Obviously I do not own Gen 13 or any of its characters. Nor do I claim any of the material previously developed by Thescarredman which inspired this story. My knowledge of the Gen 13 comics is fairly limited and much of the material is extrapolated from the previous work by other fan-fiction authors. I do not expect any reviews but you are welcome to add some should you wish. This is more for the practice of writing and to tell a story that wandered into my head one day.
Escondido, California
"Hey Bro! You gotta see this." Eddie was sprawled out on one of the long sofas in the loft area. He had his laptop open and one shoe off. His backpack was lying in a heap on the floor in front of him with a handful of comics spilling out of it.
Bobbie and Sarah had just come down from sunning themselves on the roof in the warm California sunshine. When Bobby paused to ask "Whatcha got?" Sarah continued walking trailing Bobby's hand with her fingers still loosely clasped in his.
When he turned to look at her she said, "I'm going to go grab some lemonade. You stay – I'll be right back." She glanced down at Eddie and couldn't help wrinkling her nose at his one dirty sock. "Did you want anything?"
Eddie held up a glass of Anna's finest that had been sitting on the floor hidden by the dropped boot. "No, I'm good." As Sarah disappeared downstairs Bobby plopped himself down next to Eddie and peered over his shoulder. Eddie was streaming videos from YouTube again. This time the window showed a pair of teenagers flinging themselves off of roofs and grabbing the railings around stairwells. As they watched the kids began scrambling up walls and over cars. When Bobby whistled over one particularly daring stunt where a kid in a baggy track suit leapt down a flight of stairs by running and bouncing off the wall Eddie said, "It's called Free Running. It was developed in France. It ain't skating but it's still pretty cool, huh?"
"Damn, man. That's crazy. Why do they do it?"
Eddie shrugged, "Why climb the mountain, bro? Cuz, it's there. This French medic developed it as a way to get to injured soldiers quicker. Called it Parkour. It caught on and kids started adding these freestyle moves. Dude, here she comes." Eddie gave Bobby a poke in the side and inclined his head towards the stairs. Sarah was just coming back up with a tall glass of lemonade in each hand. The stunning girl captured their attention and took their breaths away. Her long black hair slid back and forth across her shoulders like silk. It perfectly framed her fantasy face and fell over her deeply tanned shoulders. She wore a bright yellow bikini top and the matching bottoms were hidden by the pearl white beach towel she had wrapped seductively around her hips. Bobby and Eddie were mesmerized by the sway of those sensuous hips as she seemed to take each step individually. As she approached them her eyes smoldered with a mixture of pure sensuality and unbridled mischief.
"Thanks Sarah," Bobby said somewhat breathlessly as she handed him one of the glasses bending at the waist as she did so. The chilled glass only served to heighten his awareness of the heat of her skin.
"Yeah," Eddie said in the same tone, "thanks." Sarah chuckled and swatted him on the top of his head.
"That wasn't for you." She said playfully.
"Maybe not but it was still amazing." He grinned back at her. Man, I don't know what brought that on but I am sure glad it did. It must be the weather. It had been a cold, gray winter. No snow, this was California after all, but plenty of chill winds and some rain. Now it was late spring and the weather was starting to turn up the heat as the seasons shifted gear for the coming summer. Ever since the sun had come out from behind the clouds the girls had been acting 'funny' - funny awesome, but still funny. He shook off his lascivious thoughts as another movie finished loading and began to play on the screen. "Woah, check out this guy. He's awesome." He propped the lap top up on his knee so Sarah could see it as well. The screen showed a small group of people gathered around a tall lanky kid with sandy blonde hair doing something called a 'monkey leap' over a table but the camera quickly switched to a young man in the background who was sitting on the steps of what looked like an old style catholic church surrounded by a trio of girls. He was lounging with all the arrogance of a young lion surrounded by his pride after a kill. It was difficult to tell his ethnicity. He could have been Latino, Asian, Eastern European, or even Native American from one of the southwestern tribes. It was impossible to tell from the video. Like the girls, he was dark skinned with black hair cut in the unruly sweep typical of the skater counter culture. He wore black track pants and a black tee shirt with the X Box logo on the back. The camera man called something to him in a foreign language and he responded in lazy way waving the camera off and turning back to the girl on his right. The girls chimed in and there was an exchange between the camera man and the boy on the steps. Then the boy stood slowly like a snake uncoiling in the sun. Suddenly he took off like a shot running right past the camera which swerved wildly until the cameraman could catch him the frame again. When it did it showed the young man had crossed a street and was scaling the sides of two three story buildings by simultaneously leaping back and forth between their respective fire escapes. He moved with a grace and speed that was surreal to watch. It almost looked like a special effect from a movie. At the top of the building he did a Rocky dance with his arms upraised while standing at the very edge of a three story drop as if it was nothing to him. When his face turned towards the camera it showed a manic grin as if there was nothing greater in the world than throwing yourself into one death defying leap after another.
