8FOLD/ACRA: Jolt City # 22, "October Surprise!" (Part 1 of 3)

[Tom Russell]

Pocket Vito stands on his desk, resting his tiny cigar in a tiny ashtray.
   "Lissen up, you mugs!
   "I'm head of this city, see?
   "And anyone who thinks otherwise is in for an...

          "...OCTOBER SURPRISE!"

   EIGHTFOLD PROUDLY PRESENTS
////////////// [8F-118] TOM RUSSELL'S
    ////  //////  /// //////  ////// /// ////// \  //
// ////  //  //  ///   //    ///    ///   //     \//# 22
//////  //////  ///// //    ////// ///   //      //PART 1

Early October, Aught-Eight. Calumet Heights.
   Bethany walks home from Pete's with the bags wrapped around her
wrists. She'd rather have gone to Hyde Park Produce-- the joke goes
that produce from Pete's goes rotten by the time you get it home-- but
Marva wasn't able to give her a ride. Pete's is a ten minute walk, and
the turnips at least will keep till tomorrow. She's not so sure about
the asparagus, prolly use that all tonight.
   She keeps her head down, the hood of her jacket drawn tight against
her cheeks. It does a decent enough job of hiding the necrotic scar on
her left cheek, and thus her secret identity. She'd feel better if she
was wearing a scarf, but it's not cold enough for that yet. It would
just attract more attention she doesn't need or want.
   She gets to her apartment and fishes out the key. First the
deadbolt, then the lock, then she twists the knob, and
   KALINGK!: the chain pulls taut and stops the door an inch and a
half into its inward swing. Obviously Bethany didn't lock it. She
transfers all her groceries to her left hand, and with her right, she
makes a fist, gently coaxing the Singularity Gauntlet awake.
   "Hold on," says a woman's voice from inside. Bethany only catches a
glimpse before the door closes. Through the door, slightly muffled,
she can hear the sound of the chain being wiggled free. Then, soft
shoeless steps get softer as the woman moves away from the door.
   Bethany increases the density of her right fist. Keeping it free
should she need it, she uses her left to both carry the
wrist-reddening burden of her groceries and to open the door.
   The woman is in the living room. Sitting in Bethany's chair. It's
the woman from the Jolt City FCL. (...Trimmer.) She is drinking a
glass of something.
   "Scotch," says Trimmer, holding up a half-emptied bottle. "My own.
Yours was terrible."
   But she doesn't have any scotch. "That would have been iced tea."
   "And that's why it was terrible," says Trimmer.
   "What are you doing here, Trimmer?" says Bethany.
   "I like that. 'What are you doing here, Trimmer?' Right to the
point, and no pretending. No, 'Who are you and what are you doing
here? Knockout Mouse? I think I've heard of her, but what on earth
does she have to do with me?' Saves a lot of time. God bless you,
Bethany."
   Honestly, she was just so relieved it wasn't a burglar or black
cape that she just forgot to put up the pretense. This secret identity
thing is harder than it looks. She doesn't know how Blue Boxer pulls
it off so well.[1]
   "So you know who I am," says Bethany, sauntering coolly to her
sofa. "What are you going to do about it?"
   "Pardon?" says Trimmer. "You mumbled."
   Which kinda takes the cool right out of it. "You know who I am,"
says Bethany, loud and clumsy. "Are you trying to blackmail me?"
   "Blackmail, no," says Trimmer.
   "But you want me to come to Jolt City."
   "Yes. But I'm not blackmailing you, Bethany." She takes a sip, her
lips puckering sourly, then swallows with pleasure. "Do you know how I
found out who you are?"
   Bethany brushes the peek-a-boo swoop of her hair from her cheek,
revealing the scar.
   Trimmer shakes her head. "It was the genetics stuff. The few times
you've been interviewed, you've bent over backwards to explain the
'genetic basis' of your powers." (Were those scare quotes?) "You know
the jargon. You don't use it mindlessly. Ergo, you've got a background
in genetics. Girl in your age group, in Calumet Heights, studying
genetics... narrowed it down considerably."
   "I don't see how that follows," says Bethany. "My powers have a
genetic basis. So even if I wasn't going to grad school for genetics,
I would know a lot about them."
   "Well, if your powers had a genetic basis," says Trimmer. "If you
had powers. Which you don't."
   "Well, I do," begins Bethany.
   Trimmer stares at her, cold and disapproving. "You have a glove.
