The Prospects (12 page)

They got out of the van and followed Stardancer to the line of policemen.

“This is bad,” said Cantrip. “It’s like a giant mosh pit.”

A police officer snorted. “Hey, look, superheroes. Guess we can take it easy.”

Another officer in full riot gear said, “Nice tights, fruit loops,” to Pinwheel.

Pinwheel whispered, “No, not a new one.”

A third said, “You know why cops don’t wear leotards? Because we’re not idiots.”

Stardancer ignored them. “Stay sharp, Young Sentinels. We’re working without a script, so do everything I say.”

“Why is she team leader again?” asked Knockout Rose.

“She tests best in the focus groups,” said Rock Jock. “The camera loves her.”

They watched the mob for several tense moments. Pinwheel whispered, “I’m as cool as Han Solo, I’m as cool as Indiana Jones.” Knockout Rose struck confident poses. Cantrip straightened his sleeves. Rock Jock stood as still as a statue. Stardancer stretched.

In the middle of the crowd, a man in a ratty trench coat and gas mask pointed at the Young Sentinels. At his psychic command, the mob surged towards them. The officers in riot gear pushed back but either fell or retreated.

“I can do magic, I can do magic.” Cantrip removed his top hat and looked inside. He whipped out a bag of marbles and threw them on the ground.

That did nothing to stop the mob from grabbing his tuxedo’s sleeves.

“Oh, crap, we gotta help him.” Knockout Rose ran into the crowd and punched everyone around her.

Pinwheel wanted to run behind the police officers, like Stardancer did. Instead he generated the most intense flashes of light he could muster.

Rock Jock stood still, too scared to move.

“Rock Jock,” Pinwheel shouted with a lisp, “Get in the game.”

Rock Jock finally moved. He put out his arms and ran into the crowd, letting his natural weight push back anyone who got close to him.

The crowd began to fall away. Pinwheel threw a flash of light into the face of a man wearing an unstrapped helmet and a hooded sweatshirt. Knockout Rose followed up with a punch that sent him rolling back into the crowd.

Knockout Rose slammed her gloves together and yelled. “You want some? Who wants some?”

Pinwheel grabbed Knockout Rose’s elbow from behind. “What the hell are you doing?”

She tore free. “They’re wrecking the city.”

“Not our problem. We don’t get paid enough to fight. We barely get paid at all.”

Knockout Rose and Pinwheel fell back behind a metal barrier.

Cantrip hugged his knees. “Magic. I only wanted to do magic. I just wanted to make people happy.”

Rock Jock caught up with them.

Stardancer yelled, “What are you doing here? Go out there and kick some ass.”

“Fine,” said Pinwheel. “You first.”

“It doesn’t feel right hiding,” said Knockout Rose. “They’re … they’re calming down? What happened?”

In an instant the people changed from a chaotic mob to a confused rabble. People who were shoving and hitting anyone or anything they got close to looked at their bleeding hands in confusion. The few who looked at those around them were too ashamed to look for long. In the distance was the poorly harmonized strain of a dozen voices singing “Kumbaya.”

Stardancer pirouetted past the police. “Did you see that? Did you see what I just did? I calmed down this whole mob with my hypnotic dancing.”

“Uh, don’t people have to see you to be hypnotized?” asked Cantrip. “You were behind a barrier.”

“I guess they don’t,” said Stardancer. “Wow. I’m more powerful than I realized. We got to work this into upcoming episodes. Oh, photographers to the right. Show your good sides, everyone.”

Rock Jock pointed at the man in a trench coat and gas mask, who now also wore a helmet and had his hands cuffed behind his back. “Is that guy a villain? He looks like a villain.”

Stardancer strutted. “We got him! The Young Sentinels saved the day!”

As Cantrip tried to pull a rabbit from his hat, unaware that is was already in his curly hair, Knockout Rose patted Pinwheel’s shoulder with her boxing glove. “Are those other superheroes on the other side of the crowd?”

Pinwheel squinted. “I see at least three costumes. A boy in gold tights appeared out a blur, so that makes four. Yeah, it’s a team. Don’t know who they are, though.”

“Let’s talk to them.”

“But we’re here for free publicity. Our manager’s going to be mad.”

