DIRE : BORN (The Dire Saga Book 1) (7 page)

“Not at this time,” I shook my head. “Things are currently stable. If it turns out her past may interfere with your life, she will depart. No sense in causing trouble to allies, being a burden. Impolite.”

She smiled again. “Hey. Look. If you've got trouble, don't be afraid to ask for help, okay? A lot of people wouldn't be here if they'd done that in the first place. When you get down to it, you can only go so far alone. Good people help people who need it. You know?”

“Not really,” I shook my head. “What Dire knows is very little at this point. But she'll take your word on that. For now.”

“Good enough for me. So... you busy?”

I looked at my empty grocery bag, and shook my head. “Lunch is done, pipes are fixed. Still got some hours of daylight left, yes?”

“Yes. Are you up for helping me sort out the pantry, maybe figure out something good and hot for the evening meal?” She rose and offered me a hand up.

I took it, and smiled. “Be happy to.”

CHAPTER 4: Home Improvement

“A lot of the support for the idea of Tesla's experiments being the vector of superpowers comes from the three impacts in nineteen-oh-eight. Tunguska, the Bay of Biscay, and the airburst over Icon City. There's no denying that people from those areas, or with ancestors from those areas, are approximately three times as likely to express superpowers than the average individual. But the Tesla theory isn't proven, yet. We need more data.”

--On Powers and Progenitors: A lecture delivered by Professor Pyre at Icon City's Isler University to the Metahuman Studies fall quarter class, November of 1998

Like plumbing, there's more to cooking than you'd think. My mind translated it as a simple confluence of chemistry and physics. Follow the recipe, introduce heat and motion at the required intervals, and proceed until a satisfactory result occurs.

As I found, it was not so easy as it appeared. My first couple of attempts at utilizing the stove came close to burning the stew. Joan had to call Minna in to help her, while I was delegated to chopping ingredients.

Minna's child found her way in, and solemnly watched me chop carrots. I watched her back with an equal solemnity, and when she extended a hand I put a carrot in it, which seemed to satisfy her. “Ankoo,” she said, and wandered over to Minna, who shoved her away from the stove with a torrent of strange words. The girl took it in stride, retreating to the side of the kitchen, gnawing her carrot.

The kitchen merited a shack to itself. The stove was an old, wood-burning affair. A more modern one sat nearby, but without available power, it wasn't seeing any use anytime soon.

Oddly enough, whenever the kid got close to Joan, the older woman would get nervous, and move her hands away from the girl. I thought it impolite to ask why.  Besides, I had other questions.

“So what's the third shack?” I asked, moving from carrots to onions.

“Sickbay,” said Joan. “People who are really bad off, or can't take the tents. Babies, the few we've got here. It's a little better, but without the space heaters, eh.”

I nodded and blinked tears from my eyes. Onions, as it turned out, released irritating chemicals when carved. I offered a slice of one to the girl, who made a face so comically revolted that I burst out laughing for the first time I could remember. It felt good, and I looked up to find Minna smiling at me.

“Anya likes you.”

“Well, that makes two of us.” I popped the onion slice into my mouth, and instantly regretted it. I'm quite sure my face resembled Anya's for a minute or two there. On the upside, the little girl's giggles were worth it. Almost.

Once I could breathe again, I coughed to clear my throat, and looked over to Joan. “Do the women always cook the dinner?”

“No, no. None of that sexist crap. We take turns, boys and girls alike. It's my turn right now, but with the cold coming on, my hands are all rucked up.” She raised her gloves, flexed them and winced. “Early-onset arthritis is a bitc— uh, pain.”

“So we're helping you out?”

“Yeah. Hope you don't mind.”

I flipped onion slices into the stew pot. “Not in the slightest.”

And it was good, in that warm kitchen, with the savory odors filling it, and my new friends around me. I doubted this was the life that my past self had planned for me, and I was glad to disappoint her.

Later on, as we were ladling out bowls of the stew, I looked up to find Rick standing at the head of the line. His jaw was bound, and his head was hanging down. When he saw me staring, he looked away and mumbled something. His posture was the definition of submission, with a good touch of shame in there as well.

