The Tower (11 page)

Oriana! I hadn't even heard her come up behind me what with the noise of the crowd and all. The man with the brass knuckles had been knocked clean into tomorrow. She stood over him but he was unconscious and bleeding heavily and someone in the crowd yelled: “Alright!”

That didn't stop Lard-Butt from grabbing her from behind. Someone yelled a warning and the crowd moved back, encircling us. “Gotcha!” he yelled, but not for long. Oriana snapped her head back and caught him flush on his nose. I heard a crack like a gunshot; his nose had been broken and it immediately started gushing blood. He staggered back and yelled: “You bitch! You broke my nose!”

“That isn't all,” I said angrily. Being jumped by two scumbags was one thing, but Oriana was another matter and I waded in, fists swinging and then head-butted him. It hurt like hell and made me see stars but it was enough to knock him out. Oriana stayed where she was, glaring murderously at their unconscious forms. Two security guards ran over, and after giving them the details, the pair were taken away, the crowd dispersed and we were free to go.

“What the hell was that all about?” she wanted to know.

Embarrassed, I told her the details; her face got tight when she heard me mention Mark's name. “Let me handle it,” I told her. I was afraid she'd exact some kind of retribution on Mark's sorry ass or his friends. This was something I wanted to take care of myself.

“Okay,” she agreed, “hands off.” Then she looked at my clothes; my face had gotten a bit banged up but otherwise, no biggie. My shirt, however, was a write-off and she told me with a grin that I needed a new one. “Can't go downtown like that.” She ran into the airport, and came out a few minutes later with a fresh T-shirt and tossed it to me. They were her colors—black and red stripes and I thought they'd look pretty good on me. I quickly stripped off the bloodied and sweat-stained old one, tossing it into the trashcan.

Then I caught her looking at me. “What?”

“You really have been working out. All those push-ups and stuff must have done you some good.”

That comment made me turn a bit red; she just grinned again and told me to get on her motorcycle. No side-car this time. It was time to go to work. On the way downtown, my lady yelled over the roar of the engine, “Y'handled yourself pretty well back there!”

“I had great teachers!” I yelled back, and boy, was I grateful for what she'd taught me, along with Crazyman. They'd both schooled me well. And for once, I'd actually come out on top in a fight with a lot of help from my girlfriend, of course. The next time, however, I couldn't count on lighting striking twice. I'd be on my own.

* * *

Two hours later after another round of Q&A for Knower, and still no answers. No fights to speak of but for Oriana, it seemed the answers just weren't there. Frustrated, she motored over to a quiet park area and we sat down to collect our thoughts. During our Q&A adventures, it had occurred to me that I was helping her search for her old friend-who-may-have-been-her-boyfriend, but it still bothered me that I couldn't do anything to help her. We sat for a time, lost in our own thoughts. Finally, I asked her, “You hungry?”

She shook her head and then removed her mask. Oh, she was beautiful! In all the time I'd known her she'd never been out of costume and I'd never seen her face. As much as I wanted to kiss her, this didn't seem like the right time. Then I looked more closely at her. Her eyes were a different…

“What's wrong?” she asked. I'd been staring.

I looked again; they were blue. Must've been the fading light, or maybe she was wearing contact lenses. “Ah, it's nothing.” I hesitated. “Um…you suppose that, uh, Knower…doesn't want to be found?”

She gave me a look that could've chilled Mexico in summer. “Why wouldn't he want to be found? I've been over every inch of Portland with and without you. Maybe he was kidnapped, or had an accident, amnesia…”

“Or maybe,” I interrupted, not unkindly, “maybe he just got tired of doing his reporter-detective gig and gave it up? I mean, don't you know where he lived? If you were good friends, he must have told you where he hung out, his home number, stuff like that. Didn't he? You could call him, you know.”

Her eyes started to water, but she quickly caught herself. When she spoke again, her voice was subdued, even resigned. “Don't you think I haven't thought about doing that?” she asked. “He was really private, y'know? He didn't want anyone following him or knowing too much about him; he said he didn't even have a phone. I asked him a couple of times but he never said anything too personal to me, he wanted his space an' all that. So, I didn't ask questions about where he lived or what he did in his private life; I respected him that way.” She then looked at me, as if asking for confirmation. What could I say?

“Oriana,” I started, “I'm not sure what kind of person he was but I know what kind of person you are: A good one and a good friend. If you want, I'll help you look whenever you want. I mean, if it means that much to you, it's the least I can do.” I paused for a second. “Just that, if you haven't found him in all this time, maybe it's 'cuz he isn't interested anymore? I'm sorry if that hurts you, and I don't want to hurt you at all, that's just how I see it.” I hesitantly took her hand and her fingers gripped mine tightly.

