Brass Man was there, looking so sure of himself in spite of how much younger he was than everyone else. I tried to take it all in, quickly feeling dizzy from the effort. Brass Man was Rodney’s favorite Cape. I remember thinking that my little brother was going to be so happy to finally see him in person but then my eyes became the heaviest things on the planet.
“Don’t fall asleep,” the man in the suit said. I didn’t want to listen to him, though. Everything was difficult, like I was moving through cement. It took most of my strength just to keep my eyes open, the pain not quite as strong as before. I knew I was supposed to be focused on something else, but sleeping became an absolutely singular thought.
Listen to what he says, Little One.
Thank you for saving me.
Of course. Now that we hear you, we know you are like us.
Talking to the voices took my concentration away from keeping my eyes open, and the man in the suit called out to me, his voice crackling like when the connection was bad with the people my father had talked to over his computer. I looked up at him and wondered if he was a computer. Of course, I know now he was a Field Agent of The Control, so he was stuck somewhere in between machine and man. He was Agent Lochlan, the android.
The Agent and the paramedic started asking me the same questions over and over. They sat me straight up and I gave them my address, my name, and phone number, and told them my father’s name and my brother’s name. They made me repeat my name and my father’s name the first time they asked. I couldn’t figure out why it was such a big deal that my name was Ivy Roupell and my father was Gerald Roupell, but the questions took my mind off of everything and made it easier to stay awake. I was suddenly very aware in the back of the ambulance that my brother was nowhere to be found. I wanted to ask where he was, but it didn’t seem like it was my turn to ask questions yet.
Before long, the paramedic handed the Agent a blanket to throw around me, and the suited android leaned down to my level then removed his dark glasses to show his bionic eyes underneath. They were soft and human, in spite of the mechanical circles I could see spinning inside of them.
“Do you know who those men were?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Was your daddy home when they took you?”
I nodded.
“Do you know where your daddy is now?”
I shook my head again.
“Was there anyone else in the house with you?”
I paused, trying to nod again. Instead, I started to cry.
“Hey, it’s alright now. You’re safe.” The Agent pulled me in close, lifting me from the ground and letting my head fall into the crook of his neck. He must have known I wouldn’t care that he was a stranger.
I was relieved with the questions he was asking, that he wanted to know about my family. But the roundabout way he’d asked about Rodney made me clam up with guilt. I wished more than anything that someone would just tell me where my little brother was–that someone would tell me I hadn’t failed as a big sister.
My eyes shut as I tried to find the words to answer his previous question. Before I could, the Agent asked me something else. “Ivy, what happened to the men who took you? How did they get like that?”
I paused again, finding the words immediately, but thinking they’d never be believed.
It’s okay. You can tell him it was us.
So I told him, “The voices saved me.”
CHAPTER 1—LOCHLAN, NEARLY TEN YEARS LATER
Ten years or so after he pulled me from the van, Lochlan managed to achieve what few others come close to: He was living the dream.
His dream, anyway.
The mostly human man had upgraded so many parts of his body over the decade that, like many of the other Agents at GH9 status, he required regular servicing more than he worried about taking antibiotics. Upgrades weren’t all that he’d dreamed of, though.
GH9 status was hard-won in The Control. As a member of the third branch of the World Government, alongside the Global Heroes Society-known more commonly as the GHS-and the Government branch, Lochlan had done everything perfectly since his time as a GH1. His primary function then had been to retrieve people like me from the field when our Ch05En genes activated. Lochlan alone had successfully stifled at least three of the biggest potential Freelancers ever and ensured that they became the famous Capes people had come to know them as.
That has always been the primary goal of The Control–to ensure that people with powers become the protectors the world needs them to be, training with the GHS to become Capes. Lochlan had worked at field offices all over the country, shaking hands and making connections by day and showing up to recruit people by night. GH13, the first ranking considered top-level and supervisory at The Control, was only a few years away. Lochlan was practically wearing blinders as a result, eyeing his future with robotic tunnel vision.