"I know that guy!" Sarah said suddenly.
"You what?" Bobby asked.
"I know him!" Sarah repeated. The boys looked over in surprise. "He's from the Academy. He's a Gen!"
"I've never seen him. He must have been in one of the other groups." Bobby said thoughtfully.
"How did you know him?" Eddie turned to Sarah.
"He was on the same charter flight that I was on. His name's Nathan. Last name's Lion-something. Back it up a little more, Eddie." Grunge had backed the movie up and paused it on a close-up of the guy on the roof. Now Sarah wanted him to back it up farther. Her began to scroll slowly backwards.
"Stop there," She said when he got to a good close up of the boys face. He was handsome with angular features and a lazy smile. "That's probably Nathan but he looks a bit different from when I met him so I can't be sure."
"Why don't you start at the beginning."
"Yeah," Grunge said with a grin, "and when you get to the end, stop."
She scowled at him but let it slide. "Like I said, we met on the charter on the way to the Academy. It was just the two of us and our recruiter. Said he was from Houston, I think. Nathan was strictly an art major but he's keen on history too. He recognized my nation right away and started asking questions." She smiled slightly at the memory. "They weren't the typical pale-face questions but real insightful stuff, cultural comparisons and that sort of thing. That's probably why I was willing to talk to him. We spent the whole trip talking back and forth while he just kept scribbling on a notepad. I asked him what he was doing and he told me he was sketching me while we talked. He had a few questions about the use of color in the desert tribes. He knew his stuff too. He even recognized the differences in the tribal groups within the nations. When we landed he gave me the sketch he'd done." She paused as she conjured an image of it in her mind. "He was really good, it looked like he'd taken a black and white photo. It was amazing that he could do it so quickly. I think I put it in my satchel. I guess it was lost when we escaped the Academy."
"So what happened to this guy?" Bobby asked. "And what language were they speaking on the video?" He could feel his body temperature rising and clamped down on his emotions. Sarah hadn't seen this guy in more than two years and had only talked to him on an airplane ride. What did he have to be jealous about? Maybe because he had obviously impressed Sarah with his knowledge of her heritage and he had drawn a picture of her. That wasn't right. You don't go drawing pictures of another guy's girl.
"I don't know. It sounded like it might be Spanish at first but it was too different." Sarah shrugged as if it didn't matter. "We went through orientation together and then he got assigned to a different pod then ours. Something about our psych profiles being different, I guess. I never spoke to Nathan after that but I remember seeing him walking with Dr. Ivery just before they started locking us up." They sat in silence for a few minutes looking at the figure of Nathan suspended in mid-leap between the two buildings. "What should we do? Do you think IO could-?" She left the rest of her thought unspoken. They all knew what would happen if the hunters at IO recognized the face on the video.
Bobby sighed. "We'd better tell my dad. This video is new. Only got posted last month. Maybe there is still time to do something. Where does it say this was shot?"
Grunge checked the header and then whistled appreciatively. "Oh man, it says Fortaleza, Brazil. Bro, we have so gotta go on this road trip!"