You had a belt. You stopped wearing it around the time you stopped
teleporting. You have alien tech. It doesn't take a rocket scientist
to figure it out. I'm certainly no rocket scientist. I ain't dumb,
either, so don't play stupid with me, okay?"
   Bethany doesn't say a word.
   "I'm not a genius," continues Trimmer, "but I'm plenty smart. And
if I can figure you out, it stands to reason that other people can,
too. Smarter people. Like Johann Rosenberg." [2]
   "So it is blackmail," says Bethany. "I come to Jolt City, or I can
go to jail for breaking Fitzwalter." [3]
   "Again, it's not blackmail. It's more just a matter of looking at
your options. The way I see it, there are three scenarios at play
here.
   "Scenario one. You don't come to Jolt City. Rosenberg finds out. I
don't tell him, let's be clear on that. I ain't trying to screw you.
Rosenberg finds out, and, yes, you go to jail.
   "Scenario two. You come to Jolt City. Rosenberg finds out. He can't
touch you because you're ours and Fitzwalter doesn't float in my
town."
   "I suppose scenario three isn't 'he finds out, then I come to Jolt
City'?" says Bethany.
   "It is not. But not from vindictiveness on my part. I really ain't
trying to strong-arm you. I'm just laying it out. It just isn't
realistic. You come to Jolt City before he finds out, you have the
time to prove yourself, I can say, look it, she's part of our city.
Popular, good-looking girl like you. Right... cultural background. It
gives me the political capitol to say no to Chicago. But if you come
running to us after it's out of the bag? You're not our hero; you're
their fugitive. And there is fuck-all I can do about it then."
   "Or he can never find out."
   "Scenario three. He, his successor, they don't find out. And then
you continue on right like you've been doing, strangling yourself
worrying that they will find out. Tell me I'm wrong."
   Bethany shakes her head. "Why do you care?"
   "Purely mercenary," says Trimmer. "You may have noticed that Jolt
City's had a pretty shit year. There's the economic aspect of it--
Cradle pulling out, city budget problems. But a lot of that frankly is
on my predecessor."
   Bethany holds her tongue; she liked Dani. [4]
   Trimmer must pick up on this, because she softens. "Given the
crisis they faced back in March, she did the best she could with the
tools she had. The problem is she didn't have the right tools. [5]
   "A city the size of ours can't depend on one man to handle its
four-colour challenges. Especially as they seem to be increasing in
frequency. Just last year, we had the Vibra-Jacket crime sprees and
the Apelantian invasion. We need more talent. And talent attracts
talent. And Blue Boxer's not going to attract it. I need a star. A big
name that will show people in your line that Jolt City's worth
protecting." [6]
   "And you think that's me?" scoffs Bethany. "Look, yes, I'm popular
now, I guess. But I'm not the lead. I'm a supporting player at best.
Nobody to build something around."
   "What do you think I am? I have an important job, Bethany, but it
doesn't involve people liking me or wanting to be inspired. I'm
support. I'm background. And if that's all you want to be, then that's
your choice."
   "It's not a choice," says Bethany quietly. "It's who I am."
   "It's who you choose to be," insists Trimmer. "Because you hold
yourself back. Because you're scared. Scared you're going to hurt
someone with all that power. Scared you're going to get found out. And
being scared isn't a bad thing, necessarily. Being scared gets you
moving, it keeps you running. I never worked harder than when I
thought I was going to lose everything. It's a great motivator. But
it's also a great paralyzer. And if you let it paralyze you, if you
let it keep you in one place, then those fears will come true."
   "If you're quite done analyzing me...?"
   "Yeah, I'll get out of your hair," says Trimmer. She places her
business card on the end table. "Call me when you change your mind."
When, not if. Smug. And way off-base.
   Yes, she is scared of hurting someone, and yes, she's scared
someone might find her out. But that's not why she eschews the
limelight as much as she can. That's not fear; it's shyness. She's an
introvert.
   And what no one but another introvert ever seems to understand--
not Trimmer, not Marva, not even Kate-- is that being shy isn't some
hurdle she has to overcome. It's not a disease. It's who she is; it's
who she wants to be. [7]

