Chapter Twelve
“You are not here merely to make a living. You are here in order to enable the world to live more amply, with greater vision, with a finer spirit of hope and achievement. You are here to enrich the world, and you impoverish yourself if you forget the errand.”
-Woodrow T. Wilson, 28th President of the United States
January, 2004
Denver, Colorado
Just Cause Headquarters
“Do you feel any pain?” The doctor worked Sally’s head to one side and the other with gentle motions.
“No.” The truth was that her whole body felt like a truck had hit her. At least a more generalized body ache had replaced the acute head pain, but she didn’t want the doctor to know that. She tended to heal from injuries at a rapid rate thanks to her parahuman abilities, so if she was still exhibiting symptoms, she must have really gotten her bell rung.
“Hmmm,” said the doctor the way doctors do when they know someone is lying to them. He took a penlight and shined it into her eyes.
Two days spent anywhere with little to no activity for a speedster ought to count as cruel and unusual punishment in most jurisdictions. At least Jason had spent most of the first day with her. They played Uno and he brought in his iPod so she could hear some tracks from his band’s CD. The next day he had monitor duty and couldn’t come see her. Juice and Sondra had stopped in to check on her. The wait for medical clearance was stretching out into hours of interminable boredom. Channel-surfing was bad enough when she had the attention span of a goldfish, but when it was all she was permitted to do, it nearly drove her crazy.
“Well,” said the doctor at last, “I’m going to release you. But . . .” He held up a warning finger and glared at her over his bifocals. “Light duty for a week. No training sessions or deployment before I check you over again next week. And keep the super-sprinting to a minimum. Concussions are funny and we still don’t know how they’ll affect parahuman abilities.”
“Thanks, Doc!” Sally grinned and gathered up her things, eager to be released from medical jail.
“One week,” he said. “Light duty until then.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sally skipped out of Medical. She felt like she could fly as she scampered up to her room. She was so lost in her happy feelings she nearly bowled over Harris as he came out of the elevator.
“Oh, hey, there you are.” He picked up the boxes he had dropped in their near-collision. “I just heard from the Doc that he cut you loose and I figured you’d wanna see this.”
“What is it?”
“Your new costume—redesigned to official Just Cause specs.” He opened the first box with a flourish and showed off a pair of shiny yellow boots.
“Ooooh!” Sally reached out to touch the smooth polymer with such low friction coefficient that it felt greasy. She started to peek into the other box, but then paused and glanced at Harris. “This is really for me? You’re just giving it to me?”
“Yep, that’s right,” he said. “Tell you what . . . you go and try it on real quick and then I’ll come in and you can give me any notes about problems you need to have resolved. I’ll take them back to the Costumes department and let them wrangle ‘em for you. We can’t have you running around in a substandard outfit when you’re out and about town at your charity functions.”
“Charity functions?” Even with her advanced perceptions, Sally found it tough to keep up with Harris’ sudden subject changes.
He raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t anybody tell you? Well, part of your job with Just Cause is to keep up a good relationship with the public. And the way we do that is by associating ourselves with various charitable foundations. You’ll need to pick a couple and spend some time volunteering with them. Keeps us looking good in the public eye, and these days that’s critical, since many government stooges don’t like parahumans too much. Wouldn’t take too much negative publicity for ‘em to re-enact the PRA all over again.”
“The Parahuman Registration Act,” said Sally, nodding. After his retirement, her grandfather had devoted much of his time to his fight against the laws enacted in the paranoid Fifties that had kept parahumans from enjoying the same rights as other citizens.
“So anyway, get yourself dressed up and let me know if there are any problems. I’ll wait here for you. I figure you probably don’t take more than a minute to get dressed. Unlike my wife. I tell ya, that woman can spend an entire day just futzing with her hair.” Harris laughed.
Sally took the packages and went into her room. She opened the boxes, spread out the costume on her bed and looked at it in wonder. The costumiers had duplicated the look of her old costume but had still managed to make this new model look fresher and more contemporary. It was shinier and smoother. Like the boots, the body suit had a slick feel to it. It was thicker than her old suit, but not noticeably heavier. The extra thickness came from two new layers: an interior liner to provide insulation from heat and wick away moisture from her skin, and an unusual material that Sally figured could only be some sort of flexible body armor. The new suit was easier to get into and out of, which would make the inevitable bathroom break much less of a major operation.
