The Other Eight (20 page)

“Okay, so we haven’t had a chance to scope
out this building for security measures,” Nonsensica said. She
swept her eyes up and down. “I’ve got a feeling there aren’t any,
since the thing has a generator outside of it and it isn’t on.
That’s kind of disappointing. I was hoping for laser trip lines. I
got all limbered up just in case. And I’ve got this can of spray
silicone for sliding under them. I’m never going to get to use this
stuff.”

Non Sequitur looked to the door. “Well,
there’s a padlock, which means my powers won’t be any good in
getting inside.”

Nonsensica paced around the outside. “There,
look. The grates are just held shut with those auto-latch things,
and the window, too. You flip them, then you give me a boost, and
I’ll open them up and help you inside.”

“We’ll give it a shot,” he said. The bottoms
of the windows were just above his head. He took position under one
of them and laced his fingers together. “Ready, one, two, go!”

With two audible clicks, the grating latch
and the window latch both disengaged. Nonsensica nimbly set one
boot in his hands and stepped up, pulling the grating open and
sliding the window up enough to wriggle squeakily through. She slid
to the floor, got to her feet, heaved the window open, and leaned
out to help Non Sequitur inside. The tiny hero was remarkably
strong for her size, and with a bit of effort and cooperation, Non
Sequitur was inside in time to physically flip the latches with
five or ten seconds to spare.

“How does that work exactly?” she whispered,
dusting off her hands and surveying the interior of the
building.

“How should I know?” he asked. He found the
filing cabinet marked “Personal Effects” and pulled the first
drawer open, twisting the tab inside into the unlocked position
once it was open. “I try to do it and it works.”

Inside the drawer was a stack of plastic bins
with labels on each one listing the real name and codename of each
member of the group, alphabetized. Non Sequitur began to dig though
and find the appropriate bins.

“So what happens if you do the effect and
then you can’t do the cause in thirty seconds?”

“Then it doesn’t work.”

“What I mean is if you opened that drawer,
but before you unlocked it I clubbed you on the head and you got
knocked out, what would happen?”

“Then it wouldn’t work,” he repeated with a
shrug. “Every now and then I try to do something, and it doesn’t
work. As far as I can tell, those are the times I wouldn’t have
been able to do it in time.”

“So there’s a fortune-telling aspect to it,
too? Man, you really lucked out in the ol’ superpower lotto,” she
said.

“Okay, I think I’ve got all of the stuff,” he
said. “Unfortunately, without the keys we’re going to have to leave
these drawers unlocked.”

“We’ll worry about that later. Open this
drawer, too,” she said.

He stepped up to the indicated drawer. It was
labeled “Daily Assessment Archive.”

“Really?”

“Don’t say you aren’t curious.”

He glanced back at the drawer, then sighed as
he flipped it open. “You are a bad influence, you know that?”

“I prefer to think of myself as the person in
charge of straightening out your priorities,” she corrected. For a
moment she began to flip through the folders inside, then she
shrugged and took the lot of them.

#

Near the exit, Gracias stood quietly, hands
in his pockets. He’d decided that it was probably best to suit up
in his fatigues again, though he’d left his civvies on underneath,
which meant his carefully crafted plan would hold up as long as
they didn’t question what appeared to be the hem of a Hawaiian
shirt sticking out from under his camouflage jacket. When he
noticed the shadowy forms of Nonsensica and Non Sequitur stalking
up to the back side of the guard shack that hid the rest of the
group, he glanced down the road and saw the trash truck
approaching.

“Hey,” he said to the soldiers manning the
exit, “how are you guys doing?”

“Can I help you, sir? Oh. You’re the one
called Gracias, aren’t you?” said the guard, suspicion in his
voice.

“That’s me,” he said.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we’ve been instructed to
use caution whenever interacting with you, because of the nature of
your abilities.”

“Really?” Gracias said. “They warned you
about me?”

“Yes. We’ve been instructed not to do you any
favors.”

Gracias smiled, proud that he’d earned a
reputation, even if it meant it would complicate matters.

“Is there a reason you have been standing
here?” the guard asked.

