“So how did it go?” asked Brian.
Brandon and his best friend, Brian, rode their bikes to school. They pedalled hard because the sky was grey-to-black and the wind was beginning to pick up.
“How did what go?” asked Brandon with a smile.
“C’mon, man. Don’t tell me you’re not even allowed to talk that much!”
They turned a corner onto the home stretch to school. “Pretty good, I think.” He felt a little glow spiderweb through his heart; it was good to finally get it, but there was more to it, something that he couldn’t quite identify.
They slammed on their brakes, locked up their bikes, and headed to homeroom.
* * *
Brian had homework, Jimmy and Dana were at the library, and Lauren was probably teaching freshmen girls how to disable boys with a single blow. Brandon had never actually asked her what she did in the morning, but he just assumed it was something tomboyish like that. Because all his friends were occupied, he wandered into his first period class, Physics with Mr. Miles.
Mr. Miles was a tall elderly man, thin and wizened like a very old tree. He looked like he would creak when he walked. He busied himself with answering questions about the homework but not revealing the entire answer with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and between questions, scrawling the daily challenge on the blackboard.
Brandon took his seat halfway back in the class, on the side of the classroom with windows. Outside, the oncoming storm crept closer, slowly choking out the early morning light. He wondered how he would make it home. “Maybe Brian’s mom can come pick us up,” he thought.
Around him was the usual chaos of homeroom. Most people were desperately scribbling out answers to their homework for Physics and whatever they had afterwards, flipping madly through books like gamblers flipping cards. Trina and her clique of popular girls hung out on the other side of the room, gossiping and occasionally flouncing their hair. Lauren had bragged once that she had restored a car that cost less than Trina’s wardrobe, Brandon remembered. A contingent of geeks occupied the back corner, huddled in a circle, playing some sort of card game. A few guys slept in their chairs and the rest came and went according to no real schedule. Brandon idly surveyed the scene as his mind wandered to Jimmy’s email from last night.
He said that advanced holographic systems did exist, but they were incredibly expensive. To mate that with some kind of real-time AI system would likely cost too much money for anyone but a research lab, the government, or someone connected to the government. His last line made Brandon shake his head: “I’d probably have to see it to believe it.” I’m not so sure that seeing it would help, he thought.
* * * * *
Earlier, Dana had met Jimmy by his locker like she usually did. This morning, her eyes glinted with determination.
“I’m going to do it,” she said, popping up beside him while he pulled books out of his locker.
“Do what?” Jimmy asked with a barely-perceptible sigh, as though he already knew the answer. “And oh, ohio.”
“Ohio. Figure out what Brandon’s doing, of course.”
“I thought we knew what he was doing.”
She made a face at him as he shut his locker. “No, I mean find out what he’s REALLY doing.”
They began walking towards the library and reached the double glass doors before Jimmy had formulated an appropriate response. Waiting on either side was a tall geek, each dressed in a trenchcoat. Their hands were crossed and their expressions radiated disdain. In a single, fluid motion, they dropped their hands and spread their fingers out around an invisible sphere, then pulled their hands apart.
Jimmy nodded sagely. He rested his hands, palm-side up, rotated them twice in large circles around his ears, and then returned them to the palm-up position. The two geeks looked at each other a little nervously. With cracking voices, they said, “You may pass.”
They repeated their gestures to Dana. She fiddled with her rasta hat and looked down at the ground, then swung her arms around her torso in a small circle. She then looked from one to the other, directly into their eyes. “You may pass,” the one on the left said, more nervously.
The one on the right said nothing, but looked stoically straight ahead.
“You know I did it right,” Dana fumed. “Let us in! Let us in!”
He rolled his eyes and left a snarky space between each word. “You –may –pass.”
She huffed and pulled up her backpack higher on her back. Jimmy looked over at him nonchalantly and said quietly, “They’re filming a movie on campus this week.” The left geek’s eyes widened as he looked back from his compatriot to Jimmy.
After a moment of dead silence, Jimmy added, “It’s called They Escaped from Prep School on Altair Six. It stars actors who couldn’t make the cut for Voyager.” The right geek turned ashy white. Everyone else looked slightly confused.
Jimmy rejoined Dana. “Whatever you did back there, bravo, bravo!” she chirruped, pretending to lay down flowers before him as he walked.
He looked at her, half-grinning. “It’s still not a good idea.”