The boots had soft cushiony interiors that were so comfortable she considered violating the doctor’s orders and go sprint for a while. Unlike her old boots, these were adjustable along both the shin and calf. The soles were thicker too, which added an inch to her height and made her feel like she would tower over everyone. Well, she’d tower over anyone under five feet tall, she thought.
The new goggles and breather mask fit her face without feeling as if the edges were biting into her skin. More importantly, they were less clunky than her originals, making her head much more streamlined than before. She could only barely feel the throat microphone and knew she’d quickly forget it was even there.
She examined herself in the bathroom mirror for a few minutes before she remembered Harris waited outside for her. She went to her door and opened it.
“Oh, hey.” He looked up from his tablet PC. “Any problems with the new threads?”
“No,” Sally said. “They’re really great. Is it armored?”
“Yep. Artificial spider silk. It has better tensile strength than steel. Our techs developed it using nanotech from the Bunker. Pretty cool, huh?”
“I’ve never even heard of such a thing.”
“Well, it’s kind of our own little secret,” said Harris. “Lawmakers get all funny about nanotechnology. They think it’s a stepping stone to super-soldier programs and tailored viruses and stuff. Of course, that wouldn’t stop ‘em from co-opting the technology for strict military use.”
“Wouldn’t soldiers like to have armor like this? It feels like I’m wearing hardly anything.”
“I dunno. I’m just a glorified quartermaster here. I figure the fewer people who know about the armor, the better. Look at it like this . . . as soon as somebody knows you’ve got better armor, they figure out a way to shoot through it. You’re in Just Cause, you already got a target on you. Better if they’re shootin’ at you with popguns and peashooters, know what I mean?”
“Oh, I guess I never thought about it like that.”
“Anyway, you got any issues you need me to take back to the Costume shop?”
“No, I guess not. Can I let you know after I’ve taken it out for a test drive?”
“Sure thing.” Harris beamed. “But I know you’re on light duty, so I’ll check with you after the doc clears you.”
“Sounds good.”
Sally went to visit Jason in the Command Center. She strutted through the halls like a preening supermodel. She couldn’t help it; she felt sexy and powerful, like a superhero ought to. She strolled into the Command Center and watched from behind her goggles as every head turned to look at her. Some women glared with open hatred at her slender body. Some men turned away but watched her nevertheless out of the corners of their eyes. It almost made her giggle.
Jas
on’s mouth hung open as she walked up to him. “I got my new costume,” she said, and twirled around once in front of him with an audacity that surprised her. “What do you think?”
“Wow,” he said. “It’s . . . wow. You look great.” Jason’s cheeks turned red.
“That’s sweet.” She pushed her goggles up onto her forehead and pulled the breather mask down to dangle at her throat. “I don’t get to break it in for a week though. Doctor’s orders.”
“Oh. That sucks.”
She stepped around behind him to peek over his massive shoulder at the monitor before him. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing much,” he said. “Working on my band’s website. It’s slow going. I’m no code monkey.”
“Can I see?”
“Sure.” He opened a new window, clicked on the link, and showed off the Velma’s Glasses site to her. He pointed out the features, demo tracks, and some pictures of the three members as they goofed off with each other or rocked out onstage.
“What time are you off?” she asked.
“Six. Then I’m spending a couple of hours down at the Foundation. I’m free after that.”
“Foundation?”
“The Devereaux Foundation. It’s a center for underprivileged children that Just Cause sponsors. I go down there a couple times a week and hang around with the kids.”
Sally raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You do?”
He shrugged. “I’ve got two brothers and about twenty cousins, all younger than me,. They grow families big down south where I’m from. I don’t ever remember a time when I wasn’t surrounded by kids.”
“I bet the kids just love you,” said Sally. “You’re like a great big huggy bear.”
“Sometimes,” he said. “But I just like going down there. I think I’d want to keep working with kids after I retire.” Jason grinned.
“Retire?”
“Sure. We can’t do this forever, you know. Everybody leaves the life one way or another. Look at all the staffers at the Academy. They’re mostly retired heroes.”
“I guess I never really thought about it.”
“So did you want to do something after I get back?”
“Sure,” said Sally. “Only . . .”
“What?”
“Harris said I need to get involved with some charities and stuff. Could I come to the Foundation with you and check it out?”
Jason’s face split in a wide grin. “I’d like that.”
“Do I need to bring anything?”
“Only your smile. Oh, and a coat. It’s going to be pretty cold by tonight.”
“I can do that. Should I wear my costume?”
“Definitely. The kids’ll love it.”
“Then I’ll see you at six, Jason.”
“That’s a date.”
