Infected 8: Impulse: A Whole New Day (19 page)

Old guy, the general with the super soldiers, glared at her for a moment, then laughed.

"We hear you, young lady. Get that done then. I'll send some troops over for review in a few days. Can we get an address for that new space?" He looked at Charity for that, having actually been paying attention. It wasn't always certain that people would, she knew, looking at Doug and wondering what he was thinking.

Smiling, she tore her eyes away, as the new donut girl wrote the new location address for the IPB down for the man.

He nodded when the little slip of paper was handed over and looked directly at Marcia.

"We should have our main force out of town by morning. Do you think it's safe to let people go back to their homes?"

Bridget nodded, then blurted again. This time it wasn't an insult at least.

"Yeah. Whoever did this didn't want to kill civies. That's pretty clear. Has anyone taken responsibility yet? I heard it was the TCC, but that isn't a specific group, as much as an idea. It's kind of like claiming that
all
normal people did it and are the enemy. More of a deflection than a glory grab."

That got the younger General to shake his head, but Lisa was the one that spoke, her green pantsuit out of place, if only a bit. Mainly because the army guys were dressed up more than that, complete with all their pretty handjob worthy ribbons, and the rest of them looked kind of casual.

"So far six groups have claimed responsibility. We don't know if it was a collective action or if it's simply a bunch of cranks all trying to seem relevant. For the time being the DHS is assuming that we still have an unknown threat. I can send a package over for you?" She turned to Bridget, which was a bit strange.

The girl brushed her coppery red hair, which was really short, since it just didn't grow all that long, and thought about it. Her face tried to seem adult, or at least that was her intent, as she answered.

"Good plan. That would help. We also need to get with DHS and the FBI and see what ideas they have. I know it isn't our case, since we don't investigate terrorists, but if they're coming for us, we need all the information we can get. There's always the chance that it was an Infected action, too. We're the go to resource for that kind of thing." It was a bit weak, as for a reason to investigate, legally speaking. No one there had a problem with it, but that didn't mean the other alphabet agencies would go along with them.

She wondered how you even got in touch with that kind of person. Did they just have numbers in the phone book, or online?

They'd need computers, to go along with the phones, which probably meant buying those as well. To do that, they'd need funds and, she realized, Bridget had no clue how any of that really worked. She had an IPB charge card, but it was hooked up to her personal account and she mainly only used it on base. It was a visa card, so it worked most places, but she didn't really want to spend her savings on stuff for the IPB.

Which was selfish of her.

She didn't say anything about that, since her inclination was to hide her money away, not flaunt it. Marcia kept talking to people and they moved to the house out back, so they could all sit down and waste time. Bridget winked at Mary and danced over, prancing really, as soon as they were gone.

"Can I get that number for the sandwich guy? Kenny?"

"Behind the front counter, dear. I should have that order ready in about twenty minutes. I could use some help?" This was said to Charity, but Doug jogged over too, after pointing to the right note pad.

Then he shrugged.

"I'll come out if anyone needs to be rung up. Don't use my till. I have it balanced."

She nodded, because she didn't know what that meant, and didn't really want him to explain right then. It would make her look bad if she tipped it over, or whatever.

"Thanks. I won't be long. I hope."

The phone that Mary had for the place was old. It had buttons on it, but the handset connected to the main body with a springy cord. She played with it as the land line rang. It was to a cell phone, she thought, recognizing the chirp it made when it picked up.

"Ken Hevesy, what's up?" It was pretty casual, even for a newsman, but she flowed with it. Chatting with people was a skill of hers, after all.

"Hi Ken. This is Bridget Chambers. Impulse, from the IPB? Director Turner is planning to have a press conference at two-thirty, by the high school. Can you get that set up for us?"

There was a pause, and then the man, who sounded young, chuckled.

"Tammy, is this you? Totally not funny, you know. I like the little girl voice, though. You can use that when we meet up, next Friday. Call me daddy while I spank you for being so...
naughty
."

