Corrupts Absolutely?

by Peter Clines

  “It’s your design that won’t work when you’re not around.” He glanced at her then back at the papers, the few lines on his face hard as granite. “One might think you’re trying to find a way to secure yourself on this project. Especially after I’ve dropped Miskal, Kerrigan, and Hendricks.”

  “They were dead weight, and Miskal was smoking pot in storage. We spent more time fixing their screw-ups, so no, I’m not trying to secure my way on this project. I know I’m better than anyone on this team, and so do you.”

  Now, he looked up. His eyes were coffee brown, like teddy-bear eyes if they weren’t so damned cold, a sharp contrast to the fine, blond hair gelled perfectly atop his head and neatly groomed over his upper lip. Victoria refused to look away.

  The desk phone vibrated Krissy’s signature ring. Broderick clenched his jaw. When the phone buzzed again, he gave an almost-inhuman snarl.

  “The torso attachments for the arms and legs better be perfect when I try it on tomorrow.” He snatched the phone. “What is it?”

  Not bothering to hide her smile—she’d take her victories where she could get them—Victoria exited Broderick’s office. As she passed Krissy, she heard, “I’m sorry, Mr. Broderick, really. He said he was an attorney, and he swore it was important, and now the line’s dead.”

  Victoria caught her eye and the slightest of winks.

  She’d get those damned couplings to work when she got back from her appointment.

  #

  It was nearly ten o’clock at night when Victoria admitted the damned couplings would not be perfect in the morning. Everyone else, even Broderick, had left for the night. It took twenty minutes of a frustrated pace, fighting tears, before a fix came to her. The fix would cost more, but it would work. And it was a reasonable issue—well, reasonable to humans with souls, something she was unsure applied to Broderick—so work could continue on the project without much of a blip. She just needed a certain material… She had better write a proper proposal while she was thinking of it.

  Her cell buzzed on her desk. It was Bill. “R U ok?” She puzzled at the message before noticing the time.

  Shit. Joder. Goddamnit! Hijo de Dios!

  “Yes. Sorry. Leaving in 15.”

  She finished the proposal in exactly fifteen minutes and promised herself she would go in early to double check it.

  #

  Victoria did not go in early to double check her proposal. Mike woke up with a fever of 102, and Petey’s ears hurt. They wanted Mommy.

  She appreciated Bill’s silence. He was holding back; she knew he wanted to say if she had been back last night, this wouldn’t be a surprise for her. Then again, he’d walked in on her sobbing on the downstairs toilet.

  “I’ll call your sister. She can drive us to the ER.” His voice was a mix of emotions she couldn’t pick apart as he closed the door.

  Broderick was going to fire her. No, worse, he was going to use whatever he knew about the fudged and “misplaced” forms around her prosthetic arm and sue the shit out of her because there was no way her family could afford any lawyer to go up against him. He’d own her.

  She heard her sister’s car arrive and leave the driveway with Bill and the boys. When she could no longer hear it, she lifted her head and let out a howl that ended in a stream of curses in three different languages that would be the pride or shame of anyone.

  The goddamned mech suit wasn’t going to work. It would never work. Like her arm, it only responded to her, to her talents, to her…power or whatever the hell it was. Victoria had pondered many times on the ability that had manifested in her teens. Her sister, Vivian, had her own gifts too…charming people, getting them to do things. Victoria could use that right now. Charm Broderick into…well, into not being a dick.

  Still on the toilet, trousers and underwear around her ankles, Victoria blew her nose into sheets of toilet paper until she could finally breathe. Vivian had once said that she didn’t use her power nearly as much as one would think; the trick was knowing what someone wanted and showing them how helping you got them there.

  Broderick had handpicked their whole engineering team, signed them all to secrecy, placed them above every other employee at BWE in pay grade and attention—gave them offices in his personal building. She knew this. She also knew that everyone let go still got a ridiculous layoff payment. Every piece of this project had been funded from Mason Broderick’s personal accounts, not the business accounts.