Knockout Rose walked away. “Good. I don’t give a damn. We almost got killed so he could make more money. He always says I’m replaceable, so let him fire me.”

Pinwheel ran after her. “You almost got killed by charging into the crowd. Are you auditioning for Red Sonja or something?”

“I pretended everyone attacking Ira was Stardancer. After that, I couldn’t stop punching.”

“This gig may suck, but it’s a job.”

“’Suck’ doesn’t cover it. We work six days a week until we pass out. I spend most of my time tied up, and Jackie needles me about every little thing I eat or every speck of dirt I drag into the bedroom or whatever. I don’t know how you dealt with this for a year, but six months is way too long for me.”

“I put up with it because if I lose this job, I’m right back to running from audition to audition and praying for every part out there.”

“Until you go to LA?”

“Pete and I are found a cheap apartment. We’ll get grunt jobs with the studios to make some friends. He’s got some great ideas for scripts.”

“So does every busboy and waiter out there.”

“Then I’ll keep acting until I get a break. If I don’t … I’ll end up playing Major Disappointment in fifty years and let a bunch of kids beat me with a fruit pie. Damn.”

“I’m ready to go back to Elmira and tell my parents they were right about me not making it in the big city. If I don’t do it soon, the manager will replace me for someone willing to wear less.”

“And after that?”

“I have no idea. What do you do after you fail?”             

“Well, we’re almost in listening range of that other team. Buck up and get in character. Let’s promote our brand, go home, cry ourselves to sleep, and drudge through another day.”

Alex felt great the next morning. Physically he was a mess – his arms and legs were covered in bruises and the cut above his eye was so swollen he wished he could still hide behind his Agent Exo helmet – but he was still much happier than he was the previous morning. It only took a few ibuprofen pills to cover the lingering pain.

The pizza party went great. For a few hours Alex forgot everything he lost. He got in a spirited argument with Goldstreak about whether the Yankees or the Mets better represented baseball, and while he made a better case he couldn’t shake Deon’s devotion to the Mets. He thanked Asura for replacing his smartphone’s destroyed screen with one from his last-generation spare phone. He laughed along with the rest of the team when Zany drank a liter of Sprite and belched the alphabet forwards and backwards. Gale Force hung on his every word when he recounted the most embarrassing moments endured by each team that rejected her. And, on the way back, he made small talk with Trista about how she grew up in South Brooklyn without raising any issues that neither of them could talk about again.

By the time they returned to Griffin Tower, Alex felt like the Prospects accepted him, and he accepted them. They weren’t bad kids, but they definitely needed help.

As he lay in his bunk, unable to sleep because he drank too much Pepsi, he thought about their abilities. Soon he had a notepad filled with ideas about how to train them.

In the early morning, he left a note for each student that said what they were to do or wear when reporting for afternoon training. He also made dozens of phone calls to the various companies owned by Griffin Industries to arrange a large shipment from an upstate farm. He needed to make a trip into the city for the last few items. Alex used this as an excuse to get lunch without seeing the students.

Jim intercepted him at the tower’s front lobby. “I’m surprised to see you here on a Sunday morning,” said Alex.

“Harry forwarded some of the e-mails you sent out while enjoying my morning scotch and Vicodin. Are you seriously requesting assistance from the research lab?”

“If your geeks aren’t working on my exoskeleton anymore, I have a project for them.”

“Which is?”

“For one of the Prospects.”

“And what are these charges from a farm in New Jersey that just went through? What cost four hundred dollars plus four hundred more for emergency shipping that you needed so badly on a Sunday morning?”

“It’s for our aspiring medic. That reminds me. I bought pizza for the team last night. I’ll fill out an expense report later.”

“The Prospects have their meals prepaid for in full.”

“You sent them out on an emergency mission during their dinner hour.”

“But pizza?”

“You told me to expense whatever I needed.”

“That must have been a three-martini lunch day."

A delivery truck pulled up to the front of Griffin Tower. Alex held the door open as four men brought a huge box into the building.

“Why are you bringing something that smells like a barnyard into my skyscraper?” asked Jim.

“Training.” Alex led the men to the service elevator.

Jim limped after them. “I am genuinely curious where this is going.”

The men followed Alex to the Prospects’s gym. The young superheroes were assembled in their costumes, except for Trista, who wore a formal dress and a new psychic nullifier.