Early in the afternoon, Topsy comes to see Vise-Head.
   He's called Topsy because of his ears: big floppy things, eight
inches from the lobe to the helix.
   "Whaddaya want?" growls Vise-Head.
   "Whisper, please," says Topsy, holding his hands over his ears.
Unsurprisingly, he has exceptional hearing, and is painfully sensitive
to noise.
   "Whaddaya want," says Vise-Head, softly but still growling.
   "It's more what you want."
   Fishface Maranzano. The man who put his head in the Vise that still
struggles to hold his brains inside his skull.
   "Others have come to me, telling stories," says Vise-Head. "I'm
strictly a nonfiction kind of a guy, do we understand each other?"
   "Of course," says Topsy.
   "Guys who tell stories, I don't have much use for," says Vise-Head.
   "You know me," says Topsy. "You know you can trust what I hear."
   "And what do you hear?"
   "Fishface is protected," says Topsy. "You know that already."
   "Yes," says Vise-Head wearily.
   "But you don't know who's protecting him," says Topsy. "Is that the
kind of information you'd be... grateful for?"
   "Maybe."
   "It's the short man." [8]
   Vise-Head laughs, and it is the worst sound in the world. "Short man's dead."
   "He lives," insists Topsy. "He's Jolt City's secret capo di tutti
capi. Not even some of his underbosses know that he pulls their
strings." [9]
   "You've given me nothing," Vise-Head roars.
   "Whisper, please."
   "Nothing!" the mobster screeches. "Even if this was true, what
could I do with it? How does it get me to Maranzano? How does it put
that son of a bitch at my mercy? Tell me why I shouldn't just shatter
your drums for wasting my time!"
   Topsy takes out a handkerchief, and rubs at his throbbing ears.
"Because, Don Pastrone, I have heard the names. Members of the short
man's council."
   Vise-Head isn't convinced, but with a toss of his hand he signals
his indulgence.
   "As I said, not all of them know they serve at the short man's
pleasure. But they all have protected Maranzano."
   "You said you've heard the names."
   Topsy nods. "Johnny Banana. The Seventh Circle Gang. The... the
O'Lanterns." [10]
   "O'Lantern," says Vise-Head softly. "O'Lantern... an old friend. A
close friend."
   "But not as friendly, lately," says Topsy delicately.
   "No," says Vise-Head. "And he gives comfort to mine enemy?"
   "Fix killed Frankie Salad," says Topsy. "Some say to keep the short
man's secret. Some say to keep Maranzano safe from your wrath, Don
Pastrone." [11]
   "The black-hearted Irish bastard!"
   "Whisper. Please."
   Vise-Head nods. "Thank you for bringing news of this betrayal to
me. Name your boon, and it shall be granted."

The Will O' the Wisp, pub and laundry for the O'Lantern family.
  It's a lousy laundry, reflects Michael. Scrubbing the money is an
ancient and delicate art, one perfected by the Sicilians. Lazy micks
have no knack for it. It's a decent enough pub, though. If there's one
thing the Irish know how to do, it's to get drunk.
   Michael orders a stiff drink and asks for Boyle.
   The barkeep is suspicious. "Who's asking?"
   "Michael Pastrone. I come with a message from my uncle."
   "I'll see if Mr. Boyle is available."
   A few minutes later, Boyle appears. He is, as he ever was, an ugly
son of a bitch. His fat face is red, bald, and blistered over with
puss and boils. Every inch just covered in it. Worst of all, he
constantly scratches at it, blood and skin oozing from his pores and
stuck beneath his fingernails. Only reason he came up so high in the
O'Lantern family is he married Jack's pretty older sister, Maureen.
   "Mike," says Boyle. "You just keep getting handsomer and handsomer."
   "Wish I could say the same," says Michael.
   Boyle shrugs. "Being an ugly man ain't so bad when you got money
and you got tail."
   "I'll take your word for it. I think I probably got a little more of both."
   "Apple don't fall far from the tree there."
   Michael just nods. He knows the stories of his father. "I hope your
boy's not so bad looking."
   "No, he got his face from his mother," says Boyle.
   "He, uh, he in the family business?"
   "Running a bar?" says Boyle with a wink. "No. He's going to be an
actor. Real handsome, like his mother. Going to be a star. My
brother-in-law is putting him through acting school, drama college.
He's going to..."
   "Julliard," says Michael.
   "Yeah," says Boyle. "How'd you guess?"
   "I didn't," says Michael. He taps his phone.
   "What are you...?"
   The doors swing open, and a young man stumbles in. His face has
been beaten to a bloody, still bleeding pulp. His hair has been ripped
clean from his scalp. Both ears have been severed.
   The only thing left of him is the eyes, and it's from those that
Boyle recognizes his son.
   "What. What have you." Boyle doesn't finish the sentence, because
Michael is beating his face in with a meat hammer.