Boulder, Colorado
International Operations had the best and most sophisticated computers in the world. The IO network was the largest in the world with mainframe sites literally on every continent and even in space. These server farms, called ROCs for Regional Operations Centers, fed into a single mainframe site at the heart of the network like the ancient satrapies of the Byzantine Empire sending tribute to the capitol of Byzantium. Many of these ROCs were themselves secured and hidden from the network at large resulting in a system with all of the complexity and intrigues of the historical empire it resembled. The whole thing only worked because the army of technicians, often working in isolation and with no knowledge of the activities of others of their kind in other departments, was culled from the very best and brightest the world had to offer. Despite its mind-numbing complexity the system's interface was largely automated and surprisingly intuitive. Case in point, the media monitoring subroutines of the Intelligence Directorate scrolled through literally millions of video imagery that was uploaded to more than a thousand sites across the internet. Highly advanced image recognition software searched tirelessly for key patterns in the images. These patterns were assigned numerical values based off of complex algorithms. Once an image crossed a certain threshold the automated system flagged it for review by a human analyst. Exactly which analyst in which department and with what priority was also determined by an algorithm subsumed within the first and was decided by which set of literally thousands of different thresholds was exceeded. Even a system as powerful and complex as IO's couldn't monitor every website on the internet where a video image might be uploaded but it could search the major ones. Sites like YouTube, for example. Even the daily uploads of a mega-site like YouTube could be processed by the system virtually in real time if that was the only site the system needed to examine. IO's obsessive compulsion to know it all meant that the system strained to process as many sites as was conceivable. This slowed the system to a crawl and it could take days for even a top priority image, like say an image of one of the Cheerleaders in Lynch's Mob from a mall security camera, to reach a real human being. Of course, Lynch's backdoor ensured that even if such an image was recognized by the software it would go nowhere at all. All it had taken was to change a handful of ones and zeroes to their opposite numbers in three lines of code. Three lines among billions spread across servers on three continents. It would be impossible for a programmer to find them if they didn't already know exactly what they were looking for.
Lynch's high-tech subterfuge served to protect his own children almost perfectly but it did nothing to protect the dozens of others that had fled into the night when he had broken up the Academy. Instead IO's own single-mindedness served to do what Lynch had not. Ever since the attack on Director Colby had shifted the focus onto the Lynch Mob, the algorithms had been changed to up their priority and lower the priority on the other escaped Gen 13s. It was not fool-proof, however. It had taken two weeks before the captured images of Nathanial Lyons had shown up in Simon Natal's Review Queue and another nine days before they made it close enough to the top for him to spot the "Potential Gen-Active" header. He had a momentary thrill of expectation when he thought of the accolades he would garner by being the first analyst in the ID to spot one of the Lynch Mob. When he didn't immediately recognize either image he felt deflated but soldiered on like the professional analyst he was. It took him two hours of sifting through what remained of the Academy's database before he had assembled enough data for a nearly positive identification. That bastard, Lynch, had somehow managed to scrub the data from the system when he had crashed the program. This was an unforgivable sin to a man like Natal. IO's top technicians had spent months rebuilding what had been lost but there were still massive blocks of data where the information was simply gone. After Natal had presented his findings to his supervisor for review he practically floated back to his desk.
"What's up with you?" his cubicle mate, Charlie Rhodes, asked him.
"Charlie, my man, that new Maserati we were talking about last month is mine!" Natal grinned and made a rude gesture. "So suck it bee-yatch!" Of course, if he had made one of the Cheerleaders his bonus would have covered a whole fleet of new Maseratis but Charlie didn't need to know that.
Escondido, California
Anna was sitting at the computer in Lynch's office, her fingers literally a blur as information scrolled across the screen faster than the human eye could follow. Lynch was leaning casually against the bookcase behind her. His kids, Lynch had trouble seeing them as anything but his anymore, were arrayed in an anxious semi-circle on the far side of the desk. Even the normally aloof Sarah was holding herself as still as a mouse in a room full of cats. Anna had been silently scanning the information in the files he had stolen from the Academy for four minutes and thirteen seconds, according to his watch, a veritable lifetime for his beloved and miraculous wife. Finally, she began to speak and he could almost hear the kids start breathing again. "David Anthony and Nathanial Christopher Lyons, fraternal twins, born to Emily Nicole Hernandez-Lyons October 30th 1986. No father listed in the birth records. Emily married Peter Marias Lyons September 17th 1986. The children took their step-father's last name but were never legally adopted by him. Preliminary DNA analysis supports the father as Cole Cash. That was one of your boys, dear." She said sweetly. "David was injured in a childhood accident that left him paralyzed from the waist down. He later died due to complications from the injury. Nathanial was in the same accident but suffered only minor injuries. Nathan scored exceptionally high on the standardized tests, typical for Gen Actives prior to manifestation. Psychological profile also shows him as outgoing and social in a group setting but his core personality is an introvert with a talent for keeping secrets. There is no information on him post-manifestation. It looks like either he hadn't manifested at all or was just beginning the process when the Academy began locking down the kids." Anna could hear the heartbeats of all five of her children accelerate as their own memories of that terrible time resurfaced. "Sarah is correct. He was assigned to a different pod." She looked at Lynch. "His pod was flagged for infiltrations."