  Hell, it was a super robot suit. Of course the man wanted it more than anything.

  And she was the only one who could make it work.

  Taking a deep breath, Victoria cleaned herself up, reapplied make-up, and drove into work.

  #

  “So you decided to come in for testing after all?”

  The men around Mason Broderick turned angry eyes on Victoria. Galliston, next in line for Chief Mechanical Engineer, harrumphed and turned back to the suit, trying to shove the right arm into the socket.

  “It’s not going to work with brute force. Or did we forget we’re all Homo sapiens and can actually think?” Her voice was cool, and she stood straight as if she were taller than every single one of them.

  “Then why don’t you demonstrate how you fixed the coupling problem last night? Or do I need to look deeper into your work with Medical Endeavors to see if I missed anything?” Broderick looked from her eyes to her arm, threat clear.

  So this is it.

  Victoria strode over to her boss. Eyes wide, as if looking at an oncoming tiger, Galliston moved from her path. She placed her hands on the arms of the suit then slid them onto the shoulders. It took a millisecond for her to coax the joints to attach to the torso. With her determination, she felt her power extending past what she touched. Even as she moved her hands from the suit, she could manipulate the energy.

  This close, she could see the pulse jumping in his neck. Its pattern didn’t match what she was picking up from the suit’s readings. She frowned. The slight interference she’d picked up when he wore just the arm and leg armor felt stronger, more enhanced. It didn’t make sense. The circuit was complete. Victoria knew every tiny part of this suit. There shouldn’t be any signal she didn’t recognize.

  He was masking ragged breathing. She smelled cold sweat.

  “Mr. Broderick…” Something was definitely wrong.

  He stepped away from her. Surprise momentarily dissipated the fury and pain as he moved effortlessly.

  “Now, show us all how you made this work,” he said. “It needs to be replicated. I don’t want to need you every time I want to use this suit.”

  Victoria lifted her chin in defiance. “No.”

  “What?”

  “I have worked my ass off more than any. One. Else. On this team, including you, and you don’t want to need me?”

  He narrowed his eyes, but she noticed the day-bright overhead LEDs reflecting a sheen of sweat down his cheeks and neck.

  “Have one of them get you out of that contraption.” Victoria gestured dismissively at the suit. “And then tell me you don’t want to need me. In the meantime, I have a proposal to rewrite so we can fix some of the problems the team will eventually find if they can work half as hard as I do.” She turned on her heel, strode out of the testing area, and took the stairs back up to the offices.

  Krissy was frowning on the phone, obviously on an intense personal call. Using the distraction to her advantage, Victoria walked past her own office, where her proposal lay in the middle of the desk.

  She needed to know exactly what Mason Broderick had on her. How much was he bluffing, and how much of a case could he take against her and her arm?

  With said arm, it didn’t take much effort to break his lock.

  She glanced around the sparse office. It was almost clinical, it was so clean. Five different sets of black file cabinets, unmarred by the least dust mote, shone in sunlight streaming through the wall of windows. Pursing her lips, she re
garded his desk where a sloppy pile of mail, likely left by Krissy, rebelled against the pristine order.

  One envelope was placed atop the others, and Victoria recognized the medical company’s logo immediately.

  They only made and patented one specific item: high-end pacemakers.

  “The dude really is like Tony Stark.” This certainly explained the unexpected feedback she’d sensed.

  This changed everything.

  Inhumanly heavy footfalls thundered from the stairs.

  “Mason?!” she heard Krissy scream.

  As she’d designed it, the suit moved faster than humanly possible. Broderick shoved the door open so hard it cracked against the wall, bouncing to slam shut behind him. Thoroughly drenched in sweat, face twisted in pain, he approached.

  She ought to be terrified at the armored human before her. Even without weapons, the strength in the limbs alone could crush every bone in her body.

  Victoria folded her arms and smiled.

