Starfall Page 12

  In theory, I’d known that my father had once been something of an outdoorsman. There had been fishing rods and old tents in the garage. He’d never tried dragging me along for any of his excursions. Instead, Dad just occasionally disappeared with his friends for a weekend and came back with an ice-chest full of trout or bass, looking happy and tired.

  I’d never asked him about it. Never asked if it was fun, never asked if he could bring me along. I hadn’t even been curious. And now it was too late.

  “Maybe.” The idea of time spent away from my books and the comfort of my office has little appeal, but if Bobby has fun it will be worth it. Fun has been hard to come by since the accident that stole our parents from us. “Yeah, I—Wait, is this the Saturday coming up or the next Saturday after?”

  “The weekend after. We’d gotta take Friday off from school ’n go early, but it’s just one day.”

  “I’m giving a test that Friday,” I sigh. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’ve watched you give tests. You just sit there!” Bobby glares impressively. “Have Alex do it!”

  “Alex?” It takes me an embarrassingly long moment to connect the name to my volunteer teaching assistant; while I lectured, I now recalled that my TA occasionally checked on my little brother—who was usually waiting patiently near the front of the class. Alex had brought coloring books, I think. And crayons. I make a mental note to thank him. “I don’t think that’d work out.”

  “You’re just saying that ’cause you don’t wanna go,” Bobby accuses, a hint and angry whine creeping into his voice. “It’s not fair!”

  “Alex could give the test,” I defend, “but he couldn’t grade the papers. It’s not that I don’t want to go…I can’t.”

  “Awww…”

  “You can go, though.” I ruffle Bobby’s hair playfully. “I’ll, um, talk to Erik’s Dad, make sure it’s all right.”

  “I wanted you to come.”

  “Next time,” I grin. “I promise.”

  Bobby disappears for a weekend and comes home looking tired and happy. But I have other obligations the next time a camping opportunity comes up, and again the time after that.

  And then it’s too late.

  I awoke to find the forest bathed in mist; wisps of fog poured downhill and even the insects and birds quieted in reverence when the sun’s first rays crept through the leaves. Gold-tinged light set the mists ablaze, vibrant and fresh and new.

  When Whisper had been rescued and all had settled down, I thought that perhaps I should bring her here. She’d been obsessed with oceans and fish and dolphins for the last year or so, but a morning like this would make her appreciate camping away from the surf and sand and crashing waves.

  After I had rescued her from the isolation of her father/creator’s lair in the foothills of the Sierra-Nevada mountain range, we had driven across the country back to Boston in an old bus. We were just getting to know each other then, and I hadn’t thought to stop and enjoy a few nights under the stars. There had been plenty of time to talk as the miles passed by but limited time available for leisure. By the time we’d arrived in Boston, I had already decided to take her in as Dr. Terrance Markham’s ward for legal purposes and she’d thoroughly wormed her way into my heart…the little sister I hadn’t known that I needed.

  The world outside Apotheosis’ foundry had enchanted her; a night under the stars would have been rapturous. Why hadn’t I stopped to offer her that gift? What was wrong with me, that I’d so quickly leapt to repeat the mistakes that I’d made with Bobby? When Whisper was rescued, I would do better.

  Be better.

  Surrounded by a wild masterwork in every shade of emerald, and with only a few insects and birds for company, I donned the still-damaged Mk 39 (full repair of the orichalcum chest-plate was beyond my capabilities) and readied my interdimensional transport for its next journey.

  And then it was time.

  My vehicle flickered into existence at the edge of a freeway interchange, greeted by a chorus of shrieking tires and angry car horns. I swerved into a ditch within the freeway’s median but the damage was done; traffic had stopped and news of a mysteriously appearing battle-tank would quickly spread. Given the number of hand-held smart-phones and cameras being deployed by the crowd of interrupted commuters, it was only a matter of time before there was an official response.

  This situation, I thought, was less than ideal.

  The original intention had been to hide the tank and explore, taking time to ascertain if this was my desired destination. Circumstance had obliterated that plan. I’d driven through a concrete barrier to reach the ditch and the tank’s treads had torn great troughs through the green grass; hiding my presence would be an impossibility. And besides…any attempt at concealment or evasion would surely have created the appearance of guilt. If peaceful negotiation was the end goal, then the most beneficial path would be to stay and wait for the proper authorities to make contact.

  Turning on the stealth field would have done little to hide my presence, but I briefly considered activating it nonetheless; it would have been a simple matter to overlay a hologram of a similar—but weaponless—armored transport over the mostly-invisible conveyance. From any onlooker’s perspective, the tank’s cannon would have simply disappeared. But I’d already been seen and concealing a weapon would have raised more paranoia even than displaying it openly.

  I could, at least, limit the impact upon local commuters before the first responders arrived. After quickly creating holographic headlights and taillights, I indicated the intent to turn and—with slow deliberation and taking intense care to ensure that my cannon never aimed at civilian vehicles—I carefully wove the tank through the stopped traffic to one side of the freeway, then over a fence into what looked to be an abandoned lot.