She nodded a bit and then wiped her eyes. “Maybe you're right; maybe…sometimes I get tired, tired of all this running around.” She sat back, looking at the trees, gently stroking the grass around her.

“Do you want a normal life? I mean, you told me you like gardening and I've seen all those books in your room….”

“No!” she quickly said. “I…I love doing this; gardening's just my hobby. This is what I get off on…fun'n'games, y'know? With you, it's just great…maybe another night.” Her face brightened, she leaned over and kissed me, then put her mask on again and got up. “Look, there's a hot dog stand over there. Let's eat!”

That was fast change in attitude and it was good to see her happy again. Her menu was five veggie dogs and water and I just had a single dog and a Coke. She ate quickly, belched pleasurably and then looked at me. Not at me, exactly, at my drink. “What?”

“That,” she said, pointing at the Coke. “Is it good?”

She had to be kidding. “You've never had Coke?”

“Uh-uh.” She shook her head. “I never had it as a girl. Before my parents died they made me eat healthy all the time, and that meant no cola or sweets, special diet for my gymnastics and karate training, that sort of stuff. I just grew up with it, y'know?

“Now that I'm with the Association, it's for our public image,” she continued. “If someone caught us drinking soft drinks or beer or whatever, we might get stuck doing endorsements or people might think we weren't serious 'bout helping others. Avenger doesn't want that.” She shrugged: Orders were orders.

Well, sounded pretty wonky, but…okay. Her eyes, though, were still on my Coke. “Want a sip?” I asked. She nodded, took the cup, sipped the drink a little…and then drained it.

“It's sweet!” she exclaimed, a look of surprise on her face. Her eyes then crossed, rolled up, and she fell backwards, out cold. Sort of like one of those cartoon characters that goes stiff as a board and wipes out backwards? That's exactly what happened.

Smashed on Coke! How the hell could that happen? Maybe she was a diabetic or something. I knelt down beside her, patted her face, rubbed her palms, spoke to her, and got more frantic with each passing second. No response at all. With no better plan, I ran back to the hot dog vendor, got two bottles of water and poured them on her face. She woke up sputtering gibberish, then blinked and asked me what'd happened.

“You drank my Coke and passed out?”

“Oh.” Shakily, she got to her feet, staggered a bit; walking normally seemed to be beyond her capabilities. Putting my arm around her waist, we managed to get back to her motorcycle, and since I didn't know how to ride one she did the work, although we ended up creaming two parked car mirrors and a few signs along the way.

Back at the Dart, Oriana, still in a state of inebriation, took off quickly without waiting for the go-ahead from the flight controller, barely missing the conning tower and shooting into the stratosphere at high speed. She ignored the screams of the other passengers as we shot up and past two jetliners coming in for a landing. I was too terrified to yell out, just prayed that I'd get home alive.

Oh, yeah, it was scary as hell and what was even scarier was that she was piloting the ship with her eyes closed! Her hands were barely touching the controls…how the hell were we going to get back to the Tower in one piece? Did anyone back there know how to fly a Dart? I lowered the screen and asked. As I expected, no one knew.

Noticing the petrified look on my face, she pushed the “Up” button and the screen separated us once again from the passengers. She slurred, “Guess I can't handl'it. Take over.”
What
? She pushed another button and the yolk came up to my hands; I was now captain of a starship for however many minutes it would take us to get back home. I'd never piloted a starship before. “Jush put yer hands on the yolk, hold it steady,” she mumbled.

With my heart practically jumping out of my chest, I did as she told me and kept a firm grip, steadying the ship as best I could. Looking at the console, I was totally confused over which controls to operate. Oriana pointed out which levers and toggles to pull; I ignored the cries of panic coming from the back and wiped the sweat that was running into my eyes.

Once we got within distance of our home base, Oriana shook her head a few times to clear the cobwebs but couldn't raise her arms enough to do anything useful. “Guess I'm not gonna be able to land it. You'll have to.”

“WHAT?!!” I was just about ready to freak out big-time.

“Don't yell at me,” she said. “Head hurts. Putit on autopilot,” she slurred. “That yellow button over there,” she managed to point at the console. “Yeah, that'n. Push it.”

I did and then pushed it again; the computer screen read, “Inoperative.”

Inoperative
?! Whatever happened to the Tower credo of always being ready? “Too late t'worry 'bout it now,” she muttered and slumped back in her seat. “You can do it.” Oh,
damn
, there was no time to veer off.

