School for Sidekicks (26 page)

“I … that is, no, sir.”

“Then, since I am your teacher, and you're supposed to be learning here, why don't you ask me?”

“Now, sir?”

“No, yesterday, Quick. Of course, now!”

“What's the most important element of—”

“Timing!” he said sharply, cutting me off. Again, the rest of the class laughed. “Not
Quick
enough, again, young man. You'll have to do better than that if you ever face a real enemy.”

“I did well enough against Spartanicus!” I blurted out, too angry to think it through.

Roadhouse snorted. “Of course you did, and there's all that video to prove it, too.”

“That's … I … uh…”

A sudden squeeze on my shoulder made me glance to my left. Speedslick sat on that side of me, and now he shook his head very slightly. He was right, and though I hadn't seen him move, I was sure he'd been the one to squeeze my shoulder. With an effort that was going to cost me a good bit of teeth-grinding later, I shut my mouth.

Roadhouse raised his eyebrows, “What's that, Quick? I thought you had something to add to the discussion.”

I shook my head and looked down at my desk. After a moment, Roadhouse found a new target. Jeda had been right, trying to verbally fence with a professional wit was a losing battle. Even if I had done fairly well matching wits with Spartanicus, the spark I'd had then didn't seem to come with me to Roadhouse's class. Maybe I needed to be in real danger for it to kick in. Roadhouse wasn't actually a threat to anything but my ego.

*   *   *

“No, Roadhouse is a jerk,” NightHowl said as we made our way up the ramp toward the nearest of the domes on Deimos's surface. “I hate that class. All he does is make fun of us and pretend that's going to save our lives some day.”

“It might,” I said, though I wished I didn't have to admit it.

“What do you mean?” Speedslick looked over his shoulder as he pushed open the door to the sky dome.

“I think the main reason Spartanicus didn't kill me that day at the museum is that he found me amusing.”

“Are you actually defending Roadhouse?” demanded NightHowl.

“No.” I threw myself down on the rough industrial carpeting and looked up at Mars overhead. “Not really. He's funny, but he's a terrible teacher, and I don't think he's doing anything to make any of us better banterers. But I do think it's true that saying the right thing at the right time might save your life.”

NightHowl flopped down a few yards away. “Maybe, but if Roadhouse can't actually teach funny, how does his class help us against the Hoods?”

“I don't think it does,” I replied.

She growled low in her throat. “But you just said you thought that—oh, never mind. I see where you are going with this, and I think you're kind of full of it.”

Speedslick laughed as he sat down. “Now, there's something I can agree with.”

“What, is it International-Pick-on-Evan Day or something?” I tried to kick Jeda, but he simply blurred out of reach before I connected.

“Nah,” said NightHowl. “You're just such an easy target, it's hard not to pick on you sometimes.”

“Ah, gee, thanks. And I didn't get you anything.” She didn't answer that, and neither did Speedslick. We all just settled back to look at Mars and the stars, a pastime that never got old.

I had half drifted off to sleep when a familiar accented voice spoke sharply into my ear, “Subject FLR871, Evan Quick, please report to my office at once.”

“Office, what!” I jackknifed into a sitting position and looked around. No one else was in the dome with us. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” asked Speedslick.

NightHowl appeared to have drifted off and didn't respond. I was trying to think of something to say that didn't sound like, “Is the voice in my head bothering you?” when it came again.

“I'm on your suit com,” Backflash said into my ear. “I overrode Foxman's security, and I'm waiting for you. I'm a busy woman, I don't have much in the way of free time, and I want you in my office. Ideally, five minutes ago. It's right under my lab. I know you know where that is, so come on down. You are in deep trouble already. Don't compound it by being late.”

The voice cut off and I bounced to my feet as my stomach told me that someone had decided to breed giant centipedes in there.

“What's up?” NightHowl asked blearily.

“Backflash wants to see me in her office.” I swallowed. “Now.”