Later that night, Vito's office.
   Jack O'Lantern's hideous mouth is always twisted into a gaping,
open smile that extends literally from one ear to the other. But Vito
knows Jack isn't happy from the intense shimmer of his lidless
triangle eyes.
   "My sister's husband is dead," says O'Lantern. "Not a great loss.
My sister didn't much care for the ugly bastard, and neither did I.
But though I am a passionate man, Don Valentine, I am also a practical
man. These things will happen among the families. The price of doing
business. And while a man of my standing must make my displeasure
known, that I could have forgiven, as others have forgiven me and
mine."
   "Could have?" says Vito.
   "I cannot forgive what they did to her son," says Jack. "They
ruined his beautiful face. They stole the life he had ahead of him.
The life he deserved. The life I wanted for him and my sister wanted
for him. In a way, everything I have done has been for my children and
my sister's children. Everything, Don Valentine. Every black deed. Are
you a religious man?"
   "Can't say that I am," says Vito.
   "But you were raised in the Church?"
   Vito nods.
   "Then you know that His kingdom does not open for us," says Jack.
"But the pit opens wide."
   "Perhaps it does."
   "I have given up my soul to give this boy a life, and I thought it
a fair trade; and Pastrone has made it as to ashes in the mouth. And
for that, Don Valentine, me and mine will go to the mattresses." [12]
   Vito puts a twig in his mouth, turning it between his teeth.
"Trying to give up smoking," he says by way of explanation. "The tiny
cigars are expensive, and my lungs are too small to be dicking around
with them any longer."
   "Did you hear me, Don Valentine?" says Jack. "We're going to the
mattresses with the Pastrones."
   "No, we're not," says Vito. "And you're not."
   "But!"
   "I recognize that, as you say, you are a passionate man," says
Vito. "But is this a thing to go to war for? The kid's alive."
   "But his face...!"
   "Can be repaired," says Vito. "I'll pay for the surgery if it keeps
us out of war. Maybe he won't be some pretty-boy star. Character actor
he'll be, maybe. Still a bright future."
   "I don't think you understand," insists Jack. "This wasn't just an
attack on me. They told the boy. While they were. While they were
torturing him. They said they were sending a message. To the short
man."
   "And what did your boy say?"
   "He didn't say anything," says Jack. "He was screaming. But he said
nothing of you. No one in my family but me and Fix knows of our
alliance, or that you live."
   "And that's the way I like it," says Vito. "If my armies go to the
mattresses with Vise-Head, then I confirm what they only suspect.
There's other ways to punish him. Political, economical. After
November, we'll have powerful friends, Jack."
   "That's not good enough."
   "I think you just forgot yourself, there."
   Jack swallows; his throat is always dry. "Meaning no disrespect,
Don Valentine. But blood calls for blood, and the call is strong. If I
will be damned, then let me heap hellfire upon them. Personally. Just
the O'Lanterns and the Pastrones. With your blessing, if not your
support."
   "No," says Vito. "Because if you do that, there's no way I can run
this town in peace. Mattresses mean headlines, means pressure. Means I
lose those friends before they can be of any use to me. Means
everything that I have worked for is gone. And no, Jack, I'm sorry,
but your nephew's dumb fucking face isn't worth that."

Fix is called into O'Lantern's office in the small hours. He doesn't
seem to mind.
   "Maureen's been wailing all night, Fix," says O'Lantern. "You know
how women are."
   Fix doesn't.
   "Vito... He doesn't understand. Or maybe he does?"
   Fix doesn't know.
   "Yes, the boss understands. The message is for him, but we receive
it. He takes his cut, and we take the lumps. When it's for him, we
jump to please. But when it's us..."
   Fix doesn't say anything.
   "It's the mattresses, Fix. Us and Pastrone. And if the boss doesn't
like it... then we go to the mattresses with him and his, too. With
all of them."
   Fix doesn't say anything.
   "Fix. I've a job for you, my boy."
   Fix doesn't say anything.
   "Someone told Pastrone. Told him who the boss is. That he was
protecting Fishface. That we were protecting him. Someone brought this
upon my house."
   Fix closes the door behind him.