Oriana did manage to push the communications button, although it took her three tries to find the right one. “Comin' in hot!” she bellowed. And this time, screen up notwithstanding, the rest of the passengers heard her yell. I didn't know whether to be more frightened of crashing or listening to the cries of terror behind me.

How I did it I'll never know, but we landed safely inside although I ended up taking out three Darts waiting to be serviced, along with part of the Hangar Bay wall. The other passengers, totally shaken up, staggered off and promptly pitched up what they'd had for dinner all over the floor. Mark and his friends were still on duty and they got heaved on as well which gave me a small measure of satisfaction, even more so when Avenger told them to clean up the mess.

Oriana and I were the last to disembark. She was leaning on me and muttering about maple trees, hotdogs and Coca-Cola and my legs were shaking like a man with palsy. We reached the deck and right in front of us was Avenger who'd come over to debrief us. He did not look pleased.

Oriana saluted him with a weak smile, hiccupped and belched loudly, then said, “Mishun 'ccomplished,
SIR
! Gonna go lie down,” and staggered off down the hallway to the elevator. The look Avenger gave me could've iced a nova.

“You and I are going to have a little talk in the Justice Room,” he said quietly. “Follow me.”

I was so not looking forward to this.

Inside the Room, Avenger gave me a royal chewing out, and then dismissed me. I stayed awake half the night wondering if I'd be canned but nothing more was said.

The next morning, back to work as usual. I'd heard that repairs to the Hangar Bay would take at least two weeks. After the morning crowd had eaten and filed out, Oriana walked in very slowly and stiffly. She took a plate, filled it with food but ate very little, just pushed it around disinterestedly. As I worked my way over to her, clearing away plates and dishes, she grabbed my wrist in a steely grip and looked me squarely in the face.

“Bill,” she began, “Avenger chewed my ass out just before, just so you know. I love being with you, but no more damn Coke,” she whispered loudly.

Gotcha
. “Hangovers suck,” she said softly, shaking her head ever so slightly. “How can you drink that crap?”

Eleven: As Time Goes By

“You're thinking about her again, aren't you?”

“Well, yeah, I guess so.”

The question had come from Tenkita. We were standing on the Promenade Deck and she was snapping her fingers, practicing. With each snap, a different flower or rainbow pattern flashed up quickly and then disappeared. Her rabbit friend was cradled in her other arm—it often went “missing” and usually I was the one who found him and brought him back.

Naturally, Tenkita knew about our relationship; she knew everyone on the Tower and almost everything about them. What she didn't know and what the rest of the crew didn't know about was that said relationship had been platonic and as foolish as I felt talking to Tenkita about it, like the good person she was, she knew what to say to me.

We'd become good friends over the last few months. She always showed me a new magic trick she learned, and after the first delivery I'd made, she often asked me to get her supplies from Wilson's shop. I was the only one she trusted; of course, no one else wanted to go, so I was elected. While she was friendly with everyone, she seemed to take an especial liking to me, and had always encouraged me to study a bit more, do a bit more. That was her way and I felt I could confide in her.

We often talked about life on the Tower; her advice was just to let things happen, be myself, and whatever would be would be. Deanna said the same thing. While I was still shy around others, things on the social front had improved, but the behind-the-back comments still came from time to time.

“Oriana's very strong-willed,” Tenkita told me, “but she's the right one for you. I just know it.”

“Thanks, but how do I handle the other people sniping at me for being with her?” Bad enough I wasn't the type to openly say how I felt—worse was that I really didn't feel all that mature. While my body may have been artificially aged, I still felt like a teenager in the psychological sense. I'd been given a man's body and a man's job and was expected to act that way but still didn't feel the part.

“It's really none of their business,” was Tenkita's answer. “Everyone always wants what they can't have; be nice and go about your job, that's all you can do,” she added. And as for the romantic part she went on to say, “Isn't being with her enough?” She paused again, giving me a wise look. “Maybe not, I guess that's what every young man thinks,” she said with a smile. I flushed a little. “Well, I
was
young once, you know.”

“You still are.”

“And you're a sweet guy, Bill Lampkin,” she stated firmly. “You
are
the right one for her, too. You'll grow into what you are now…in time. And someday, you'll understand what I'm saying to you.”

“I understand…I think.”

“There is an old saying that everything good happens to those that wait,” she continued, “but that really wasn't the answer you wanted, was it?” she added, looking at me searchingly.

No, no, it wasn't, but…

“You love her, don't you?”

I didn't really know what the word meant. I'd seen a few movies with Oriana. In spite of her bad-ass attitude, she liked the romance genre but I still wasn't sure of my feelings. Tenkita just nodded.