“Oh.” Her face visibly paled. “Is this about—”

I made a desperate cutting motion. “I have no idea what it's about, just that I'm in trouble, and I need to get going.” I figured Backflash must be on to our plans to break into her lab, but I didn't
know
that, and I sure didn't want to give it away if she wasn't.

“Now,” said the voice in my ear.

It was a long way from the dome down to the vault door, and I had plenty of time for the centipede colony in my stomach to form up into teams and engage in epic battle. Somehow I managed not to barf, but I really wanted to. How had she caught us?

The box beside the vault door flashed at me as I approached, so I put my palm on the reader and said my name into the microphone.

After a brief pause, it responded: “Handprint verified. Voice verified. Retina scan initiated. Updating user profile. Retina scan verified. Subject FLR871 verified. Bittersharp special exception status verified. One-time one-way authorization for central core verified.” The door swung open. “Reminder FLR871: passthrough closes special exception.”

From there, it was a short march down the hall to the big globular room where Backflash did most of her work. The Mark IX Spartanicus unit was waiting for me at the end, which somehow made everything that extra bit worse.

“Come with me,” it said in the Hood's gravelly voice.

It immediately turned and plunged into the maze of alien shapes and colors that made up Backflash's experimental setup. I didn't have time to really look at anything, but I did trigger the Foxcamera on my utility belt to take pictures as we went.
We needed info, and besides, how much more trouble could I get into?

The Mark IX led me down a spiraling ramp on the far side of the globe, taking me through the thick transparent floor and down to a fantastically out-of-place office cubicle setup in the middle of the lower chamber. Backflash, who was working on something at a nearby lab bench, glanced up as I arrived.

“Sit.” She pointed at an office chair facing the desk in the cubicle. “Wait. I'll be there in a moment.”

The Mark IX pulled the chair back for me. Then, it settled into an arms-crossed/waiting pose directly behind the chair. Having that creepy mechanical Spartanicus hovering over me gave the whole thing a bizarrely nightmarish tinge. I could actually feel my knees shaking by the time Backflash finished what she was doing and came to sit down at her desk.

She steepled her hands in front of her chin and gave me a hard look. “
You
are a problem.”

I swallowed, but didn't know what to say to that, so I kept my lips zipped and tried to hold eye contact.

“You see,” she finally continued after about a thousand years of sweaty silence, “I had a long chat with the Fromagier this morning.”

“You what?” I exclaimed, startled into speaking—that wasn't what I'd expected at all. “I—uh—yeah, that.”

“Ah, good, you aren't going to try to lie to me about your activities. That will make this less tedious. Our charming cheese-monger had a lot to say about Foxman and his young sidekick, and how unexpected your arrival at his lair was. I found it to be a very interesting conversation considering that your provisional internship papers are in this folder here.” She set a file on the desk and flipped it open.

“Yes. This does seem to be them. I note that there's no formal approval date here, and that, as yet, they lack an authorization from the chancellor of the AMO.” She turned the papers over, exposing the back of the folder. “I also note that the place where the school's copy of your sidekick's permit would go is empty. Perhaps that's because you are two years away from being old enough to file for one? What do you think?”

“That could be it, yes.” To my horror the words came out light and almost playful, not in the respectful way I'd intended. “Might also be because I haven't applied for one yet. I don't suppose there's some way for fifteen-year-old me to do that and then send it back through time to now? Because that'd save a lot of trouble.”
Great, I
really
can only do banter when I'm in danger. Worse yet, I can't not. I am sooo dead right now.

Backflash closed the file sharply. “Do I take it that you think you're funny?”

Somehow, I managed to clamp down on the impulse to say, “If the jokes don't work, I could always juggle.” I wanted to believe that was because I recognized verbal suicide when I saw it, but I was pretty sure it was simply because I didn't know how to juggle.

Backflash paused as though she were waiting to see how I responded.

Shut up, Evan, shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!
Miraculously, I managed to follow my own orders … this time.