* * * * *
The morning announcements droned on from one boring statement to the next. Then the head cheerleader came on and with her beyond-perky voice to remind everyone about the first football game of the year tomorrow night. “Westchester Sharks versus the Edwards Idiots — oops! I mean the Edwards Eagles!” Some people laughed; most exchanged knowing grins. “Come out and support your school! Goooo sharks!”
Brandon was definitely going. He’d received permission from his mom weeks ago and he was going to meet up with Brian and Lauren outside the main gate. The more he thought about it, the more he was looking forward to it. Not only as some island of sanity in his suddenly topsy-turvy world, but something that connected him with his past. He had been to every home game last year and he didn’t want to miss this one. The three of them always had a blast when they went to games together; whether it was popcorn throwing contests, quasi-serious reviews of the hot dogs, the best cheer made up during the game, or halftime dances, it was always wild and fun.
The Pledge to Allegiance came on and Brandon rose to his feet and placed his hand over his heart.
* * * * *
It had started to rain during lunch and it didn’t let up the rest of the day. Brian called his mom, but she couldn’t get to school until late. When she finally did get there, the rain had stopped, and he and Brian sheepishly loaded their bikes into the back of her SUV and went home. Brandon stared a hole into the vehicle’s clock. He was already late for the MIC meeting by the time they pulled up at his house.
“I’m home!” he announced, slamming the front door shut. No reply, again. He checked the refrigerator for a note. “I know you’ll be getting food tonight, so don’t worry. ATGS. Love, Mom.”
The grocery store? Food. He was hungry. Wait — how did she know? For a moment, he panicked. Oh yeah. They did say something in the very first meeting about being in contact with his mom and school. He calmed down until he realized that he was still late.
He scribbled a reply. “At DMIC. BBWIO — B.” He locked the door, hopped on his bike, and hoped against hope that there weren’t any slick spots on the road.
He zig-zagged through the streets, pedalling as fast as he could go, and made it to the Department office at seven thirty-five. He was five minutes late, according to the oval clock hanging on the wall of the empty foyer. The lounge door was cracked open, so he rushed down the hall and threw it open.
Still no dice. The lounge was bright and gaudy like always, but uninhabited. He looked over his shoulder for any surprises, but nothing greeted him. The office was empty, the parking lot door was shut, but the strange closet that O-Man had showed him had its door cracked. He listened for a second. Yes, those were definitely voices. He peeked inside.
The members of the DMIC sat around a round table crisscrossed by yellow lines. Overhead hung a single lightbulb that cast grim shadows all around, hiding their faces in the gloom. Opposite him, Veero hovered in the air, legs crossed, peering down at the table from two feet above it. Velvet Katherine was shrouded in a simple scarlet cloak, but her fingernails gleamed with an expensive maroon manicure. As she looked towards Brandon, she moved her hands dismissively, causing her gold and silver bangles to clink and ring.
“What should represent someone who’s late?” she asked, with her usual royal disdain.
“The banana,” said HIM.
“No, the banana represents Jackie,” replied O-Man.
“How about a flat tire?” suggested Wenchy, waving hello.
“We don’t have such a thing,” sniffed Velvet Katherine.
“But if we did,” announced Veero cheerily, “it’d have to be placed off the table. That’s the rule. If you’re late, you don’t get a spot on the map. Just kidding!”
Velvet Katherine tossed a figurine at him. Brandon caught it and looked down. “I’m the shoe?”
“If the shoe fits,” suggested Wenchy. Brandon groaned inwardly. “Ok, everyone, move over.” They made a place for him at the table.
As he sat down, he noticed the low hum emitted by the table and noticed several output jacks, dials and LED displays built into the sides.
“Welcome to strategy night,” said Wenchy. “Here we plot our strategy in the long war against incompetence. And we also eat pizza. Pepperoni this time.” She gestured to several boxes on small end table nearby that also housed plastic cups and various soda bottles.
This was the most serious he’d ever seen them. Each of them were focused on the task at hand, for at least five minutes at a stretch, sometimes ten. Though they broke out into humorous side discussions, they regrouped quickly.
Wenchy gave him the inside scoop on what was happening. “The grid is our section. You remember that from yesterday, right? Anyway, the smaller squares are areas, which one or more of us are assigned to. All of our figures are puke-green.” Brandon looked down at the shoe. It looked like someone had melted a yellow-green crayon on it.
