With that, Alan finally fell silent.
Steve grappled with his thoughts. Did he want this? The morning he’d been attacked he’d been stewing over his future, but he’d certainly never envisioned spending it working for the PCA. He
could
just walk away, take his new sight and try to lead some kind of normal life ...
Steve, who the
hell
are you trying to
kid
?
Who
was
he trying to kid? He
couldn’t
walk away. When he thought of his parents, John, Dan ...
And
Richard McLane
...
"I want it, Alan."
"Your sight?"
"
All
of it."
SHOCKWAVE AND TAKAYASU
The drone shot one direction, then another, then another. Its tazer sights remained locked on their target, ready to neutralize its opponent at the first opportunity.
Shockwave
did not intend to
give
it that opportunity.
The casual observer would have been confused at first. There was no obvious reason for the drone to hold back at all — Mark Westmore appeared to be totally defenseless. But a little more scrutiny would have revealed the subtle ripples in the air around him as the power at his command swirled to and fro, protecting each angle that the drone sought to lock in.
Of course, Mark
could
have simply lashed out with a shockwave large enough to take out the drone and the entire wall behind it, but the assholes in charge insisted that this was a test of his "precision and accuracy," so he was waiting for a shot clear enough to hit the drone and
only
the drone.
In an unexpectedly sharp maneuver, the drone zigged, then zagged, then
zigged
again, this time lower than Mark was prepared for. When his kinetic guard flowed the wrong way, the drone launched forward, its floatation servos turning it from a hovering craft into a speeding rocket. Mark threw himself to the side just in time — making a conscious effort, of course, never to drop his cocky grin — and twisted at the waist in mid-flight. Before the drone could reacquire, before he even hit the floor, he lashed out. Not with his fist, which he usually found was the easiest method for him to focus his waves, but with a single, pointing finger. A pencil-thin wave extended, punching a neat hole through the back of the drone. The device hit the floor ten yards away, but its circuits were dead long before its momentum.
"How about
that
?!" Mark called out to the room in general. "You wanted precise, you
got
precise! Who’s buyin’ the first drink?"
"Thank you, Shockwave," a disembodied voice drifted from nowhere in particular. "That will be all for today."
"That’s it, huh? No drink? You pussies ever heard of a
celebration
?!"
The voice did not deign to reply.
"Tight-asses," Mark muttered as he climbed to his feet and headed for the towel rack. "Should go rogue right now and tear the place down around their damn ears."
The training arena had been empty except for him — none of the other paranormals liked to work out when
Shockwave
was on the loose — but as he wiped the sweat from his forehead and out of the goatee of his Van Dyke, he spotted a trim Asian kid headed toward him from the observation booth. The kid was dressed in sweat pants and a T-shirt, and looked as though he’d just finished a workout of his own.
"Mark Westmore," he stated in a smooth voice.
"Not ‘til I clock out, young’n," Mark answered as he dropped the towel carelessly onto the floor.
The kid smirked. " ‘Shockwave,’ then."
"That’s what the sign on my locker says, and if you dumbasses are gonna hang that
stupid
moniker on me, then you might as well stick to it. Makes me feel like someone’s seen
X-Men
one too many times, you know what I’m sayin’?"
"Sure," the kid agreed with that same smirk.
Mark headed for the locker room. The kid followed.
"You new around here?"
"Yep. Just got transferred in from the Academy last week."
"Oooooh," Mark waggled his fingers in condescending adoration. "First of the Academy brats graces us with his presence. Let me think ... that makes you an
ensign
, right?"
"Yep."
Mark was a little torn about how to react to this new face. He was both impressed and annoyed by the fact that, so far, the kid wasn’t really responding to his shit. Probably didn’t realize that Mark could kill him with a thought. "You got a
name
?"
"Takayasu. Ensign Michael Takayasu."
"You a Jap?"
"Half-Jap, actually. Father’s side. You a bigot?"
That brought Mark up short. Then he laughed, and decided that he
did
kind of like this kid after all. "Half-bigot, actually. Mother’s side." He stuck his hand out and Takayasu took it in a firm grip. "Pleased to meet you,
Ensign
."
"Likewise,
Shockwave
," the kid returned in matching tone.
Then it clicked, and Mark snapped his fingers. "Okay, I’m on your page now. Latest partner, right?"
Takayasu nodded. "Yep."
"All right, I’m with you. Brase said something about you yesterday. I wasn’t payin’ much attention, of course."
"Of course."
Mark chuckled. " ‘Lieutenant Commander’ Brase, if you can believe that shit."
"Right up there with ‘Ensign’ Takayasu, I guess."