Unofficially, there was The Game to play, and everyone in The Control knew it. Some people, those who could be content with reaching a level below the top, played until they were comfortable. But Lochlan was playing to win. He had set his trajectory for Richter, a man with a backstory not unlike Lochlan’s. Sometimes, in the deepest parts of his thoughts–the ones that Lochlan knew no one else could have access to–Lochlan imagined he was Richter 2.0.
On that July day that began the chain of events which led Lochlan and I to meet again, the afternoon was filled with a heat and stench that made it hard to breathe. On his way to work, Lochlan was riding in an agency bus that was a much older model than he’d been used to at other field offices. There were no seatbelts, no armrests to divide the spaces, and most importantly, no personal air conditioning vents. Lochlan had considered opening a window to let the breeze blow across his skin, but opted to switch on his internal cooling system instead. The odor accompanying the heat made him wish he’d reconsidered keeping his ability to smell. Unfortunately, others on the bus had their windows open, apparently unfazed by the multi-layered odor which to Lochlan seemed like burnt hair and melon on the way into his nose, and urine mixed with seawater and decay on the way out. Beads of sweat began to form on the back of Lochlan’s neck in spite of the efforts of his cooling system, but he paid them little attention.
Lochlan was focusing on playing The Game, and he had caught word the previous evening that someone very valuable would be riding the same bus as him that morning. His seat had been chosen strategically, and he was waiting for the man to step on. Thus far, the bus had been to ten different stops and was about to get off of the highway for the final five before heading to the field office.
More sweat began to accumulate on Lochlan’s body, the heat intensifying as the bus slowed down. Lochlan wiped the fluid from his forehead with the bottom of his inner shirt sleeve, careful to keep his composed look for his impending greeting and morning’s political play. For good measure, he blotted up the sweat on the rest of his head and neck as well. He was careful to maneuver his fingers around the module behind his ear, which controlled his mood and tone of voice, as the skin was thin and agitated from a recent tinkering. Officially, Agents were only supposed to have their upgrades modified at recognized Governmental Service Centers. But Lochlan had always liked to tinker, holding onto one of the remaining vices from his youth.
Lochlan looked around as the bus came to a stop, carefully eyeing the individuals who had already taken many of the seats at the front and the back. Most were nameless in his memory, and he would be keeping all but one of them that way. At the back sat a man named Pin, who had joined The Control around the same time as Lochlan and had managed to move up at the same speed as him. Pin’s rate of ascension was, in Lochlan’s opinion, in spite of the amount of work the man actually accomplished. Pin was, to put it plainly, an exceptionally low producer. Lochlan often looked at Pin in his downtime, of which there was not much, and wondered what the man’s secret was. By Lochlan’s own estimation, nobody was playing The Game better than himself, and there were hundreds of m
oves that Pin had missed over the years. Some were small, but others had been absolutely pivotal in ensuring that Lochlan advanced as quickly as he had.
Lochlan made those moves without error, as was his plan.
But Pin never came close to executing any of the same maneuvers.
And yet, Pin had been keeping pace. Lochlan felt his mood module begin to tingle as he looked at the man who sat, seemingly content, staring out the window, wind ruffling his hair as it blew every which way. Like Lochlan, Pin still had his sense of smell. Remembering that simple fact made Lochlan’s mood module grow nearly as hot as the air around him, practically burning his skin as it worked harder and harder to regulate his feelings. Pin could smell every last disgusting nuance of the outside air as it hit him full in the face. Lochlan’s secret rival was practically gulping a liter of the air at a time.
And the man just continued to stare out the window.
But then, Lochlan had long ago given up wondering whether or not Pin had any decency.
Lochlan turned himself around, taking the deep breath required to allow his cooling system to work a little harder. The bus had arrived at its next stop, which he knew would bring him the political play he sought. Lochlan had sat in the seat he knew had the highest statistical probability of ensuring he was directly across from Khard, the GH11 who was at that moment stepping onto the bus. Khard looked much older in person than Lochlan had imagined when using his implanted aging software after having looked at photographs of the Senior Agent. Even though most of the man’s lower half was made of metal, Khard walked with a bit of limp. Just as Lochlan predicted, the older gentleman sat in the seat directly across from him, his salt-and-pepper hair ruffling as the bus began to move, prompting Khard to make a face and close the window.