“Nah, just got sick of standing over there,
thought I’d stand over here. Not a whole lot going on tonight,” he
said, growing nervous as the truck drew nearer. “Say, could you
tell me what time it is?”

“No, sir.”

“Hah, see, that was a test. You passed,” he
said.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t
interfere with my duty, sir.”

The truck pulled up just as the guard began
to turn back around.

“Uh… uh… hey, do me a favor and don’t keep
looking at me for the next minute,” Gracias said.

A look of irritation came to the faces of the
guards as, after a moment of sorting through the logic of the
request, they found themselves in an involuntary staring match. One
by one the members of his team quietly climbed into the back of the
truck.

“This is highly irregular, sir.”

“I know, see, it is another test. And you’re
passing it. Gotta keep you boys on your toes. What if our nation’s
enemies manage to get a super villain with powers like mine? This
is specialized training for you guys,” Gracias said. The last of
his team climbed onto the truck. “That’s long enough. You passed
that test, too.”

The guards turned back to their task, the one
nearest to the road barrier checking the driver’s credentials and
raising the gate. The truck started to pull away and Gracias, in a
stroke of either genius or allergies, sneezed.

“Bless you, sir,” said both guards
reflexively.

He smiled and pointed with both hands.
“Grassy ass.”

A puff and rustle provided both of the guards
with their own personal backyard, and in their moment of irritation
he quickly jogged past and hopped into the back of the truck as it
pulled away. Inside he found the six other members of his little
squad, plus an unexpected extra. Johnny On the Spot was present as
well.

“What’s he doing here?” Gracias asked.

“Just happened to be hanging out behind the
guard shack when we all met,” The Number said irritably. “When he
found out we were going for waffles he demanded to come along.”

Gracias glared at him. “So your powers just
let you totally glom on to our brilliant plan.”

Johnny shrugged. “That’s how I roll.”

“Well, you’re picking up the check then.”

“I don’t have my wallet.”

“We didn’t grab it because he wasn’t supposed
to be here,” Nonsensica fumed.

“So you glom onto our plan,
and
we
have to pay for your waffles? Man. Some guys have all the
luck.”

“Nope. Just me,” Johnny said, lighting a
cigarette and enjoying the ride.

Getting to
the Waffle House turned out to be a bit more complicated than the
hero hopefuls had anticipated. The waste processing center, which
was where the garbage truck was headed, lay in the opposite
direction from the training grounds than the Waffle House. At the
first traffic light they were forced to pile out of the back and
then were faced with the fact that they were eight people with no
vehicles on a not terribly busy road. Hitchhiking was quickly
abandoned as a valid means of transport, since no sane person was
likely to pick up a group of seven people, particularly when one
was green and another was in a flamboyant bodysuit. Finally they
found a solution.

“I hate taking the bus at night,” Nonsensica
said. “It’s always full of weirdos.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Chloroplast said,
glaring at a man with a mohawk, who was unwilling to make eye
contact.

“Where are we heading?” The Number asked,
anxiously looking out the window.

“Dumfries Road,” Chloroplast said. “If we see
Manassas, we’ve gone way too far.”

“That’s always been my philosophy,” Gracias
snickered.

“Are you in Cirque du Soleil?” asked an old
woman seated beside Nonsensica.

“No. I’m a superhero.”

“Oh. That’s nice,” she said. “That’s a very
pretty costume.”

“It’s not…” she began to object. She sighed.
“Thank you, citizen.”

She flipped through the bundle of folders
she’d secured, slipping out the one with her name on it. Inside she
found a dozen or so forms filled out by hand. Presumably they were
the pages that had been attached to the clipboards held by Aiken
and Roberts each day. As she read through what had been written
about her, the expression on her face hardened.

“There it is!” Gracias said excitedly. “We’re
here!”

#

Spread out across two booths inside what
turned out to be a rather small Waffle House near a highway
off-ramp, the group indulged in a crispy golden-brown feast.

“This was a good idea,” The Number said,
mouth filled with fried potatoes.

“Correction, it was the best idea. The only
problem is the way you ordered your hash browns,” Gracias said.