When Caitlin saw Lynch's frown she asked, "What does that mean?"
"Kat, you understand that you kids were divided into the pods based off of your psychological profiles right?" Lynch asked her.
"Yes. They wanted to create teams that could work well together." she replied.
"Well, it was more than just wanting you all to get along. The profiles were also designed to identify what sorts of missions you would excel at. All of the teams were expected to operate covertly but different teams would be earmarked for different types of missions. The classes that each pod was assigned would be based of those assumed missions. "
Anna stepped into the pause. "Your pod was designated as an assault team. Your lessons were designed to subtly prepare you for your future missions, both physically and psychologically. This is why you had so many physical classes and the educational classes were designed to improve rapid decision making abilities."
"Infiltration pods were designated for long term undercover missions." Lynch said with a frown. "The lessons were designed to influence their subconscious. The goal was to make assuming new roles and lying to people easier. It was also designed to prepare them for the emotional stresses of operating while surrounded by the enemy without any hope of support if you get into trouble. An infiltrator lives in constant fear of detection. Once they get made they are as good as dead or worse. The constant stress makes them more than a little crazy. People who didn't know always used to tell me the Black Razor teams made them nervous. They said it was because my teams were always on the edge but it was the infiltration teams that made my shooters nervous. Those guys were the ones who were really riding the ragged edge. "
"Whoah, so you think the Academy made this guy crazy?"
"I don't know Eddie," Lynch replied. "I think this 'sport' of jumping from building to building seems tailor-made for an adrenaline junky and junkies of any stripe tend to make bad decisions. We need to be careful on this one."
"What are we going to do?" Roxy asked in a quiet voice. "Please, Mr. Lynch, we can't just let IO get him."
"We won't, Rox," Grunge wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders but his eyes were focused on Lynch and Anna.
"Of course not, dear" Anna wrapped them both in her diminutive arms. "We are just going to have to be careful. We don't know yet how much IO knows and so we are going to have to go in quiet and sneaky."
"What about the rest of his pod?" Kat asked. They all looked at her. "What happened to them? When we got out we got out together. They probably did too. So what happened to them?"
"Two teams," Lynch said as he began formulating plans in his head. "The contact team will be Anna, Eddie, and Sarah. Kat, Roxy, Bobby, and I will be the support team. Anna's team will make contact and make him aware of the danger he's in. My team will stay out of sight and only come charging in if the contact team gets into trouble. You kids get upstairs and start packing. I've got some calls to make." He shot Eddie and Roxy a sharp glance. "And no swimsuits! This isn't a vacation, it's an operation."
"I'll go make some lunch." Anna said brightly as she guided Roxy and Grunge from the room before their mouths could get them into any trouble.
Boulder, Colorado
Dan squeezed off the last shot in his clip and grinned at the result. Fifteen rounds inside of a one inch grouping at 50 yards. Not bad for a pistol. Well, actually, it was pretty damn good for a rifle jockey like him. He policed up his brass and his firing station before leaving the range and headed for the cleaning room. This room was set up with long tables and all the supplies needed for the shooters to clean and service their weapons after their tour on the range. He joined Watts and Anderson at one long table. It looked like they had both just come back from the killing house. The killing house was actually a complex of rooms laid out to represent various indoor and urban environments where the shooters could practice a variety of live fire missions including hostage rescues. They were both cleaning large and menacing looking semi automatic shotguns. Beside them on the table was their body armor. Watts was grinning manically. "Don't sweat it, policeman," he was saying to Anderson as Dan took a seat. "You got all the bad guys at least." Anderson just scowled.