“If you really like her, wait a bit longer. The chase is always better than the capture.” And with that, she and the rabbit levitated into the air and flew off down the hallway. Sage advice and I was alone with my thoughts again.

Romance aside, the days and then the weeks passed and everything had settled into a definite pattern. Up at four in the morning, shower and shave and then off to the cafeteria by no later than four-thirty. John had been letting me open up the Commissary as of late, so I had to turn on the lights and gas and then get started.

Cooking was a breeze and it was an enjoyable way to pass the time. Every time Oriana came in, she'd say, “Morning, mi novio, what's for breakfast?”

“Whatever you want,” I'd whisper. Damn—I still turned red around her.

And the staff members behind her, they'd mutter things like, “Why's she with
him?!
” and “What's he doing?” “Sucking up to them, that's what!” or “How in the hell does
he
rate being on the same decks with them?” and so on.

“Let it go, Bill,” Gwyneth would tell me. “Just let it go.”

Yeah, okay; it was no big deal. There were other things to occupy my time besides missions on the surface and studying. After being here for what I guessed was around six months, Avenger had informed me that I was up to perhaps the ninth or tenth grade in terms of education. While that was cool to hear, training had become a priority.

A month or so after my boxing lessons began Blue Lancer walked into the gym. He started with squats, warmed up with 315 pounds and then worked his way up to over 600 for reps. He wasn't even sweating after he'd finished his workout.

“You want something?” he asked me.

I guess I'd been staring. All the Ultras were pretty jacked and even though I'd gained a bit of weight, in contrast with them I still looked like a pencil. “Uh, yeah; could you tell me how this all works?”

“You mean you want to start lifting?”

“Yeah, I do.” I decided right then and there. A little smile came over his face; he still looked like he wanted to kill someone.

“Okay, you're on.” And so it began. Three times a week on alternate days after boxing practice, Lancer became my chief instructor. Squats, benches, rows or chins, some shoulder presses and arm and calf work made up the bulk of what I did.

“Bottom it!” Lancer would yell at me when I was squatting. “Put your ass to the grass!” According to him, a squat wasn't a squat 'til your rear end touched your calves. “You want to get stronger, you do it my way!”

“I'm gonna puke!” I yelled out, gasping for air. He handed me a bucket; it had my name stenciled on it and I filled it each workout session. “Does it ever get any easier?” I asked during a brief rest.

“Nope,” he answered. “It's not supposed to get easier. But once you see the changes, you won't care. Now do another set.”

There was also the eating, essential for success, Lancer said. “You don't fuel a rocket with wood, do you?” he'd ask. “You have to eat.”

And eat I did. Whether it was breakfast, lunch, or dinner, it was always healthy. “You watching your weight, Bill?” one of the cooks asked. He'd been stuffing his face with pizza at lunch and looked like a pizza himself, round and sort of bloated. I was eating six hard-boiled eggs, a salad, and lots of water.

“No, just eating healthy,” I answered. It wasn't a matter of trying to copy the Ultras in terms of their lifestyle; I just figured that if a bigger and better body was in the works, then it was best to eat clean food. Actually, the thought of meat turned me off, and for some reason all soft drinks and even milk made me feel queasy. Guess it was just my body's way of adjusting.

Over time, all the training and eating had its effect on me. I'd always had the image of becoming like these heroes I admired so much; that image was becoming close to reality, although I could hardly consider myself in the Ultra category. Still, one day, I had trouble zipping up my uniform. Before, it had hung limply from my bony frame.

“You're looking swole, dude!” said one of the techs on the Bridge. “
Swole
?” I guess that meant something good, and even Oriana told me I looked a whole lot different.

“You're not so skinny, anymore, mi novio,” she said with a smile.

“You still like me this way?” I asked her.

“Any way you are,” she replied. Good enough for me.

My body changed and with it, the seasons. I'd arrived here in the early summer and by the time I'd become accustomed to Tower life and the daily rituals of work, training, and going Earth-side for missions, summer had morphed into fall, and then winter. That meant the holidays.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” Dan asked me one day. He was planning to go back to his hometown (Chicago) with Cathy. Joe and Chuck were off to Los Angeles and Nevada, respectively, and it seemed everyone else had plans for the vacation. Me, I had no idea.

“I don't really know.” I'd always wanted a Christmas like the other kids had. I wasn't all that religious, but the holiday meant something to me: A time to be together with those you loved. I hadn't had a decent holiday season since my mother died. Thinking about that, my mind went back to what Avenger had told me when we first met; something about counterparts and other versions of them, or of me.