  One car honked angrily as the tank passed. What did the driver expect to accomplish, I wondered? To cow a massive battletank into submission with one loud blast of their horn? I considered twisting the turret to allow them a view of the wrong side of the cannon’s barrel but decided that doing so would be counterproductive. Any hint of aggression would be remembered.

  My armored interdimensional transport was still visible from the highway but I dared not continue further; moving beyond the road’s line-of-site would have put me perilously close to other civilian businesses. And then I let the main cannon dip low, aiming towards the ground.

  For a while, there was nothing but nervous silence. When no violence erupted, however, traffic began moving once more. Slower now, tentative…the passers-by were curious but not so foolhardy as to stop and investigate further. Dealing with the now-motionless armored vehicle was someone else’s problem and no one wanted to be stuck in their cars indefinitely. As such, they gawked and moved on.

  And continued taking photos and videos. After a few near-accidents, I added a holographic billboard to my exterior display: “Warning! Operating a handheld cellphone or camera while driving is unsafe at any speed.”

  Sirens approached. With any luck, police presence would do more to alter the drivers’ negligent behavior than the words I’d hung mid-air. There’d been two more close calls already.

  While I waited, I returned my attention towards my investigation. Initial sensor readings gave me cause for optimism; the Red Ghost had described the dimension that he’d visited as being so familiar that he had at first believed that he’d arrived home. That matched my own basic findings: air quality, demographics, visible technology levels…all visual identifiers matched my expectations.

  Sensors and scanners were already gathering more precise information, and I was pleased to discover that this dimension was a close enough analogue to my own that I could easily interface with local telecommunications protocols—another point in favor of this dimension being my desired target. Within a minute, I had programmed an army of algorithms to search through Internet records and analyze the results.

  It occurred to me that a concealed pilot might create as much paranoi
a as a concealed weapon, so I sent a mental signal to open the main hatch to exit the tank. Given the distinct possibility of unpleasantries—first contact scenarios among members of the superpowered community were rife with misunderstandings and violence—it would be foolish to make my appearance unarmored. The Mk 39 was intimidating and hid my features, but allowing some level of implied threat might keep the local constabulary or superheroic response from reacting with unnecessary force.

  Also, a beverage might help. Fortunately, my emergency supplies included a tea set and a picnic blanket.

  A pot of Earl Gray brewed while I waited for the now-arrived police to cordon off the highway and establish a perimeter. I sat cross-legged on the blanket, implying that any negotiator sent would be on equal footing; all of us could sit, all of us would drink from the same pot and from identical mugs. It was an invitation, a gesture of goodwill. My audience would, I hoped, see that (despite my strange starfield-and-red armor and the fearsome vehicle in which I’d arrived) I had made every effort to avoid unnecessary damage or threatening behavior.

  The police’s primary responsibility was to see to the civilian motorist’s safety; so long as I made no move to endanger the public, they would hang back and wait for trained super-powered support. My sensors indicated that at least one such professional was already en-route.

  The negotiator dropped from the sky and landed lightly, a grey-and-ochre clad professional-looking superheroine who I didn’t recognize. I focused the tank’s sensors and pretended not to watch and listen as she consulted with the on-site incident commander.

  I rested and—making use of the straw-like appendage that extended from the Mk 39’s forearm—sipped at my tea, using my neural tap to sort through terabytes of data to confirm my initial findings. Behind my impassive and faceless mask, I felt weary and long-overdue grin tug at the corners of my lips.

  The negotiator stepped towards me.

  “My name is Doctor Fid and I apologize for any disruption caused by my arrival,” I told the negotiator before she began to speak. “I am an interdimensional traveler and wish to apply for temporary protected status under Title 8, U.S. Code 1254a. Please…I need to speak with Professor Paradigm.”

  The negotiator was wearing a mask that hid her eyes, but the relief in her body language was palpable. She (and the police behind her) would stay on her guard, I was certain, but the legal appeal did much to allay her worries.

  “You’re in luck,” the brunette smiled and called back to me. “The Paragons are already on their way.”

  9

  “Would you like some tea?” I offered.

  “No,” she demurred, “But thank you for the offer. My professional name is Dawnstar, by the way, and I’ve been authorized to begin the process of granting you temporary protected status. There’s paperwork involved and you will be required to privately unmask, and also offer a DNA sample for our records.”

  “Of course,” I replied. “If I understand the statute correctly, I have seventy-two hours to make myself available to a Department of Metahuman Affairs for my assessment?”

  “That’s correct,” she replied, the slight tilt of her head indicating a curiosity that she quite-professionally kept from her expression. “In the meantime, you’ll need to be accompanied at all times by a licensed representative of the D.M.A., and your vehicle will be inspected and impounded.”

  “Excellent.” One way or the other, I would be long gone before three days had elapsed. “Professor Paradigm has the appropriate license, does he not?”

  “He does,” the heroine nodded, “but he’d need to agree to act as your custodian. Otherwise, you’ll be stuck with me.”

  “I understand,” I said, and took another sip of tea from my mug.

  Given that the incarnation of Professor Paradigm from this universe didn’t have decades’ worth of resentment and anger towards a Doctor Fid, it seemed rather likely that the offer of knowledge would make for an easy sell. I was quite prepared to grant detailed information about several of my inventions.