“What’s wrong with smothered and covered?
Onions and cheese are classic.”

“As far as I’m concerned, there are two ways
to have hash browns. Chunked, peppered, and covered, or
incorrectly.”

The waitress stepped up to the table, tray in
hand. “Refills here. Who got the Coke with lemon?”

“Right here,” said Gracias.

Nonsensica turned and gave him a dirty look.
When the glass was placed down in front of him, she reached across
and snatched the lemon from the rim.

“Don’t be a troublemaker,” she said irritably
before looking back down to the files that she’d not put away since
the bus.

“How’s yours?” Non Sequitur asked
Nonsensica.

“Hmm?” she asked, looking up again. “Oh,
fine.”

“Is something wrong? You’ve been pretty
quiet.”

She pulled her goggles out a bit and slid her
hand beneath them to pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration.
“Yeah. Yeah, things are wrong. The folks in charge don’t think very
highly of us.”

“Well, that’s not really much of a surprise,”
The Number said.

“Oh, you don’t think so?” She flipped through
and selected his file. “‘The Number: This applicant has shown basic
combat skill at best. In most ways his physical abilities match
those of codename Primadonna. There is moderate combat application
for his skills, but if one of the two must be included, the
position can only be fulfilled with any dignity by a female.’
You’re not making the team because dance powers only make sense for
women.”

“That’s screwed up,” The Number said.

“’Chloroplast: Worthless ability. Rejection
of authority. Promising combat skill but no more promising than a
standard recruit.’ For Phosphor it just says, ‘too old.’”

“That’s a bit blunt,” Phosphor said.

“You are ruining waffle time,” Gracias
added.

“’Gracias: Relies upon humor to mask
inadequacy of his power and physical ability. No combat
effectiveness.’”

“Aw.”

“They don’t have anything good to say about
any of us. Non Sequitur is ‘unmotivated and unambitious.’ Bomb
Sniffer is ‘immature, inexperienced, and showing signs of
pyromania.’ And it gets worse. There are some notes here from
someone named Major St. John. ‘In addition to the recruits selected
during the interview phase, please include the following applicants
for the purposes of public appeal.’ Anyone want to guess what names
are on the list?”

“Wait, I don’t understand,” said Bomb
Sniffer.

“We never had a chance at the team!”
Nonsensica growled, slapping down the files. “They handpicked the
people they most wanted and then picked the last few after the
endurance tests. The rest has been a show. We’ve been a publicity
stunt. For the last few days of notes they’ve been referring to
Johnny and his clique as the primary candidates and us as ‘the
other eight.’”

“But there’s seven of us,” The Number
said.

“They include Afterthought with us. In fact,
they made sure to put a reminder on his form for each day. ‘Do not
include on the final squad.’”

“Well, we could still turn it around. We’ve
still got the last test,” Phosphor said.

“They don’t care, Phosphor. Their minds are
made up. They obviously aren’t even listening to Aiken anymore,
because he’s been making big red notations about ‘severe mental
stability concerns’ and ‘strong evidence of homicidal tendencies’
for Hocker since the interviews, and he’s on the squad. The last
test is just a formality. There are comments about ‘publicly
acceptable means to ensure the desired outcome of the final
rounds.’ The last round is some war game, and they are going to
make sure we lose it so that the squad they want looks legitimate
to the viewers at home.”

Sullen silence buried the mood at the
table.

“Well, in that case I’m going to have pie,
too,” Gracias said, flagging down the waitress.

Nonsensica clenched her fists and sizzled
with anger, her breath coming and going in furious hisses for a few
minutes, then grabbed a handful of dollars from one of her pouches
and threw it on the table. She maneuvered her way into the
aisle.

“I’m going to get some fresh air,” she
said.

Turning to leave, she stopped short when she
nearly collided with a pair of high school girls, one nearly her
height and the other a few inches taller.

“Oh my God, you’re totally her,” said the
shorter of the two, a dark-skinned girl with oversized glasses and
a T-shirt for some manner of extra curricular activity called SHOW
Club.