I said nothing, merely handed him a bowl. After a moment, I reached back into the stores, and pulled out a straw before offering it to him. All the time my eyes were on his face, and I was ready for the slightest hint of hostility. This stuff was hot, and his face was right
there
.

But he took it and scurried away, and I breathed a little easier. Well, that had been awkward. Still, after this I doubted that he'd give me trouble again. A thought struck me, and after the last bowls were passed out, I turned to Joan. “That was a test, yes?”

She smiled a big, cheesy grin. “Don't know what you mean, hun.”

“Lies and calumny.”

“Heh. Okay, you're sharp. Yeah, just seeing if there was going to be trouble between you two. Me and Minna were here to back you up or stop you, depending.”

I snorted, but a small smile crept onto my face.
Well-played, Joan.
She was a good leader for this camp, and I resolved to learn what I could from her.

Later, after everyone else was fed, we got bowls and sat around the main burn barrel. Sparky was there, humming to himself, and Martin brought Roy over. The older man leaned on his shoulder, walking slow. As he sat down on one of the benches he coughed, and I realized that I'd heard him coughing earlier, throughout the day.

“Are you all right?” I inquired.

He waved a hand. “Cold, dry air comin' in. Used to smoke, lungs are sensitive. Y'know they used to include cigarettes in care packages from home, back in the day?”

I shook my head, and he grinned a stained grin. “Smart business move for the tobacky companies. We smoked during the big one, stayed hooked after. Don't never start that shit Lady Dire, it'll kill ya.”

“No plans there.” I frowned. “She does have a favor to ask.”

“For the lady who fixed our showerhouse? Sure.”

“Dire has holes in her memory. Perhaps you could fill in a few things? History, events, the reason for these superpowers that seem to be casual violations of physics?”

“Ha. We'll be talkin' all night and not get done. Um. Maybe just powers, yah? That's shorter than the other stuff.”

I shrugged, and tossed a stick into the fire. It was getting colder, now that the sun was down. Colder than the last night had been. “It's more information than she's got right now, so sure.”

“Mm. Well, there used to be this guy named Tesla. Nikola Tesla.”

“Ah! Tesla's method of broadcast power. Tesla's ion-charged Levitonium gas. And many other theories and concepts, most dealing with electronics.” I smiled as I made a connection. “That she remembers! Sort of.”

“Yeah. Who's tellin' this story?”

“Apologies, continue.”

“Right. Nineteen Oh Eight, that's when it all started, I heard...” He coughed a bit, continued. “One of Tesla's experiments went wrong. Or right, maybe. Gave him and Bryson superpowers.”

“Bryson?”

“His partner, and biggest investor. Never gave up on him, frittered away his family fortune to pay for Tesla's experiments. But they got powers, that's the important thing. And after that, costumes started comin' out of the woodwork. Well, they didn't have costumes then, not at first. It was all men and women of action, adventurers, that sorta thing. But they kept showing up as the years went on. Some of'em fought in the Great War, but most who did died. But after the war, that's when it started for real. The first villains showed up, usin' their powers for crime, wearin' masks so they wouldn't get caught. And heroes started wearin' masks, so the villains wouldn't go after their families. Things been going ever since.”

I frowned. “How do powers work?”

He laughed. “Ain't no one knows that, or if they do they ain't saying. Rumor has it government's got projects workin' on it. Helios Labs out in the bay's supposed to have studied it. Don't know if they still are, now that the Cold War's over. Just... Sometimes, when people are doing stuff and having a hard time, they get a power that helps them out. And once they get it, they got it. Ain't too common, but you see it pop up a lot when bad times hit, or disasters strike. Sparky here, he got it when he fell out his window, and landed on a bunch of electrical wires.” He snickered. “Shows you how old we is. Wires, hah! Ain't nothing uses those no more, it's all broadcast current.”

He pulled a hip flask out of his pocket, unscrewed the lid, and took a pull. “Mf. Thirsty work.”

“So Sparky's powers saved him from being electrocuted?” I rubbed my chin. “And let him emit electricity?”

The man in question smiled at me, and twisted in his wheelchair, flipping his ground up. “Get clear, Joan.”

Joan shifted, and Sparky pointed. A tiny lightning bolt flickered out with a “POP!” and bits of sand flew up.

