“I’m gonna like this kitchen,” Decon said, head inside a cabinet. “It’s like… there’s one of everything. I don’t even know what some of this stuff is. And it’s all new.”
Seth had climbed all the way up to sit on the high bar which separated the deepest part of the kitchen from the den. They had sat Firmament down on one of the stools, with Wes beside him, somehow managing to look even more unnatural than their semi-comatose company.
“Jeez, Wes – how many boxes of cereal were there originally? There’s like… six of them in here still.”
“Twelve,” Wes said, hands near, but not touching a glass of orange juice – the only thing they could convince him to take (he took tiny sips, only when no one was looking). “I can replace them.”
Firmament also a had a glass of orange juice, but he was authentically not touching it, if he even knew it was there at all.
“I mean,” Seth said, between tossing blueberries up, and mostly catching them, in her mouth, “are you a big cereal fan in normal circumstances?”
“This cereal says it’s cookies,” Decon said, frowning severely. “That doesn’t seem right. Is that right? Nobody ever donated no cookie-cereal to us.”
“How do you feel about chocolate chips in pancakes?” Seth asked. “Arguably–” she tossed a blueberry – missed it – they watched it bounce off her face into Wes’ orange juice, “–a cookie. Do you want me to get you another glass?”
Wes shook his head, face reflecting the distant cloud cover of a battle between devastation and confusion. “It’s just… more fruit.”
“Pancakes are art! Not cookies!” Decon stood up, from where he was rummaging in the cabinets, seemed to make himself a little dizzy, then opened the next set to peer through. “And I think somehow we’ll survive with eight boxes of cereal, unless, I guess, Firmament has some kind of craving for it.”
“How good are you at cooking?” Seth asked.
“I can make pancakes.” Decon stood up, looked at the ceiling and considered. He counted off on his hand. “Mac and cheese.”
“Scratch?”
“From a box.” He sadly put a finger down.
“Counts,” Seth insisted.
He put the finger back up. “Ramen?”
“From scratch?” she said, her face preemptively dubious.
“There’s a scratch version?”
“Okay,” she said, “but pushing it.”
“I’m pretty good at sandwich construction.”
“Do we have stuff for sandwiches?”
“Anything can be in a sandwich!” Decon said, turning to survey the fridge.
“I don’t know if I believe that you’re good at sandwiches, then,” Seth said.
Decon shrugged and nodded, joyfully spreading his arms before he pulled open the fridge doors and stuck his head inside.
“Cereal?” Wes asked quietly, and several mouths opened at once.
“What up, losers!”
Seth jumped, almost slipping from the counter. Decon half-shut the fridge on himself.
“I should have said I heard a guest coming,” Wes said so gently he might as well have been speaking to himself. He could have been speaking to Firmament, who didn’t join him in recrimination either way. Really, his voice held enough recrimination on its own.
“Who the hell are you?” Seth asked, hopping down.
“I assumed you would have known someone was coming,” Wes continued.
“I am your new best friend!”
The person saying this was both shorter and noticeably younger than the rest of them, as well as dressed in considerably nicer – more fashionable, not more formal – clothes. He pulled himself away from his casual lean against the wall to point thumbs at himself when he said ‘best friend’. Even Wes, whose emotional priorities – specifically as regards hate, even – had been repeatedly criticized, had to fight the impulse to begin hating him immediately.
But apparently ‘new best friend’ hadn’t been on anyone’s schedule. With Wes apparently focused on shaming himself, and Seth apparently trying not to set anything on fire – well, and Firmament, still comatose – Decon appointed himself greeter.
He shut the fridge and extended a hand. “Nice to meet you, then, …?”
But their ‘new best friend’ glanced at him, turned away and walked towards the den. “I’m not really your friend. But we should definitely practice some enthusiasm for one another, at least in public. What’s all this shit? Didn’t you get anything cool from tight-fisted ol’ Tenor? He could fucking afford it, cheap asshole.”
He said this last leaning over their couch and looking at the media – television, stereo, game consoles, etc. – sitting against the wall.
“Whatever, I’ll bring my own when I’m over, I’m not going to be here that much.” He stood in the den, folded arms over his chest and smiled at them.
