by Drew Hayes
It was a shame, too; they were good kids. Under different circumstances a few of them might have even gone all the way, with the right guidance. Dean Blaine took a big gulp of his scotch at that thought. George and Persephone... they’d been teaching here for over ten years, longer than he’d even been at Lander. For them to have stolen away with students in the middle of the night... Dean Blaine didn’t think he would have truly believed it if he hadn’t been present to retrieve George’s unconscious body. When he was thoroughly secured, Dean Blaine intended to have a very long, very in-depth chat about exactly what the point of their little stunt had been.
For right now, though, their absence created a more pressing dilemma. Dean Blaine had only two and a half months to find adequate replacements for their roles. That included background checks, board approval, negotiations and training, a process that usually took at least a year to complete. Dean Blaine let out a sigh and drummed his fingers on the desk.
He was going to need more scotch.
156.
Nick slammed down the hatch on his car and looked up into the bright sky. It figured: the first time all year he genuinely needed sunglasses and they were lying in a broken heap at the bottom of the trash can. He’d have to pick up a pair of cheapos at the first gas station he passed. The drive from Lander to Vegas wasn’t a particularly long one, but it was sunny as a son-of-a-bitch.
Alice was nearly done loading her own car as well, Mary’s bags packed alongside hers as they struggled to fit Alice’s ever-expanding wardrobe into the limited space a trunk had to offer. Mary was thankful she’d managed to talk Alice out of bringing everything home. They were coming back in a few months, after all. Mary took a step back and popped her back after the labor of packing the bags down. A part of her was sad that she wouldn’t be going home for the summer, back to the peace and quiet of her woods. She was a pragmatic girl, though; she understood what her friends had risked by coming after her. To not take her safety seriously after such a gesture would be an insult to all of them, even if they didn’t take it that way.
Hershel was tossing his final parcel into the car while his mother spoke in hushed tones with Dean Blaine.
“Again, I’m sorry you had to drive all the way out to pick up Hershel,” Dean Blaine apologized. “We’re just short-staffed of teleporters at the moment.”
“It’s fine,” Mrs. Daniels assured him. “What about their caretakers? After what you’ve told me I’d like to have a little discussion with both of them, especially Mr. Transport.”
“I’m not clear on much about them at the moment,” Dean Blaine replied. “They’re currently being debriefed by the company they work for. I haven’t received any definitive word on if they’ll be replaced next year or not.”
“Please keep me in the loop,” Mrs. Daniels said as Hershel walked up to the two.
“All done,” Hershel said, patting the station wagon proudly.
“Such a strong young man,” Mrs. Daniels said. “Why don’t you go say goodbye to your girlfriend? We’ll be leaving as soon as I take care of something.”
Hershel took the hint and set off to give Mary an emphatic but publicly-appropriate farewell.
“Was there something else?” Dean Blaine asked uncertainly.
“Yes, but not from you,” Mrs. Daniels replied. “You’ve been wonderfully helpful. Thank you for coming out explain things in person.”
“Ma’am, it is quite literally the very least I can do,” Dean Blaine said.
Mrs. Daniels walked across the parking lot, eventually stepping off the concrete and onto the grassy area that surrounded it. Sitting beneath a tree making some adjustments to the straps on his backpack was a silver-haired boy, thoroughly absorbed in the task at hand.
“You’re Vince, if I remember correctly.”
Vince looked up and gave his friend’s mother a polite smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I wanted to let you know how much I appreciate you going after my son. All three of you. It must have been terrifying, and I’m so very amazed you all had the courage to do something like that.”
“It’s not a big deal. Hershel would have the same for any one of us. We’re friends.”
“You’re good friends to have. Still, handling someone as strong as George, you must be one amazing Super.”
“Only eighth in my class,” Vince told her.
“I’m sure that will change soon,” she assured him. “I have a question for you, though. As strong as you are, do you think you could beat me in a fight?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m asking you if you think you have it you to physically render me unconscious, should we engage in an altercation.”
Vince squirmed slightly, searching her face for a snicker or smile to show that she was joking. He found nothing.
“I suppose I probably could,” Vince answered at last. “But I’d really much rather never find out.”
“That is a shame, because the only way I’m letting the young man who helped save my son wander off on his own with no food or shelter is when I have been knocked stone cold out,” Mrs. Daniels informed him.
“I’m a little confused, ma’am.”
“You will be coming home with Hershel and me, where you will be subjected to proper meals and a roof over your head all summer long,” Mrs. Daniels explained. “Along with adequate safety should anyone else make an attempt on one of you.”
“Thank you very much, but I couldn’t impose,” Vince said.
“I feel I was quite clear about this already, young man. Either go put your bag in the car or put up your fists, because there are only two possible endings to this discussion.”
“I... yes, ma’am,” Vince said, looking deep into her eyes and realizing this woman was one hundred percent not fucking around. He headed over to the station wagon where Hershel was already waiting.