"What's that about?" Dan asked as he began to break down his pistol.
"We were doing a hostage rescue with these new CAWS." Watts explained hefting his weapon by way of reference. Dan knew this new version of the Close Assault Weapon System or CAWS was fully or semi automatic and carried 15 12 gauge shotgun shells just like the previous incarnations. Unlike a normal shotgun shell these were copper jacketed like a normal bullet to withstand the heat build-up in the firing chamber. Instead of pellets they fired tungsten tipped, fin-stabilized sabots – armor-piercing mini darts that pushed the shotgun's effective range into near rifle ranges and would shred even the toughest body armors like wet cardboard. What made the latest incarnation special was its modified choke. When fired a standard choke caused the shotgun's pellets, or sabots in this case, to spread outward in a circular pattern. The new modified choke created a spread that was a sort of vertical almond shape. This allowed the weapon to be aimed more effectively at a single target while reducing the fear of collateral damage. All an operator had to do was turn the weapon on its side and the spread would still fill an entire hallway with a deadly spray of armor-piercing metal darts. "Anderson here scragged two of the bystanders. Took this lady's head clean off!"
Anderson pointed his cleaning rod at Watts and said, "Yeah, yeah but the kid would have lived with immediate medical attention."
"He'd be missing an arm!" Watts shot back.
"But he'd still be alive."
Dan chuckled despite himself. "You guys are sick. You know that right?" Gallows humor was common to guys in his line of work. Both Watts and Anderson were good guys. If either of them ever really did accidentally shoot an innocent bystander it would devastate them. That was the worst part of it for Dan. They were good guys who truly believed they were wearing the white hats on this one. Only Dan knew how mistaken they were. Are you sure they are the ones who are mistaken? It was just a small voice whispering from the dark shadows of his subconscious. He did his best to ignore it.
"Anderson, Watts, Grissom!" They all turned to see Ferris poking her decidedly lovely head through the door. "Grab your gear, we got an op!" All three men leapt to their feet but only Dan had to suppress a sudden lurch of fear.
"Did we find the Gens?" he asked. He was so keyed up with alarm that his words just rushed out before he could stop them.
"Down, boy," Ferris smiled at his apparent eagerness. "It ain't Lynch's bunch but it is an escapee from the program."
"Where are we headed?" Watts asked. He had shrugged his body armor onto one shoulder and was halfway to the door.
"You guys'll love this." Ferris grinned. "Pack your sunscreen. We're headed to Brazil!"
"Damn," Anderson grinned like a little kid. "Think we can extend our stay a few days after we catch them? I could use a few days of fun in the sun." Colorado's winter had been bitterly cold with high winds and lots of snow. Even now the weather outside was still chilly and miserably wet.
Ferris just shrugged. "Maybe," she said, "but what would your wife say? Debrief in conference room seven in thirty minutes." With that she was gone to collect up the next members of her chosen team. Dan, Watts, and Anderson separated briefly to grab their kit bags from their lockers. Each shooter on the team kept a deployment kit packed and ready to go at a moment's notice. It contained uniforms, toiletries, and other basics they would need for any mission. Weapons, body armor, and specialized gear would be drawn from the armory after they had a better idea of what they would need. Each then finished cleaning their weapons in their rooms before gathering in the conference room at the appointed time.
There were more than twenty people gathered in the room by the time it started. Ferris and Doctor Ivery were leading the briefing. The rest were all shooters grouped into eight-man teams. There were three teams plus a command and support group. Dan noted that only one of the teams was comprised of Keepers. The other two were heavily armed Black Razors on loan from Operations. Not taking any chances are you, Ferris? Dan thought to himself. The seats in the conference room were arraigned in ascending semi-circles, like an old fashioned lecture hall. At the low point was a podium and behind the podium was a large flat screen displaying a split image of two faces. The one on the left was an intake photo from when the subjects had first arrived at the Academy. It showed a close-up of a handsome young man, probably in his late teens. His face was soft and open. Your typical suburban kid used to a life of easy living. Next to that was a slightly grainy image that looked to be a screen capture from an amateur video. It showed the same kid, maybe a little older, but a lot worldlier lounging on some sort of steps. It was also a close-up so Dan couldn't tell where he was but the face was leaner and the angles harsher. What struck Dan were the kid's eyes. They were a golden color like a wolf's or a lion's. They struck him as wholly alien, arrogant and predatory. If the picture on the left was the face of a cub then the one on the left was a young hunter who had already tasted his first kill. And he liked it.