“Yes,” Sally said. “It is.” She tried to force her heart to stop pounding with incipient terror.
The Control Center techs grinned at one another as she walked out of the room. She could feel Jason’s eyes following her all the way to the door.
Her sense of invulnerability lasted long enough for her to stop by the cafeteria and get a bowl of chicken tortilla soup. She didn’t feel like being around people, so she carried it back to her room and ate it in silence in front of her terminal reading news reports. Suddenly she set down her spoon, leaned back, and stared up at the ceiling.
“What the heck are you doing?” she asked herself aloud. “You don’t know anything about kids.”
For the next forty-five minutes she tried to think of a way she could gracefully bow out from going to the Foundation. She’d survived three years of the toughest tests the Hero Academy could throw at her; she’d faced Destroyer and not flinched; but to volunteer to surround herself with hundreds or thousands of screaming kids, with their runny noses and grabby hands and grubby faces, made her shake in real terror.
She was about to go ask Sondra to break one of her legs when she heard Jason’s knuckles rap on her door. Her knees turned to water and she wondered if she could maybe give herself a convenient heart attack. Or develop a sudden virulent case of bronchitis. She tried to cough. Nothing.
Then, from outside, Jason’s soft tenor with its Southern twang: “Sally, are you in there?”
All her resistance melted away at the thought of getting to spend a little more time with him. He’d protect her from the hordes of screaming toddlers. She found her voice. “Just a minute . . . finding my overcoat.” She swept it off the back of her chair and slipped into it. Her low-friction bodysuit slid easily into the lining like a second skin. She took a deep breath and opened the door.
Jason smelled good. He must have just showered and shaved; his normal chin stubble was missing. He wore a long dark trenchcoat, which must have been the size of a tent to provide enough space for his massive shoulders. His gray and brown costume gleamed underneath it in the warm hall lighting. “Ready to go?”
Sally slipped her arm around his. “As much as I’ll ever be. Those kids . . . do they bite?”
“Only if they don’t like you. Be brave, for they can sense fear and ticklishness.”
Sally poked him. “I’m not ticklish.”
“Everyone says that.”
“I’m not!”
“Of course you aren’t.”
Jason led her out to where he’d parked the Bronco. The air was cold and had a damp chill that froze Sally to her bones. She squealed as she shivered in the passenger seat. “People shouldn’t live where it gets this cold!”
“Heater’s on. We ought to warm up pretty soon.” Jason backed out of the spot and headed for the headquarters exit to the city streets, unmindful of the occasional patch of snow or ice on the road. Sally’s teeth chattered and she tried not to flinch as the truck rolled down the road; she expected it to skid out of control and flip at any moment.
Jason drove through town for about twenty minutes before he pulled into a parking lot next to a well-lit building painted in cheerful colors with tasteful neon lighting that spelled out Devereaux Foundation. A small cluster of people stood under a streetlight near the door and smoked while they conversed. One of them noticed Jason and Sally and called to them with a loud yoo-hoooo!
“Crap,” muttered Jason.
“Who is it?” Sally whispered as the woman in the raspberry-colored overcoat and white hat and scarf hurried toward them.
“Theresa Lupe. Society reporter. Leech.”
“She’s the press? What does she want with you?”
“Not just me. Us. Just Cause. She’s always trying to dig up something on us.”
“Mastiff darling! So wonderful that you came out here tonight.” The woman clutched a small handheld recorder like it was a rosary.
“Hello, Ms. Lupe,” said Jason.
“And this must be Mustang Sally, Just Cause’s newest member. Are you two an item? Have you already made your move on the parahuman community’s most eligible young bachelor?”
Sally blushed and wished she’d had the foresight to have her breather mask and goggles on. She had never considered the implication that being in Just Cause would make her a celebrity, with all the public interest that went along with such a moniker.
“We’re just here to play with the kids, Ms. Lupe.” Jason steered Sally away from the reporter with the buzzard’s gaze. “Perhaps you’d urge your readers to make a donation to the Foundation.”
“Give me an exclusive interview with the two of you and I’ll consider it.”
“No thanks. Have a nice evening, Ms. Lupe.” Jason opened the door and gave Sally a gentle but firm shove inside ahead of him.
“You two make a lovely couple,” called the cackling reporter after them.
“I can’t stand that woman, but Juice made it clear we have to be polite to her. A lot of people read her column. She could do a lot of damage to our reputation if she tried.”
“Why would she want to do that?”
Jason blushed. “Because she’s a vindictive bitc
h.”