Middle of the morning: Martin and Derek are patching a roof.
   "How much are we getting paid for this, again?" says Martin.
   "Half of what we bid," grumbles Derek.
   "And how much is it costing us in materials?" says Martin.
   "Not quite what we bid," says Derek. "But we're only using like ten
feet of the shingles and ten feet of the felt." Shingles come in
bundles of thirty-three square feet; felt comes in rolls of a hundred
feet. [13] "So this will really work out on our next roofing job."
   "Of course, that might not be until March or April," says Martin.
"Can't replace a roof in the snow."
   "Still got a couple months before that, Pangloss," says Derek. "But
you're right, work's going to slow down a bit in the winter, other
than shoveling. But it'll pick up again in the spring. Might even get
some of the yard contracts."
   "May I again congratulate you on the expert timing that you
displayed in starting this business right near the end of grass
season?" [14]
   "You may indeed, sir."
   "Congratulations."
   "Technically, the company will finally be in the black after this
job and the one in Hamelin this afternoon," says Derek. Meaning he's
made back the money he's sunk into it so far. Nothing that will go
towards his mounting and overdue bills.  "By a few dollars, anyway.
Want to celebrate?"
   "What were you thinking?"
   "Fancy lunch."
   "You mean Wendy's," intuits Martin.
   "Gourmet mushroom swissburger," affirms Derek. [15]

Derek gets a text message in the restaurant. "Becky Glass." [16]
   "Another meeting?"
   "This afternoon. Can you handle the Hamelin job on your ownsome?"
   "Sure," says Martin. "Unless you need me to come along on this
Glass thing. We can put off Hamelin until tomorrow."
   "Nah, that's okay," says Derek. "The Hamelin job was already
overdue when it got reassigned to us. They want it done as a rush
because of the violation, so best to get it done, you know?"
   "Yeah," says Martin. "You're right. I just. You know. If you need any help."
   "Of course, man," says Derek. "We're a team."
   Martin sticks his plastic spoon in his chili and lets it sit there,
staring at it. They haven't felt like much of a team lately. Derek's
running around the world having team-ups and fighting secret
mind-control terrorists, while Martin's been dicking around with
mobsters. It feels like maybe the kid doesn't need him much anymore.
Of course, that was the whole plan, but it's weird to wait a second,
Derek is saying something. "Pardon?"
   "I said the thing we need to do is get you dating again," says Derek.
   "No," says Martin. "That is not a thing we need to do."
   "Martin," says Derek solemnly. "With great power, comes great
responsibility."
   "Uh-huh."
   "You have a great and mysterious power," says Derek. "A gift. For
whatever reason, total foxes like Pam-- who, I might remind you, is
only like six years older than me-- want to have sex with you, despite
the fact that you are completely ancient and decrepit. Also old."
   "Thin ice, buddy."
   "Great power," says Derek. "Great responsibility."
   "Uh-huh."
   "Seriously, though," says Derek. "You need to start having some
kind of social life. I worry about you. All you do all day is mope."
   "So I mope, so what? It's just who I am. It's how I deal with
things. When have you ever known me not to mope?"
   "Yeah, you've always been a bundle of joy. But it's gotten a lot
worse. Since the hand. And since... since Dani."
   "We're really going to have this conversation?" says Martin sharply.
   "No," says Derek, quickly backing off. "...But we really should."
   It's not the only thing that they have to talk about. Derek still
hasn't told Martin about the implant that FEVER put in his brain.

