointed to the weather dominator – “somewhere safe.”
Alpha Prime nodded. “I’ve got a couple of places that should work. You can let me know which you think is best.”
“Any place will do, as long as there’s no general access.”
My father turned to me. “Jim, can you put that in Storage Room B?”
“No problem,” I said, then teleported with the weather dominator.
I popped up in a darkened, windowless antechamber, holding the weather dominator aloft telekinetically. After a moment, automatic lights came on, revealing my current environs to be a room about a hundred square feet in size. The place was practically bare except for a built-in desk in one corner, on which sat a computer, monitor, and keyboard. There were also four interconnected viewscreens – two on each side of the monitor. The only other feature to the room was what appeared to be the entrance to a narrow hallway.
I heard something click and immediately went still. My father’s mansion was equipped with automatic defenses, some of which could cause serious injury. Although he had obviously shut them down in other parts of the estate, it was possible he had left the security system active in my current location with the intention of making this area off-limits.
Of course, I wasn’t too worried; my biometrics had been fed into the system database so that my presence on the premises was always deemed authorized. (And even if that weren’t the case, with my particular powers I was unlikely to be in any real danger.) Nevertheless, I stood still, trying to avoid making any sudden moves while allowing whatever system might be scanning me to establish my bona fides.
Fortunately, the click I’d heard turned out to be nothing more than the computer turning on. As I watched, the viewscreens all came to life, with each showing various parts of my father’s mansion and estate. After a few seconds, each screen cycled to another image; a few moments later, the pattern would repeat.
Basically, I was in a panic room – one which my father had shown me when I first visited him here. His mansion actually had three such rooms, each of which had a secret entrance; the one I currently found myself in was located in a sub-basement and could only be entered through a hidden door in the main garage. (“Storage Room B” was, of course, a code phrase. A panic room loses its effectiveness if people know you have one.) Since my father and I were probably the only two people who knew about this place, the weather dominator – which I quickly and securely tucked under my arm – should be safe here.