Mad-Sci-Soc

  “Obviously not in the car,” I said awkwardly. I gingerly looked at the glove again and asked, “How do I reload?”

  “I'll show you another time. You won't need to reload on this mission. This'll be a cinch. If you run out of darts, just go invisible and run away.”

  “How do you know it'll be that easy? Has the supercomputer already predicted that too?”

  Conrad glanced over quickly and, with a wry smile, said, “Experience, Aaron. Experience. I know you'll do fine. You were going to look over the contract?”

  “Right...” I said uncertainly.

  The League Contract appeared in my heads up display.

  It read:

  “This Agreement (hereinafter referred to as “Agreement”) dated January 24, 2123 is executed by “Psychic Kid” (hereinafter referred to as "RECIPIENT") and “The Super Hero Union (MSS Division) Inc” (“The Licence Holder”) as licensed by the Department of Justice (“The Department”). The RECIPIENT has requested that The Licence Holder release to it the following technologies (“SUPER POWERS”). See schedule A. The SUPER POWERS will be supplied at no charge provided they are used within approved missions authorised by The Licence Holder.

  1. The SUPER POWERS are proprietary property owned by The Licence Holder.

  2. The SUPER POWERS are not public domain and nothing in this Agreement shall be construed as permitting the use of SUPER POWERS to any other person, robot, replicant, surrogate or organisation without permission from The Licence Holder.  The SUPER POWERS  shall be released only to RECIPIENT and shall be used only for purposes in line with policies published by The Department.

  3. The SUPER POWERS, and/or any modified or enhanced version thereof, shall not be discussed, communicated, given or offered for sale by RECIPIENT, to another entity.

  4. The SUPER POWERS remains the licensed property of The Licence Holder.

  7. The Licence Holder shall be neither liable nor responsible for any maintenance, nor for correction of any errors in the SUPER POWERS.

  8. The SUPER POWERS are provided “AS IS” without any warranty of any kind, either expressed or implied. In no event shall The Licence Holder or the Department be liable for any damages, including, but not limited to, direct, indirect, special or consequential damage, arising out of, resulting from, or in any way connected with the SUPER POWERS whether or not loss was sustained from, or arose out of the results of, or use of, the SUPER POWERS or services provided hereunder.”

  There was another 12 pages. I skipped to the bottom and gestured to accept the contract.

  Conrad braked hard, swerved off the roadway and down an alley. We came to an abrupt stop an arm's length from a brick wall with my heart seemingly pounding outside my chest. The shell-like door rose up and I scrabbled out sideways.

  After a few reassuring breaths of New York air, I remembered that I was on a mission. I looked around, up, down, around and then focused on my new super-suit. I inspected the gloves that cleverly concealed my dart guns. I aimed my right arm at a dumpster, several car lengths away, my head-up display displayed targeting information. I gripped my fist hard and a bolt flew from my glove; hitting the target and the bolt glancing off.

  “Camouflage!” reminded Conrad.

  “Oh, right. Computer, activate Camouflage.”

  Natural light darkened and the colour tinge from the computer enhanced imaging became more noticeable. Extraneous sounds like road noise and the hassle and battle, diminished. I was cocooned from the world. I looked down at my arm and there was only shimmer of where my arm should be. Disconcerting.

  Over the comms channel, Conrad said, “Activating the rendezvous app.”

  The app started up and a virtual reality display highlighted my crime-fighting partner's location. Improbileon, it seemed, had just descended by jet pack a block away.

  “Off you go!” said Conrad in my ear, from somewhere. He was already sneakily making his way to CAT LOC for reconnaissance.

  I ran down the alley following virtual arrows projected on the ground kindly provided by the heads-up display.

  Improbileon was waiting for me. I saw her green outline, just an outline, of her swirling cape and winged helmet. She, too, was in invisibility mode.

  “Hello, new guy,” came a frail sounding voice. She sounded as scared as I felt.

  “Improbileon... Wow, that's a mouthful, isn't it? I'll have to think of a nick name for you. I'm Aaron, by the way.” I said as confidently as I could.