He told Dr. Fay, of course. The first thing Blue Boxer and Glass did
after their chartered flight from Japan touched down is high-tail it
over to the Kistler building. A mild sedative keeps him awake and out
of pain while Dr. Fay reopens the back of his skull.
   "Well, this is uniquely terrifying," says Dr. Fay.
   "The doctors in Japan said they couldn't remove it without damaging
my brain and nervous system," says Derek.
   "The doctors in Japan were right," says Dr. Fay.
   "Not what I wanted to hear," says Derek.
   "Not what I wanted to say, either. But just because we can't solve
the problem that way, doesn't mean the problem can't be solved."
   "Well, the implant itself probably isn't the problem," says Derek.
"It's been in my head for the last eighteen months, and I haven't had
so much as a headache. It's a matter of preventing them from turning
it on."
   "That's the other part of the problem," says Dr. Fay. "I tamper
with this to try and make it inoperative, and it might cause your
brain to explode."
   "Again, not what I wanted to hear."
   Glass hands Dr. Fay a file. "One of the victims in the Cradle
break-in. It got interrupted somehow."
   "Yeah," says Derek. "He freaked out, tried to rabbit. Then the
woman straight up and killed him. But if there was a way to stop the
signal..."
   "There is," says Dr. Fay. "Or there was, at any rate. Looks like
the kid had an older version of the hardware. There's something new in
yours."
   "So, whatever it is, they saw the problem and they fixed it by the
time they got to me," says Derek. "Great, psychotic engineers."
   "Bit redundant," says Dr. Fay. "Luckily, I happen to be an expert
in the new tech."
   "How's that?" says Derek.
   "I invented it," says Dr. Fay, more than a little disconcerted.
"It's the failsafe chip I built to knock out the Vibra-Jackets." [17]
   "Which means the outdated version would be interrupted by
trans-dimensional travel," says Derek. "Or fluctuations in parallel
frequencies."
   "So, we pop you off to Snail-Earth..." begins Glass.
   "No," says Derek. "I physically can't do it. Dr. Fay's chip would
prevent me from travelling to another plane or dimension."
   "What else might interrupt the signal?" says Glass.
   "Satellite dead zone," says Dr. Fay. "But."
   "But?"
   "Ha, I made you say butt. But, the tricky thing is, we'd have to
wait for them to flip it on. From what I'm looking at here, it's
designed to be flipped on once, and once it's been flipped on, it
can't be done again. So we would have to wait for the bad guys to turn
it on, and then get him somewhere else."
   "While I'm presumably trying to kill people," says Derek. "Great."
   "Or," says Glass, "we ship you off somewhere and keep you there
until we take them out."
   "Indefinite internment," says Derek. "Even better!"
   "It wouldn't just be you," says Glass. "There's a thousand other
people in the United States, at least according to FEVER. Twenty
thousand more around the world. I don't even know how we'd begin to
track them down."
   "While keeping it a secret so that everyone doesn't flip out and
lose their shit," says Derek.
   "Yes," says Glass. "But if we know that you have the implant, we
can't have you running loose."
   "But I won't be much good to you, that way," says Derek. "You came
to me because you knew I could help, right? Then let me help."
   "And the second you start to make any headway against them, they
turn it on," says Glass. "I'm sorry, but unless there's some kind of
solution..."
   "We'll work on the solution," says Derek. "Right?"
   "Right," says Dr. Fay.
   "Obviously," begins Derek, "we don't know how long that will take.
So as a temporary measure, Dr. Fay will design and install a new chip.
The chip will need to activate when the implant switches on. Is that
doable?"
   "It's doable," says Dr. Fay, "but what is it supposed to do?"
   "Kill me, of course," says Derek. He snaps his fingers. "I need to
be dead the second they turn it on."
   "Not super-thrilled with this," says Dr. Fay.
   "And I am? It's temporary. Once we figure out a real solution, a
way to interrupt the implant once it's been turned on, we'll swap it
out. Until then, it keeps me from being a danger to others, but allows
me to stay in the world. Glass, is that acceptable?"
   "Yeah," says Glass. "That'll do."