Decon delicately touched Seth’s elbow because the kitchen was getting hot.
“We need to improve internal security,” Wes said, to nobody in particular. Perhaps to Firmament again. But it seemed to break Seth out of her fury for the moment.
Tapping into what Decon assumed had to be a very deep well of patience, Seth at least sounded pleasant as she came into the den. “Okay, but who are you, exactly?”
“I’m surprised you didn’t get the memo,” their guest said, shooting her a finger-gun as if determined to die by fire. “Well, you’re going to hear sooner or later. I’m the newest member of your foundation or group or band or team or whatever – I don’t even know what you’re going to do, but I need some boosts to my transcripts and this is going to be the new hot thing, so here I am. I won’t be an intern, so don’t even try. Not like ‘contributor’ or ‘team member’ or whatever either. Maybe co-something. But only if there’s like, two. If my title doesn’t look good on the apps, there’s no point.”
Decon and Wes both looked at Seth, who only took her eyes off their guest long enough to reassure them with one steely glance that she was neither going to spontaneously combust, nor tolerate this bullshit.
“We didn’t get the memo because there’s no memo to get. Mr. Tenor has given his assurance that we have final say regarding who we’ll be working with.”
“Oh, boo-hoo, Jesus, you pussies – this is some kind of betrayal that your big business sponsor put a plant in your clubhouse – grow up,” the guest said. “I don’t want to be here, you don’t want me here, but we can work this out. Got you, though, huh?”
He grinned at Seth. “Equal parts worried and angry – at least you’re not stupid enough to just trust your boss outright like some chump. Probably that chump,” he pointed to Decon, “if I had to guess.
Seth’s sharp and sudden frown did nothing to deter their guest, although it did put Decon and Wes on high alert – which for Decon didn’t mean much. Since he had already fumbled one security test, Wes was disinclined to share what his being on alert meant due to the relative value of permissions and forgiveness.
“You,” their guest said, sliding against the back of the couch to get closer to Seth as he looked pityingly at her, “are going to have to get over it. And I can already tell you’re going to have some trouble there, swallowing that anger, sweetie, so best start now.”
“That’s a sort of personal thing to say and this is sort of a rough start to a working relationship…” Decon said, with an uneasy laugh.
“Whatever – you’re too pathetic to even be angry about it,” their guest snarled at Decon. Then he grinned at Seth, as if struck by something. “Well, well, well! Looks like you can at least cap that flow, can’t you?”
“Empath,” she growled.
“Uh,” Decon said. “Oh.”
“Um,” Wes added.
They all – excepting Firmament and his untouched orange juice – looked at one another. After a tiny shake of Seth’s head, all of them tried hard not to look at Firmament, or his orange juice.
“Yeah – look at that, all shutting up on command – I see it now. That’s why you’re the full-on bitch leader,” their guest pointed at Seth before he pushed himself up from the couch.
“You shouldn’t call her that,” Decon said, frowning.
“It seems ill-advised,” Wes agreed, brows knit.
“I didn’t even have to use my powers to know, because I can already tell you’re the try-hard pussy in the knockoff jacket,” he pointed at Decon–
“Well,” Decon said, more urgently this time, “sure, but…”
–then turned to Wes, “…you’re…just… so fucked up, dude. That’s a whole mess in there, isn’t it? Somebody ought to get you some help.”
“They have, actually,” Wes muttered, but he was looking at Seth. Decon was looking at Seth.
She remained still, arms folded.
“…and you–”
It felt like the room burped. Seth, on edge at the last second, stumbled a little. Decon grabbed the fridge for stability. Wes got up and walked to the wall-mounted intercom at the edge of the kitchen.
Seemingly relieved of gravity, their guest smashed into the windows on the opposite side of the building with the sound of a particularly fat bug meeting a windshield. The inner panel shifted from its frame, thudding into the slight space between inner and outer window, a crack like lightening running across its tinted surface.
“Holy shit,” Seth said.
“…and what does this other boy do?” Mrs. Goodwin asked.
“Well, not that, actually,” Mr. Tenor replied, with a smile. “That’s why it’s so fascinating. Taking over care or rehabilitation of this particular boy is cornerstone of the project. It was my first idea – just to do that – but then, I thought… well, I just thought it was silly to restrict myself to doing so little, when so much needed to be done.”
