Infiltration (12 page)

“She looks real enough to me.”

“But she’s not — not in the sense that you and I are. Mouse developing feelings for her would be like you falling in love with someone’s pinkie toe.”

“Does that look like a pinkie toe to you?” she asked, hooking a thumb in BT’s direction. “There’s an old saying: if it looks like a duck, and walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, guess what? It’s a duck!”

“Regardless, why are you telling
me
all this? You should just talk to Mouse about how you feel.”

“I’m talking to you about it because this is your mess. They’re only hanging out because
you
introduced them.”

“I did that as a favor for
you
! You’re talking like I’m this mad scientist, and their friendship is some monster I created in my lab.”

“That’s exactly what it is.
You
put this Frankenstein together,” she said, poking me in the chest to emphasize her point. “I expect
you
to take it apart.”

With that, she walked back towards Mouse and BT, but not before putting on a happy face that I found somewhat disconcerting because I could feel the sea of emotions roiling underneath.

Chapter 11

“She’s insane,” I said, speaking to Electra by cell phone from my bedroom.

After Vixen and I had finished talking, I’d said goodbye to Mouse and BT, and then teleported home. After a quick lunch, I’d gone to my room to rest for a minute. As is often the case, stretching out on your bed to rest is typically a bad idea (unless your plan is actually to take a nap). Before I knew it I was snoozing, and I didn’t wake until Electra called me a couple of hours later. I had quickly filled her in on everything that had happened at HQ, including my conversation with Vixen.

“She’s not insane,” Electra replied. “Vixen’s just in love.”

“Well, you’re in love, and you haven’t gone into a jealous rage about anything.”

“Says who?”

“You’ve gone into a jealous rage about something?”

“No, idiot. Who says I’m in love?”

“Huh? Well, uh…I kind of thought…” I stammered, caught flatfooted by her question.

“I think your empathic abilities are off,” she said, laughing haughtily. “You’ve been picking up a false positive, buddy.”

“So it would seem,” I said, laughing as well as I caught on. This was kind of a game between us, with Electra occasionally acting as though she were still on the bubble in terms of how she felt about me. Basically, as someone had casually mentioned, it was a subtle reminder to me to not take her for granted.

“Anyway, you need to look at this from Vixen’s point of view.”

“Which is?”

“She’s a Siren, with the ability to completely influence and beguile the opposite sex. She’s never had to work to maintain a man’s interest.”

“But Mouse is different,” I tacked on. “Yes, I know all that.”

“And she’s got that whole DNA thing going.”

I didn’t say anything, but I knew what she was talking about. Sirens, despite their reputations as incorrigible flirts, actually bond with a single man for life. When they meet the right individual, something in their genetic makeup is triggered so that the man in question becomes the only person they can be with romantically. Mouse was that man for Vixen.

That said, Mouse apparently had some level of immunity to Vixen’s charms as a Siren. In essence, he was probably the only man she couldn’t truly force to love her.

“So,” I finally said, “Mouse isn’t fully susceptible to her charms, she thinks she has a rival, and she’s feeling jealous.”

“All of which is undiscovered country for her. She’s dealing with things — emotions — that probably no other Siren has ever had to face.”

“No wonder she’s going crazy.”

“She’s not going crazy!” Electra insisted. “She just doesn’t know how to process any of this.”

I sighed. “Okay, it’s none of my business, but I’ll say something to Mouse about it.”

“Great!” she said, and I could imagine the smile she had on her face.

“But you’ve got to talk to Vixen and ask her to try to stay on an even keel.”

“Will do.”

I shook my head, thinking how twisted the concept of romance had to be when a couple of teenage lovebirds had to advise adults on relationship issues.

“Are you ready for tonight?” Electra asked, changing the subject.

“I suppose,” I said. As previously noted, I felt better about the exhibition since my conversation with Mouse, but still wasn’t particularly enthused about it.

“What time are you planning to show up?”

“The show kicks off at seven o’clock, so I guess I’ll show up around then.”

“That’s just the live broadcast. You do know some events are going to be prerecorded, right?”

“I think I heard something along those lines, but I hadn’t really thought about attending.”

“Jim, some of our friends are going to be in the prerecorded segments. It would be nice if we showed up for moral support.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing would come out. She was right, of course. I had been so focused on the issues that I was having with being part of the exhibition that I hadn’t really given much thought to anyone else. Aside from Electra, who was also going to be on during the live broadcast, I’d been walking around almost oblivious to what any of the other super teens would be doing.

“Jim?” Electra said. “Are you there?”

“Yeah, sorry. I’m here,” I said. “Now that I think about it, do you think you could email me the schedule for the prerecorded events? I believe I’d like to attend after all.”

******************************************

It was around three o’clock when I finally got off the phone with Electra. Immediately after ending the call, I rolled off the bed. Even though I wasn’t tired, I didn’t want to run the risk of falling asleep again now that I was committed to attending some of the activities taking place before the live show. I went to the bathroom to freshen up, then went to get my attire for the evening.

A pair of bifold doors served as the entrance to my closet. I pulled them open, noting the seven-foot metal rod inside running from one side of the closet to the other, on which most of my clothes were hung. Above the rod was a shelf that was about the same length as the rod and with about two feet of depth. The shelf was packed from side-to-side with numerous boxes of various sizes. The contents of the boxes varied in the extreme, from winter clothes (sweaters, thermals, and the like) to favorite childhood toys to items earmarked for charity. However, there was one container in particular that I was looking for, and I knew exactly where it was.