Lochlan looked at the man who was his morning’s goal and touched a spot behind his left elbow, depressing the trigger to an enhancement of Lochlan’s own design. It was complementary to the mood module installed behind his ear, and helped to steady his voice perfectly to contain his excitement. After all, The Game was meant to be played in secret, and talking with Khard would be an obvious political play if he seemed too eager. Khard was more than just a GH11. He was also a Senior Cape of worldwide renown who had made the jump to The Control in his retirement, a move few other Capes had the necessary nepotism in their background to be able to accomplish. Of all the people in Lochlan’s field office, Khard was far and away worth the most points.
The Senior Agent was more than just a man with important family or previous status as a high-ranking Cape. Khard’s Ch05En gene was active, making him a Chosen, unlike Lochlan. People with an active Ch05En gene are destined for greatness–a claim Khard was on his way to living up to twice over. Khard’s rank at GH11 normally took a minimum of twenty-five years to reach, but the man had done it in six. Lochlan turned his head to look at the brown-skinned man across from him and mentally practiced his greeting one final time. Just before he moved to speak, he noted the myriad of shallow scars that marred Khard’s cheeks and neck. Lochlan wondered fleetingly why the man had kept the old wounds, knowing that when The Control had installed Khard’s mood module, they could have easily removed the scar tissue. Lochlan had had the procedure done three times already, wiping away wounds he’d managed to obtain on a few recruitment missions that had gone the worst way possible. Lochlan estimated that, even with the backing of his family ties, Khard would have a hard time moving much higher than GH12 with such an abundance of scars on his face.
“Good morning,” Lochlan said. Lochlan’s delivery had been flawless, his opening move executed perfectly, leaving him waiting for Khard’s response as they began their first match of The Game together.
Khard turned in his seat to look at Lochlan, pausing with a cocked eyebrow-pretending to be hard of hearing, perhaps-before offering a smile. “Good morning.”
Lochlan reached his hand across the aisle to make his next move, going for what would be a natural, firm handshake. “Agent Lochlan, sir.” The mid-level Agent waited for Khard to shake his hand, but the former Senior Cape made no move at all.
After a pause, Lochlan audibled mid-play and moved to press on. His was going to be using an easy opener–something he knew would earn him quick points. “Have you had a chance to read the briefing for the week? Looks as though the heat is here to stay for a while.” Lochlan pretended to naturally break his gaze from Khard, looking out the window beyond the older Agent, and finished with, “I don’t mind the heat, but the smell is nearly corrosive.” Lochlan wore a face then that looked as indifferent as possible, as if he had absolutely no solution to the problem at hand. Truthfully, he didn’t. No one could fix the heat, or the smell it brought. But the face Lochlan made, when coupled with the easy-opener, was meant to subtly ask Khard for help, a solid opening maneuver when trying to score points with a Senior Agent.
Khard looked unimpressed, and continued to say nothing. The older man sat looking at Lochlan for long enough that Lochlan began to feel his mood module tingling as his nerves became unsteady. After a moment, the processes inside the tiny electrical unit rose in temperature enough again to nearly burn Lochlan’s skin, and he held back a wince. Khard seemed to notice, and gave the barest hints of a smile.
“Yes, well–never mind, then.” Lochlan finished, already thinking of another time that might be available to make a second move. “I didn’t mean to-”
“Ha!” Khard nearly shouted as Lochlan was turning away. The younger Agent turned back with his own eyebrow cocked, unsure of what was happening. “I bet that really got your mood module going, eh?” Khard asked. “I know mine burns like hell when I get too nervous. Think I can smell your hair getting singed. Could be the window behind me is still cracked open, though.” Khard chuckled at his own joke.
Lochlan fought his facial muscles with all the force he could muster. He refused to allow himself to look as confused he felt, his mood module doing little to help in that moment.
