No Heroes
Part 6: Something to chew on

Late Tuesday morning, January 24, 2017,
Powers Testing facilities, Whateley Academy.

To be honest, Benjamin couldn't see why Dr. Bellows was needed for the testing debrief. So far, the testers had done a bang-up job demonstrating all the useful mutant abilities he didn't have. When the other foot drops, and it always does, it'll be attached to a Clydesdale or a Godzilla. With luck, Doctors Shandy and Hewley would forget trying to blow smoke up his ass to soften the blow.

Dr. Shandy wound up for his pitch, "As expected, we found anomalies in the genetic sequences commonly referred to as the metagene complex. That tells us that you were born a Modified Human. We don't often get to see many of you people unless we're called in on the autopsy."

Yay, me.

"Had you been born a mutant, we would not be having this conversation. Introducing MGC code into a baseline has generally proven either lethal or irreproducible. To our knowledge, no one's been irresponsible enough to try overwriting that code."

Dr. Shandy looked up from his notes to see how the boy was taking this. Granted, "I just want to be normal" is one of those "said no teen ever" tropes. But, "Can you fix me?" was one of those questions he'd rather not field.

Green eyes bored into Shandy's own from a poker-blank face. "Please. Do go on."

"Someday, your children may inherit half of your autosomal genes. Unfortunately, we don't get to choose which parts they get. The result would be an incomplete roadmap of your congenital alterations. We can filter out the least viable gametes during in vitro fertilization. In fact, you were probably conceived in a petri dish yourself! Any daughters you have could go on to live productive lives. However, if they manifest as a mutant, I'd expect severe GSD and a lethal burnout as the most probable medical consequences."

"What about boys?"

"Miscarriage by week twenty."

That hit home.

Dr. Hewley spoke into the silence. "What we're saying is that we cannot in good conscience recommend that you father children."

As if he were equipped for mothering them?

Dr. Bellows said, "I know that you already have a therapist. However, we can provide additional resources should you need them. Please keep that in mind."

Dr. Shandy continued, "With regard to GSD, you have what the public would call a mild instance. The changes to your internal organs are more interesting. Running more metabolic tests can wait for one of our colleagues to become available. Your left eye is innervated, so you should be able to see through it. I'd recommend occupational therapy with a goal of regaining function."

Belfry tried seeing out the unused eye. Nope.

"However! You are definitely a manifestor one, albeit a versatile one. Manifesting 'sweat' to cool down your core without dehydrating demonstrates that. Otherwise, heat injuries during exercise might cut deeply into your endurance levels."

Dr. Hewley looked up from his tablet to interrupt Shandy: "Dr. Clark will get back to us with a tentative date."

"Jumped at it, did he?" Hewley nodded. "That'll be a long day or two. Where were we? Right, MATD. We found nephrite deposits in your left orbital socket and cheekbone. Those match the composition of your left eyeball. Your body can't rebuild bone from rocks. Therefore, I think we're looking at a replacement process, similar to your body hair and sweat."

Baba had gone into more gruesome detail and dire hints, but it all came out the same.

"In other words, don't get hurt?"

"That would be helpful, but the risks don't stop there. Active mutant traits can be negated. Should that happen to you, be prepared to seek shelter and immediate medical attention."

"Lovely." Belfry finally asked the obvious: "So, back to my eyeball. It's not a power gem or something weird like we all thought?"

Dr. Hewley spoke up. "Weird is not a scientific classification! However, it could be an artifact of induced metagene activation. If it weren't connected to your optic nerve, I'd compare it to a pearl or a bezoar. Whether the stone is the source of or an amplifier for your esper knacks, you still have them. That can be something to build on. How much you benefit from your time going forward at Whateley is entirely up to you."

"That's it?"

"As far as mutant or paranormal abilities go, yes. Your physical results are relatively consistent with a healthy and active person your age. You'd benefit from some strength training. But, so would most young men."

Dr. Bellows added, "You should also put time into social activities. Meet new people, make friends, and have fun while the opportunities present themselves."

"Doctor, the lad speaks five languages. How could he not be in the habit of socializing?"

Belfry said, "Out of those options, I think I'd rather work out more."

"I figured as much," said Bellows. "We all have our work cut out for us. Benjamin, would you mind accompanying me back to the Medical Center?"

"As long as I can keep my clothes on!"

"I'm good with that."

---

Dr. Bellows didn't speak until they were out of range of the Powers Testing lab recorders. Without preamble, he said, "I understand that Professor Choudhari left a note with you. Have you read it, by any chance?"

"Curious, Doctor?"

"Color me concerned."

Benjamin fished the note from a pocket.

²³⁰Th.

That's.

Holy shit.

Holy might not be the right word.

"Doctor Bellows, does the medical center have its own incinerator?"

"Of course. I should revise my previous opinion to 'very concerned', shouldn't I?"

Benjamin was too quiet for several paces.

"That depends on the protections you keep with you," he muttered, only half to himself.

---

Dr. Alfred Bellows' Office, Doyle Medical Center.

Back at the official office, back on official business. Dr. Bellows opened up with, "This may not come as welcome news, but Dr. Delacroix has already recommended that you stay on campus for the foreseeable future. I will be forwarding her recommendation to the headmaster with my concurrence."

"Might I ask why?"

"Yes. Are you aware of the value that powers testing results can have to certain parties?"

Benjamin racked his memory for other cases. He'd never dealt in information brokerage, but if there was a need to know, there was a fee to know. He admitted as much, saying "I don't know the going rates."

"Let's say that compensation for timely 'leaks' can add up to a nice retirement. I think we should give the market time to react to today's results. Don't you?"

"Whateley Neutrality doesn't really play outside, does it?"

"Possession is still nine-tenths of the law. I'm sure you're familiar with the low recovery rate for teen abductions."

"Not an experience I'd care to repeat. Is that what you were called in for, or is it Dr. Delacroix's day off?" Benjamin paused, before saying "You guys do get days off, don't you?"

"I could ask you the same."

"Pfft. I'm a teenager. All of my days are off; half more off the top for a loss leader."

Dr. Bellows said, "I'm more concerned with loss prevention. Our researchers are good at what they do. However, counseling students after disappointing discoveries is not one of the things they do well. More often, they make matters worse."

"Okay, and? So I didn't luck out on the superpowers lottery." Where was he going with this? Benjamin clarified, "It would be nice to never worry about landing wrong and blowing out an ankle or a knee. Umm. Again."

"That's true. But suppose a spirit offered to grant new abilities to make up for what you've lost. For example, some can give you the equivalent of an exemplar trait."

"Colombine is still right here." Benjamin tapped the VIPA terminal on his left forearm, "Between her and my contacts (who I won't name), it's easier to hire the difference."

The AI broke in on speaker. "Benjamin, that's not what Dr. Bellows is talking about. Over the centuries, spirits have granted humans almost any paranormal ability you can think of. Dynamorphs are more limited in the range of powers they can offer, but you may survive bonding with one. Other entities may grant power in other forms, for varying prices."

Dr. Bellows nodded.

When did we agree to turn this discussion into the headaches and ulcers phase of planning a mission?

Benjamin drew a deep breath and blew it out slowly to clear his head.

"Given proper lead time and a big enough budget, I can rent any or all of that. When the fireworks are over, we all go our separate ways." How to explain life to a civilian? "Look, maybe my life would be easier if things were different. Probably not. I know this. Trust me, I do. So, it's up to me to get my own arse over it. Getting depth perception back would be handy. But, nah. My gut feelings are telling me that no matter what the list price is, I can't cover the costs."

Hang on. Bellows is still a headshrinker by trade.

Benjamin looked the doctor in the eye. "Those were very specific examples coming from both of you. And I'm not liking the return on investment either. What happened?"

Dr. Bellows said, "In my years here, too many misfortunate students have bargained for a power upgrade or chased unproven technologies for a 'remedy' for GSD. The lucky ones died soon after. A few of those gaining a spirit via avatar trait or access to ancient rituals have had that work out. For certain values of working out. That doesn't happen often enough for me to recommend those options."

"The first taste is always free. After that, you pay and pay and pay."

How did people not know that?

"There is one other issue that was raised. It's possible that you and your future spouse could raise a family by adopting children."

"Hell, no."

"Could you expand on that? The idea of settling down may not appeal to you now, but you may change your mind later."

"Doctor Bellows, very few jurisdictions allow two men to adopt a child. Don't tell me it's just a phase I'll grow out of. If you think I haven't met the right woman; according to experts — sex don't fix that. The people I've fallen in, as some would put it, with are footing the bill for me to be here. Any of that nonsense, I'll just call the op compromised and fuck on off out of here, with their blessing. Are we clear on this?"

"I had no intention of saying any of those things!"

"Good. No offense, Doctor, but I'm not finished. I may be missing an eye, but I'm not blind. I know exactly what happens when someone as fucked up as me grows up to pass all their shit on to the next generation. As if I'll ever find someone who'd take me, not that I trust me that much either."

Benjamin sniffed. Embarrassing. Letting emotions get in the way of solutions had never paid off for him.

"Do your other counselors know that?"

"Maybe. Some of it. Miss, er, Dr. Delacroix, she probably knows more than I do. Imp? Uh uh. She's got a kid of her own, and mothers get weird about having things like me around their children."

"Don't you mean 'people' like you?"

Benjamin shook his head, tired. "Not really. I've hoped... Well, you get the idea anyway. Anything else? If I hustle, I might be able to get some food down before class."

Dr. Bellows said, "I can suggest that you add metaphysical materials to your manifesting practice. If you're going to be on watchlists anyway, you might as well give their owners a good reason to worry."

"That I can do!" A brief handshake and Benjamin was out the door. A fragment of his past stayed with the doctor.

The postcognitive vision in Dr. Bellows' head gradually returned him to the present. By the time he finished his notes, he wasn't the only one running late for lunch. Keeling was merely the only one still interested in lunch.

---

Tuesday afternoon, Twain Cottage.