By now they had reached the locker room doors, and Mark led the way in. "I thought I’d gotten away from dumbass
ranks
when I quit the Army."
"Actually, you were kicked out of the Army," Takayasu corrected. Mark looked at him sharply in irritation, but he pressed on as he headed for a locker a few down and across from Mark’s. "You and Captain Jarrah have something in common. He likes the Naval nomenclature about as much as you do."
Mark relaxed again. "Jarrah’s an okay guy, even if he does sound like a woman." Takayasu smiled at that, but said nothing. As the kid pulled off his sweaty T-shirt, Mark noticed for the first time that he had burn scars all over both hands up to the mid-forearms. He decided to save any smart comments on those for another day. He hadn’t met too many PCA guys without a stick up their ass, and decided he didn’t want to push this one away just yet. "I take it you
like
being called ‘ensign?’ "
"I don’t care one way or the other about how it ties in with the
Navy
— I just close my eyes and pretend I’m on ‘Star Trek.’ "
As they headed for the showers together, Mark continued, "Yeah, well, I might as well
warn
you, kid, I’m not real easy to get along with."
"We seem to be doing fine so far," Takayasu commented as he stepped onto the tiled floor and reached for the faucet knobs.
"Just wait’ll you get to know me," Mark assured him as he started his own water flow. "I rub everyone the wrong way eventually. I have what you might colorfully call a ‘strong personality.’ "
"Well, I suppose an ‘asshole’ by any other name..."
Mark stopped his lathering and slowly turned to face his terrifically brave — or remarkably
stupid —
new partner. Takayasu continued to wash for a moment longer, then looked over his shoulder innocently. "Oh. I’m sorry. I guess I forgot to mention that
I
have what you might colorfully call a ‘blunt personality.’ Given your strength and all, I figured you’d appreciate that."
Shockwave stared daggers at him, flexing his muscles. A kinetic ripple twitched across his body, briefly deflecting the water in an arc away from him, but the kid didn’t so much as flinch. He just stopped his scrubbing and looked Mark right back in the eye ...
... until the older man could no longer hold back his grin.
If this young Academy-fresh ensign — a complete
norm
, if Mark recalled Brase correctly — could look impending
death
in the face that calmly, on top of keeping step with his every wisecrack and then some ... maybe the PCA was turning into an interesting outfit after all.
"You’re all right, kid," Mark said, slapping Takayasu on the shoulder before returning to his personal hygiene, "you’re all right. If anybody in the office gives you grief, you just whistle and I’ll come running, you know what I’m sayin’? I got your back."
"And I got yours, ‘Shock.’ "
"Don’t push your luck, kid."
POWERHOUSE
"Read’m and weep, boys!"
"Shit."
"Damn it."
"Great."
Carl laughed at the muttered frustration around him, tossed his full house triumphantly onto the table for all to see, and scooped the considerable pot into his disorganized stash.
Ben, Deak, and Lincoln weren’t
really
upset — they knew that Carl’s victory entailed far more luck than skill. By the end of the evening, things would fall together about as they always did, with everyone coming out pretty much even.
"Anybody want a beer?" Lincoln offered. He didn’t even wait for the three affirmatives before rising to his feet and stepping over to the fridge.
The sliding door behind them whisked open, and Tommy stuck his head into the kitchen. His eyes searched for his brother for a moment before spotting Lincoln, and he opened his mouth to call him over.
"I’ll be right there, Tommy," Lincoln said. He delivered the beers quickly and hurried to lead the boy back out into the rest of the apartment. He never bothered to
hide
his siblings from his co-workers — he figured that if the authorities ever got around to asking questions at the construction site, it would mean he was as good as caught, anyway — but the guys tended to be a little foul-mouthed, so he tried to balance his personal fun with his semi-parental duties and keep some space between his two worlds.
"What’s up, Tommy?"
"Sarah’s not feelin’ too good."
Lincoln’s heart kicked into overdrive. Now more than ever, he couldn’t risk a trip to the doctor’s office ...
and why
is
that, Linc? don’t want any members of the medical profession taking too good a look at
you
right now
(no that’s not it just don’t think about it don’t think)
Stepping into the kids’ room, he called softly, "Sarah?"
"Hi, Lincoln," drifted her scratchy voice, followed by a cough. That brought him some relief — it was a
dry
cough, without the chest rattle that would suggest bronchitis, or worse.
"Are you okay?" he asked as he sat down on the bed next to her.
"My throat’s kinda sore."
He felt her forehead. No fever.
or
is
there a fever and you just can’t feel it anymore?
"Do you have a headache?"
"No." She coughed again, with a
little
more chest rumble, but not much. "I told Tommy not to bother you. I know you like playing cards with your friends ..."