When I didn't say anything, she nodded. “Better. If my life were simple, you would be on your way to a juvenile metamax facility right now. Unfortunately for me, my life is never simple. You are a problem, but one with no easy solution.”

“I don't understand,” I said, because I didn't. Not even a little bit.

“Foxman is valuable to me. Or, rather, Rand is. When he is on form, there is no better engineer in the world. I
need
him to be on form. Sadly, the last few years have not seen him at his best. Even his recent sobriety has not returned to me Rand the builder, and I had begun to believe that I would never see him again. But then you came along, and suddenly Foxman takes down the Fromagier. Foxman, who has not captured a major Hood in over five years.”

“So, I must ask myself, is it the protégé who has given him the kick in the rear that he needs to start climbing out of the pit? If it is, then I should not be too quick to throw you away. Understand, that by yourself and with almost any other Mask mentor, you would be in juvenile detention now. For Rand's sake I will suspend your sentence for the moment, but know that it is only suspended and that I
will
enact it if you give me reason.”

“I … what are you going to do with me now?”

“I'm not sure. You have potential, and I would like to believe that you will grow into a model Mask. I would like to, but I'm not at all sure that I do. I also do not think that you will learn what is needed merely from a lecture, so I am trying to decide how best to make the lesson stick.”

“Lesson?” That didn't sound good at all. “What lesson?”

“Not to trifle with my rules. I have given up everything I ever cared about to achieve my goals, and nothing I do or order done is without reason. You must adjust yourself to the shape of the world as I will it, or I must break you. Perhaps a demonstration is in order.” She looked over my shoulder. “Activate Spartanicus.”

I glanced back and saw the lifeless rubber mask of a face assume expression and character, becoming a close facsimile of the real Hood. “What is your wish?”

“I haven't decided,” said Backflash. She gave me a hard look. “What do you think, Evan? I could order him to break both your legs, and no one would ever question that it was justified. Thanks to your healing powers, the injuries would not even last long enough to seriously impede your training. Shall I give the order?”

“No, Backflash, you will not.” The Mark IX stepped around my chair to face Backflash across the desk.

She canted her head to one side, quizzically. “What do you … Oh, Spartanicus,
very
nice. That's really you in there, isn't it?”

“Close enough,” said Spartanicus. “I've been hoping to have an opportunity like this one.”

“Minimal witnesses?” she asked, in a surprisingly casual tone.

“Only the boy, and as much as I regret the necessity, he dies, too.” He struck so fast I didn't even see him move, just felt the tremendous crack as he snapped my ne—

*   *   *

The pain vanished, and instead of slumping to the floor with a broken neck, I was rolling wildly away from the desk in my office chair. Backflash now stood where I had been sitting only a moment before. Her arms crossed casually in front of her chest, she faced Spartanicus from less than a foot away.

What had just happened?

“I'm not done with him yet,” she said. “And I certainly don't want him dead.”

Spartanicus shrugged. “Fine, if that's how you want this to go, I'll kill him after I kill you. Does that thought make you happier?”

“You can try,” she said, and again I was shocked at how casual she sounded. This was Spartanicus—the most powerful Hood in the world!

His forehead ripped open with a green flash and a powerful energy blast threw Backflash across the desk and into—

*   *   *

The flash blew out the far wall of the cubicle, but Backflash wasn't there. She was behind Spartanicus, leaning against the other side of the cubicle, her arms still crossed.

“Taking over the Mark IX is a nice trick,” she said. “How are you managing it?”

Spartanicus spun around and punched, his fist ripping through her torso and the thin wall behind—

*   *   *

The wall came apart in a burst of cardboard and steel strips, but Backflash was nowhere near it. She stood beside me, a dozen feet from the cubicle, arms still crossed.
How was she doing that?

Backflash shook her head. “Really, Spartanicus, you should know by now that you can't defeat me so easily. Can't we talk, as we once did? You were a good man, and could be again. You know why I do what I do. Let go of your hatred and guilt and help me as you did then.”