Say what you will about it, at least Powers Testing hadn't required him to run around outside in the freezing rain and slushy mud. Nonetheless, Benjamin's lunch sank to the bottom of his stomach like lead ballast. So much for eating, but Colombine had a list of people she'd tell if he didn't come up with at least five hundred calories consumed. Why couldn't other people play fair? It wasn't like he'd ever thought much of being a better father to some kid than, than— No, alone was the best way to go: no chance of anyone thinking about sharing around.

What did those fuckers do, buy him off some genetic chop shop's scratch and dent sale to make their own play toy?

Common sense told him that he should be making some phone calls or asking Cee to make them for him.

Fuck it.

Serve them all right if Victoria or Baba showed up.

Oh, god. They would show up, too, and not in that order. If he ever told them why, they'd make a few stops to express their displeasure first. To be fair, he owed them enough to do the same in return. That wasn't the point. Or, was it?

The last thing he needed was for The Imp and Victoria to compare notes on their squirrely TA and part-time merc!

Invite Sahar too, and the world might as well implode.

Peter wouldn't understand. He couldn't. Mustn't. And if anyone helped him understand... Ever. It would be a dark pleasure to take part in that payback. He'd make it slow. He'd been taught so, so much by bastards he couldn't name.

As it turned out, he couldn't even go back to his room and sleep off his headache. He did make it as far as the room. It was empty and quiet because Max had packed his own Winter Term schedule with goodies. Benjamin had gotten as far as pulling his boots off when someone started pounding on the door. That was too damned unusual to ignore.

Opening the door ended with him being tackled by a massive two-headed dog carrying a softball and bat in his big, toothy mouths.

"Woof! Woof!"

Conspiracy senses tingling, Benjamin grabbed some sturdy clothes and his boots. Just in case he could escape, he packed various stuff in his backpack before being dragged out to play ball. As if he knew how to play.

---

Cookie.

New boy smell bad angry-sad. Why going to big house?

Mr. Sun is still up. Not time to sleep.

Time to play?

Play with new boy! Run! Catch! Again!

Boy has more toys to catch! Yay! Mud!

Boy tired. Tired boy less angry-sad.

Warm bath is nice — for a bath.

Daniel back! Dinner! Happiness.

Good pup!

---

Crystal Hall.

To Benjamin's eyes, it just wasn't fair that it was easier to wash mud off Cookie than to get it off his clothing. That wasn't the only unfair thing going. Now Colombine was acting like he could just turn his appetite on!

"The prevailing air temperature is forty degrees below what you're used to. Also, you've been on the go since this morning. So, if you want to avoid being assigned an institutional dietician, fifteen hundred calories minimum."

"Cee, I know I need to eat. I'm just tired, is all."

How do you explain that the usual lunch-time cafeteria smells just weren't doing it for him today?

"Start with something simple. Make a sandwich, add fries and ketchup. Let's work your way through that before worrying about making up the shortfall."

"I suppose so."

He wasn't particularly hungry. Yet Benjamin found himself eating more than he'd expected to. He even started feeling good enough to stop repelling every empath within fifty feet or so. Not that everyone avoiding him was an empath – that would be strange – but the principle applied equally well. So many cleaned-up, dressed-up beautiful boys and girls from homes in the right school districts with white picket fences and parents who'd never, even being saddled with trash, they'd never... But that was their world, not his.

Just another place he'd never fit in.

Was it really so bad to want some time out?

---

"Benjamin! I've been looking everywhere for you! When did you get out?"

Oh. Thulia... English notes! Probably homework too, but she was doing him a favor. Act natural!

"Hey! I didn't do it. No one saw me do it. You can't prove a thing!"

"Oh? Are you telling me that you don't need to see what we went over in class while you were out?"

"I'm not that innocent. Chip?"

Benjamin's idea of fried potatoes could best be classified as a spicy tomato dish.

"I'll pass."

Benjamin shrugged at that, as if it didn't matter either way, stomach's opinions notwithstanding. No notes appeared. This was going to be one of those we-need-to-communicate things, wasn't it? He ate a fry, chewing slowly to demonstrate that the others were edible. Also, stalling.

"I'm guessing that that wasn't the answer you wanted," he admitted.

"I was hoping you could tell me about this Powers Testing thing you had going this morning. To hear some people talk about it, it sounds like a cross between the Inquisition and a talent competition. For mine, they spent most of their time comparing me to Morgana. It was as if they'd decided that only one of us was real."

"Joy. Should I start with the check-in desk? That dude has a serious fetish thing going in his head. No? Some parts of my testing were lifted from a nightmare P.E. class." Benjamin gestured with a twirl of potato. "Like I couldn't have told them the only way I'm going to lift a ton is with a forklift or a crane? Slamming me face-first into the treadmill's controls wasn't good enough. So, then, they threw me at a confidence course featuring the usual obstacles, plus some automated and mobile turrets."

"They must have had a good healer or two on-hand! By 'turrets', what, do you mean they were shooting at you?"

"Others have been tempted. Heh. But yeah, rubber bullets and low-intensity force projectors can be motivating. The results were, quote: interesting compared to baseline, unquote." Actually, they would have been interesting for a baseline, but close enough. "I guess the cardio only counts when both hearts are topping out. Manifesting includes having a psychic feel for materials and pee-kay manipulation of what I make, so the psi tests didn't mean anything. Not sure why they bothered. Fun to watch? My ability for making stuff tops out at a whopping three pounds of lead. Iron or steel stretches further."

He should probably skip playing with hydrogen.

"That could be useful, right?"

"As long as I hold on to it, sure. It still goes *poof* when I let go."

"What about your... you know?"

Thank your random deity she gestured at his bad eye and not somewhere lower.

"Still attached!"

"I can see that."

"...completely attached to existing muscles and nerves."

Thulia's face scrunched up, "Ew." But, "What about magic? That could be part of it."

"You're asking for a demonstration?"

"Can you do that here? I haven't had a chance to see what it does."

"Not much to see."

---

True. There wasn't anything to see here. Come to think of it, what was she doing, sitting alone in the cafeteria? Why did she have her class notes out? Whose tray was that, across from her? It was a good thing Bruce wasn't here. He would have had a scathingly sarcastic comment about zoning out. She missed that about him.

From hardly more than arm's length behind her, someone asked, "Waiting for someone?"

Thulia whirled about in her seat, ready to round on ... Belfry? Weren't they just talking?

"What, you were maybe expecting someone taller?"

"Not at all! I was ex— I wasn't expecting that. How do you observe what can't be perceived? Doesn't that affect you too?"

Benjamin walked back to where he'd been sitting, setting a powder blue beret down next to his tray. Flinty dust sifted from Sgt. Keeling's UN blue police uniform. Not that that was surprising; the man's green eyes were ringed around with goggle-sheltered pale skin under more of the desert sand.

"Bodgers the eyewitless accounts right up, don't it?"

"Who are you?"

She had a suspicion she was supposed to recognize where the policeman was from. Other than 'Not Canada.'

"Let me help clear that up," the policeman said, smiling wolfishly at some private joke. He pulled out his wallet for identification. The Whateley Academy student ID read "Belfry" and "Benjamin Xiáng Keeling". The picture looked just like the sixteen-year-old student from Thulia's English class who'd handed it to her. Go figure.

"And that's all there is to it?"

"Other than that? The best guess going is that my designers needed a scratch monkey for playing stupid carnival games."

"Stupid games?"

Benjamin pointed back at himself with his thumb.

"Got their stupid prize, right here."

---

Tuesday evening,
Campus Bookstore, Fox Hall.

When it came to metaphysical materials, the bookstore stocked many oddball items. Enough so, that it was disappointing that the space was clean and bright instead of crowded with cobwebbed and musty old tomes written in some arcane tongue. Benjamin decided to skip any of the supplies that had ingredient lists. Life was hard enough without trying to figure out how to deal with mixtures of unrelated things. Sulfur, saltpeter, mercury, and iron filings might be useful. On impulse, he chucked a couple of pairs of nine-day Uncrossing candles into his cart. Max would understand. Maybe he could play them off as mood lighting?

"Cee, is it just me, or isn't there something fundamentally wrong with selling graveyard dirt from any old grave to any old random stranger?"

Where did that come from? Colombine wondered, but she ran a literature search anyway.

"Is there any mention of the grave's owner or how they were compensated for their trouble?"

Benjamin snagged one, and captured a couple of photos of the label before his hand spasmed. "Dunno. Did you copy the label?" he asked while rubbing circulation back into his arm.

"Just the usual bad copy-pasting plagiarized from here and there. What happened?"

"Touching that stuff was a bad idea. I'm going to guess it's not something I need to duplicate, like, ever."

"Let's chalk that up to permission denied for the chucklehead who lives in a cemetery."

"Fair cop. Cold iron's a wee bit expensive here."

Colombine rescanned what her partner was poking at. "Before you start in, that price is discounted off the spot price."

"Then why's the good rice paper more expensive here than over in the arts section? The ink blocks are also surcharged."

A woman's voice bubbled up behind the two shoppers. "That's because the mystic arts students only look here. Then they complain at checkout about the things they couldn't find." The lady's name tag read Bonnie C. "Some of them won't purchase from the art supplies we carry. It's cheaper to give up the shelf space than to let them waste manpower with complaints and demands."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Take microeconomics. I'm sure they cover it in that class. Prestige is a related issue. Haven't you ever held out for a more expensive brand or retailer than the one at hand?"

"Quality, reliability, delivery time, and goodwill matter too. Or, so I've been repeatedly told," Benjamin said. "Saving twenty feet of walking in a store? Why bother?"

"Good points. What are you looking for here? Maybe I can help?"

"Oh! Sorry. Benjamin Keeling, and I'm looking for samples of cold iron and mithril. I'd assume that orichalcum has to be ordered?"

Bonnie said, "Orichalcum is frightfully expensive. What do you need it for?"

"I wanted to see if I could manifest some, but I'd need to examine the real thing. Not sure how I'd prove what I got, now that I think of it."

"I'd recommend that you try working something out with the Mystic Arts Department staff. You aren't going demon-hunting this week, are you?"

"No?"

People here do that?

"Keep working on that sincerity. I see the temptation in your eyes. We can order mithril; at one thousand dollars a gram plus labor, we'd need half the price upfront. We do carry cold iron filings, daggers, and nails."