She nearly agreed, but managed to hold that back. Not her mirth, but
that
part couldn't be helped. It was hilarious.

"Seriously, Ken. Bridget Chambers. I was out of the base when it went up. So was Gravity, and Quartz survived it. We need a press conference and our..." She went quiet, holding the words back, not wanting to give the truth. It made for a nicely dramatic pause, she thought. When she spoke again it was dark and harsh. Like Nocturne, the uninfected movie super hero. She'd helped clean a parking lot with him, once. "My mom was our person for that, so we need someone to get it all put together. If you don't suck at it, you could be in for a real job. At least part time. Even if you blow, we need
someone
to do it. So, you get the idea; podium, let everyone know that there will be an event at two-thirty, get things set up with the camera crews. Placement... and all that. Announce it now, so that the big news networks will be able to go live, and let everyone know it's coming."

There was a pause then, and the man on the other side of the phone cleared his throat. When he spoke his voice cracked anyway.

"I'm really sorry to hear that. About your mom. I... Yeah, I can set that up. How did you get my number?"

She contemplated lying, but her mouth worked on its own.

"From Mary. The one with your sandwich order? That should be ready in about eighteen minutes. You can come and pick it up. Or, I think she's planning to send Doug over. You can get with him, so that you know that this is real. I don't think you should leave the scene there, because you've got work to do. If you will, I mean? I can't pay you. Unless... Do you accept sandwiches for that?" Not that
she
had any, but it was funny enough that the man agreed.

"I'm just an unpaid intern. So far I get to hand out coffee and get the food. It could have been worse. If we were in the office, I'd be collating memos, or shadowing the janitor, I bet. Yeah... Um, let me get the word passed on that one. Two-thirty, with Marcia Turner? She's the Director of the IPB?" He said it all slowly, scratching sounds indicating that he was writing while he did it.

"Right. You have the number here?"

"That's... Yeah. Um, I might need more information, can I call back?"

She nodded, which was a bit hard to hear, over the phone.

"I'll be here. Right now I have to find something for Marcia to wear. Some makeup too. She's... Well, she was in the blast, so it's a sight. I'll handle that part. Thanks Ken. Talk to you later. Then, you know, you can try to spank me." She waited a dramatic beat. "
Daddy
."

"Um... Oh, that... Heh." He hung up, rather than go on with it all. That worked for her, since she had to find some clothes. That meant robbing Liz, if she had anything there, or possibly Deidre. Mary was too short, she thought. Not that much, so she might have some things that would fit. The problem would be that none of them had dressy clothing. She thought so at least. They tended toward casual wear, didn't they?

That, it turned out when Mary indicated she could raid their things, wasn't
exactly
right. They
had
dresses, including ones that would look ready for a party, that would probably fit Marcia well enough. The thing there was that they would send the wrong message. What she needed was basically a suit like Lisa was wearing. Short of taking that one however, it wasn't going to happen.

Mugging the Secretary of State might not go over too well, so she had to find another option.

Jeans were
too
casual, and not one of them had a pair of slacks. After digging through all the closets, she shook her head and picked a rather plain blue skirt, that was dark enough to be professional, and a rather clashing blouse in dark yellow. It was ugly, but there were shoes to go with it, at the bottom of Liz's closet. If the size was wrong...

Well, Marcia probably wouldn't notice. They'd end up having to buy new shoes though, since the woman could destroy regular foot wear without even trying.

Mary, for all she looked like a hippy chic around the edges, had some makeup. Not a lot, and it certainly wasn't Clari's full kit, but it made for a nice little bag of things to raid from. That, and some napkins from the donut counter would be a good start, she hoped. Marcia would look horrible, but part of that was fine. She didn't need to look good, just
strong
. Healthy and ready to take the fight to the bad guys, whoever they were.

Everyone there had nice full heads of hair, so there was no handy wig in a drawer to borrow. Marcia would just have to go out with nothing that way. Bald and proud of it. That part would look funny, but kind of bad-ass too. Exotic, rather than like she was fragile or sick.