Ivery stepped up to the podium and began the briefing. "Our target is Nathanial Lyons." He began.
Fortaleza, Brazil
When the chartered plane finally rolled to a stop at the far end of the concourse dedicated to chartered flights Caitlyn Fairchild let out a sigh of relief. It had taken all of her self-control not to crush the armrests beneath her nervous grip. She kept having visions of another chartered flight that had ended badly. This flight didn't end badly but it was certainly stressful. Mr. Lynch hadn't had time to properly vet and recruit a new air crew so they had flown with a normal charter. Even if he had, the new plane he had ordered wouldn't be ready for another 3 weeks. For security's sake they had travelled in two groups using different routes with different charter companies. The one saving grace was that this flight had no stewardess and the pilots took one look at Mr. lynch and decided it would be best if they stayed in the cockpit.
Once they were touched down Kat was standing at the doorway waiting for the co-pilot to open the door. She had to restrain herself from pushing the guy out of the way and opening the door herself. Once the door opened a rush of warm, humid air rushed into the plane's air conditioned interior. It felt like getting hit in the face with a wet blanket. The view for the ground crew below showed her long copper locks brushed dramatically from her face by the rush of air. With her piercing green eyes and glamazon body wrapped in a clingy green sun dress, she was sure she looked like some music video floozy. The blatant and appraising stares of the men below only increased her anxiety. One of the guys actually dropped the bag he was attempting to pull from the plane's luggage compartment. It hit the ground with a heavy thud but he seemed to pay no mind. Mr. Lynch somehow managed to slide past her without touching her and stalked like an angry panther down the steps. The men below quickly focused all their attention on their work. At the foot of the ramp white lines were painted on the black tarmac. They created a small box and an angled path that to a glass door into the concourse and Kat could see an older man dressed smartly in a starched white uniform waiting there. With her long strides she reached the man ahead of the others who had to rush to catch up. The man at the door tipped his black brimmed hat at her as he held the door open. This time the blanket was dry and cold. The shifting back and forth between the tropical outside and the air-conditioned inside made her nose itch. Between her charming good looks, Lynch's fake passports, and probably some pre-arraigned skullduggery they were through customs and tossing their bags into the back of a black limousine inside of ten minutes. The driver had the darkest skin tone Kat had ever seen on a real human being and it made his smile seem unnaturally white by comparison. He wore a light cream uniform trimmed in a pale blue. The sweeping palm leaves emblem of the hotel was emblazoned over his heart and on the side of the car doors.