“Good morning, team. We’re going to do things differently today. Instead of working with each of you for an hour, I’m going to give each of you a project to do all day. Goldstreak, you’re first. You read up on treating gunshot wounds, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You remember the ABCs of it?”

“Airway, breathing, circulation, and so on.”

“And you have your medic kit?”

Golstreak lifted a dark-red bundle.

“Good. Think you can treat a bullet wound?”

“I know all there is to know.”

“Time for your test.” Alex said to the delivery men, “Open the crate.”

The men stuck crowbars into the box and pried a side off. It fell, revealing two goats standing in a pile of hay.

“This just keeps getting weirder,” said Jim.

Zany squealed. “We have pets!”

“Goldstreak, pick a goat and name it.”

Goldstreak pointed to the one on the left. “I have no idea what to name a goat.”

“Name him Billy,” said Zany.

“Fine, Billy. Let’s begin.” Alex grabbed the goat by the ear and led it out of the crate. He drew his pistol and shot the goat through the shoulder.

Billy bleated. Zany shrieked. Gale Force froze. Trista turned away. Asura lowered his goggles.

“What the hell did you do?” screamed Goldstreak.

“This is your test,” said Alex. “No goat, no glory.”

“You shot an animal.”

“And you said you could treat bullet wounds.”

Golstreak dashed to the thrashing goat and unrolled his kit. “Airways clear. Breathing, it’s making noise, so it must be breathing. Ow! It kicked me!”

“It’s in pain,” said Alex.

“Circulation, control the bleeding.” Goldstreak slapped a bandage over the wound and applied pressure.

The goat kicked Goldstreak’s bundle. Bandages and alcohol swabs poured out.

Goldstreak frantically sorted through them. “QuikClot. Where’s the QuikClot?”

The goat kicked again. Everything in the bundle scattered across the gym floor.

The reality of the situation sank in among the onlookers. Jim took a deep drink from his hip flask. Trista prayed. Zany screamed. Gale Force said, “I’m going to puke.” Asura said, “Deon, press down on the wound. Harder.”

Goldsteak yelled, “Shut up!”

“Don’t yell at them,” said Alex. “If one of them gets shot, there’ll be even more screaming.”

“The wound is covered, but there’s still blood. Where is it coming from?”

Bubbles formed in Billy’s mouth.

“He’s not stabilizing,” said Goldstreak. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Figure it out,” said Alex. “Mouth-to-mouth could buy you time.”

Goldstreak wretched. “I’m not giving mouth-to-mouth to a goat.”

“Forget it,” Alex said. “Test failed. Look at the pupils, Billy is done.”

“No way.” Goldstreak punched his chest. “Come on, hang in there.”

“He’s gone, Deon. What were the ABCs again?”

“Airways, breathing, circulation, disability … what was E?”

“Exposure.” Alex grabbed Billy’s back and flipped him over. “You didn’t check for an exit wound. He had a hole in his lung that led to a puddle of blood.”

The other Prospects covered their eyes. Mister Griffin took another sip from his flask.

“Did you have to kill an animal?” said Goldstreak.

“You have to take being a medic seriously. Nothing’s more serious than death.”

“You’re sick, man. Sarge wasn’t even this sick.”

Alex turned to the rest of the Prospects. “I first heard about this when in the training program for the exoskeleton. I thought it was sick too, but the guys who went through it were amazing medics. I was so impressed that, after completing the program, I signed on for a course myself. I learned more in that eight-week session than I did in years of classroom training. I also gave mouth-to-mouth to a dying goat, which is the closest I’ve ever come to cheating on my wife.”

Jim tapped his cane. “Agent O’Farrell here is a fine medic. He saved Stormhead and Arbalest and god knows how many superhero-battle bystanders. If this is how he learned, it’s a good way.”

“Did you have to let the goat die?” said Zany.

“I had to show you that we can’t play around anymore,” said Alex. “We need to focus and pay attention to everything we’re doing. One mistake, and one of us could be the next to die.”

Asura pointed. “Ewww, it’s pooping. I am not cleaning that up.”

“No, this is Goldstreak’s mess,” said Alex. “He’s going to clean everything and take Billy to the incinerator on the floor below us.”