“She strong-armed you into coming home with us, didn’t she?”
“How’d you know?”
“I know my mom,” Hershel replied with a shrug. “If it makes you feel better, you never stood a chance.”
“Not particularly,” Vince said. “But I suppose there are worse things than spending a summer with a friend.”
“It’s not excitement, but I’ll take it,” Hershel said. He slapped Vince heartily on the back. “Try and enjoy yourself, man. Next year is going to be one hell of an uphill battle. Speaking of, there’s this group I hang out with back in Chicago, sort of a simulated attack strategy group. I think you’ll fit in really well with them.”
“Is this that LARPing thing you told me about?”
“Exactly. Now, let me ask, what mythical creature do you see yourself as? Because while your hair and cheekbones lend themselves to elf, I personally think you’ve got the fighting spirit of an orc.”
Vince tossed his bag in the bag of the car and then buckled himself in. It seemed that summer would, at the very least, not be boring.
Epilogue
For what it was, the warehouse was actually quite well-maintained. One often expected places such as this to be leaky and derelict; however, this particular enclosure was about as homey as it could be with concrete floors and walls. The lack of windows and the single entrance certainly didn’t add to the domestic appeal, though the sprawled out rugs and series of sofas did bring several degrees of comfort to the equation. It only went to show, good or evil, human or Super, at the end of the day, everyone needed a soft place to sit.
Persephone limped through the entrance and approached the center area where the others sat. She’d been in too much of a hurry to look for a healer, only pausing to make a quick call from a payphone so they knew the operation had failed. It had been a hellish several hours getting here, and she’d only made this good of time thanks to a car stolen outside a dusty gas station.
Persephone made it halfway across the room when she felt her body lift from the ground and be pulled to a red chair. She was set down gently in the soft leather surface, facing three
of her cohorts.
The oldest was the one who had relocated her, a powerful figure wearing a tattered and patched red coat that hung to his knees. To his right was a pale blonde woman as beautiful as she was silent, which is to say very. On his left was a young boy, barely over the age of ten, who looked at her with a gaze so furtively curious she couldn’t stand to be around him for more than a few minutes at a time.
“So the mission failed, and what’s more, George was taken,” the man said, his voice dark, deep, and calm as a mile below the ocean’s surface.
Persephone nodded. She didn’t need to bother with excuses. He was a seasoned warrior. He understood that sometimes things didn’t go as planned.
“That is unfortunate,” the man said, drawing out the word as if he was considering the appropriateness of its use. “Of all possibilities, it didn’t occur to me that our efforts would result in losing George.”
“Me either,” Persephone admitted.
“Still, you two drew enough attention for our other agent to complete his job, so on the whole we’ll have to consider this as a success,” the man added on. “And I’m glad you were able to make it back to us, Persephone. There is still so much work to do. Even more now that we’ve lost George.”
Persephone glanced at her feet, ashamed she hadn’t been able to help save George. The mission directives were clear, though: if they were compromised, she was to make escape the first priority. George could hide out in his robot form where he had no fear of telepaths. She would only have her discipline to rely on, discipline that could be broken by a professional with enough time. As her eyes stared at her worn and dirty shoes, she noticed something. The wound on her leg had closed, and the aches she’d been carrying since the wreck were no longer present. She turned her eyes upward and was greeted by a comforting smile from the man she’d once so greatly feared.
“You don’t need to worry, Persephone, I’m not mad at you. You did as you were instructed along every step of the way. And yes, while this operation certainly hit a snag, I find myself hard pressed to be too upset about it. After all, if he was able to help take down one as strong as George, then I can only conclude my son has flourished quite well in my absence. I’m a bit too topped off with pride to feel anything negative at the moment. So rest well; you’ve earned it.”
The man reached over and patted her on the knee. “I mean it. Enjoy this down time, because when next we move it will be a long while before we stop again.”
Persephone understood. She had an area that was hers to stay in within the warehouse, but she didn’t want to leave the comfort of his presence. Instead she lay down on the couch she was already sat upon and placed her head against the cushy arm in place of a pillow.
The future held terrible battles and nightmarish tasks, there was no question of that. For today, though, for just this moment, there was time to rest.
And now, a free sample chapter from another Drew Hayes novel:
1.
“Tucker! My office! Now!” Mr. Henderson didn’t even bother to make his already thunderous voice seem civil. Everyone within the distance of his shout, which is to say everyone within a forty cubicle range, could guess that whatever Clint Tucker was being called in for, it likely ended with a boot up his ass: likely a boot with a pink slip attached.