“We need to find our son,” Mr. Goodwin said.
“Oh,” Mr. Tenor frowned affably at them, “you brought him today?”
The frozen second of impact broke, and Seth started across the room. “Somebody–!”
“I’m calling the nurse,” Wes said. “We should get a button for that. Intercom. Something. I guess they have to pick up a phone on the other end. Not the best for speed.”
“Oh, Jesus – oh Christ,” Decon finally got himself moving to follow Seth over.
“He’s moving – don’t touch – could be,” she pointed slightly frantically at the back of her neck, “spinal… things…” She was breathing a little heavily, but it was already slowing.
“Holy shit,” she said again.
Their guest moaned.
“You could hear… you could hear the panel – that was the panel,” Decon called back to Wes. “I thought it was bones, but I think it was just the panel…”
“Fuck, I didn’t think of other bones…” Seth said, reaching down, stopping herself, then reaching up to press the heels of her hands against her temples as she sank into a crouch. “Just the panel! Do you know how tough the panels are supposed to be?”
“Yes,” Decon said, shocked because he did know – he wasn’t usually the one who knew things. He had read the brochure on the building.
“That’s ‘up against walls firmly’?” Seth called back to Wes.
“I don’t know about Dr. Hardwell’s estimation of normal force,” Wes said, with such a magnificent lack of irony Decon could only stare at him, open-mouthed. He hung up the phone and sat back down by his orange juice. “In the future, do you want me to stop that sort of thing? It didn’t seem like you wanted me to just then.”
“I thought he was supposed to move! Firmament moves, right? How – how could you stop him if he doesn’t move like they said?” Seth said. “I didn’t see anything. You would have to decapitate him or something.”
“You were expecting this?” Decon asked, and Seth had the decency to look ashamed.
“Not this…exactly…”
The guest moaned louder, and looked like he was going to start sincerely crying. Seth frowned down at him.
“I thought maybe a little push…” but then she glared up at Decon, “well it’s not like you did anything!”
He shrugged. “I mean, what was I gonna do? I’m here for counseling experience, and my counseling experience says that though I’m not a fan of violence, sometimes people gotta make mistakes to learn.”
“There’s lots of ways to incapacitate people where they can keep their head,” Wes said, and then they were both looking at him. He went on more quietly, “…but I was thinking more of stopping him than Firmament. Which also doesn’t take decapitating. But violence. Yeah. Pretty violent mostly. I guess… it could be less…”
Wes shrugged apologetically at Decon. Decon couldn’t help but laugh. Seth sighed.
The nurse came in through the hallway and screamed.
“I just don’t think that reaction was warranted,” Mr. Tenor said, running a hand over the glass panel that was now solely standing between them and the outside world. It was crystal clear, and dizzyingly bright in comparison to the double-paneled glass around it. Also, they were very high up, and that was hard to ignore from here. “She said she was an experienced trauma nurse – I don’t think an experienced trauma nurse would scream like that.”
“We’ll do a little more digging into her references,” Molly said.
“Don’t fire her or anything,” Mr. Tenor said. “Just… she can work in the clinic and we’ll get somebody with a little deeper background in…” and he waved his hand in an ‘all of this’ motion.
“Of course, sir.”
He dismissed Molly with another wave of his hand, took one last smiling look at the window, then turned to face the four teenagers, looking not unlike a police line-up as they sat on their tall bar stools waiting for his reaction.
“That was Boswell Goodwin.”
“The empath,” Seth said.
Decon, sitting beside her, felt it hard not to resist the vicarious shame – it was like a samurai movie, where the old, loyal, battleship of a warrior was stepping forward to accept the deadly burden of failure. He could see her, suited up in armor, laying her sword down before her, for all of them. But that meant he, as the less-dignified underling warrior, would need to try to leap forward at the last second to salvage their honor by trying to let the blade fall on his own neck instead, because he was the only one capable of it. Wes was too by-the-book to disobey the strictures of hierarchy. They would all defend Firmament, who was incapable of being blamed, due to incapacity.