  “Get. This. Goddamned. Thing. Offa-me!” His voice betrayed the pain.

  “You’re experiencing myocardial infarction,” she stated. “Brilliant as you are otherwise, you’re an idiot. Did you think this huge magnetic machine set to your vitals wouldn’t mess with your pacemaker?”

  “I had…it…specially…made. It wasn’t… Just. Take. This. Off!” His metal hand clutched his metal chest.

  “See, I take it off, your heart stops. You don’t want that, do you?” There was more than a twinge of guilt as she saw his suffering. But still. Things could not go back to how they were. She would not lose this contract. And she could not risk him destroying her family with his lawyers.

  “You can. Restart it.”

  “Here’s where I choose whether to play innocent and not know what you’re talking about, or I can just cut to the chase because I was sick of these games when you started playing them.” She paused for effect. “Yeah, I can restart it. And I can stop it again. And I can fix it so your mechanical ticker plays nice with your mechanical armor for the rest of your life.”

  “What. Do you. Want?”

  “Glad you’re with me on the done playing games part.” She walked up to him and pressed her left hand to the armor chest. “I want…this arm.” Victoria held up her right arm. “Mine. Period. No strings attached. And I want this contract.” She tapped her forefinger on his chest. “Also mine, all mine. I’ll even be nice and ask for the salary of only half the team combined. Saves you money for the improvements I can make on this.” She tapped his metal suit again. “I can make this thing work, and I can keep it running, and I can keep your ticker issues secret…because that’s the only reason I can see you being stupid enough not to let us know about it.

  “Last, and not least, starting right now, my family comes first, and don’t you ever forget that. You take care of them and let me enjoy my life with them; I’ll return the favor. Go save the world, rule the world, I really don’t care, but me and mine get taken care of. Am I clear?”

  He paused. She wasn’t sure if it was for effect, to maintain whatever dignity he felt he had left, or if it was the pain overcoming him. Finally, he nodded. “Clear. Deal.”

  “Good.” Victoria pressed the flat of her left hand to his chest. With the help of her robotic hand, she eased him to the ground as the suit clanked to the floor around him, no longer holding him up. He curled up as the rest of the armor released. She pressed her left hand to his chest, searching for the sub dermal bump of the pacemaker. He convulsed once, but she held him steady, sending the signal of her own pulse to reset the charges into his heart.

  As soon as she felt it regulate, she stepped away from him. It did not escape her notice that she still felt the energy, like a slight buzz in the palm of her hand. One more step back made it weaken but not fade entirely.

  He lay on the floor for several minutes, just breathing. As he sat up, he looked at her. The curiosity in his eyes tempered his threat. “I could have you arrested.”

  “You’re not going to though.”

  He regarded her a few more minutes. Half-naked, covered in sweat, shorter and younger than Victoria, he didn’t lose his imposing air. She didn’t flinch.

  “One addendum.”

  “Mmn?”

  “You don’t care if I’m saving the world or ruling it so long as your family is okay. Fine, then don’t ask. No questions about where I’m going, what I’m doing, who I’m with. Nothing. No prying, peeking…or the deal’s off. Am I clear?”

  Victoria took her time considering. It didn’t require the time, but she was getting the hang of the power of the pause. “Clear. And agreed.”

  “Good. Then, before you leave at five, I want a draft of the contract delivered to me personally along with your proposal for improvements based on today’s test.”

  “I’ll have both done by four, at which time I’m taking a whole hour of the accumulated PTO from the past four months and going home.”

  “Past hours do not get figured into your new paid time off schedule.”

  Victoria tensed her mouth. She wasn’t budging. Not this far into things.

  “You can leave any time today once both the contract and proposal are in my hands. We start counting accumulated PTO tomorrow, when you’ll still arrive at promptly 9:00 am.”

  She considered. It was a compromise but one she felt comfortable making. “All right. I will see you when I deliver the contract and the proposal and again at 9:00 am.”