  “Shh,” she said. “No, real names. Just hero names.”

  “Oh, right. Sure. I'm Psychic Kid."

  "I know," she said imperiously.

  “She knows,” came Conrad's voice over the headset.

  I winced.

  “This way,” said the caped shape. The direction she was supposedly pointing was unhelpful and I did not need it anyway, the computer displayed the path.

  “What's going on, Captain?” asked Improbileon.

  I was about to reply but then I realised the question was meant for Conrad.

  “Advance to rear of highlighted retail outlet. Enter via fire door. I've disabled alarms. Crime event in T minus 30 seconds. Wait until the crime is recorded before unmask. Camera drones alerted,” came Conrad's assured commands.

  ***

  Chapter Eight Unleashed

  Thursday, January 24, 2123 (30 seconds later).

  We arrived at the door and Improbileon broke through the lock using a device I could not see. We entered into a huge, upmarket food store. I could see people running away.

  “Apply your psychic powers, PK,” urged Conrad over the headset.

  “I sense mystery and food. A great combination,” I replied.

  I could sense clearly, but not hear, Conrad grinding his teeth.

  The intelligence system that provided my supposed psychic powers were working well.

  At the traditional style delicatessen counter, my heads-up displayed identified figures with a red-tinge around their outline; two men in black clothing with black hoods covering their faces, holding tasers. They were threatening the robot shop assistant and stating their demands.

  “Kobe Beef, Almas Caviar, Matsutake Mushrooms, Alba truffle, Gruyère Cheese...” stated the taller of the two robbers.

  Perhaps in olden days a robber's demands would be for cash, when cash was an untraceable commodity easily used for ongoing purchases. But ever since money, that is, coins and notes, had been nano-chipped it was no longer a useful commodity to steal; by the time a robber exited a bank with their swag, any stolen money would have been invalidated and made worthless. No, in 2123, the only things to steal were unchipped things with True Value and not state-controlled barter tokens. These two robbers obviously thought they could could become rich by stealing expensive food stuffs.

  The robot assistant was still keen to provide excellent service despite the robbers stated intentions of robbing the store. “How much kobe beef?” the robot asked pleasantly.

  “All of it!” grunted the robber.

  “We only have three pounds in stock, will that be sufficient,” chirped the robot.

  “Yes. And hurry up!”

  “Can I tell you about our specials this week? We are offering an exciting new range of salad bar options,” claimed the robot.

  “Just the caviar!”

  “And how many tins of Almas Caviar?” said the robot keen to select the right quantities of produce for the robbers.

  “All of that too. All of the beef, caviar, truffles and cheese!”

  “And all the Matsutake Mushrooms too?”

  “Yes!”

  The assistant robot hurried to collect the materials, extending its arms to collect tins on high shelves. The second robber pushed the items off the counter into a large sack. “Ok, ok, we have enough tins. Just get the cheese.”

  “You can't carry all the Almas Caviar tins?” asked the robot helpfully. “We could have them delivered for you, no extra charge.”

  “You dumb, robot!” snee
red the robber.

  “I need to take your name and credit details,” asked the robot.

  “This is where we say goodbye, tin man,” laughed the second robber.

  “Activating alarm system and security gate,” said the robot softly with an apologetic tilt of his head.

  But the robbers were prepared for that, having already jammed the security shutters. Their plan had nearly succeeded. They were about to leave the shop and take a few steps to their unlicensed hover-chairs, when Improbileon emerged from her invisibility cloak and blocked their way.

  “Not so fast, thief!” said the superhero, but without the authority that you would expect from such a Norse God-clad specimen.

  “Whoa,” I said. This was the first time I could really see her. She was a really impressive cosplay valkyrie; the winged helmet, the metal breast plate, the leather-effect studded mini-skirt, the thigh high boots and cape.

  Upon a signal provided behind the scenes by Conrad, a dozen miniature Quadcopter drones, no bigger than dinner plates, suddenly popped up from around the room and zipped into the store from the open doorway. They were there to provide mainstream video coverage. One of the drones immediately came too close to the shorter robber and he swotted it away, crashing it into a pile of food stuffs.