No way was she going to take sole blame for this, though.
“He likes to generate reactions, you know…” Mr. Tenor said.
“Yes,” Seth said. “I know. I read his file.”
Decon prepared to spring from his stool.
“He’ll probably end up asking to be on the team,” Mr. Tenor said.
“After that?” Decon exclaimed, catching himself before he slipped off his seat.
Mr. Tenor folded his hands behind his back and started a short, slow pacing. “After they sent their request for information, I spent a little more time looking into the Goodwins, rather than their son. They’re having problem with Boswell’s… placement. He’s always had trouble at school, but it’s gotten to be so disruptive they can no longer easily move him into the places they would find acceptable for him. They’ve undertaken some effort to take him out of schooling entirely, but, as I’m sure you may have guessed, they have difficulty motivating him. As much as their situation in life has been a matter luck, both place considerable value on the effort and education it takes to maintain their businesses, and they are rather belatedly realizing that Boswell will not just one day pick up on the idea that he should be a capable, sober, and responsible young man. They are, I think, coming to realize that outsourcing all of their intervention in his life to various people and organizations, however highly regarded, may have been a mistake. Their application on his behalf was very serious.”
He stopped, smiled at them, and then continued his pacing.
“I realize I assured you that the choice of who would be involved in your part of the venture would be up to you. I stand by that assurance, and will not make any recommendations beyond the shortlists you’ve already seen.”
He turned to face them again, and they spent some moments in silence while the group at the bar waited for the other shoe to drop.
“I don’t really think that’s… safe, or in anyone’s best interests…” Seth said, unsure how the conversation got here.
“Yeah!” Decon said, perhaps too vehemently, still primed to fight in their defense. “Dude was a complete dick, pardon me, and then almost got… like… ejector-seated out of the building. Why would anyone want to come back after that?”
“I don’t think Boswell will have much choice,” Mr. Tenor said, “which I’m sure would make his company all the more alluring to you all. The Goodwins are very determined people, though. They are concerned for his safety, but they are also…” he searched for the word, smiling as he said, “strategic. If it’s not too personal a judgement to make, Boswell’s difficulties very much stem from a… ah… wanton use of his empathic powers, and if persuasion fails the force required to prevent such use is… untoward. So, a situation in which it is powerfully demonstrated that he should keep his powers under control might be the very thing they’re looking for.”
“Or,” he added after a moment’s silence, “they’ll quite reasonably judge the situation too dangerous, and his application won’t be an issue. But I feel you should be prepared for them to attempt to insist.”
“Attempt to insist?” Seth asked.
“That will mostly be my job to handle,” Mr. Tenor replied, with a short bow. “It shouldn’t worry you. If your answer is no, it is no.”
“Lord,” Decon breathed, “what would a ‘yes’ look like?”
“I’ll reinforce the glass,” Mr. Tenor replied, with an evaluative shrug. “I mean, it should give a little, but not…” he gestured back, hand out, fingers spread, as if pushing on the glass, “pop out like that.”
“Do you think it’s a good idea?” Seth asked.
Mr. Tenor considered. “I can’t judge for you, because I don’t know exactly what your goal is or what your methodologies will be. I can say that I included him, despite knowing of the potential conflict with Firmament, out of a social obligation to my peers, and a personal sense of guilt at excluding what is a not-uncommon class of Islanders from the project. Probably also a certain degree of sentimental prejudice, since the government team featured its mentally powerful member so strongly. I can also say that I believe Boswell Goodwin could, if he is willing, derive a great degree of benefit from being around his own peers – true peers, that is, who share in being Islanders with him. And, after all, part of the shared goal is to benefit young Islanders, is it not? Surely, the choice of who to help shouldn’t only come down to who we like. So, I would hope you would consider Boswell’s well-being in your decision, but that includes his bodily well-being, to which Firmament is a decided threat. What was it like by the way?”
The three non-comatose teenagers shared a glance.
“It was really weird,” Seth said. “Not quite like a pressure change, but kinda…”
She put out her hands like she was trying to hug a beanbag chair, took a deep breath, raising her whole ribcage, then whuffed out the air as she let them down. She shrugged.