“This is wrong,” said Goldstreak. “I mean, this is a trick, right? Fake bullet? Trained goat?”

“No, you saw something die. That’s why you have to study harder. Go over everything. Practice how to bandage. Tomorrow, it’s Billy Two’s turn.”

Billy Two bleated.

“Zany, stay here and warm up for sparring. I’ll work with you today. Everyone else, come with me. I’m bringing in experts to help you with what I can’t.”

“Mind if I tag along?” asked Jim.

“It’s your skyscraper,” said Alex as he walked to the elevator.

“So what’s in store for us?” asked Asura.

“You’ll find out first.”

“Please say it doesn’t involve any more farm animals,” said Jenny.

“Not for you.”

The elevator stopped in the middle of the building.

“Hey,” said Asura as they walked down the corridor. “This is the research lab.”

“You only saw a fraction of it.” Alex opened a door to reveal a room as tall as two floors and as wide as an airplane hangar. Various machines and bits of technology dangled from cranes over the rows of desks along each wall. “The engineers use this part to draft new designs.”

“It’s weird to see this part of the research lab so quiet,” said Jim. “Usually it’s full of geeks screaming at each other, machines whirring, beeping computers …”

Asura gasped as he looked to the far wall. “Is that what I think it is?” He slowly stepped towards the huge golden suit with long rockets attached to flowing wings.

“That’s the last and finest version of the Golden Gryphon battlesuit,” said Jim. “We fixed it up since my last accident. Man, that old hunk of metal brings back memories. Most of the painful.”

Asura touched the plate glass in front of the suit with religious reverence. “All my life I wanted to see this. I can die happy.”

“Not yet,” said Alex. “The research team is excited about meeting you tomorrow. They’re going to help you build your own suit.”

Asura’s eyes got wide. “Oh, no way. For real?”

Jim said, “And the money for this project will come from …”

Alex pointed to a table full of various electronic parts. “Your company has written all of this off as scrap. With a little work and customization, I think Vijay can put together a prototype that will make him feel more like a hero.”

Asura picked up a circuit board. “I mean, this many raw materials, we got to be able to do something.”

“Take inventory of what’s up here and brainstorm some ideas,” said Alex. “You can meet with the scientists tomorrow to make blueprints. They might be able to use a frame from an Agent Exo prototype. My only requirement is that you only use non-lethal weapons.”

Jim and Alex walked back to the elevator. Alex took them up ten more floors.

“This one’s for you, Trista,” said Alex.

“I hope Harry knows you’re on his floor,” said Jim.

“We texted. He loved my idea.”

“You said Harry is nuts.”

“He is. He’s also the world’s foremost authority on paraneurophysiology.”

Alex led Trista and Jim to a room filled with a giant tank. Inside was a gray wrinkly mass suspended in gel and connected to thousands of wires.

“This is Doctor Von Dyme’s latest project, Mecha-Menta,” said Alex. “It’s built to better understand how psychic powers work.”

Trista peeked into the glass. “Is it alive?”

“It’s grown from stem cells around circuit boards. He says it can create different types of psionic attacks under computer control. It lacks the sentience to read minds or act on its own, but the physiological processes are similar.”

“What’s your plan?” asked Jim.

“My psychic self-defense techniques gave me the edge I needed to beat Lord Mosh last night. Then I remembered how Trista was surprised that psychic self-defense existed.”

“I read about it when I was in prison,” said Trista, “but I’ve never tried using it.”

“That’s what we’re going to do. Harry, or Doctor Von Dyme, is going to use Mecha-Menta to help me teach you psychic self-defense. I figure if we do run into the Idea Man again, you’d have a way to resist him.”

“I’d like that,” said Trista. “Can we start now?”

“Only Harry knows how to run this thing, and he’s disarming everything in our trophy room. I have someone else for you to meet.”

Alex took Trista and Jim to a small conference room on the next floor. “I scouted out some potential therapists for you. It’s going to take a while because we need to do thorough background checks.”

“And lots of psychologists don’t like dealing with psychics,” said Jim. “They’d rather learn how minds work by not breaking into them.”

Alex opened the door. “Since it’s Sunday, I thought you’d appreciate something religious.”

The table had a simple cross and two lit candles on it. A wizened man in a policeman’s uniform with a white collar shook Alex’s hand.