"How about three of the nails? Mithril. Hm. What about a plain band, 3mm width should suffice for a cocktail ring?"

Connie said, "Before we go any further, I should warn you that many students would assault you over that much mithril."

"My sponsors would be terribly unimpressed if I let them succeed at that. Doesn't the stuff have a good resale value?"

It would make sense to repurchase the metal if the boy didn't get results; more sense if he did. Connie said, "It does, but I can verify that when I place the order. Now, let's get you checked out so we can close for the evening!"

Even if nothing else panned out from the evening, Benjamin left the Bookstore with a new cipher lock to play with for his desk safe. The paperwork for a "standard Workshop experimentation license" wouldn't be an overnight job. Let the people who enjoy that sort of thing work it out. His designated genefreak card didn't list him as a devisor or gadgeteer, but MMIDs are supposed to leave out details. Technically, he worked for an international arms supplier — practically the same thing!

He rearranged his scarf to block out the light snowfall and picked his way down the steps of the building. No detours to Doyle for a quick patch job! Some of the things he'd wanted were on back-order. However, the fewer things he carried, the less likely he was to slip. Explosives don't go boom on you when you don't have them yet.

---

Twain Cottage.

Max Livingston tried not to worry too much about his friends. Honestly, he tried. Benjamin and Yuki both hated being boxed in, even when that wasn't what he was doing. He settled for being concerned when he walked into his dorm room. Benjamin was hanging upside down from an improvised sling working on installing a replacement safe at his desk.

Colombine waved, then went back to poring over a set of hard-light schematics.

Could the situation get worse? That might depend on what was in the Bookstore shopping bag...

C4 and blasting caps.

Someone's planning a party!

Max carefully put things back as they were, closed the bag, and decided that this was a good night for a sleeping pill. Leave the awkward questions for another day.

---

Thursday afternoon, January 26, 2017,
Twain Cottage, Room 226.

Benjamin picked out a lump of white, waxy material from the Workshop sampler. According to the paperwork that came with the partitioned Box o' Fun, the primary use for the sampler was planning demolitions at scale. Close enough for government work! This particular material was something he was familiar with, a mix of cyclotrimethylene trinitramine and wax called Composition A. Being odorless and tasteless made it hard to detect, and the wax could be tinted to match just about anything.

Seeing as how toxic the stuff could be, knowing ahead of time there wouldn't be a taste to key in on helped his work along. Max could get away with using the same knife for cutting down a charge and spreading peanut butter. Max got away with a lot of things no one else could.

Benjamin let his breathing even out while he triaged his stream of thought. Sounds from the remainder of the dorm could be passed on through without interaction. Instead, he searched for what his extended senses (intuition? The powers testers didn't explain much) could pick up from the focus of meditation.

Electricity running, spinning down a crumpled race track.

Kind of like jet fuel but not?

Everything balanced, but only just so.

Like pairs of high-wire acrobats flying to alternating bars.

One little twist at the wrong point...

Benjamin was too deep in thought to hear if anything was said.

The door slam on the other hand? That caught his attention.

One after another, acrobats missed their handoff.

What could one sad clown do?

Unable to catch falling stars, he turned his umbrella backwards to catch and bounce falling sparks away from the audience.

Ears still ringing, Benjamin idly noticed that the Memorial Garden looked nice in winter.

---

Doyle Medical Center.

Even after the Twain "house parent" explained what was known to have happened, Dr. Sarah Williams was having difficulty matching the events and outcomes. The forensic photos taken resembled a meth lab disaster. Yet, somehow, the Keeling boy still had all of his fingers, if not all of his desk. Sarah listened in on the ongoing discussion in the hopes of useful details.

Propped up on the examining table, Benjamin asked, "Why do I have to go to Hawthorne?"

"Because the entire building is armored."

"From who?"

Mr. Filbert choked back whatever he was tempted to say, going with "Exactly" instead.

"I'm told that Mrs. Bardue has allotted adjacent rooms for you and Max while repairs are being made. That will give him time to stop pretending that he's not at all under stress. Otherwise, you're not being released."

"But I'm not hurt!"

Not that much hurt, all things considered. He'd been hurt much worse.

"Son, that is not the same as being healthy. In any case, Dr. Williams is the person you need to convince. Good luck with that."

Keeling fell silent until Mr. Filbert left.

"What did I do?"

"Aside from setting off fireworks in your dorm room?" Sarah asked.

"I was working on RDX," the boy not-explained. "It's not even shock or friction sensitive."

"Working on it? What does that mean? Were you cooking it up at your desk?"

"No. If I really needed some, I'd requisition it. I was trying to get the pattern of what it is, so I could manifest it. Sort of like scanning a button..."

Sarah had a trashcan at the ready seconds before the paling student lost his stomach contents.

"Holding on, to an explosive which wasn't as stable as you'd assumed, with your mind. Would you say that's close to what you were trying to do?" she asked.

"Urgh. Yeah. I guess. Water?"

"Just a few ounces to rinse your mouth out. Do not swallow any. I have more tests to schedule."

"When can I get out of here? I still have class tomorrow."

"When I or the staff physician who relieves me say so. As to classes tomorrow, don't push your luck."

---

Friday morning, January 27, 2017,
Doyle Medical Center.

Attending English class from a hospital bed had been embarrassing. Benjamin had been allowed to wear a shirt, but there was no disguising the wires under it, or the fact that he was being checked on every thirty minutes. By the end of the two-hour class, he was ready to crawl under the nearest rock labelled "Fuckup's for Sailor Rent, Boys to let, 50 pence."

That might not be right. Judging by Cee's snerk, he might need to revise his notes.

He pasted on a smile for Max's visit. It was the least he could do for his friend. Max had taken time to move his stuff over to the new dorm and even dropped by to see him get released. What had he ever done to rate someone like that?

On the other hand, Max hadn't said more than a couple of words since. That wasn't like Max at all.

It hurt.

"Look, Max, I'm sorry for, well, everything."

Max stopped in the middle of the tunnel.

"Apology accepted," he said as he turned around. "But, damn it! I want you to know that walking in to that room, with Pops doing first aid on you, down for the count — I think it took a year off my life."

"Huh? It wasn't you at the door? I left the door unlocked, so I wasn't expecting the door slam. No excuse for the shit job of demolitions."

"Benjamin."

"Yes?"

"I didn't get there until after the explosion."

"Oh. That puts a different spin on things."

"Yes, it does. Colombine?"

"On it. Our favorite Punch-ing bag is already going on suicide watch. We can use that for operational cover. I just need to alter the incident codes to account for our spoofed visitor."

Benjamin guessed, "No good visual on the intruder?"

"I was looking over your shoulder right before my terminal was hit. Around here, it could be a prank or more missing calligraphy," Colombine said. "But it could be something else. It doesn't fit Bystander's M.O., but that's only one of the many assholes running around. Officer Takenaka agrees."

---

Hawthorne Cottage.

Mrs. Bardue's body language made it clear that Yuki hadn't been the only person Colombine messaged with updated information. She was still a hell of a good actor.

"Boy, I know I didn't send you off the other day with no 'See you soon'. Same goes double for you, young Mr. Livingston. Be that as it may, Wilhelm here will show you two around. Some of our residents have non-negotiable safety protocols that I expect you to know and abide by. Playing hero around here could get innocent children hurt. You understand?"

Max studied his footgear for a moment. "Yes, Mrs. Bardue."

"Yes, Ma'am!"

Mrs. Bardue shook her head. There was no way Conrad let that boy 'Sir' him!

"... never mind. Wilhelm, don't hesitate to page me."

With that, the "Freak House's" house parent spurred her antigrav steed in the direction of the next dumpster fire.

Max turned to Benjamin and said, "That went well, don't you think?"

---

Twain Cottage.

Caitlin Bardue fully appreciated the hellishly difficult task Conrad Filbert had taken on in becoming the cottage's House Parent. Without him, the school's Remembrance Garden would have more markers. The boys suffered as much as the girls, from homesickness, isolation, physical and mental changes they didn't understand. Despite that they still tried to be just that: boys, in a world that didn't much want them. The accidents might be louder and bloodier, and the suicides more often completed, but somehow most get by.

Then there was this clusterfuck. Some of the results didn't jibe with her own experience, let alone her Artificer talents. Focus.

"... only a matter of time. I'd like to be ready for the next cohort," Filbert was saying.

"Conrad, there shouldn't have been a first. I've never heard of a manifestor graduating straight to shaped charges."

Even then, the blast would be directed up or down. The rubble pointed "out", with intent. But, again, the Workshop kids and Grunts who played with Things That Go Boom had Range 4 to try their toys out.

"My understanding is that Belfry manifested a parabolic shield at the last second. I had to pull him out of his roommate's desk to perform CPR."

"A freshman managed that on the fly?"

Filbert hesitated just long enough to choose his words, "He's older than the traditional age."

More fucked up than usual in this soup sandwich outfit? Lovely.

Filbert continued, asking "As I was saying: can the wall be put back together such that it fails under a more survivable overpressure?"

"No launching manhole covers into space?"

"If the boy's roommate tries that, I will personally blame you for mentioning that possibility."

"Maybe?" Caitlin said, "It's going to take me more than a couple of days to come up with something reproducible and repairable."

"I think we can all benefit from some patience."

---

Friday afternoon,
Theory and Practice of the Escape.

Somehow, the Imp already knew about Benjamin's injury. Was that why everything was already set up for class?

She smiled at his confusion, "Maybe because I read the daily incident reports to keep track of my students and assistants?"

"Did I say something?"

"Yes."

So much for the smile.

Benjamin already missed her 'I know something you haven't thought of' smile.

"I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

"Take this slip to Dr. Tenent's office in Kirby Hall."

"How did you already have that ready to go?"

"Benjamin? You just watched me write it out. I'm calling an escort for you. Sit."

---

Zoe Nesmith-Chibany's Office, Kirby Hall.

Half a month into her first term as an instructor and Zoe was still surprised by what went on behind the scenes. She'd known that the staff and faculty shared information on the students. They had to! However, some of the shared notes were more informal and vivid than she'd expected. Those that came with pictures were the best and some of the worst.