  “Mon-Fracking-toe!” exclaimed the lead robber as he looked around. He regained focus on Improbileon and loosed his taser at her. The electric talons bounced off her chestplate.

  “Unmask, PK!” said Conrad in my headset.

  “Excelsior!” I said and became visible. Improbileon was in the doorway and I was down an isle. We had the robbers surrounded. I announced, “Don't do anything stupid, because that's our job...” But my voice trailed off as I switched between left arm and right trying to target the two robbers and losing track of the sentence.

  “It's your job to be stupid? Yeah that figures,” said the second robber.

  “That's not what I meant,” I said adopting a crouching pose aiming at both robbers with separate arms.

  “Who are these bozos?” said the first. “On my mark, go to plan B.”

  “Plan B?” I said.

  My earpiece bleeped. It was a warning signal that I had yet to be trained on. I heard Conrad say, “They’re going to make a run for it.”

  “You'll find out! Now!” And suddenly there were tins of caviar being thrown at both Improbileon and me.

  I ducked but as my new boots had no traction on the shiny store floor, I fell into a rack of pastries.

  The robbers charged at Improbileon but she activated her force field and they bounced back. However due to Newton's third law of motion (for every action there is an opposite and equal reaction), the goddess was pushed back too. She performed a backward somersault out of the door of the store. Two of the Quadcopters followed her down to capture her impromptu gymnastics on camera from several angles, probably to be looped in slow motion and auto-edited into promotional videos for the next few weeks.

  I found my feet quickly and aimed my right arm at the nearest robber and loosed two darts. They hit and bounced off the robber regaining his feet. Bounced off?

  The big guy came straight at me. I loosed two more darts. One hit the robot assistant. Strangely, that dart worked fine on the metal man. “Oh my,” the robot said as it spun to the ground.

  But not on the robber, he kept coming closer and punched me in the stomach. While my force field defected some of the blow, I still bent double and was winded, wondering what to do next.

  Then he made a mistake; a real blinder. He hit me in the face. Bad mistake. The strange part of my PK costume design; the spikes extending from my mask, they don't break off easily. The robber's fist hit the spikes and, well, they must have hurt. The guy started screaming in agony. He had managed to break off multiple spikes with his hand. The spikes remained lodged in his fist.

  I staggered around in a daze. Fortunately the helmet was designed to reduce impact damage but the punch still hurt. The robber was still screaming. He now had his back to me and I could pull off his hood. He looked back at me in horror. The guy was forty-something, going bald, regular features. He didn't seem the robber-type but I guess there is no such thing anyway.

  I pointed my left glove at him and loosed another dart. It hit him in the forehead, he produce a new scream on top of his existing screams then fell to the floor with a few disco moves and sounding like a siren winding-down.

  Meanwhile, the other robber tried to make a run for it but as he jumped over my partner lying in the doorway, Improbileon triggered her force field again. Newtonian physics were on her side this time, with the ground having her back and the robber was propelled upwards, hitting the doorway, managing to catch his outfit on the shutter catch, swung back and was left dangling.

  ***

  Thursday, January 24, 2123 (2 hours later)

  “Didn't I tell you not to go on a mission?” said Terri, as I stumbled through the apartment door like a drunkard.

  “What? How?” I said, wondering whether she was the one with psychic abilities.

  “Are you hurt?” she said almost revealing some sympathy for me as she espied my brace to support the neck injury sustained during the fight against those dastardly, generic, robber people.

  “Well, I have a bit of whiplash,” I said.

  “Good!” she said firmly. “Let that be a lesson!”

  “How did you know I've been on a mission?”

  “It's been on the news channels… a new superhero... who else could it be?”

  “So what did you think?”

  “The robbers were right. You were clowns. You and the Princess. Both of you,” she sneered.

  “It was my first time...” I said defensively.

  “And the name they gave you? Peaky?”

  “It's Psychic Kid!” I said growing annoyed with Terri's attitude. I am normally pretty tolerant of her wind ups but I had had a seriously challenging day and I was hoping for more of a superhero's welcome on my return home.