Wondering about the alternate possibilities, I took a trip down to Portland alone, sort of half-hoping I wouldn't find “me” and sort of half-hoping I would. At first, the thought of discovering another “me” almost caused me to give up my plan, but then I told myself I'd be regretting it if I didn't know for sure. And so I went to Earth and arrived at my old address in Portland on December 22nd late in the afternoon.

It was cold outside but the walkway had been shoveled and there was just a bit of snow on the ground. The name on the mailbox read, “Lamp.”
Lamp
? Maybe someone had scratched the full name off, or maybe Avenger had made a mistake in where my counterpart lived. A car was there, so someone was home. I rang the doorbell, and a few seconds later, it opened. A dead woman was looking at me: My mother.

“Can I help you, young man?”

She was the same as I remembered her; medium-height, slim, long and wavy brown hair, brown eyes which looked at me and everything and everyone else with concern. I started towards her, just for the briefest of brief moments, wanted to hug her and tell her, “Mom! I'm home! I missed you and I know I've been away a long time…” but there, in the back, about ten feet away, someone else was standing.

It was me, this universe's version of me. He was about sixteen, fairly tall for his age, average-looking and healthy. “Who's at the door, Mom?” he called out and then came forward to check out the action. Yeah, there was a resemblance, but if I noticed it they didn't, and both of them kept looking at me quizzically.

What could I say? I—he—we…whatever; the alternate me was with his mother and not mine. My own mother was dead, dead and gone, and I realized suddenly that that part of my life was over and I had to accept it. It was a shock, yeah, like a slap to the face; I just stood there and took it.

Damn it, I'd cry later on
. “I…uh…I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am,” I began, doing my best to control the tremor in my voice. “Actually, I'm sort of lost and, uh, I need to get back to the station.”

“First time in Portland, Mr.….?” she left the question hanging.

“Clarkson,” I said, thinking fast. “Kent Clarkson. Yes, ma'am, I'm new in town and got mixed up on my directions and, well…” my voice trailed off. Nothing I could say, I was on the verge of breaking down. “Sorry I bothered you both,” nodding at the two of them and turning to leave.

“It's alright, Mr. Clarkson,” the woman-sort-of-once-my-mother said. “If you go to the bus stop across the street and take the #76 bus, it'll take you downtown.”

“Thank you, ma'am,” I said, trying not to let the tears fall. I was
that
close to losing it. “Um, I hope both of you have a happy holiday.”

“We will,” she said. “My husband will be coming home soon, if you'd like to wait a bit,” she said. My father: Maybe he wasn't a drunk after all. It was just my luck to be born into the wrong universe. “He can give you a drive, if you like,” she was saying.

“No, that's okay, ma'am,” I said hastily. “I can make it on my own.”

“Do you have someone to spend the holidays with?” she asked.

My mind and heart cleared a little. “Yes, ma'am, yes I do.”

“Then Merry Christmas to you and yours,” she said.

“Same to you,” I replied and the door closed softly. With it, all contact with what I knew as my former life, even if it was in another universe, closed as well. Still a shock, but okay, I'd get over it. I'd gotten over a lot worse.

Still, I cried all the way back downtown, but after rationalizing it all, I realized it was better this way. Even though I'd lost my own mother in my universe, this universe's version of my mother was still alive and so was the alternate version of me. And they were happy, a happy family. I had no right to interfere. You couldn't go home again even though you could, and that was all there was to it.

And this universe's mother was right: I
did
have someone I could share the season's happiness with. So I asked Oriana to spend Christmas Eve with me and she agreed, and as a bonus, I got the day off from cafeteria duty.

The Tower itself had no festivities planned. Work there was just that; work. PowerGuy explained that the day-to-day ops were one thing, and religion was not something that was considered necessary, hence the lack of a church area, synagogue, or mosque.

“I realize there are many faiths planet-side and I'm all for worshipping as one pleases, but here we can't be seen as potentially favoring any one religion over another, so we've kept everything strictly non-denominational,” he told me. “I like a good Christmas party as much as the next person, but not on the Tower. Try to understand our position on that. And,” he added, “enjoy your time on Earth.” He said that with a knowing look on his face.

As for my girlfriend's present, what to get someone who had everything? After checking my bank account, I was more than surprised to find the sum of almost $125,000 in there. If that was what a cook got, I could only wonder how much the other tech staff made. What to buy? Getting Oriana a book on flowers didn't seem all that cool. Getting her some kind of weaponry was also out of the question. After thinking the matter over, I settled on buying her a gold necklace with a heart at the bottom and an arrow through it. I had the jeweler engrave our names on the arrow's shaft. I thought that was romantic enough.