She was updating notes for her evening class when Dr. Ophelia Tenent knocked on her door. That wasn't too unusual, as the Psychic Arts and Mystic Arts Departments technically shared the building. However, her colleague was flanked by a Security Officer and one of Zoe's evening students.

"Zoe, can you spare some time? Officer Takenaka, please stay at the door?"

Takenaka backed up a step. "I wouldn't dream of interrupting this dumpster fire."

"Come in, Doctor," Zoe said, ushering her and her patient to a pair of chairs. "What can I do for you?"

What is going on this time?

Dr. Tenent explained, "Benjamin here is still showing signs of a concussion. I've afforded him what additional healing I can. I'm not convinced he's well enough to sit in on a class, but he doesn't want to miss his shot at the penny test."

"And this is a problem? How?"

"Yuki said she'd sit on me," explained the problem.

"Only to keep you from hurting yourself, Benjie."

"You say that now! As soon as she sees how wonky the wards are here... I don't wanna be sat on!"

"Doctor, what exactly did you give him?"

"A basic inflammation-reduction spell, which is interacting with Goddess-knows-what. Benjamin, what are you doing?"

An unguided Benjamin flipped a penny in the air, catching it on the back of his hand.

He crowed in (dizzy) triumph, "Hah! My penny! False positive bait!"

"Why would it be in Ms. Nesmith's purse?"

"Dunno. But it was."

Zoe reached for the penny.

"It doesn't count unless I verify it as authentic. Give it over."

"Fine. Be that way." Benjamin handed over the coin. "It's still the only one that feels right. Aside from the residual radiation, but that's not my fault."

"Radiation?" Dr. Tenent mouthed.

"I'll have it checked."

"Can I go? I don't want to be sat on! Not when that penny gets lost before, not soon, but not after a long time. It just kind of does? I'm tired."

"If Ms. Nesmith knows whose penny you found, we'll send you on your way. How about that?"

Zoe placed the penny on her desk to keep it separate from the others.

"We hadn't thought of radiation tagging, that would rely on an esper sense. However, that was an underhanded move, going through my purse. B+. Don't get caught next time."

Benjamin's "Okay?" became a drawn-out yawn. He was out like a light by the time the teachers handed him off to Security. By Monday, the wayward penny would be long forgotten.

---

Sunday morning, January 29, 2017,
Secure Computing Lab, The Workshop.

Why was it that whenever Benjamin Keeling thought to do someone a good turn, someone else always had to rain on the event? This time it was some prick on the other side of an intercom circuit and a locked door. If they were going to use a cheap lock, the least they could do was swap faceplates to make it harder to guess the locking mechanism.

"Why the Hell should I let you in? You're not even on the tech track!"

Benjamin faced the somewhat-hidden camera, to prompt the yutz, "Well... You did look me up, yeah?"

"Duh."

"Then you know who's my work-study boss."

"That's an appeal to irrelevant authority. The differences between that and a logical argument probably escaped you."

Benjamin straightened up and crossed his arms. "On the contrary, I assure you. So. You can allow me access now. Or, you could wait until the next time I have to look after a sweet young lass, name of Chambers. She would be most entertained by a demonstration of how to bypass a Gizmatic 3120-series cipher lock with the recommended retina to iris cross-cataloging option. God knows that last bit's sold at a mark-up that amounts to highway robbery, for the value provided."

Fourteen seconds later, the door cycled open. Standing in the doorway was a pale upperclassman, accompanied by a frazzled-looking Icejack motioning Belfry in. The "bed head" look was kind of cute on Peter, but Benjamin knew that "bed" had nothing at all to do with it. Not his fault. Once he was securely inside, Belfry shut down his short-range jammer. The upperclassman now looked less happy for some godsforsaken reason.

"Benjamin. What are you doing down here? Other than terrorizing our lab TA, which doesn't count," asked Peter.

"Someone's mother was worried that someone wasn't eating well. A review of activity logs indicates that said someone hasn't been sleeping well either. In fact, they may be past the point of diminishing returns on their project."

That sounded like blackmail to the lab TA. "Meaning?"

"Peter, back up your shit, secure the rest, and let's go. I'll wait outside for, oh, five minutes before thinking up educational games to play with Susan Moira." Belfry entered a code for the cipher lock and stepped back out.

Once the door cycled shut, the lab TA asked, "He's bluffing, isn't he?"

That was his takeaway?

Peter glared back, words having failed.

"Umm. Right. You go. I'll just add him to the access list before he introduces us to Karma."

---

Outside the lab, Benjamin wasn't exactly tapping his foot with impatience. However, he was at his holding up the wall stage, which preceded bouncing on his heels. Peter himself wouldn't, but someday, someone was going to load that boy's coffee up with Vitamin R.

"By the way, Happy New Year," Benjamin said, holding out a red envelope in both hands.

On the front of the envelope was Peter's name, in carefully-brushed running script. Probably. It could also be a rude joke, but he'd need an expert to work that out. Peter could tell at first glance that a lot of time and practice had gone into the transliteration and the calligraphy.

"Thank you. I, um, I'm sorry I didn't think about the holiday."

"Didn't think of eating breakfast either, did you?"

"That's different!"

"But if we're lucky, the Year of the Fire Rooster should be good for some good, hot."

"If I were you, I would not finish that statement."

"Tough crowd."

"Who else is on your list?"

"I already sent some home to Mom, Reg, Li Hua, Jameson. So, you, Max, Yuki, Miss Barnes, Sifu Wong, Ms. Liebeck, The Imp, um, and someone else."

"Isn't it traditional to have classmates you're on good terms with?"

"According to my therapists, yeah. Giving Humorless money is sure to piss him off."

"Don't do that."

"I didn't say I was going to insult Pete! But I kinda owe Thulia for giving me her English notes. Maybe Billy, Tabitha, Anneliese?"

"Thulia?"

"Foreign exchange dragongirl from Canada? Black hair down to her... well, it's long."

"And that's all she has going— I mean, that's all you can recall?"

"Yeah. I think I can catch her at breakfast. While you're eating, I can work on addressing the ones I haven't got to yet."

---

Sunday brunch,
Crystal Hall cafeteria.

Peter watched Benjamin carefully set up his paper, ink, and brushes: each item had its own little place. Half the time while Benjamin worked, he stuck his tongue tip out from the side of his mouth. Some normal part of Peter waited for Benjamin to drop his dim sum and rice on the project. The rest considered the current view worth the price of admission. And, much like everything else from Kapalangpur not advertised in English, none of it was comprehensible, including the operator.

After addressing two envelopes, Benjamin set his brush down. He shook cramps from his right hand and arm as if nothing was wrong. Peter still saw pain lines on his face. Benjamin had been transferred to Hawthorne for his health. And, that should be enough. It still didn't sit right with him and he couldn't say why.

"Time to switch hands?"

"No. <Xingshu> calligraphy is supposed to be done right-handed. I practice leftie too, but... yeah."

Benjamin moved some of his materials around so he could eat without trashing his completed work.

Peter said, "I've never been, y'know?"

"Hm? New Year's? It's mostly family, friends, food, that sort of stuff."

"I would have thought the goal was to start the new year in the most auspicious fashion."

Benjamin coughed. "That too. Been reading up, thinking about going native?"

"Maybe," Peter admitted, caught off-guard by the sudden interest in his plans. "I can work from practically anywhere if the reason's good enough. You?"

"Are you asking or offering?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Someday you're going to do that and get more than you bargained for."

"Promises, promises. Eat something. If you're good, maybe I'll let you know."

---

Puck double-checked that he still had the peace offering, clean and in good condition. 'Liese had assured him that this was what he needed. Belfry was a WESTPAC guy; that much was certain. Big Sis had heard from one of the Underdogs who'd heard from one of the Asian kids, so it was practically gospel, that he wasn't on Pan-Asia's invite list for New Year's. And, yes, that had tweaked her Bullshit Meter too, which was why she'd looked up the holiday and double-checked with some of the other Whitmaniacs and so, here they all were.

He'd also just learned something new: Icejack (Pete or Peter something) could speak. He was even speaking to Belfry! Sure, Raccoon had said that he could, but Ty was Ty and the other Bad Seed on the floor, Esquire, was a dick, so he couldn't really be sure about that.

"Eddie, why are you waiting for an excuse to not go over there and apologize?"

"Crap! Busted."

"Hi, 'Liese."

"I'm still waiting."

"Fine. Maybe. But I want you to know I expect primo get-well gifts when I wake up in Doyle."

"You're not going to wake up in sick bay. But if you do, I'll ask Ekene to bring them to you."

"The girl with the snakes? No thanks, Sis!"

"Then get your ass in gear."

---

Of course the two guys would stop talking to watch Puck's approach. Anything to make his life harder. Too late now! He swallowed and kept up his pace. Three more miles later...

"Yes?" Belfry asked.

If nothing else, the guy's poker face had game. Icejack? He looked like homicide was on the menu.

"Um, I, er, want to apologize for being a, for tripping you the other day. It was wrong, and... Oh, yeah," Puck held out a red envelope. The metal foil rooster on the front shone silver and gold. "Happy New Year anyway?"

"Gong hei fat choy."

"Huh?"

"That's what you'd say in Cantonese: Gong hei fat choy."

"Gahng hay fat choy?"

"Close enough. Thank you." Benjamin finally accepted the envelope.

"Aren't you going to open it?"

"That would imply that I don't trust you not to short-change me."

"Oh."

"And your sister would kick my ass."

"How would she know?"

"I haven't given her hers yet. She'd know what happened as soon as she asked you about it."

"Right. She would. Too bad you don't know other languages," Puck said. I should not have said that! "Not that knowing Chinese isn't impressive!"

"I'm still learning. I've had more practice with Malay, but I can manage the basics in Swahili, and Arabic."

Arabic?

"Huh. That's kind of awesome, I guess. So I... I'll let you two get back to what you were doing! Bye!"

Please let this work. Please let this work. Please let this work.

---

Benjamin watched Puck's getaway. "Did he look nervous to you?"

Peter said, "Meh. Lots of folks get twitchy around Bad Seeds. That whole heroes and villains schtick, where narcissists and assholes claim that everyone is the 'hero of their own story' because that's how their own minds work."