About an hour after the kill-switch is installed, Derek begins to feel
uneasy about it. It's not so much that it only existed in the abstract
before, and now that it's real and in his head, it has him worried.
He's an idea man, and so for him, it was just as real, and just as
terrifying, when he suggested it.
   He doesn't really know what it is that has him suddenly spooked.
Being dead when they switch it on is no worse than being their puppet.
Better, actually. More tolerable, anyway. Dead is an improvement, and
it's only temporary, anyway.
   Only it's not. Dead is dead, and it doesn't get more permanent than
that. He doesn't know when FEVER will strike. He still doesn't
understand their methods or motives or what goal they might be working
towards. Only that the twenty-one thousand sleepers, Derek included,
aren't the weapon they'll use to carry out the attack, but that they
are the attack. Only that they have declared themselves the common
enemy of all mankind. And that they're banking on the whole world
losing their shit when this all becomes public.
   But when will that be? He has no idea. Neither does Glass.
   He has no idea. What if that's it? What if Derek really has no idea
of what he's supposed to do? He's saved the world. (Twice!) Did it
with his brains. By being smart. With an idea. But what if that was
just a fluke? Just dumb luck? Or worse. What if it was all he had in
him? What if he's not as smart as he thinks he is, as Glass thinks he
is? What if he doesn't have any more ideas? He didn't when Alix needed
him, and now she's dead. [18]
   And if he fails now, he'll be dead. Not just him. But tens of
thousands of others. Maybe more. He has no idea, really. No idea what
they're planning, when, or how long they've been planning it.
   Well, actually. They know approximately when FEVER put the implant
in his brain. It was April of Aught-Seven, when Derek was "filling in"
for Martin. And they know the kid that ran in the Cradle lab had it
done sometime before that, because it didn't have the Dr. Fay chip.
She didn't invent the chip until February or March of that year. Which
means:
   One, that they or one of their puppets had access to the chip.
Someone from Fay's 2006-2007 AATS class? A quick search online reveals
that there was a girl, Kara Caller, in the class who disappeared in
March. Her body was found in Death Valley that summer. Coroner's
report shows that she died elsewhere. Body was cremated, so if she had
an implant, there's no evidence of it now. Worth looking into.
   Two, if they can take another look at the implants for the other
Cradle lab victims, see if Fay's chip is in there, then they'll know
it had to have been done since April of last year. And knowing this
might be useful information. All of the Cradle lab victims, and of
course Derek himself, were Joltians. If FEVER is implanting locals for
local operations, that means that either, a, there is a permanent cell
somewhere in Jolt City, and, by extension, in other major cities
world-wide.
   Given their penchant for operating through their "puppets", this is
unlikely as it exposes them to discovery and capture. More likely, b,
they made a special trip to Jolt City for the purposes of choosing and
implanting their victims. And if that's true-- let's not get ahead of
ourselves, but if!-- it's far more likely that they would try to
implant multiple victims in one trip, rather than making separate and
conspicuous trips for each one.
   If he can prove that, if they can pinpoint when these trips took
place, and perhaps over what duration...
   He gives Glass a call.

A fortnight later, Derek is finishing a mushroom swissburger and
arguing with Martin about the latter's love life when Glass sends him
a text. An hour later, he meets her, out of costume, at her hotel
room.
   "Your instincts were sound," says Glass. "The girl from the Cradle
job, we believe she had Fay's chip embedded in her implant."
   "Believe?"
   "Most of the implant was destroyed when she blew her brains out,"
says Glass. "But we found traces that matched the polymer Fay used.
And around April 2007, her parents reported her missing. She turned up
the next day with a massive headache. The assumption was that she had
been out drinking, blacked out, and was hung over. And she might have
been. But."
   "But it fits," says Derek. "Just hers?"
   "The other three are all of the old model," says Glass. "But now
that we know what we're looking for, we found that each of them had a
similar disappearance during August and September of 2006. We're
looking now at hotel registries and rental cars in the metropolitan
area. That's going to take some time. But here's the good news.
   "We've looked at the four 'bombers', found similar disappearances
two, sometimes four years back. Working from the assumption that FEVER
is grabbing more than one victim at a time, we had our international
colleagues look at missing persons reports from the same period as the
time that the bomber went missing. We've located four more sleepers
with pre-Fay implants: two in Iceland, two in Belgium."
   "What's happening to them?" says Derek.
   Glass clicks her teeth. "Their countries are detaining them for the
time being. They're being monitored for strange activity, and when
FEVER activates them, they'll be phased into another reality to
interrupt the signal. We haven't told the IIS and VSSE what the
implants actually do." [19]
   "Cough," says Derek. "Not to ask impertinent questions regarding
our country's policy vis-a-vis coordination with other countries..."
   "Rule one is we keep this under wraps," says Glass. "Word gets out,
we're going to have world-wide panic, maybe riots. Once we know
exactly what we're dealing with, once we have it under control,
that'll be a different story. But right now, got to keep it tight.
It's difficult enough to keep DHS from leaking. Other countries can be
more... transparent than ours."
   Derek doesn't press it. At least these sleepers can have their
signal interrupted.
   "We actually had our eye on the Kara Caller case before you went to
Japan," says Glass. "It is probably likely that she stole Fay's chip.
Whether or not she was a sleeper, and when she might have been
abducted, we're drawing blanks."
   Derek nods.
   "In fact," continues Glass, "we're drawing blanks across the board.
She moved to Jolt City in the summer of 2006 after getting acceptance
to JCU and to the AATS class, at that time under Marita Costello. But
before that... we have transcripts, birth certificate, death
certificates for her parents, orphanage records, driver's license,
banking information, but nothing else."
   "I'm not following," says Derek. "That seems like an awful lot."
   "A person leaves two trails," says Glass. "There's the trail they
leave by documents. And the trail they leave in people. We've got
plenty of the former, none of the latter."
   "Could be shy," shrugs Derek.
   "You're not following," says Glass. "Even if someone's shy, you
have people telling you that they were shy, or anti-social, or kept to
themselves. No one back home knows who she is. She had no friends, but
also no enemies. Straight-A student, smart enough to get into the best
AATS in the country? A teacher would remember that."
   "So, what does this mean?" says Derek.
   "Papers are probably forgeries," says Glass. "There was a girl in
the AATS class that year, and she did disappear, and we did find her
body in Death Valley. But her name probably wasn't Kara Caller. Now,
if that's because she was mixed up in this all along, or if she was on
the run from something else, and FEVER just happened to pick her to
grab Fay's chip... I can't say."
   "And unfortunately, since they cremated her remains over a year
ago, it's not like we can go poking around in her skull to see if she
had an implant."
   "Not unless you can go back in time," says Glass.
   "That's a thought," says Derek dismissively. "But. Might have the
next best thing."