Sally burst out in laughter as they walked through the foyer and stripped off their coats. Jason pushed open the door into what he called the romper room and he and Sally went inside.
Sally saw fifteen to twenty kids as they played games in the room, roughhoused, chased each other, and climbed all over an indoor playground. Cries of “Jason!” and “Mastiff!” echoed around the room and the kids charged over like little bundles of boundless energy. Sally locked a smile on her face and hoped it didn’t look like a rictus of death.
“Everyone, this is Mustang Sally. She’s new on the team and came out to hang with you all tonight,” said Jason to the excited children.
“Hi, Mustang Sally!” several of them chorused. Sally thought they sounded like a juvenile Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.
“Da-a-a-amn,” called two young boys who couldn’t have been more than eight or nine years old and looked so much alike they had to be twins. One had an afro so large it made his head twice as large as normal while the other sported short dreadlocks. Their clothes looked worn, like hand-me-downs, but clean.
“Sally, these are the Kingston brothers. The one who looks like he stuck his finger in a socket is D’Angelo. And his brother is Jamal.”
“You better hang with us,” said D’Angelo. “A lot of these older kids’ll be mackin’ on you because you’re lookin’ so fine.”
“Yeah,” said Jamal.
“Jason? Help?” Sally hoped the tone of her voice would convey to him her discomfort.
“You’ll be fine.” Jason’s voice was muffled by the ten children who climbed all over him. “Just don’t let them sell you anything.”
“Hey, you can’t blame a li’l brother for tryin’ to make a buck,” called D’Angelo.
“Yeah,” said Jamal right on cue.
“You’re a superhero, so show us somethin’,” said D’Angelo. “What’s your power?”
“I’m a speedster. That means I can run really fast.”
“That ain’t a real power. Anyone can run.”
“Yeah.”
Sally cracked a wry grin at the two young skeptics. “Not like me.” And before he could yelp in surprise, she swept up D’Angelo in her arms and made a couple quick circuits of the room—not so fast that her doctor would have a reason to complain but certainly fast enough to make D’Angelo’s hair blow around like a thistle puff. She skidded to a stop and set him down. He staggered a couple steps and sat down.
“Whoa!” He gasped for air.
“Word,” Jamal said, moved to great expressiveness by Sally’s display.
Suddenly she was surrounded by all the children who’d been dog-piling on Jason a moment before, all clamoring for a ride.
Sally felt like she had a spotlight on her. “What do I do?” she asked Jason, who seemed a little taken aback at suddenly being relegated to second banana.
“You started it,” he said. “How about making a run around the room the prize for a game?”
“We could do that. What game?”
“Red Light, Green Light!” shouted several of the kids.
Soon Sally found herself in the middle of a game of Red Light, Green Light as serious and intense as any training session she’d had at the Hero Academy. After a few minutes, she realized she really enjoyed playing with the kids.
She’d never gotten to just be one herself.
They all played several rounds of the game with different winners each time. Sally carried each victorious child piggyback around the room a couple times at speed. Parents began to come by to collect their children, who zoomed around pretending they were Mustang Sally, much to her amusement.
D’Angelo and Jamal were the last ones to leave, picked up by their mother who smiled warmly at Sally and Jason and threatened to beat the boys with a skillet if they didn’t stop runnin’ around like damn wild monkeys.
“She don’t really beat us,” D’Angelo confided in Sally as he left. “We’re too pimpin’ for that.”
“Yeah,” said Jamal. “Ow!” He yelped as his mother grabbed him and his brother by their ears and led them out of the playroom.
“Think that’ll do it, Cerise?” Jason asked the Foundation employee who had kept track of the kids and signed them out to their parents.
“Yes, we’re going to go ahead and close up for the night. Thank you so much for coming out tonight. The kids always love it when you drop in. And it was a real pleasure to meet you too, Sally.”
“I had fun,” said Sally. “I’ll be back again. I promise.”
She and Jason walked outside into the chill night air hand in hand. “So what’d you think?” he asked.
“It was fun,” she said. “A lot more than I was expecting. Thanks for bringing me here.”
“My pleasure.” Jason grinned. “So it’s still pretty early. Do you want to go get something to eat? I could go for a few burgers. Playing is hungry work.”
Sally’s stomach rumbled. “Yes, please,” she said. “On one condition.”
“Name it.”
“Can we go somewhere quiet? My ears are still ringing.” She stuck a finger in one of them.
Jason’s laugh made her feel warm enough that the cold air wasn’t quite as bad as before.