He looked out at the grid. “The flashing lines? Are they the borders of our section?”
“Yes,” said Wenchy. “We have to be very watchful on the borders. If the incompetence builds up over the threshold, it could cause problems not only with our department, but with others. As a result, we patrol those areas twice as much.”
Everyone had a shuffle of papers nearby (except Veero) that they referred to during the discussion. O-Man was covering each area, one at a time, beginning at the northernmost area. So far he had covered empty areas and no-one had updates. Wenchy used the time to bring Brandon up to speed.
“Red figures represent known threats, and yellow represents emerging threats. If a figure is blinking, then that means that he’s about to do something. And how do we know?” she said looking at him. “I knew you were going to ask. We have our sources.”
Brandon looked out across the board. “Does each figure represent just one person?” Maybe it was a stupid question, but he had to get a grip on what was happening here, somehow.
“No,” said Wenchy. “It could be individuals or organizations. Organizations carry a flag.” Brandon noted the toothpicks with colored tape at several locations. He realized that he hadn’t eaten yet, so he took the opportunity to grab some pizza and something to drink.
“Ok, anything in the first row?” asked O-Man, at last tired of asking about particular areas and having no-one respond.
“Yes, area Z-fifty,” said Veero. “It’s the McCallahan Lake project.” Everyone but Brandon groaned. “I thought we had fixed that for good!” said O-Man.
“We did successfully remove all major sources of incompetence,” said Veero, suddenly serious, “but their handiwork remains.”
HIM sighed. O-Man looked like he could strangle somebody. Wenchy looked as though she were plotting the next three moves, while Velvet Katherine nodded grimly.
“So it’s the drainage system,” said O-Man.
“Yuppers. And now the repair company that services it. The president is James T. Farley. He’s the brother of Brian Farley.”
“Figures,” said HIM.
“Ok, how many and what strength?” asked O-Man, scribbling on his list.
“Five employees. Brian is just lazy as opposed to purposeful, though, so he’s a rank three.”
O-Man nodded and placed a reddish dwarf into position, holding a flag with a three circled on it.
Wenchy blinked as though she had arrived at the answer. “This is low-level, but we can’t let it get a foothold. We need to practice the sweep and contain, and follow it up with the roach motel defense. We’ll need at least two of us at half-time.”
O-Man moved a puke-colored car over to the area. “HIM?” He looked over at the man dressed in a white button-down dress shirt, shades propped up in his hair. “Probably not too many women around there. Are you in?”
HIM nodded and moved a hat over to the area.
Brandon tried to follow that logic; by all appearances, HIM was a guy that would have women swooning left and right. He looked over at Wenchy, and she mouthed, “He’s TOO popular.”
The other low-level spots of incompetence didn’t faze Brandon. It only made sense that there would be a bad apple here and there. He wasn’t surprised by the cluster of figurines around the county government buildings, either, even though they formed a scar across the table. The deep-red army that sat in Westchester High, however, unnerved him.
Velvet Katherine then moved a yellow wizard over to section seven, right outside Westchester High.
“What does yellow mean again?” Brandon asked Wenchy.
“Yellow means that we’re keeping an eye on that person or organization, but we have no official incompetence activity yet.”
“Oh.” Brandon finished another slice of pizza.
“The Complexitor will make his move with two weeks, most likely within one,” noted Velvet Katherine.
O-Man fiddled with his notes. “That could be a problem. We don’t have enough immediate responders in that area, and I was going to put Flowmasters on the Green Hornet then too.”
Velvet Katherine nodded. “He knows this, minus that automotive rot.”
O-Man ground his teeth. “Background refresh, please Veero,” said O-Man.
Veero, sitting Indian style, bowed forward and tossed her hair like a harem girl. “As you wish!” She put her finger to her temple and after a second, stated, “What we know about subject seven-five-fifty-two, the Complexitor. Ex-CPA and IRS. Dismissed in the only federal downsizing in the past thirty years. Hot-tempered, intelligent, vain, and up until recently, living quietly off his pension in Maryland. He moved to the area two years ago and is suspected in funneling intel and money to various incompetence organizations. Has been operating on his own for the past six months.”
“Do we have anything more specific?” asked Wenchy.
“Only this,” added Velvet Katherine, “He is sensitive to light.”
Veero blinked. “Where did you get that information from?”