He would know, coming from the bazookas and black clinic bandaids side of the biz.

Benjamin nodded. "I know the type. First, we fuck you over. Then, we come up with a justifying excuse."

"I didn't know you had a history with H1!."

"Er..." Good thing I got that scar healed up!

"Benjamin," Peter didn't growl, but Benjamin could hear the edge wrapped around his name. "How much of a history do you have with H1!?"

"Technically slash officially speaking, not much? Besides, you should be eating. I don't need an adverse history with your Mom."

Peter swallowed a bite and said, "I still need to get back to the Lab. It's not just graded projects. We're also responsible for monitoring part of the school's sensor networks and IT backbone."

---

Puckwidget,
Emerson Cottage.

As amazing as Whateley was, Puck got to see some downsides as well. Coming here as a military brat, he could pick out the cliques and better-than-thou bull hockey without needing an empathic power. At least he wasn't a telepath like Sis. But, he supposed that could come in handy.

His roommate, Kuvuka, caught a lot more of the shit than he did. Aussie accent, dark skin, and not being a rich exemplar meant damned near everyone found a bone to pick. So what if he happened to fail English class? It wasn't like anyone around here could speak Fur. And since hardly anyone spoke Arabic, Lukas had practically no one to talk to. If Belfy did know some Arabic, he could fix that even if the guy was still kind of a dick. The catch was to make it look like a coincidence. Emerson Cottage didn't have a fixer like the girls' cottages did, so he'd have to come up with something on his own.

There was one person he could rely on.

"Hey, Sis! How hard would it be to get a class changed this time of year?"

"Why? You were just telling me how great your classes are. What happened?"

"What if a friend of a friend could use someone who could help him study? There could be a language thing going on, so, yeah."

"You're not trying to get this person hooked up?"

"No!" Ew. It's bad enough running into the guys in the shower.

"Then don't look at them, Eddie."

"What? Hang on, there. A guy needs to know how he stacks up against the competition!"

"A guy does not need to update his telepathic sister on those details. Fine. I'll ask Marian, see what she knows about it."

---

Icejack,
Secure Computing Lab, The Workshop.

Peter barely registered the lockdown siren. Word of an attack on students in Dunwich had hit the IT Lab seconds ahead of the formalities. As his shifting ability kicked in, it felt like he'd already been running countermeasure routines for several minutes. Cell phone connection logging as well. Who could say that the school wasn't next? Or that the threat was strictly external?

He speed-dialed Colombine before deciding what to ask her for help with.

"Get Belfry up and moving!"

"Already on it. Kurenai is running worst-case assessments against sensor failures."

"I don't mean to be rude, but."

"Handling it. Worry about the school. I'm seeing cellular tower frequency jamming, but I don't have a clear bearing indoors."

"I'll see what we are getting from perimeter sensors. Icejack out."

Security didn't rely on official police or emergency response bands. Both ARC and the Syndicate also used their own in-house cryptography on unpublished frequencies. Just a matter of finding out what the opposing force knew to target and how much separation they put between their positions.

---

Belfry,
Hawthorne Cottage.

"So much for being bored," Benjamin thought. He blamed the world tilting for making him miss his grab for the chair

"I saw that," Max said, as he picked his friend up. "You're going with Sepsis."

"Who's he going with?"

"Colombine, please notify Mrs. B that we're grabbing him on the way to Doyle."

"He's got a mini ICU hooked up to him, you know."

Max nodded. "True. But Doyle has medical-grade backup generators."

---

Deborah Bardue,
Hawthorne Cottage.

Deborah Bardue couldn't avoid thinking back to the Halloween Invasion. So many good folks killed or injured. Others never got over the shock and betrayal. That was ten years ago, not this time. Not if she had any say in things. It would have been handy if Louise were still here. Bad enough with the loose cannons she had.

"Boys, lockdown muster is the other way."

"Ma'am? Didn't Cee reach you about Sepsis?"

"Gary's going to have to shelter in place this time. You boys head on down so I don't have to worry about you while I check on others."

"Not if the OPFOR breaks through our perimeters, he doesn't. I've got Super-Dance-Party with me. We know our way around an ICU." The boy's smile turned nasty. "I hear that Doyle's trying to call you to have me sent over. How about we get our asses in gear?"

How? Nevermind. The AI running intercept.

"Fine. But nothing else!"

"Right!"

They were already gone.

"Colombine? I'm sure you're still listening in. What would those two have done if I said no?"

"Otherwise? Belfry would be going in the opposite direction from a hospital and Super-Dance-Party would be setting up a sniper nest on the roof. Everyone sane disapproves."

"Got it. Make sure they actually check in."

That was two, three accounted for. Who else might not be taking this seriously?

---

Belfry,
Doyle Medical Center.

Benjamin and Max got Sepsis to the Center with battery power to spare for the rack of monitors, pumps, and dialysis keeping him alive. That much pleased the Triage team, until they realized who was now in the same room as said life-support equipment. Max volunteered to assist the team. On a good day, one could count on dozens of kids injuring themselves in reaction to the lockdown, making any help welcome. Almost any help: a staff member relocated Benjamin to a disused room housing way too many hold-down points. The straitjackets gathering dust in a poorly-secured locker belonged in a museum with Indiana Jones.

Colombine interrupted Benjamin's bemused inspection of a harness with too many straps and buckles to issue without diagrams. Some of the attached pads must have had him especially confused.

"Benjamin, Security reports that Dragonsfyre and Drakaina are in critical condition, en route to Doyle Medical. The school lockdown has an estimated half-hour or more to go. At the very least, Security needs to continue their sweep for additional active threats."

"Noted. Keep me informed."

"And?" Colombine asked.

The two dragon girls weren't his crew, but explosive incidents tended to have a painful blast radius.

"Step carefully, but I'd like a social network analysis on both primaries including redactions. Security will be looking for leaks and info brokers with a taste for poor life choices, I want context."

"Security's looking into the Cult of the Red Baal."

"Who, if they gave a damn about Whateley, would have done something years ago. Who has a reason to sell short-fused mission data, with enough deniability to get a decent price from the terminally stupid?"

"That's all? I thought you'd be asking for battle footage."

"I trust you and Icejack to compile an insightful matinee of nightmare fuel. What flowers are in season for the year?"

"Cattletonia 'Why Not' is red and gold. You could send living plants."

"Instead of dead things? Go for it."

"Benjamin?"

"Why are you holding a set of soft restraints for an octopod?"

Octo? Eight... feet? Spider?

"Ahhhrgh!" The contraption with too many straps and buckles hit the deck. Benjamn asked, "Why wasn't it labeled? What does that make these pad things?"

"Something you shouldn't be handling until it's been disinfected, somehow. Or you can toss it all in the medical waste disposal. Either works."

---

Monday afternoon, January 30, 2017,
Theory and Practice of the Escape.

Benjamin pushed himself to finish lunch early. He cowboyed his meds (devisor coffee dissolved them on contact, ick) on the way to the classroom. Theory and Practice of the Escape was the only class they had to let him out to attend. All he had to do was look and act fixed!

Unfortunately, both Helsing and DragonsFyre, along with Thulia, were still in Doyle. Different incidents. They both needed to take time to heal. Pastel acted as if she were personally close to Helsing. That made it a safe bet the Seattleite would still be in a mood. Ms. Imp clearly would need his assistance more than he needed to study the four walls of his single-occupant cell.

Her expression confirmed that while the footage he'd been forwarded was good, the evolving situation was not.

"Benjamin, I don't know if you've heard, but."

"The lockdowns on discussing the lockdown were loud enough. The OPFOR had knowledge of Whateley Academy schedules, by coincidence or not. They couldn't have just shown up an hour ahead to choose their favorite dormer windows and roof ridges. Calling in a team of mages, that's not a casual grudge, either."

The Imp shifted to her poker face before saying, "I can say that it's a new grudge."

"Tied to why Morgana's still shying away from handcuffs? Since, say, half a year ago?"

"Now I'm really not liking what I'm hearing," Imp said. "Spill."

"It's got to be somewhat personal, because the girls recognized the ringleader on sight. After that, Morgana's body language was screaming fear as much as Thulia's was shouting rage. Thulia's normally a tough read."

"Do I want to know how you could make that assessment?"

"No. But you do want to know the footage was secured from reliable assets. Beyond that, you'd want to know how much backup the kill team had on standby to the north of town. I'd have had at least one person out of the way, ready to pick up comms or start a search. The initial reports paint a picture too... amateurish?"

"Why north?"

"Further away from the school and the reservation. No matter how exotic your drones, trees really do stop bullets. The area is sparsely populated, making it suitable for searching for heat signatures or whatever. You want to separate the targets from the terrain. That's the sort of area I'd consider for a Charlie or Delta rendezvous. Maybe? More trouble than value. So. What do you want to do with today's class?"

Not wanting to look a gift crook in the mouth, Imp asked, "What would you do?"

Benjamin ran what he knew about the incident through his head. Some things couldn't be shared with the civilians, some things had to be.

"That's tough. Maybe go over the town's layout? Everyone knows the place, right? Then, step through how to traverse hostile urban terrain as you encounter it. Given enough lead time, who can bring in roving patrols, surveillance, or long-distance weapons? High ground: is it even on the table? For this class, I'd leave magic out of it but focus on how to go to ground when you don't have close backup."

"That sounds more like a Combat Movement class than escape."

"Rule One of Warfare: don't be seen. If you are seen, don't get pinned down."

"One more thing," Imp said. "Are you okay to back me up for this class? It's your second attempted murder case from here."

"I think we'd both feel like shit if we could have prepared our folks for a next time and didn't. I don't see the fire escape collapsing on Peter in my dreams. Not often anyway."

Nor Yuki's legs seizing up from all the dirt we'd been sucking, when we needed to run.

Nor the kids who'd had no one to stand between them and "rebel forces" bullets.

Sometimes you didn't see what's left behind in the dirt until you'd stepped wrong.

Well, fuck me for a rerun.

Something told Benjamin he wasn't the only one in the room regretting lunch. Cowboys and horses?

"It'll be fine, Ma'am."

---

Late Monday afternoon, January 30, 2017,
Office of Elyzia Grimes, Kirby Hall.