  At his nod, she turned to leave then paused. The connection to his pacemaker, she could identify it now, barely tingled her palm. Turning once more, she smiled. “Also, so you don’t think your lawyers can work me over later…” She closed the fist of her flesh hand and watched him clutch his chest. “From anywhere. Good day, Mr. Broderick.” Opening her hand, she turned to go, leaving him sitting amid a mess of robot armor parts. He didn’t have to know that she was just discovering her range.

  Tonight, she would cook Bill dinner and make him tea, definitely tuck in her boys. And maybe break out her dad’s old comic collection.

  Acquainted with the Night

  Cat Rambo

  Rain sleets down like multicolored, metal needles to splatter against the chill, neon-lit street’s surface. The light gutters across the wet surface of his black, plastic rain poncho, picking out abstract tattoos.

  Somewhere in the night, he knows there is darkness brewing.

  The mask fits loosely on his face under the rain poncho’s shroud. Some people look at him as they go past in the rain, but their eyes skitter away, seeing him faceless in the dark.

  At one point, the mask was crimson, and golden wind vortexes, bright as daylight, rode his face on either side, framing his power, his strength.

  Far away, he hears a shout. He pauses to listen, but it does not come again, and he is not sure of the direction. Cars hiss past in a spray of sparkling, heavy, wet mist and touch the surface of his jacket with beaded jewels.

  He tugs at his dark gray face covering, pulling it into place. Rain has seeped in through the eyeholes and walks along his face like the memory of tears.

  Is he crying, or is it the rain? The question seems overwrought, and he feels himself slipping into one of those dark, cinematic moods where he sees everything from the outside. It’s starting again, the loop of film that is his life.

  #

  Part 1: The Origin

  He was an ordinary boy in an extraordinary place, he tells himself. Working in Miracle Labs, he was a go-fer, fetching coffee and sandwiches for the scientists in their bright white lab coats. Everyone was so pleasant, so marvelously cheerful! He whistled on his way to work every morning.

  As time passed though, he became aware of undercurrents. Doctor Octo hated Doctor Sept, and they both vied for the attention of receptionist Wye, who was worth vying for, he admitted to himself, but he knew that he—pimple-faced and adolescent gangly—wouldn’t have a chance with her. Most of the scientific i
n-fighting, though, had to do with who published what where. Most of them worked hard at publishing and conducted their research with scrupulous but eager abandon.

  It was easy for someone like himself to pick up some extra cash acting as a guinea pig. It paid well, and his mother’s birthday was coming up. Sept was working on a military project—augmented strength, while Octo was working on a similar project—increased speed.

  Tuesdays and Thursdays, he sat in Sept’s lab squeezing grip-meters, while on Mondays and Wednesdays, he used a mouse to click colored shapes on a computer screen. He swore to both of them that no one else was interfering with his physical structure, and they both were horrified but intrigued when their experiments collided, geometrically increasing both strength and speed as though cross-multiplying.

  Military types swarmed the labs, smoking jovial cigars while the scientists ran him through test after test with suppressed jubilation, which faded into pretense as every other test subject underwent both treatments to find themselves no stronger or faster than before.

  He was their golden boy at first, and even Wye unbent in his direction, admitting she wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee, which led to one thing, then another, then him offering in-home demos of what it was like to bang a genuine superhuman. But more test subjects came and went in failed succession. The doctors became less fond of him as the military soured.

  He lost his job at the laboratory although no one ever really gave him a straight answer as to why.

  So he became a superhero, which seemed like a viable option at the time.

  #

  Part 2: The Career

  He got an agent who he’d seen on early morning TV, representative to a group known as the Weather Team. He took the name Captain Hurricane, super speed and strength qualifying him, he figured.

  It was never clear how many superheroes Alan Mix had in his stable. Although his Variety piece when Captain Hurricane joined him said seven, two of those, Ebon Lightning and el Invierno, were sometimes there, sometimes not due to other gigs with the world of superhero wrestling.