“I thought I was gonna get thrown,” Decon said. “It was like something pushed right through my middle, like a fat ghost.”
“It was different than at the Institute,” Wes said.
They all focused on him. Decon wasn’t sure how he managed it, but with completely unchanged expression, and while his body remained rigid and uncompromising in its presence, it remained clear that if Wes’ spirit could have melted through the floor to escape, it would have. Decon almost looked away.
“He never struck beyond the target. This is the first time I’ve seen a reaction which had area effects. So it’s the first time I’ve ever felt it at all.”
“Interesting!” Mr. Tenor said. “Do you think you could all do a write-up, perhaps, of the experience? It’ll be useful, I think – after all, this is rather historical. We should apply to Boswell for a description of the experience, regardless.” This he meant to direct to Molly, but noticing she was gone, he seemed suddenly to realize he was the lone adult in the room and frowned.
“I’m intruding. If you have anything you wish to discuss, we can arrange a meeting.”
“We should put in a button on the phone that calls the clinic directly,” Wes said. “Or an intercom.”
Mr. Tenor nodded, smiling. “Good idea.”
“We need to tighten security regarding access to this floor internally – from other areas of the building,” Wes said.
Mr. Tenor considered, nodding. “Yes, I can see now that was an oversight.”
Before Wes could speak again, Seth said, “We’ve put Wesley in charge of security, since he has the most experience.”
“Makes sense,” Mr. Tenor said. He turned to Wes, “I’ll put you in touch with Mr. Browning, the head of the building’s security… and my personal head of security. Your ideas are best funneled through them first. Do make a list.”
Wes nodded.
“I’ll take my leave.” He gave them a little nod and left.
They sat quietly a moment. Then Seth looked at Firmament. It took Wes an agonizing moment to realize she wasn’t looking at him, after which, he looked at Firmament, too. Decon, at a loss as to why, joined them.
Firmament did nothing.
“He’s not even facing the window.” Decon glanced at the window, then went back to looking at Firmament. “So, it’s directional, but not, like… physically?”
“We should talk about acceptable violence,” Wes said.
Seth looked away, brows knit. “I didn’t meant it as, like… a test test.”
“I mean,” Decon mused, “is violence ever acceptable?”
“No…” Wes looked at them the way people usually looked at him. “I meant in the sense that I could have stopped… Boswell before he tried to use his abilities on Firmament.”
“Yeah, but how could you predict that he would use his abilities at all?” Decon asked.
It was good that Decon believed Wes was considering his question, rather than trying to figure out how to explain to Decon that all intruders should probably be treated with violent suspicion. It had, of course, never occurred to Wes that such would need explaining.
“I guessed it,” Seth said, with a grimace. “Once I figured out he was an empath, I figured he could only be that specific empath, and from everything in his file, this is exactly the sort of shenanigan he would pull.”
“Wow,” Decon said, turning to her. “Can we call it a shenanigan? Can we always call it that? I would like to call Firmament’s powers ‘shenanigans,’ too. Vote.” He put his hand up, and looked at Wes.
Wes cocked his head, but put his hand up, too.
“We shouldn’t call them ‘powers’ anyway,” Seth said, frowning to herself. “It sounds threatening, suggests hostility. We should go with something else...”
“Fine,” Decon said, hand still raised. “Motion to rename use of powers as ‘shenanigans’ and powers themselves as… uh… ‘abilities’.”
Wes’ hand had been flagging. He put it up higher in response to the expressions on Seth and Decon’s faces, before realizing – again – that they weren’t reacting to him. He turned to find Firmament, still not looking at them, with his hand raised, too.
“Well,” Wes said, because it seemed like someone should say something, and he was closest.
“I have a theory,” Decon said.
Seth put up her hands, calling for attention, eyes closed. “Okay, wait. It’s our first day. Together, as a team. Boswell, naming conventions, acceptable levels of violence – these are our first team decisions to make. For whatever that’s worth.”
“Including Firmament?” she looked at Firmament, who did nothing, then at the other two – Decon nodded, Wes shrugged.
“Pancakes?” she asked.
They both raised their hands – it was hard to tell, but she thought maybe Firmament’s hand twitched. Good enough for her.
“Team Pancakes first. Plans later.”