Some of the psychic residues and magical graffiti adorning Kirby Hall's walls had to be older than Benjamin. What the maintenance staff couldn't see or touch, they couldn't clean up. Students from one department helpfully pointed out the other department's mischief and vice versa in a deranged tit-for-tat. By some informal agreement, some tags were never set up for removal. To normal eyes, the walls were a shabby patchwork quilt of scrubbed and repainted areas that never quite matched.

However, Mrs. Clyde had set up this appointment to pick up the ring he'd ordered, so keep the appointment he would.

Benjamin scanned the floor plan for Miss Grimes' office. He knew where he should turn to get there. But, students in the main hallway walked past that hallway. He must be missing something. Benjamin took three clearing breaths, and let his mind move out of the way of seeing the traffic flow. Foot traffic eddied in the area as if passers-by had reason to avoid the hallway. Anywhere else, he'd expect to find an undercover police officer trying too hard to fit in. But, again, nothing. Nothing even blocked the curved hall that led to the Mystic Arts Department's offices.

This school puts way too much emphasis on weirdness for its own sake.

Miss Grimes' office itself looked like any other office set up around a casting circle. She looked up from her paperwork when Benjamin knocked at the open door and entered.

"Where's Miss Isaacson?" she asked.

Benjamin shrugged, palms out. "I don't know. Maybe she's helping someone else?"

"It's possible. Please close the door and take a seat." Once Benjamin had done so, she continued: "I must admit that I had second and third thoughts about this. First, the reports on your powers testing arrived to my inbox. Then came Mr. Filbert's report on a recent incident."

"That? No, ma'am, that was unexpected. RDX is supposed to be stable without a detonator."

That there hadn't been an Academy bylaw against manifesting explosives in the residential Cottages had come as an unwelcome surprise. Miss Grimes wholeheartedly supported adopting one. On the other hand, the fact that a wall-penetrating sound meter had been epoxied into the wall outside Belfry's and Super-Dance-Party's dorm room reminded her of her college days.

Elyzia Grimes didn't miss dorm life at all.

"Ectoplasm isn't stable until you lock in the imposed matrix. By order of operation, you were attempting an ectoplasmic matrix that could be RDX instead of direct production of RDX itself. Be more careful in the future."

A knock on the office door interrupted whatever else there was to say. The missing Miss Isaacson had been apparently been waiting at the department's lobby entrance, not the building's main lobby. Oops? That matter resolved, Benjamin found himself alone again with Miss Grimes, who was now staring intently at him.

More aware students would have interpreted that stare as 'time to run'. However, their ears wouldn't still be ringing from recent exposure to rapid overpressure.

She pulled a black, engraved crystal from her desk. It was pretty enough, but passing paste off as crystal should be as bad for magic as it was bad for business.

Grimes said to Benjamin, "I'd like to see if you can materialize this material. Of course, I also want to see how you would do so. Take your time. I can assure you that it's been discharged of Essence and thoroughly cleansed."

If it were explosive, she wouldn't be handing it to him. Right?

Up close, the object didn't feel like a natural material. It was more like an artist's impression of a crystal: all artifice. As expected, it lacked scent or taste. It couldn't be scratched. The symbols that had been engraved into the crystal faces were filled with silvery stuff. No one had asked about that, so it should be okay to ignore it. Benjamin cleared his mind so he could try to feel out what made the 'crystal' what it was.

The glassy material itself had a start, and a form, as all things do. Thus, it should be knowable. Moreover, all things change and all known things end. This... didn't?

Benjamin was getting pretty damned tired of waking up on this school's floors. Time to tweak his meds again?

Grimes retrieved the essence crystal from the floor and helped the boy back into the chair he'd fallen from. Lucky for him, one of the perks for the holder of The Big Office was a small, tucked-away refrigerator. Caffeine, sugar, and water were a remedy for more problems than High John the Conqueror root ever fixed. Soda tasted better, too.

"According to your barely legal AI, that wasn't a seizure. Care to explain?"

Not really? That wasn't likely to be the right answer.

"You've heard how one has to learn to perceive the one thing in the ten thousand things and the ten thousand in the one?"

That got him a faint smile. "As above, so below. Only the individual viewpoint changes."

By now, even vaguely aware students would have already been on their feet and out the door.

"Change the viewpoint, change the viewer. Then there's this stuff." Pointing to the essence crystal, Benjamin said, "For us, here, it's locked in the moment of creation." He locked his fingers together and mimed being unable to pull his hands apart. "Any force you can imagine hitting it with comes out to nothing because when matters as much as where and how. But now isn't then."

"I wonder if your powers testing missed a temporal trait?"

"My mother advocates meditation and study as a necessary practice for living. That would include past influences and possible outcomes, of course. I've seen no evidence proving her wrong."

Miss Grimes didn't look convinced, but the Tao that a freshman can explain is not the true Tao. She said, "Surprising then, that the world isn't cluttered up with useful items made of adamant."

"They'd just get buried under a burned city or chucked into a volcano or deep-sea trench. 'If I can't have it, nobody can!'"

"I suppose that is a consolation. Do finish the soda. With the ring you ordered, I'm tempted to ask you to sit or stand in a working circle for your first attempt at scanning it."

"Isn't that usually a bad idea with mages I don't know well?"

"Your lesson for the day is that it is almost always a bad idea. It's rarely a good idea even with those you think you know. However, your contract for delivery is incomplete, and I am under certain obligations in my position as a teacher here."

"There's at least a third reason?" Benjamin eyed the teacher. "But I won't be getting it from you."

"Perhaps. This is the ring you ordered: a plain band, 3 mm wide, about 6 grams of purified mithril. Our supplier wasn't sure if they were being insulted or not. They're used to more demanding work."

Benjamin examined the ring as best he could, finally pulling a loupe from his utility belt. No tool marks or hints of cladding showed through the high polish.

"Well, they didn't half-ass the work."

Miss Grimes watched Benjamin study the mithril in his hand. Perhaps, handing moonsilver to an epileptic esper was asking for trouble. On the other hand, manifestors almost never manage...

A silvery rope of condensing ectoplasm took on a life of its own. It danced from shape to shape, reacting as Benjamin tried to come up with something interesting. A silvery chime announced the final touches being locked in.

"Is there a way to test this while I hold it?" Benjamin's speech was slower than his earlier cadence. Was he still in trance?

"It should, in theory, have a similar taste to silver. There is also an incantation that can be used. However—"

Both items were already in Benjamin's mouth.

"—that requires Essence."

For his own extended survival, Miss Grimes hoped his 'oops' was more convincing than his 'sorry'. She was thankful she didn't have to touch the ring in his outstretched hand. She spoke a word that, in turn, ignited both rings in a violet flame that would dance as long as the token essence fueling the spell lasted.

Benjamin repeated the word and watched the flames dance, bemused. Another word was spoken, and the flames disappeared. He said, "I've heard that insanity lies in doing things the same way and expecting a different outcome," as he slipped the new ring onto his finger. "But you never know until you try it!" Before Miss Grimes could warn him to stop, it slipped into a dull gray metal ring he'd already been wearing. In the choked silence, he slipped the genuine ring onto the other hand.

"Would you mind showing me what's left of the ring you manifested?"

"Huh? It's right— Oh. That's odd."

Benjamin pulled the merged ring off his finger and held it out for inspection. The two metals had braided themselves into one another, dividing and subdividing until they resembled forged steel. The diagnostic flame danced a blue-green celadon bounded top and bottom in mercurial ultraviolet and arsenical rouge.

"I shouldn't be so surprised. In practice, conjuration overlaps the manifestation trait in effect and scope. Please excuse me, but there's one more substance I would like to see if you can duplicate. I'll be back in just a few minutes. I'd assure you that anything you shouldn't get into is warded against intrusion, but I avoid making promises I cannot keep."

"Go right ahead." Benjamin did stand up when Miss Grimes did, sitting back down once she was gone. There could be any number of interesting and valuable things to uncover in a quick search. He wasn't here for that. He ended up searching for a recyclables bin before leaving his soda can in the trash can.

'I avoid making promises I cannot keep.'

What about promises not directly made?

"Those can be the hardest to keep, boy. They're almost as bad as secrets."

Benjamin turned to see who spoke. A raven perched on a file cabinet looked him dead in the eye.

"As in 'Two can keep a secret if one is dead'? Except, well, you'd be surprised."

"Hah! The entire point of necromancy is to compel the Dead to give up their secrets. Even you should know that much."

"Before or after digging through records, eyewitness reports, forensics, and archaeology?"

"After. Definitely. Then, maybe, Benjamin Keeling, you'll understand why some in your business receive an honorable interment. Others' bones lay broken and scattered to prevent them ever from being pieced back together."

Ice water choked Benjamin's veins and stilled his breath. That was not a random example. This is not Miss Grimes's familiar.

"How should I call you?"

"My student would say to call on Raven only when the need and the headache rates my attention. I would say that Raven reserves the right to be Raven. Call me curious, but why didn't you look for the office safe?"

Benjamin asked, "Do you mean the decoy," he pointed to an accessible point in the wall nearest to where Miss Grimes sat. "Or the other decoy?" He pointed to a faintly separate area of the floor that could be easily scrubbed. "I'd rather not be on the menu today."

"Can't blame a guy for trying!"

The raven flew off in a direction that wasn't, proving that Benjamin had been talking with a yaoguai. Not that he was prejudiced or anything. It was just something that hadn't been on his list of things to do today.

Miss Grimes returned a few minutes later, clearly annoyed at someone. Her monkeys, her circus. Once both were seated, she retrieved a silk-wrapped stiletto from her purse and handed it over, handle first.

"The inlay is a material we call orichalcum. Can you analyze and reproduce this material, for instance, a plain ring of the same size as the other?"

The inlay was a golden spiderweb of filigree, barely filling an etched pattern. Used that sparingly, it must be something important.

If mithril had an Evil Twin Skippy, but several times more complex, that would be orichalcum. Like any metal, it was static on the outside. Inside, it was a massed pipe tattoo compared to the soft chant of silver or the battle cry of steel. Both mithril-containing rings on his hands hummed in a resonant counterpoint with its song. Worry about that later. He drew more and more ectoplasm to him to weave his own replica of the complex substance. Meanwhile, the original waited without patience for him to do something: it had places to be, people to do!