  “That's not what they are calling you. Watch.”

  I grumpily sat beside her. Terri rewound the broadcast news to the after battle interview.

  “There was no reporter there,” I said amazed as the 3D holoscreen image presented this hip female news reporter, the type that would be happy reporting back from the edge of a volcano or a war zone, but instead was apparently standing next to me at the crime scene. She was asking, Psychic Kid, questions about the incident.

  Terri laughed sarcastically. “You can't believe anything on holoscreens. They cut the reporter into the scene using computer graphics. It's child's play in 2D and not much harder in 3D. Reporters always like to be seen at the crime scene, looking like they had something to do with sorting it out. They just patch them into the scene,” explained Terri.

  My anger quickly transferred from Terri to the news casters.

  “So tell me, Peaky, how did you know this crime was going to happen?” said the holographic reporter.

  “They did not say, that. They did not call me Peaky,” I protested.

  My projected image responded to computer generated reporter via the voice disguiser helmet, “My psychic abilities warned me that a crime was about to happen.”

  “Yes, I did say that,” I said. “But I was interviewed remotely, via a Quadcopter not by some flim-flam reporter.”

  “Flim-flam?” mused Terri.

  “It's a Britishism,” I explained.

  The news report had cut back to the point, where the robbers were throwing tins of caviar and I fell into the pastries. When I stood up, I was covered in red jelly and cream. I understood what Terri meant. It did seem rather slapstick, especially after seeing my partner’s backward somersault.

  The news report cut back to an interview between the reporter and Improbileon. “Were you worried for your safety after the two robbers had knocked you down?”

  “No, I was not worried at all but you know who should be worried? Evil doers!” said the valkyrie superh
ero through her voice changer, making her sound aggressive. She poked at the camera to make her point and left the scene.

  “Hmm, a bit of a compensation attitude, there,” I mused.

  The reporter did her summing up. “So there you have it, bad guys. You better change your ways or you will be facing two potent new superheroes, Queen Improv, and Peaky the side-kick guy.”

  “It's PK. Psychic Kid, not side-kick guy! I have PK on my chest!” I complained in a cartoon voice.

  “I tried to warn you. I bet Karmen is grinding her teeth too,” said Terri.

  “Karmen?”

  “That's Improbileon to you. Or now better known as Queen Improv,” smirked Terri.

  “You know her? And you know her secret identity?”

  “I guess I shouldn't have said that.”

  “I guess that was only her first name. What's her surname?”

  “Geddit. Oops,” said Terri, sarcastically pretending to be embarrassed.

  “Karmen Geddit?” I queried.

  “I shouldn't have said that. She's been good to me.”

  “You were a super hero too, weren't you?” I asked irritably.

  “I can neither confirm or deny,” said Terri, with a huff.

  “Come on, spill the beans. You know I'll get the story from Conrad.”

  “Have a try, Peaky! See how far you get,” she teased.

  “He told me Max's super hero identity,” I said smugly.

  Terri stood abruptly and said sharply. “Fine. Bring him into it. Get the story from him. Don't worry about me.” She ran to the bedroom.

  I sat back amazed. What did I do now?

  I looked over the newscast again. I smiled. It was pretty funny. Not ROFLOLMOA but certainly LOL. I wondered what had got into Terri. Some form of mixed emotion; Regret? Jealousy? Mixed with worry for my well being? I could hear Terri in the bedroom making an unusual noise. I went to the door. Was she on the phone? Laughing? A quiet laugh? I knocked and opened the door slightly and poked my head in. Terri was lying face down on the bed. When she heard the door open, she twisted around and flung a pillow at the door. “Get Out!” she shouted.

  OMJ, she was crying! That sound, that sound I hadn't heard before, that was sobbing! What? Hard-as-nails-Terri... crying? This did not make any sense to me. I paced up and down.

  I don't often use pen and paper but I found pen and paper, I always have a stack of paper for my cob web research business, and wrote out the following:

  Terri – Aaron