Orb Weaver: Investigations, 3

School went well, and I quickly changed, waiting for the PRT car to take me to the Rig. Just about everyone knew who I was, but…

The formalities had to be observed as I sat with Vista in the back of the truck.

“You’re working with Armsmaster?” she asked. “I didn’t think you were…”

“A Tinker?” I shook my head. “No, I’m simply assisting him. Some of our work during the attack on Galveston might be useful for future evacuations.”

“Oh.” She shook her head. “I wish I could have done more…”

“You saved the Greater Houston Area.” I nodded at her. “Let us poor Thinkers do something.”

Vista giggled and I couldn’t help but smile. A pity I had to keep my identities seperate…

On the other hand, if Orb Weaver spoke to her, I wonder if she’d be willing to see if her space warping could also expand “his” range.

For another time. “Why are you coming in?”

“My school has a half-day,” she said. “It was either this or… Mom and Dad having a family day. You know, boring.”

But you paused. And your tone… hmmm…

“I see.”

“And I want to see if Director Piggot has murdered Clockblocker and Krewe yet.”

“What did they do? I heard they had some PR issue.”

“Well, they didn’t get a chance to put it on PHO, but I got a copy…” Then Vista handed me her phone, cued up to the offending video… A familiar song sounded…

In the arms of the angel

Fly away from here…

Then there was a shaky camera, held by an amateur… or a Number as Krewe came walking into frame, a fake boom mic being held by a another Number dressed in overalls.

“Nazis. We know them as America’s favorite punching bag, but I’m here to talk about a real problem,” she said. “Feral, unneutered or unspayed Nazis, wandering the streets of America…” The film cut to a group of skinheads running down the street. “Not only do they often prove dangerous to bystanders, but they also often fall prey to larger, more dangerous predators.”

How is she keeping that tone? Aisha must have rehearsed, A lot, to get that formal, dripping with sincerity, tone.

“Predator’s such as Heros…” A vision of Glory Girl tossing a skinhead into a dumpster, faded into one of Armsmaster tasering another, and Miss Militia using a bean bag round on another. “Or even worse, dangerous predator’s such as the widely known Araneidae family, including the unofficially termed, Aranea Textrix Orbis Horribilis. Now there were other videos, from surveillance cameras and a few phones.

A ganger was pulled, screaming into an alley where, in the half-light of evening, something that looked like a vast spider waited, fangs twitching in eagerness.

Huh. I remember that guy. He was the one who was picking Jr. High School students to carry packages.

Another image showed a group running down the road, panicked rats following them, their squeaks almost as loud as the screams.

“That’s why I’m asking for your support,” Aisha continued, as Clockblocker walked into the frame, holding some ridiculous rifle thing. “With your monetary help, we can catch, tag, neuter and release Nazis, allowing them to live out their days in peace, free of those urges that have made them so dangerous.” Then she grinned, and she and Clockblocker held up a pair of toy nutcrackers and said in unison. “Remember, neutered Nazis don’t run or fight nearly as much as unneutered ones!” Then it faded out and a crude sign appeared: “The Brockton Bay Nazi Spay and Neuter Association.”

“They put a lot of effort into it,” I said.

“Yes. They even had a PowerPoint presentation. Assault voted to do it.”

“And Director Piggot…”

“She normally doesn’t get that loud.”

“True.” I nodded, and in my calmest voice said. “It might be dangerous. After all, it’d take some time for a Nazi, tranquilized or not, to be safe to approach.”

Vista’s eyes opened wide, and then she fought to keep her face neutral. “So they probably need nets.”

“Yes. Heavy gauge nets. For safety. And a vehicle with cages, to safely transport them.”

“And we could put the sign on it.” Her lips were quivering.

“Danger, do not handle without protective gear,” I said, nodding, controlling my own mouth.

“And an 800—he-he….” Moments later, Vista dissolved into laughter.

And I followed her. I could have stuck my emotions in my bugs… but what the hell, because this was funny. Through my laughter, I reminded myself to thank Aisha and Dennis. I owed it to them, after all.

****

Then we were at the Rig, Vista heading off to a briefing that was being held on the Rig, while I was given a temporary ID and escorted to Armsmaster’s lab by Chris, in his uniform. Except…

“Glasses?”

“Yeah, you know the timer you used?”

“Yeah? Well, Armsmaster came up with an idea. The glasses are dynamic, they measure my eye dilation and other stuff, and alert me if my ADHD means I need to take a break. He made them specially for me, because…”

“Yes?”

“They give me on average about 2 minutes more work time.” He looked around. “Don’t tell him, but I like the timer.”

“My lips are sealed.”

He built a special system for two minutes… On the other hand, over the course of days and weeks, those two minutes would add up.

“Krewe and Clockblocker?”

“Currently enjoying two hours of PR videos.”

“Mr. Chambers?”

“No… he selected some from the 1970s… I think that violates the Geneva Convention.”

“Possibly.”

And then we were at the door, and Chris paused. “I, um, if this is the first time you’ve worked with him, Investigator, Armsmaster can get a little intense when he’s in the zone.” Then he dropped his voice. “He’s been sort of beating himself up over you and Krewe, not being, you know, ready.”

“You mean not being able to control the uncontrollable?” I shook my head. “I have a similar character flaw. I think we’ll get along very well.”

And with that, we entered the lab.