Sitting at the far left of the closet shelf were a number of shoeboxes stacked all the way to the ceiling. Telekinetically, I pulled them down, balancing them so carefully that they didn’t so much as move a hair’s breadth in relation to each other, and then sat them on the floor next to the bed. Tucked on the shelf behind where the shoeboxes had been was a small metallic briefcase — the kind you always see cuffed to some guy’s hand in the movies, with a combination lock and all that jazz. I teleported it into my hand.

I flopped down on the bed, placed the briefcase on my knees and just stared at it. Physically, I hadn’t actually held it in a long time — two years. Being fireproof (as well as bulletproof, among other things), it was one of the few items that had survived the fire that had consumed our original home. However, even after I’d come across it in the charred remains of our house, I had simply teleported it to our new digs rather than actually touch it.

The front of the briefcase held two latches, each of which had a three-digit combination lock next to it. Moreover, in the center space between the two latches was a glowing red square with a similarly-sized ID plate next to it.

Deciding not to waste any more time, I spun the two combination locks to the proper sequence, and then pressed my right thumb to the ID plate. The red light on the front flashed twice, then turned green. At the same time, the two latches popped open of their own accord. I opened the briefcase and then stared at its contents, which I hadn’t thought I’d ever lay eyes on again: my Kid Sensation costume.

Of course, the black-and-red outfit (and cape) that I was holding hadn’t been known as that when I’d worn it to the Super Teen Trials two years earlier. In fact, I’d completely neglected to pick a superhero name in advance and had been forced to make one up on the spot.

I set the briefcase on the floor and stood up, holding the costume out in front of me by the shoulders. The briefcase was hermetically sealed, so the costume was as clean and fresh as the day I’d put it in. I had grown a few inches and filled out a little more since I’d last worn it, but that wouldn’t matter since I would be shifting shape, taking on the appearance I’d had when I participated in the Super Teen Trials.

A short time later I slipped downstairs, fully decked out in my old costume and wearing the face that everyone knew as Kid Sensation. About the only thing different than the way I’d appeared two years earlier was that I chose to maintain my actual height, since some growth was to be expected. (Fortunately, my costume was of the one-size-fits-all variety so it stretched to accommodate the change.)

Mom and Gramps looked me over, with my mother pinching my cheek and making cutesy comments about my outfit that would make me die of embarrassment if anyone ever heard them. It was my grandfather, however, who I was focused on; basically, I wanted his approval that I was actually pulling off the look. Superhero costumes are sometimes very unflattering to the people wearing them, and there would be nothing worse than appearing on national TV looking like a doofus in an ill-advised wardrobe. Thankfully, Gramps gave me the thumbs-up via a subtle nod.

With that, I teleported to the exhibition.

Chapter 12

The exhibition, although referred to in the singular by almost everyone, was actually set up at multiple venues as opposed to one single location. It was just too difficult to try to have one staging area to accommodate everything the producers were trying to do. That said, there was a broadcast stage at a local television station serving as the central hub of all the action, and that’s where I teleported to.

As luck would have it, the television station in question was actually the place where my induction ceremony (and subsequent fight) had taken place two years earlier. That being the case, appearing there again brought up a lot of unbidden memories, but it couldn’t be helped. In essence, Electra hadn’t had a complete schedule of events that were being prerecorded; she’d only noted the activities that she was interested in seeing. Thus, I had decided to come by the command post to see if a more extensive list was available.

I popped up in a hallway right outside the studio control room. Various members of the television crew were running to and fro at a frenzied pace, completely preoccupied with tasks such as looking at info on clipboards, chatting on walkie-talkies, or simply trying to get from Point A to Point B. So engrossed were they with what they were doing that my sudden appearance didn’t really startle anyone the way it usually does when I teleport. Hopefully one of them would know where I could get a schedule of events.

“Excuse me,” I said to a young guy with a goatee who was passing by, mumbling to himself as he looked over a sheet of paper. He held up a finger in a wait-just-a-second gesture, but kept on walking without pause.

“Pardon me,” I said to a twenty-something young lady who was headed in the opposite direction and speaking into a two-way radio. She held up a palm in my direction and wagged it from side to side while shaking her head in a negative manner, as if to indicate “Not now,” while she berated someone about the lighting on the broadcast stage.

This wasn’t going well. Getting anything out of these people was like trying to hitch a ride at the Daytona 500. Apparently I needed to be a little more forceful.

With that in mind, I reached out and snagged the elbow of a pretty brunette who was walking past with a headset resting around her neck, her attention fully occupied by the computer tablet she was carrying. Apparently she didn’t appreciate being waylaid in the hallway, because she had a knee-jerk reaction to being touched; her head snapped around, and then she stared at my hand like it was a tree frog secreting toxin on her.

“I’m sorry,” I said, releasing her elbow, “but I’m trying to get my hands on the agenda for the exhibition.”

“Try the producer,” was her immediate response, and she turned to walk away.

I stepped into her path. “Uh, where can I find the producer?”

The brunette let out a grunt of frustration. “Check the control room,” she said, and then stomped off like a movie monster trying to destroy Tokyo. (Honestly, these TV people were like sharks that had to keep moving in order to stay alive. If I’d held her up a second more, she probably would have developed a facial tic.)

I looked towards the control room, which actually had a glass wall allowing me to see in. Like the hallway, the room appeared to be full of people, although most seemed to be technicians sitting at workstations of some sort, fiddling with various types of equipment: a video switcher, audio console, character generator, and so on. The far side of the room consisted of a video wall, with numerous monitors displaying a multitude of images.