“Ah, don’t be such a stiff,” Khard continued. “That was a good opener, you know. Worth quite a few points, as I counted along. Low-risk, relevant, and you even worked in a line on the fly after perceiving that I still had my sense of smell. All very good, young man. But your soft greeting was no match for my stern silence counter move.” Khard chuckled again, apparently a bigger fan of his own jokes than Lochlan could have known.
Lochlan’s face continued to fight against his will, his eyebrows seeming to weigh a thousand pounds or more as he held them from crinkling. He lost his composure for less than a second, and clenched his teeth when he realized Khard had noticed. If Lochlan didn’t handle his next move perfectly, he might walk away losing points in The Game, rather than gaining any as he’d intended. Lochlan took a breath to steady himself, his eyebrows thankfully shedding some of their immense weight, and prepared to reply. Instead, Khard spoke again.
“Too many years of being the first authority figure to greet fresh recruits has left me with a love for riling up others, you understand. But I was serious, and I believe I know where you were going. Let’s see if you can’t walk away with some points, or whatever you people in this backwards branch of the World Government call them in this game you don’t play. Hurry it up if you can, we’re almost to the office.”
Lochlan took a quick look around at the rest of the bus to check that he wasn’t being set up. Khard’s reaction up to that point had been so far outside of what he’d experienced from anyone in The Control that it wouldn’t have been hard for him to believe he was being targeted by someone. That was a very constant fear for Agents like Lochlan who wished to advance rapidly.
Lochlan needed to go for his closing move if he wanted to walk away with any points before the workday started. While unsure, he pressed on, “The briefing said the heat was brought on by that Freelancer in Chicago and his sentient weather machine. I guess before the team out there blew it up, it managed to make one last change to the weather patterns. Still a little lost on how it managed that
…” Lochlan trailed off, appearing to be thinking about the topic at hand, a move obviously designed to garner help from Khard on the logic.
Khard smiled, understanding the design of the play, and replied, “Actually, I used to be on a team with a pair of twins who could control the weather. The process is really quite simple to understand, though requires a bit of a lengthy explanation.”
“Really? I would love to know more. Perhaps you would allow me to accompany you for lunch this afternoon so we could discuss it in detail?”
Khard sat back in his seat on the bus, still wearing his smile like his face was unable to appear any other way. “Very good, young man. I can see why you’ve done so well thus far. Anyway, sure. Let’s have lunch today. I think that would be a good idea for the both of us. Bring an extra pudding paste for me, will you? I’m having my tongue removed soon and just love the strawberry flavor.”
Lochlan returned the smile, “Absolutely, sir. It would be my pleasure.” Lochlan started to ask Khard what time they should meet, whether at the normal lunch hour or at some later time, but Khard got up as the bus came to a stop.
“Looks like it’s time to go,” Khard said. “It was very nice chatting with you. See you this afternoon.”
“Yes, you too, sir, see you soon,” Lochlan replied, loud enough to ensure others could hear. A few of the women at the back of the bus took notice, solidifying that Lochlan had officially earned points in the exchange–and quite a few at that. With the witnesses, if anyone were to try and call him out when he recounted the story, he could easily name the people who had seen his successful banter happen. This was a big part of The Game and the only way to properly score points. No one lied about witnesses–it was too easy to reveal.
Lochlan checked his appearance in his reflection in the window before standing. He’d sweat more than he would have liked, but wouldn’t need to change his shirt, his cooling system already catching up after the bus had parked itself in a garage. His sweat was gone from everywhere except his collar, where it had soaked into the fabric. Lochlan made a mental note, setting a reminder for his service next month to inquire about having the aloe vera additive installed into the sweat glands below his neck. He’d read that with the newest upgrade, the sweat didn’t congeal as much, and moisturized the skin as it was meant to. With the modification he’d added to his elbow, it seemed like a good idea to keep it from chapping. There were barbecues every weekend during the natural summer months at the field office, so anything that kept his skin looking well-managed was worth the effort. You couldn’t afford to miss company events if you wanted to advance.
Ivy Page 2