Like everywhere else they had been the air conditioning in their limo was blasting away full bore. She noticed that the driver wore a long sleeve shirt and slacks instead of the short sleeves and shorts that she would have expected. Of course, the constant air conditioning must seem cold to a native. Kat stared out the dark tinted window as they wound their way out of the airport and through Fortaleza proper. For her it was a real Rod Serling Twilight Zone ride. Most of the people on the street were of African or Latin descent. The few whites and Asian people she saw seemed to be mostly tourists. Some sat sipping brightly colored drinks beneath awnings outside trendy eateries decorated in pastels while others lurched from one air-conditioned store to another, clutching bags with designer names stenciled on the sides. The old steadily gave ground to the new along the coast. Glass and steel high rises crowded the beaches while deeper inland the buildings became white stucco stained ivory by age and weather. Glancing down side streets and alleys she could see the debris and sagging awnings of the crushing poverty that the country's tourism board did its best to keep tucked out of sight below the surface. A mob of bare foot children down one side-street were kicking a soccer ball back and forth with smiles and laughter while another alley showed figures huddled miserably in what little shade the buildings offered from the noon-day sun. Despite the heat, it felt like it was a hundred degrees out there, the streets were damp and puddles abounded like it had just rained. The air didn't have that freshly scrubbed feeling to it that she associated with the moments after a spring shower. It still felt heavy with humidity and pregnant with more rain. Their car wound its way along the boulevard and crossed a steel bridge painted white and brick red. They were working their way inland away from the glitz of the popular tourist centers and the new construction and toward the older parts of town. After a drive of about thirty minutes in slow traffic they swung north again toward the coast, this time heading towards the western edge of the city. Their hotel was two stories, done in the expected colonial style with verandas and columns evident like most of the older structures in the city. Its stucco walls were painted a sort of neutral coral color. As their car pulled to a stop under the shade of a columned veranda they clambered out of the car and the temperature rose at least fifteen degrees in an instant only to drop again twenty feet later as the doors to the lobby opened to receive them with a blast of dry cool air conditioning. The interior was clean but a little threadbare and showed signs of long use and constant upkeep. Mr. Lynch approached the front desk and said, "Boa tarde." The language on the video had turned out to be Portuguese and it was the national language of Brazil. Of course, Anna spoke it perfectly after a brief survey of her run-files and she had been helping the rest of them learn basic phrases. Mr. Lynch had just said, "Good afternoon." The clerk behind the counter smiled brightly and greeted him with a rapid fire response that Kat didn't understand. Mr. Lynch smiled and replied somewhat slower, "Fala inglês? Só falo um pouco de português." Do you speak English? I only speak a little Portuguese.
"Do not worry, sir." The clerk switched to English. Her accent was only barely noticeable, just enough to be exotic and sexy. Kat hated it instantly. "Your Portuguese is very good and almost no accent at all."
"Thank you." Lynch allowed himself to appear to be charmed by the compliment. "I'd like to check in. The reservations are under Professor Albert Styles, Western Washington University." Lynch handed over the appropriate passport while the clerk checked her computer.
"Yes, Professor we have three rooms available for you. Two singles and a double. Is that correct?"
"Yes, thank you." While Lynch took care of checking in Kat helped Bobby and Roxy with the bags. Roxy was staring out the front windows at the busy street outside. Their hotel was situated right across the street from a park like green belt beyond which lay a beautiful white sand beach and a dark, rolling sea.
"Why is it so hot and muggy?" Roxy complained. "I thought this was supposed to be winter here?" She was dressed in a black miniskirt and t-shirt combination with a bright purple tank top over it. Her typical combat boots completed the ensemble. She would have been cute but it was clear that the heat and the humidity were getting to her. A slick sheen of sweat marred her features and slurred her make-up while her hair hung limply on her head. Bobby thought she looked vaguely like an orchid that had been left exposed to direct sunlight for too long, all wrinkled and droopy.
"They just call it winter because it's the rainy season," Bobby said. "The temperature doesn't vary all that much. It is usually in the high 70's and low 80's throughout the year." If Bobby even noticed the heat he didn't show it. In fact, with his carefully mussed hair and dashing good looks the smug bastard looked like he had just walked off the set of a teen movie. He was dressed in khaki cargo shorts and a bright red and yellow t-shirt.
"According to the guide," Kat added helpfully, "the relative humidity hovers around 77% but there are supposed to be off-shore breezes that make things livable. I guess during the rainy season there isn't much wind either." The heat had exactly the opposite effect on Kat that it did on Roxy. While Roxy just looked sweaty and uncomfortable, Kat positively glowed. The humidity added a curl to Kat's hair that gave her a slightly wild, sultry look. Her green sun dress clung to her moist skin in all the right ways and none of the wrong ways. With her dark sunglasses pushed up on her head she looked like a Hollywood starlet out to be seen on some red carpet in Cannes. Standing next to Kat only made Roxy feel more like a drowned rat. Her surrogate father was dressed in his usual: basic black. A black, short-sleeved polo shirt, black chinos, black loafers – even his socks were black. The heat didn't dare affect Jack Lynch. The only consideration he made to the weather was the black sunglasses he was wearing.
"I hate you all." Roxy muttered and stomped outside to light a cigarette.