  If Paradigm helped me save Whisper, I’d give him anything he asked for.

  “Can you tell me more about the vehicle inspection process?" I asked.

  Dawnstar nodded and began explaining how an expert would be selected. I’d already done my own research into the subject, so I offered her only minimal attention; for the most part, I wanted only to keep her talking until the Paragons arrived. Sensor readings indicated that they were only a few minutes away.

  The lion’s share of my focus was upon sorting through local news articles and encyclopedia entries I’d gathered via my neural tap. Superficially, this world might appear very much like my own…but there were many differences. I found references to major battles that didn’t happen on my own world, and the community of heroes and villains was also somewhat changed. There were names I didn’t recognize, and other names present in surprising places. Andre Scalzi was a successful politician here rather than being a relatively low-level criminal named Blackjack. The supervillain Locust was imprisoned rather than having been brutally (and entertainingly) murdered; he’d recently become the stuff of talk shows when his parole was denied.

  There were very minor differences in technology levels, too. Nothing world-shaking, but I hacked scholastic and scientific periodicals to gather future reading material nonetheless.

  And then the Paragons’ sleek transport shuttle glided into view, cutting a smooth and elegant path through the sky. It appeared that Professor Paradigm’s exquisite sense of aesthetics was consistent across multiple dimensions.

  “If you wouldn’t mind waiting here a moment,” Dawnstar smiled, “I’ll go update the Paragons and then bring them over to talk.”

  “Thank you,” I nodded. “If you have any questions, I’ll be right here drinking tea.”

  And breaking into D.M.A. databases in order to read personnel files. It occurred to me that Dawnstar was a trained hostage negotiator and that my only relevant experience was as a taker of hostages; she’d played along with my efforts to keep this encounter calm but would certainly have noticed the calculated intent. Fortunately, I was reassured as I read her case files. In a prior case file, she’d made a note that attempts at manipulation were to be expected and that de-escalation was always preferred.

  Even so, I could not help but feel a flutter of nervousness when the heroine stepped into the Paragons’ shuttle. Even my best sensors had never been able to defeat Professor Paradigm’s anti-surveillance technologies in my home universe. Again, that capability had crossed dimensions. My hope was buoyed; this incarnation of the aged inventor was every bit the talent as the version who’d denied me on another world.

  I poured a second cup of tea and let the time pass, focusing on calm breathing, peaceful thoughts, and plans to annihilate all in my path if I were denied.

  And then Dawnstar led the Paragons from their shuttle.

  The Professor himself looked well…not younger, precisely, but as though he’d aged more gracefully and taken more care for his physical upkeep. There was no frailty in his movements.

  To his right was Viking, a brawny man wearing leathers, with a ruddy complexion and long just-beginning-to-gray brown hair pulled back in a pony tail. The massive warhammer he bore was familiar to me. In my world, he’d retired after only a few years of activity. Here, he must have found a means to control the detrimental aspects of his power.

  There was Solara and Dancer, Breaker and Fog (who I knew little about and recognized only by costume), and another man who looked familiar despite the silver cowl that hid most of his features. Unfortunately, the D.M.A. records for the San Francisco Paragons’ personnel were locked down tightly; unearthing more detailed information would take time.

  “Professor,” I greeted gravely. “My name is Doctor Fid, and I’ve travelled a long way to see you.”

  “So I hear.” He took my offered hand and shook it professionally. “How can I help?”

  “I need to stabilize a spherical h
armonic quantum waveform around a gravity well,” I replied.

  “A carrier signal for an interferometric sensor system of some sort, I imagine.” Professor Paradigm’s lips pursed in a slight frown. “If you’ve built a cross-dimensional transport, you already know the basics.”

  “I do, but working out the details would take time that I don’t have. I can share the math that I’ve already worked out,” I gestured plaintively. “Please. A little girl’s life is at stake. My sister.”

  “Sister?” startled the man in the silver cowl.

  “She’s adopted,” I explained, then shook my head. “It’s complicated, and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that she’s in danger.”

  “Well then,” Professor Paradigm smiled, his expression flicking briefly to his teammates. “I suppose that we’ll see what we can do. Dawnstar, I’ll take Doctor Fid back to headquarters.”

  “Yes, sir.” She returned his smile, briefly. “And the tank?”

  “There’s moving equipment already en route.”

  “Okay…I’ll stay here and supervise cleanup. Good luck, sir.” She turned towards me. “And good luck to you, as well.”

  “Thank you.”

  I hadn’t brought many drones on this trip, but there were enough present to gather up my picnic blanket and tea set and carry them back into my ship. By the time Professor Paradigm and his entourage had led me to his shuttlecraft, my tank had been re-packed and sealed itself shut.

  The interior of the shuttle was appointed in an elegant but understated manner…comfortable seats that automatically adjusted to the passengers’ frames as they sat down, and an area with handrails set aside for those who might opt to stand (not uncommon among those with superpowers, with odd body-shapes or physical requirements). With the exception of the video screen frame at the front of the crew compartment, there were no sharp angles…just smooth, sleek curves.