By the time she had it all ready, Doug had taken off for the other side of town.
Flying
with the food, since they weren't in hiding. It was a bit strange, but he was already better at it than she was. Part of that was probably just that he had to be. If he crashed at a hundred miles an hour, he'd die. If she did that, her clothing would be dusty, and maybe tear. It was a good bit of incentive that way. Worse, he could go faster than she could. Her top speed was about a hundred miles per hour that way. He could more than double that, as long as he could breathe, and take the force against his body.

That meant Mary was running the front till when the afternoon rush started. Luckily that was mainly people looking for soda and candy. A few people bought sandwiches, but the Army was actually feeding their people, finally.

Charity shook her head at Bridget, and sighed.

"At least I can go home tomorrow, maybe. I need to let my dad know that I'm all right. Do you think they'll let the phones call out then?"

She didn't know they'd been blocked, honestly. The only person that she'd tried to call was Kenny, and he'd answered on the third ring.

"Yeah. If not, we'll get you to something that will work. He has to be worried out of his mind. I... didn't think of that. Sorry. I should have gotten you someplace for that already."

"No big thing. I'm sorry that I've been a drag on you all. I just didn't know what to do."

Those words had Bridget running toward Charity, who flinched, since fast moving objects could make some people do that. The rush ended with them hugging, and she managed not to sound like a tiny child when she spoke, which was half miracle, at least.

"That's what we're here for. To help people. You'd think that people would have gotten that by now. That the IPB was there to protect them. It's in the name. No one really seems to think that's right, though." She didn't go into why, standing back about then. "I need to get Marcia moving. We have that press thing in a few hours. Can you hang here? I don't think you should really be seen with us." Not if she didn't want the stink of being Infected to rub off on her.

Perception counted for a lot, in the world they lived in.

That, it turned out, was the plan, and she was actually able to get the Secretary of State and those Generals to agree that Quartz needed to get ready. Mainly by threatening to send her out naked in front of the cameras. She was serious, as far as that went, but the only person there that took it that way was Turner herself. The others all figured that she was kidding. Because they honestly just didn't know her.

Rather than explain herself, she smiled and patted the older man on the back. He held a good bit more muscle there than she would have thought, actually. Enough so that she had to stand back and look at him again. Examining his body closely enough that Marcia tried to grab her hand when she started stroking his stomach.

She got it, since her old partner knew that the next target would probably be his junk, and then she'd... Do whatever came to mind. That wasn't actually
wrong
, either, so she let herself be pulled away, grinning.

"Not bad, for an old man. Sorry about that. Impulse. It's more than a name." And less than anyone there thought. Still, it made a good deflection.

The man was solid, under his clothing. She'd thought he was carrying a spare tire under the jacket he wore, because his face just looked normal, but that wasn't the case. He was
built
, and if he didn't have some kind of armor under his skin she'd have to stop being Infected for a living. Given that he hadn't acted too badly at any point, he was either Infected himself, with a mild first mode, or one of those enhanced war fighters she'd heard about. It was
interesting
.

Enough so that, even after apologizing, Marcia had to hold her back, twice, to prevent further groping.

"I think that's my cue to go and get ready. I have your numbers. If all goes well we'll have a base of operations up and running inside twenty-four hours. Generals. Madame Secretary." There was a nod for each of them, and they found their own way through the shop into the front parking lot. It was a humble place to hold high powered meetings, but the important part of that was getting done anyway, even if they didn't have leather chairs and brandy to snift.

Bridget wondered if that was what it was really called. She knew that a Brandy
snifter
was a thing, but was it ever said that way? To snift? It was a funny word, and the idea distracted her while Quartz gave her a long suffering look.

"I half thought you were going to blow him in front of us all. What the hell? I know that the stress has to be high for you, but get it together. Control is important now. You're the number three Operative in the IPB at the moment. We can't afford to look bad."