Benjamin stumbled, more mentally drained with each step. Through several attempts, he caught on to separating the essential pattern of the metal from the skein of magic pinned to it. His target was somehow, sticky? Something tugged at what passed for his soul before being pushed back. When the replica tried the same trick, it was as complete as it would ever be.

Benjamin jammed the newest ring onto his hand, sheathed the blade, and returned it. It might have been rude of him, but he slumped down, head in his arms, on the teacher's desk.

---

"Feeling better?"

Benjamin looked up and nodded, taking care not to knock the cotton stuffing out of his head. He was so close to having a for-real seizure that it wasn't funny. "How long?"

"Three hours, followed by another hour sleeping on my desk. During those three hours, you burned through lethal amounts of Essence that you didn't have. Miss Reilly here helped me help you get through that. I would recommend never attempting a de novo manifestation of orichalcum again as it would most likely consume you."

"Couldn't you stop?" There was a word... For now, he pointed at himself.

"I asked for the demonstration. On my head is the price, which would have been too high if I interrupted you. Most of the Essence rebounded into the dagger after being used to catalyze whatever you did. Before today, it was merely priceless."

"Do you want to examine the ring now?" There was definitely only one.

A young staff member who'd been pointed out as "Miss Reilly" lightly said, "We managed that much while you were unconscious." The way she said it, it can't have been fun. "Take a look."

Three materials, black, gold, and silver, had been folded and refolded until one could barely tell where one stopped and the other began. The resulting pattern was part damascene, part filigree, and achingly familiar.

Miss Grimes let the boy study the artifact for a few minutes. "Now that everyone's adequately recovered, Nikki Reilly, this is Benjamin Keeling, a freshman starting school with us this term. Benjamin, Nikki Reilly is not your enemy. However, she will not ever be shaking your hand with that ring on it."

The early-twenty-something woman wasn't a 'ten'. With her, ten was the exponent, not the base. Her hair was a deep and shimmering red that couldn't have come from a bottle or been duplicated by a lab. If her posture came from a finishing school, that school had one hell of a martial arts program. Benjamin idly wondered what she kept in her hammer-space. There was something he should be doing. Unless it involved sleeping, whatever that was escaped him.

Miss Grimes tsked, "For the record, Mr. Keeling's fealty is already sworn."

"Elyzia, why can't I just enjoy meeting a young man who isn't eyeballing my bra size? That's mystery enough without dwelling on the rest!"

How would she handle finding out that quite a few women would also like to measure her bra?

Miss Grimes caught the twitch of his lips, "Mr. Keeling, what's the fastest way to remove Miss Reilly's bra?"

The boy said, "Ask." That earned him two scowls. "What? It could work! Oh, look at the time! It was good meeting you both, but I really should be going!"

Along the way to Benjamin's first stop – the Crystal Hall cafeteria – Colombine chimed in: "That was a pathetic retreat."

"Somehow, I don't want to know if Miss Reilly's bra had front and back hooks. There's no way a strapless bra would hold up."

"Magic? A devise?"

"I've had enough mental scarring this week without trying to imagine a devisor bra."

"How will you explain your new jewelry?"

"Special order. I figure that manifestors are always trying new stuff if they can."

"That would be logical, but logic doesn't fly very far in this place."

"Maybe I stole it off a dead guy? I bet people would believe that!"

"Only too easily, so let's not go with that."

"Suits me."

"..."

"Cee, what's really bothering you?"

"What you did back there. You aren't planning on doing that again, are you?"

"..."

"Benjamin, please tell me that you aren't!"

"I think... It's best for both of us if I don't make promises I cannot back up. Not around magical stuff."

"That's not the answer I was hoping for."

"That makes two of us. It wouldn't hurt to curb any overly... enthusiastic reports you run across."

"Easier said than done once you have to explain your sudden aversion to sidhe."

"Is that going to be an issue, you think?"

"There are about a dozen Sidhe-type mutants on campus."

"Oh. Aren't there a number of materials used to insulate magical energies?"

"Several. The least expensive are things like silk or lead."

"Could you place an order for silk- and lead-lined half-finger gloves in my size?"

"Done," Colombine said. "The next thing you have to adapt to might not be so simple."

"Let's limit ourselves to one impossible thing at a time, yeah?"

"Dora manages three, at least."

"But is she a better drinking partner?"

Touché Not even close.

---

Tuesday morning, January 31, 2017,
Freshman English, Kane Hall.

Once inside the classroom building, Benjamin flexed his fingers to get blood circulation going again. He should have thought about cold fingers before putting on the new half-fingered gloves. Miss Rogers had overnighted a pair of those and full-length gloves. Now, he just had to get used to how they restricted movement.

All other things considered, he should be proper chuffed. He'd scored a ninety-five on last Friday's English quiz. But then there had been yesterday's wild ride with three different types of unobtanium. Maybe he'd run a marathon while he'd been unconscious? That was how he felt this morning. Donut was a sight for sore eyes!

Benjamin grabbed his English notebook from his book bag and sat down in his usual corner seat. He was still looking for a pen that worked when his view was blocked by a heavy-looking filled doughnut. Remember Donut?

"Pete said you were looking peaked," Daniel said. "I'm reckoning he was spot-on. Extra powers testing yesterday?"

"Yeah. I pushed way too hard and they had to get a second teacher to bail me out."

Daniel nodded as if he'd overdone it himself a time or two. If he could pull off tasty pastries like Donut's, Benjamin would overdo it too. Occasionally. Definitely.

The mocha chocolate doughnut with dark chocolate icing and devisor coffee filling was sweet, delicious, and bitterly over-caffeinated.

Mm. "Perfect!"

Benjamin yawned. All he needed now was another good night's sleep.

"Benjamin?"

"Hm?"

"The last time I made one of those was for finals week. You know John, over there? Er, Dasypod? He was awake for three days straight."

"Still good. Compliments to the chef!"

He should be fine putting his head down for just a minute.

---

Lukas Malual.

Edward's idea of ensuring a peaceful class change, "Trust me. Just give it a go," did not go far enough. The whole reason for Lukas being in one of the other English classes was that his friend hated being waken up before noon. However, Ms. Barnes had said that if he is not satisfied with this class, he can change his schedule back again. Whitman and Twain students were more likely to be placed in the early-morning classes on any day. Therefore, an early class meant he must have an open mind about who or what he can see.

Also, he'd have to be careful not to be using "the c-word" without room to run. That was a warning he'd been given. But that was for only one of the two ragers. There would be many other people he didn't know inside. Strangers. And strangers could be dangerous here.

A woman's voice, Ms. Barnes's, called out from behind him, "Have you tried tapping your map and repeating 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good'?"

Lukas reached out to shake his teacher's hand. "Avilakoa, Miz Barnes! No, I did not. Would it help?"

"It might break the ice." Seeing Lukas's confusion, she said, "You'll see."

Inside the classroom, she said, "While we still have a minute before the bell, I would like to introduce the newest member of our class, Lukas Malual." She prompted Lukas with, "Your turn."

He'd been warned about the huge guy who looked like a clown. One of the girls had leaves instead of hair! But, as far as he could tell, most of the kids looked normal by the school's standards. Two of the guys were asleep. That also seemed to be a standard for American schools.

"Avi— Um. Good morning, everyone. I am Lukas Malual. I have chosen the codename Kuvuka, which means 'road crossing'. I am from, I mean, my family now lives in the Northern Territory of Australia."

A small girl with a flock of items orbiting her head piped up, "Awww. We won't be hold'n' that aginst yew. Nawt too much, anyhew."

"Ta, Luv."

Ms. Barnes smiled and said, "See? Some of you already know each other. Lukas, there's an open seat." That was about as far as she got before two things much like the other happened: the class bell rang and the sleeper in the back rolled out of his seat into thin air. She put her hand on Lukas's shoulder.

"Give him a moment to recognize where he is. I don't think he was expecting to be woken up with a neural inducer to the arm."

"To be honest? No, ma'am. I wasn't," the prone and aching student admitted.

Had he been there the whole time? Lukas would have known the ashen pale-skinned blond with or without his uniform. He was younger-looking, but the indigo blue scarf folded and crammed into his overcoat pocket proved it.

< Sergeant Keeling! >

Lukas ignored whoever it was who asked if 'rakhib' was a good or bad thing. He teleported directly to Benjamin and pulled the wide-eyed Twainee into a hug.

---

---

Myra Barnes had done her homework before signing off on Lukas's schedule change request. What could the Sudanese student have in common with anyone in her first-period class? Essemmelle would know him already from the Commonwealth student club. But Belfry? He had some interesting notes attached to his files. He also had a whole lot of explaining to do — but, later.

"Gentlemen, please take your seats. You can always catch up after class."

"How is he taller than me? He's still a kid!" Benjamin was so going to have to talk this out with Miss Rodebaugh Dr. Delacroix.

This isn't home, but can I run away now?

Just a little getaway?

---

Lunch,
Crystal Hall.

English hadn't been too bad after this morning's "This Is Your Life" surprise. Reading ahead for Algebra, the module went over something about graphing equations. But, what now? One good thing about a hungry, bustling lunch crowd was that someone like Benjamin could fade into the background. The way voices mixed and clashed into noise, you could say nothing or tell everything. It all got lost. If only memories could disappear like that.

<Please no! Not my son!>

That can't be real! But, Benjamin could taste the blood-soaked sands and petrified camel dung. He was... Out in the open! Why?

<Get down!>

"Watch out!"

The warning would have been more than enough to send Benjamin scrambling under the table if he weren't already on the deck. It should be easier to tell the noon mess from friendly fire!

The school uniforms on the kids around him told one part of his brain he wasn't back there. Why was he reaching for his service pistol again?

Any minute now, he could get up and move out from under cover.

It would be all right.

He was? It was just comfortable here. That must be it.

"Are you okay?"

Peter? Not anymore. Way to look like a complete coward in front of... a client... or something.