“That was a small one,” he wheezed, grinning. “Used to fry Nazis back in the day, could do it again if I needed to.”

I frowned. “Where does the charge come from?”

“I make it. It's easy. Some builds up all the time if I don't think about it.”

Roy sighed. “Didn't used to be. It's been getting harder for you to control and you know it.”

Sparky looked down. “Could say that about a lot of stuff, Roy. You're getting' old too, ain't got room to talk.”

“Fft. Put your ground down, y'bastard.”

Sparky popped the ground, then stretched out an eager hand as Roy gave him the hip flask. A quick pull, and he handed it back, the two old friends grinning at each other.

I studied him. “So you generate electricity all the time, you usually bleed it off into the ground.... Dire's got a notion. You mind if she runs some tests?”

“So long as it ain't a thermometer up the butt I'm good.” He cackled. Joan flicked some sand at him, and he raised an arm in mock horror. I paid them no attention, and dug out my toolkit's voltage reader, measured the readings.

“Well, Doc? Am I ever gonna play the piano again? Heheeeee...”

“Er. What?”

Roy snorted. “Ignore him he's in a mood. What are ya hm-ing about?”

“Well, you'd need a generator to power the space heaters, right? Combined with a local broadcast hub?”

“Oh. You're thinking of tapping Sparky?”

“Hell, she ain't even bought me a drink first.”

I pulled out a dollar, threw it at Roy. “Give the man a drink.”

He snorted, but slid the hip flask over again. I reached into the pockets of my backpack, and pulled out the electrical components I'd salvaged after we'd secured the pipes. “Might need a little scrap, but Dire thinks she can build you a local broadcast hub that will work with Sparky...”

It took half an hour, and I gathered a small audience as I worked. Twisting a salvaged metal strip into a loop, threading in aluminum brackets and plates, attaching the wires and circuits, shielding the sensitive parts, and setting up the antenna. Finally, I had something like a torc with spikes poking out of the back. My tools were up to the task and I knew what I was trying to build.

In a perfect world I would have had all the components I needed. But I hadn't prepared specifically to build this sort of item when I'd scavenged a few handfuls of materials from the wreckage. I looked back up to Roy. “Got a television you can spare?”

“Does it have to be a working one?”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Martin, go get the one that blew a screen last month, alright?”

The younger man headed into the sickbay shack, returned with a bulky television. I nodded as he put it down, and my tools soon had the casing off. I clicked my tongue against my teeth as I took stock of the components. Older than I would have wanted, the design wouldn't work as elegantly as I'd hoped. Well... I'd have to settle for “good”, rather than “perfect”.

Ten minutes later I was done, and I held the torc aloft with joy. When I returned my gaze to the crowd, though, the general mood seemed uneasy, for no reason I could say.

“Is, uh, is that supposed to go on Sparky?” Joan asked.

“Well, yes.”

“It's just uh, just that it looks kind of... well, painful.”

“Painful?” I took a glance at it again. “Dire doesn't see it.”

“It's the spikes,” Roy clarified. “They look kinda like something you'd see in an old-style scifi movie, something the bad guy would put on the hero to torture him. That and the evil-looking skull face in the central part of it.”

“That's just an aesthetic touch. The plates practically begged to be assembled into a cute little glaring face.”

“It looks like somethin' a villain would wear,” Roy frowned.

“Look, do you want power for your heaters or not?” I snapped. I really hadn't meant to make the thing look so intimidating. Eh, perhaps they were imagining it.

Sparky laughed. “Oh give it here. I'll give it a whirl. What's the worst could happen?”

Martin muttered something I didn't catch, and I smiled. “Sure, Sparky. Is your ground down?”

“Yep.”

I eased it around his neck, and closed the latch. LED's started lighting up, and Roy laughed.

“Hells, woman! It's even got evil glowing little red eyes!”

“That doesn't mean a thing! It's helpful technology!”

“Guys,” Sparky said. “This feels funky.”

“Put your ground up,” I advised. He did, and more lights lit up, switching from yellow to green. “Yessss...” I whispered. “Yes!” I felt a grin stretch my face, and I rubbed my hands together. For some reason I had a strong urge to laugh, but I resisted it.