Blue Boxer and Agent Glass visit Dr. Fay's lab that evening.
   "Well, hello there, short, blue, and adequately handsome," says Dr.
Fay. "Come up with anything yet?"
   "Nope," says Derek. "You?"
   "Nope," says Dr. Fay. "What can I do you for, then?"
   "Romantic dinner, followed by drunken groping?"
   "Don't drink," says Dr. Fay with a wave towards her hijab.
   "That's fine. I'll do the drinking, if you can handle the groping?"
   Glass somehow manages to roll her eyes audibly.
   "The 2006-2007 AATS group did biometric deep-tissue holograms,
right?" says Derek.
   "How did you know that?" says Dr. Fay with a raise of her eyebrow.
   "I, um. I know someone, someones, some of the kids in this year's group."
   "Costello had them do the scans, yes," says Dr. Fay.
   "Would the scan pick up an implant like mine?"
   "It should have," says Dr. Fay. "This about Kara Caller?"
   "How'd you know?" says Derek.
   "Well, since there were only six students in the group, and only
one turned up dead..." She trails off, popping into the next room.

A half-hour later, she has the holographic projector plugged in. "So,
this will give us an interactive hologram of Kara, from the epidermis
down to the blood cells. These were intended for her own usage, but I
don't think she'll mind terribly, provided you keep your eyes above
the neckline." She pulls up the file.
   "Wow," gasps Derek.
   "Above the neckline," says Dr. Fay. "Let's pull away the hair...
peel back the scalp... the periosteum... I said, the periosteum...
um..."
   The scalp and hair re-knit themselves, and suddenly the hologram is
turning and smiling at them.
   "That's..." starts Dr. Fay. "That's not a thing."
   The hologram speaks. "Poor little Kara should be dead by now. Would
you like to join her?"
   "Not scared of you," says Dr. Fay, regaining her composure.
   "You should be," says the hologram. "Encoded in her biometric are
instructions to reverse-engineer your projector into a bomb. Fifteen.
Fourteen. Thirteen."
   "Is that possible?" says Derek.
   "It is," says Dr. Fay. "Get out of the way, Boxer."
   "Twelve. Eleven."
   Derek reaches into his action bag. "Prototype concussive
inhibitors. I might be able to contain the blast with my body. You two
get out of here!"
   "Ten."
   "Give me those," says Dr. Fay, snatching them away. "Now get out of the way."
   "Nine. Eight."
   "I can't let you do it," says Derek. "You have too much to offer science."
   "Seven. Six."
   "I'm not do anything of the sort, you bloody idiot," says Dr. Fay.
   "Five. Four."
   "Move! I'm going to phase it harmlessly into another dimension."
She preps her phaser.
   "Three."
   "That's if you can get your fucking brain and its phase-inhibiting
implant out of the way, pardon my English."
   "Sorry."
   "Two."
   ZAP! The hologram disappears.
   "Well," says Dr. Fay. "Better than letting it count down to one,
anyway. I hate it when it counts down to one."
   "Is that, is that normal?" asks Glass.
   "The 'things exploding' thing?" says Dr. Fay. "Happens a lot, yeah.
The 'holographic projector being reverse-engineered into a bomb
through instructions back-doored into biometric data by a psychotic
genius' thing? Happens a little less often."
   "Psychotic genius?" says Derek glumly.
   "Genius, certainly," says Dr. Fay. "Psychotic I'm not a hundred percent on."

(TO BE CONTINUED IN JOLT CITY # 22, PART TWO)

COPYRIGHT 2014 TOM RUSSELL