Velvet Katherine looked at her with an expression of slightly offended royalty.
“We’ll just keep watching him, I guess,” said Wenchy. “Ok, anything else?”
O-Man flipped through his notes. “Nothing here.” He flicked his gaze over to Velvet Katherine. “Anyone else?” No-one did.
“Alright then, you know what to do!” said Wenchy, jumping up from her chair and putting her hand out in the middle of the table. Everyone else followed suit, and then chanted “Two-five-seven, two-five-seven, two-five-seven, yeaahhh!”
Brandon was lost in thought as everyone filed out of the room. It just didn’t seem right to do something like that, like it was a movie scene. Wasn’t this supposed to be serious?
O-Man looked back and said, “What’s wrong? Are you unhappy I didn’t show you the entire room on the tour?”
Brandon looked at him in unbelief. “I don’t know how to say it, but it doesn’t seem that you, I mean everyone, takes this very seriously.”
“I thought we were pretty serious back there,” mused Veero, flying by.
O-Man nodded sagely. “I guess it doesn’t help that we don’t have degrees hanging from the walls, either.”
“I was kind of wondering about that, too.” Just then Brandon felt that he went too far. His stomach clenched and he opened his mouth, about to say something — take what he just said back, maybe — when Wenchy replied.
“There’s a reason for all of that,” explained Wenchy. “but I can’t tell you everything now. What fun is there in that?” Seeing that his expression didn’t change, she continued, “We do do things differently here. That’s our mission, and we have chosen to accept it.”
“But why aren’t we going after the big guys? If the local government is red, then what about–”
HIM interrupted, “How do you think that we keep our jobs?”
Brandon asked, “Huh?” HIM pulled out a black leather bifold stacked with business cards. He pointed to the third word in the department title, “minor”.
“That is correct,” said Velvet Katherine. “Our charter prevents us from engaging highly-visible organizations.”
“We’re car detailers, not car manufacturers,” added O-Man.
“Huh what?”
O-Man continued, “To change big things you have to change small things, and every big task is made up of many smaller tasks. Don’t you know your Gunslinger Girl? So if we say we’re going to change small things, we end up making a big impact, but because we aim at small things first we’re totally under the radar. Just like getting a car detailed can completely change how it looks!”
“Oh.” Brandon felt sheepish and suddenly tiny. If there was a mousehole within sight, he would have gladly scurried into it.
“So actually we’re a lot more dangerous and subversive than they’ll ever know, because we’re not taking on the big guys.”
“And about the serious part, we’re very serious, which is why we’re so laid back,” Wenchy chimed in.
Brandon just waited for the explanation and tried not to appear dumbfounded.
“If you freak out about everything and try to control it all, you’ll end up going bonkers and doing a bad job,” said Wenchy. “That’s why chilling is rule number one.”
It made sense, but it was backwards, or totally different than the rest of the world. Yet it seemed to work, somehow. I guess I’ll just have to accept it, he thought, as he went to check the calendar.
“What’s a PE day?” he asked Wenchy, who was tidying up the office.
“Personal Enrichment.” She looked at him as though expecting him to grasp every nuance of the word, but playfully. “Vacation. We only meet if necessary.”
“Which it won’t be tomorrow,” stated HIM.
Veero phased through the wall. “Uh guys. The table is freaking out.”
In a few seconds, everyone was gathered outside the strategy room, peering inside. In the darkness, one yellow figurine beeped like a dump truck in reverse.
“Oh crud,” said Velvet Katherine, rather loudly.
Everyone looked at her in surprise.
She stood up straight and adjusted her red cloak officiously. “I had begun to compose my plan for the day.”
“It looks like the Complexitor is going to make his move,” noted Wenchy, listening to the beeps. “It’ll be in the PM. Westchester High. Most likely the stadium.”
Brandon blinked. “Does that mean I’ll miss the first football game of the year? My friends and I were all going.”
“No. You won’t miss it,” said Wenchy. “You must be there for tertiary backup and miscellaneous other duties.”
“So this is my first mission?”
“Something like that,” said O-Man.
“But I don’t think I’m ready.”
“Don’t worry,” said Wenchy. “You’re not ready. You probably won’t have to do anything, but when we get involved, you never know. We could always use a gopher.”
Brandon sighed. His two worlds were on a collision course and he didn’t feel good about it.