Mr. Henderson stood in the door of his office, his impressive bulk nearly blotting out the silver-haired gentleman behind him. Dr. Caruthers (he didn’t get a Ph.D. in economics to be called Mr. Caruthers thank-you-very-much) stood silently in the shadow of the larger man, content to represent himself physically rather than vocally. His physical representation was quite excellent at that: a tall, lean figure in a suit that cost more than the car any given person on this floor drove. His face was placid and if one didn’t know better, one would have thought him to have a look of kindness. Those who were more informed thought of it as the expression an alligator wears as it drifts through the swamp. It was an expression that conveyed a willingness to wait, but only until there was prey within striking distance.
“Tucker!” Mr. Henderson’s voice roared through the office once more.
Slowly, as if he were savoring every moment he still had in the fluorescent environment, Clint Tucker rose from his cube and began plodding toward the office. He was slightly taller than most of the employees, with a shock of light brown hair and muddy chocolate eyes. The suit he wore was off the rack, the kind of garment Dr. Caruthers would buy for his butler, only to give himself something to chuckle about. Clint was a curious fellow; he always ambled where others rushed and never seemed to sweat the frequent rumors of layoffs swirling about the office.
“You wanted me, Boss?” Clint asked evenly as he stared at the purple vein bulging in the front of Mr. Henderson’s bald head. It swelled and pulsed whenever Mr. Henderson was angry. Once upon a time he’d covered it up with hats and toupees, but over the years Mr. Henderson had come to embrace his vein for the motivational tool it was.
“We need to have a little chat.” Mr. Henderson pronounced ‘chat’ the way mean-spirited judges pronounced maximum sentences.
“Cool.” Clint slid past the larger man and took the nearest unoccupied seat in the contemporary office. There was a large oak desk, motivational posters decorating the walls, and it was filled with natural light from a window with a gorgeous view of the city. Mr. Henderson had fought, back-stabbed, and kissed all manner of ass to procure this office. Publicly he’d say his children were his pride and joy. After a few scotches, though, he could be pressed to admit it was this office.
Mr. Henderson shut the door firmly and took his time working around the desk to his high-backed leather chair. He sat with a considerable thump and looked at the young man across from him. Silence hung in the air as the two older men stared down the youthful face in front of them. Clint was barely twenty-four, hardly more than a baby as far as these two business veterans were concerned. He had his whole life ahead of him, or would have if circumstances were different.
“Clint,” Mr. Henderson began softly, switching up his vocal tactics to keep the boy on his toes. “We’re here to talk about Project Jefferson.”
Clint nodded solemnly. He’d been under no illusions that this could be about anything different.
“As you know, the program was supposed to create a centralized system into which people could feed all of their e-mail addresses and then access them from a single point. Now, when you gave us the go ahead to begin beta-testing, we discovered an unfortunate side effect of the system. Would you care to venture what that is?”
“It deletes all of their e-mail?”
“It deletes all of their e-mail!” Mr. Henderson shouted, slamming his fist of the desk before realizing that Clint had actually replied. “Wait… you knew?”
“It seemed like it was a possibility when I looked at the code. But the people at the top wanted us to hit their deadline so I rolled the dice.” Clint nodded unapologetically toward Dr. Caruthers. The doctor was head of the Engineering and Development department despite his utter lack of knowledge in anything technical beyond checking stocks on his phone. “When people who are clueless are made into leaders, there are bound to be mistakes.”
Dr. Caruthers felt his eyebrows go up in surprise. Who in the hell did this whelp think he was?
“Now see here, young man, I happen to have a doctorate in economics from a very prestigious university-”
“Tell me the difference between Python and Perl. Tell me how long it takes an average programmer to write one hundred lines of code. Tell me what a reasonable deadline for developing software like this is. I know you can’t do the last one, you already fucked that up, didn’t you?” There was no anger in Clint’s voice, no fire being verbally released. He talked calmly, as though he were stating obvious facts like, “The sun is hot” or “Coffee wakes you up.”
Dr. Caruthers’ mouth opened and closed several times, his mind trying to wrap itself around the insolence that had just been thrust at him.
He was accustomed to being on the offense; the idea of one of his grunts speaking to him in such a way confounded his strategies so much that he found himself trapped in a moment of inaction.
Fortunately, Mr. Henderson suffered no such dilemma.
“I will hear no more of this!” Mr. Henderson roared, rising from his desk like the licking fires of hell. “Dr. Caruthers is an outstanding leader who has always valued the opinions of his employees. If you had problems with the deadline, it’s your own fault for not coming to me or him with them. The one who made the mistake was you, and we’re throwing you on your ass for it. I want you out of my goddamned office in the next five minutes or I’ll break out the pepper spray we keep for dealing with protestors!”
“Whatever you say,” Clint replied with a shrug. He headed out of the office and paused at his desk only long enough to pick up a pen he’d brought from home. Clint didn’t keep any personal items at his desk; it would be a silly practice given his line of work. There were a few consolatory nods from co-workers: had he been around longer they would have stopped him and found a place to meet up to throw a good-bye party. He hadn’t been around that long, though. He never was.