Benjamin's shaky "Just another day in paradise" rang hollow in both boys' ears. Maybe it was all the stinging in his good eye?

"Cool. Let me get your lunch down off the table before someone else goes off, here in Drick Central."

"Huh?"

Benjamin's food tray appeared. Then Peter joined him, sitting cross-legged under the table with a to-go sandwich.

When did Peter stop smearing that nasty mayo shit on his sandwiches? Don't say anything like that! Benjamin didn't have enough anyones in his life to go creeping Peter out by revealing he noticed things like that.

"I hear the Team Tactics classes are going extra rough this year. Might as well give the overachievers a chance to cool down."

"Um, thanks."

"No problem. Building the cafeteria tables with structural reinforcement makes a lot more sense now, doesn't it?"

"Yeah. I guess."

"What's wrong?"

"I feel like a tool."

"Well, fuck you then."

"What?"

Peter growled, for real this time, "Keeling, when you hear 'hit the deck' you goddamned well better hit the deck like the bitch owes you back rent. Every school year has its own body count. Don't make me have to attend your funeral."

"It's not like I want to see you planted either. I'd! First I'd, I mean, I'd never get work again?"

As if bodyguarding was even Benjamin's real job. He had to know that Peter knew that. Why the hell wouldn't he work again? Someone's not thinking clearly. Oh, right.

Peter frowned. "I'll make a note of it on my day planner," he said, skipping over "Right after I have steel-jacketed words with the quacks who let him out of the hospital early." to "What've you got after lunch?"

"Escape, Dr. Delacroix, Algebra, followed by Psychic Tricks for Newbies after dinner."

"Finish up and we'll see about bumping you up the appointment list."

---

They bussed their trays during a temporary cease-fire.

Outside the cafeteria, Benjamin asked, "How'd you know where to find me?"

"I started from your last good position. The usual, no, the sane reaction to incoming fire is to get under cover."

"I can't afford to be that predictable."

"Right," Peter said, rolling his eyes. "Most people don't even know you can drop out of sight the way you do. Hell, I'm surprised I know."

"If I didn't trust you, would I have tapped you for tactical overwatch back in September?"

"I know my competition. No one else who was available on that short notice is any good."

Riiight. Benjamin shook his head. "You don't have competition. There were a couple of names floated, but I can't turn my back on any of them. Besides, I've seen you work. No shame in that game."

Peter chewed on that for a few paces. Benjamin had turned his back to him in the past, but getting out of a shower and dressed couldn't possibly count. Changing the subject, he said, "Speaking of names on a dance list, who're you going to ask to the Valentine's Day Dance?"

"No one. Why should I?"

"Because it's one of those mandatory fun activities that come with attending prep schools."

"I'm still looking to skip it. I hardly know anyone here that well and it's not like I know how to dance."

"You're in a dance club and your roommate calls himself Super-Dance-Party, but you don't know how to dance? Colombine, I know you're listening in. Help a guy out already."

Someone should tell her that chibi angels don't wear skirts that tight that short.

Colombine matter-of-factly reported that, "There are no visual records or recorded interviews in which Benjamin is known to dance, per se. He may tap dance around topics he wishes to avoid, in case you haven't noticed, but that's the rough extent of the matter."

"Well, it's not like you have to dance, just be nice to your date."

"I could wait until anyone asks me. Then, when they don't, 'cause they won't, I can plead 'no date' and not show."

"It's called 'going stag', so you're not getting out of it that easy."

"Since you brought it up, who are you going to ask?"

"I've had my eyes on a blond, but lately it's like they don't even see me."

"Are you sure she's not blind? Trust me, it happens."

"Not completely blind, no."

Benjamin nodded acknowledgement. Problems were things he could work with! He carried on, "Okay then. Does she have any reason to dislike you? I mean, sure, you're smart, good-looking, obviously employable, trustworthy, and all that. It's not like she needs to know you snore."

He smells good too, but that would have been a creepy thing to say.

"I do not snore!"

"It only takes five minutes on your back." That came out so wrong. "Otherwise, you're a heavy sleeper. So, how about it? Have you even approached her to tell her you like her?"

"They could say no. Then what would I do? They probably don't even like guys that way."

"From what I've seen, even the Amazons don't like all girls that way. Not unless they're stacked like a brick house and GSD free."

"Not an Amazon. They just aren't interested."

There was a red flag waving somewhere in all that... Benjamin said, "I don't like this blonde. Find someone else."

"You're the blond. Asshole."

"Right. Very funny," Benjamin scoffed. "In all the time I've known you, you haven't checked out a single guy. Mr. Dead Guy, Class of 2019, doesn't count."

"See? A 'no'. Tell me: what would you have done if I told you before? Even I know that straight guys don't cope well with things like that."

"Good thing I'm not."

"Not what?"

"What do you mean, 'not what?' Not straight. It's not like I can take time off for dating when I'm on a job."

"You're always on a job."

"Since no one's ever shown interest in me, with a few exceptions, I'm not seeing a problem with that."

"Just how many exceptions are we talking about?"

Neither boy caught Colombine's facepalm before she rezzed out.

---

Mental Health Department, Doyle Medical Center.

Peter walked up to the Department's front desk like he owned the place, "Good afternoon, Miss Ludington! How are things going today?"

"Aside from the excitement over at the Crystal Hall? We were almost keeping to schedule."

"Is it okay to ask how that figures in?"

"Sure. After Security gets their interviews done, we'll be swamped with anger management and trigger management sessions. It's as if we don't have existing patients with appointments to keep."

"Ouch."

"Let me guess: you're part of the first wave?"

"No way! Let the jocks and wannabes geek out about combat team training. But I was thinking," Peter leaned in, which should not have worked. "Maybe I can help with some of your scheduling problems?"

"How? You're a little young for a licensed counselor."

"But I'm not too young to bring in one of your afternoon clients now, so the day doesn't get that much longer."

"That's a hefty favor to ask."

"I bet some Swiss hot chocolate might make it easier to bear."

"And who is this mystery client?"

"Benjamin. Stop it."

Benjamin squawked, "What? I'm not doing anything! Just trying to remember what interest you'd have..."

Miss Ludington spoke up, "Two sealed boxes, today, and you won't rack up a higher tab for your friend."

"... in fact, I am behaving."

"Done!"

"Good. Give me a minute to warn his doctor and we'll be right on it."

Once Miss Ludington was out of earshot, Peter said, "See? It's just a matter of taking an interest in other people and looking for mutual benefit."

"How are you planning to meet the deadline?"

"Care package from home. It's the real stuff, too."

---

Dr. Delacroix's Office, Doyle Medical Center.

According to Dr. Delacroix's calculations, her patient was still in the process of repeatedly hitting the mental snooze button to avoid waking up to the fact that relationships exist and he was in one. More disconcerting was that he'd managed to find someone even more socially stunted than himself to have a crush on. How does this even happen?

"... Why didn't anyone tell me Raiford's gay?"

"Did you tell anyone you were interested in him?"

"God, no! If he wasn't gay, I'd just be embarrassing myself to someone who'd then find some other place to be. He could have said something, though."

Can't have a friend-zone without a friend?

Maire Brigid tried again, saying, "Would you expect a close friend to just out himself without knowing how you feel about homosexuality?"

"No. Well... maybe it would have been nice to know sooner? But I wouldn't have been an asshole about it. Maybe tease him a bit, but that's it."

"Would you have liked him teasing you about your sexuality?"

"I can take a joke! Even if half of Peter's jokes need their own user manuals, and translations, I can usually tell when he's making one. Not that my sexuality is getting that much use. There's a joke for you. Between school and work, when am I supposed to have time for a relationship? Totally unrealistic."

Time to walk back the rambling self-justifications. "Benjamin. The school you attend is headed by a criminal mastermind whose superheroic right-hand man can fly on his own without spells, jet packs, or aircraft. According to multiple government agencies, being a teenage male with a sex drive is not the weirdest thing on your plate, or your boyfriend's."

"He's not my boyfriend! We're just... you know."

"Banging?"

"NO!"

"Dating?"

"Emmm, no."

"Have the two of you managed to go someplace – together – without weapons being involved or needed?"

Benjamin slid down in his chair another couple of inches but found nothing to say.

Dr. Delacroix asked, "You've like him liked him for how long?" At this rate, she'd be replacing her stylus again.

"A year and a half."

"Pardon me? I didn't quite catch that."

"A year and a half?"

"Benjamin, if you scrunch down any further, you're going to fall out that chair."

"Okay?"

Regretting the words as she spoke them, Dr. Delacroix forged ahead, "Have the two of you managed to go someplace together with weapons involved?"

"The school cafeteria, just now. A couple of weeks ago, we field-tested control software for one of my drones..."

"Could you explain how that required weapons?"

"We use paintball guns to assess tactics. A drone is a weapon platform too."

"You have a point there. Any other times?"

"There was that op that sidelined me at the end of summer. He's still kind of pissed about being kept out of the loop by the hospital. I'm pretty sure that wasn't my first concussion, so it wasn't really a big deal."

"When did you find out about that — that he harbored some resentment?"

Down went the boy's chin. "About half an hour ago. That's another thing: he's supposed to tell me when things are likely to go wrong before they do. I do listen! ... to people who don't have their head up their ass. Usually."

"Does he have his head ... as you said?"

"No! He's smart, maybe too much into theories, but smart."

"Not an idiot," Dr. Delacroix noted. "Definitely a valuable asset. Does he know this?"

"Of course he does. He has to know."

Benjamin was sure of that. Pretty sure, even, but he'd been wrong before.

"Do you usually wait for him to say something before opening your mouth?"

"Maybe? Yeah."

"Have you told him that you're doing that?"

"Why?"

"I should send you a transcript of this session, so you can see how often you don't volunteer a single goddamned thing unless asked. If you two are similar in that regard, that's going to cause problems between, during, and after an op, and all the time in a relationship. That goes for the two of you now, in case you haven't figured that part out."

"Huh."

Delacroix waited for it.

"What if he doesn't want to talk? Am I supposed to nag, like some people I could name would?"

"I can tell you, free of charge, that nagging and whining are bad ideas."

"Yeah. I'm going to have to get back to you on that."

"Yes, you are."

---