He had looked right at it. He had looked right at that pipe, clearly large enough to supply water to more than just the lodge, and seen very little amiss. The strange, vague markings on the valve and line had bothered him, but that was for a building inspector; out of his jurisdiction, and he had more pressing issues to contend with at the base. Even so, old habits died hard; when his assistant had come back from his pit stop to find Ryker inspecting water mains in log buildings he had smirked, and suggested that the crash tender probably needed a vacation something fierce.
Ryker had to settle the ravenous RMP of his engine when merely the thought of taking leave, when there was work to do, made his seethe dangerously. It could not be good for his fluid pressure.
He should not be so angry. He'd encountered far more egregious code violations than diverting water from an airstrip. Inadequate emergency procedures, unregulated and untrained tower control, that one party thrown on a landing strip (complete with fireworks), just to name a few.
Even so, that small part of him, the personal part that obediently sat quietly while he worked, was noticeably more active within his mind. He screwed you over, it prodded. Not me, he mulled. Not my line of work anymore. He'd traded protecting a district for protecting a country, and never looked back. Your brothers, then, it poked harder. Your brothers and sisters who still roll when the siren goes off. The Maltese crosses on either flank burned, and he still remembered the adrenaline, wheels moving so fast he didn't remember there was solid tarmac underneath them, the smell of smoke and foam and fuel. He growled. His steel mask was slipping, and he did not like it.
His assistant was still trying to catch up, and, with great difficulty and a deep breath that came out more like a hiss, Ryker eased off his engine. He gave a clipped, if heartfelt, apology; his aide merely gave a small nod as he gasped for breath.
That was rude, and unprofessional. Ryker made a mental note to insist on paying for coffee next time they made a stop.
He schooled his face back to his usual stern façade, and promptly shoved his personal vendetta into a corner for it to stay, or else. His tires touched the smooth cobblestones of the Grand Fusel Lodge driveway, and what few people were present moved most promptly out of his way. Most everyone seemed to be an employee, except for one large white SUV with a crisp green park logo and a beautifully immaculate paint job.
Ryker heard the deep, pulsing sound of a set of powerful rotors, and in his rear view mirrors he could see the Piston Peak Air Attack Chief set down on a helipad in the uppermost levels of the lodge. His personality gave a quiet sneer from its corner, and he gave it another vicious shove. What the helitanker did or watched was none of his business.
Ryker gave a loud 'whoop whoop' of his siren as he approached the park superintendent, and he heard his aide click his pen. He had loads of questions, and heaven forbid it take him long to get some answers.
He did not have time for this.
Cad frowned as he watched the agent blaze across the yard towards him. He'd heard that an Incident Investigator from the TMST was sniffing about, but that he'd headed up towards the fire base. Good thing, too; that fire had gotten so far out of control, something had to be wrong. What did he pay them for, if not to put the wet stuff on the red stuff?
The agent stopped right in front of him, close enough that Cad rocked back on his wheels before he could stop himself. Well, that was rude. He also didn't like how it forced him to look up at the guy.
Part of him also made a note that this agent was flippin' huge. The hell did he eat, raw iron ore?
"Uh, can I help you?" He really hoped not. This mess wasn't going to clean itself up, and hell if any of his employees had an eye for sophisticated details. That, and this guy looked like the exact opposite of fun-to-talk-to.
"Mr. Spinner, I am Ryker of the Transportation Management Safety Team, and I have some questions regarding a pair of incidents in conjunction with the Piston Peak Valley Fire that occurred yesterday."
"I'm sure you do, and I wonder why you're down here. You've already been to the fire base, yeah? That's their business, not mine. Whatever they told you, you should probably turn right back around and take it up with them." Cad didn't know anything about any crash (and he knew it was a crash; the TMST was a large collection of ambulance-chasers, after all). It hadn't happened at his lodge. He rather hoped it was Blade; sanctimonious chopper might actually shut his mouth once he got dirt in it.
"You are the park superintendent, are you not?"
"You betcha." And don't let anyone forget it.
"Then this is your business, which makes you my business." Cad did not like being patronized. This was his lodge, and his park, and it was going to make him very, very popular (which lead to wealth, and everyone knew money was power). Except that it seemed every firefighter west of the Mississippi took an issue with that.
"Am I busy right now? Yes I am. Call my secretary, she'll schedule you in." If this guy were anyone else, Cad would just as soon never call him back, but a government agent might have contacts that could make his upward mobility somewhat more difficult.
"My time is limited, Mr. Spinner. It is in your best interest for this to happen now."
"I don't have time, as you can clearly see."
"Would you rather a warrant?"
Cad gave an indignant snort. Under what authority did this oversized water truck think he had the right? His eyes picked out several decals painted on the agent's flanks that quite possibly denoted that he had it under his own authority to do so. Cripes, out of all the investigators to send, and he had to get the one with rank.
"Fine, you have five minutes. Go." Cad did not at all like the way the investigator stared at him. It reminded him of a certain uptight, unpleasant, filthy forest hippy of a helicopter.
"When did you become aware that there was a brushfire threatening the Lodge?"
"Pft, does that matter? I don't keep track of every little campfire in the park."
The TMST secretary scribbled something on his clipboard. Cad found the sound of his pen scratching on paper to be oddly irritating. Almost as irritating as that strange creaky-groany noise he'd been hearing for the past half hour.
"When were you first notified of a mandatory evacuation order issued for Piston Peak National Park?"
This investigation was sounding more like a police grilling. Cad got the inkling that the firefighters had diverted the agent by sic'ing him on Cad. Well, let's just see how that went for them.
He heard the deep vibrating rumble of a helicopter. It was that massive green Indian spirit sage, or whatever; Blade's big brawny tree hugger. Speaking of the red devil, he could see him up on one of the helipads on the upper floors. When the hell had he gotten up there? He moved over as the green one set down next to him on the helideck, and Cad could just imagine that sharp, mightier-than-thou sneer slithering all over the chopper chief's face.
Here to watch, huh? Cad squashed a smirk. Sure, why not? He just wanted to see their faces when he refused to sign all those paychecks next week. Someone had to pay for the time he was wasting with this stunt. Karma could be a bitch.
" 'Mandatory,' huh. Not even necessary. Look, if they'd stayed in the Lodge they'd all be safe. See, fire didn't even cross the driveway." That extra-large open space he'd agreed to had actually worked. "Sure would have been more fun than trying to drive out of here in the middle of the night with hundreds of other people." The agent frowned at that. Erm, frowned harder.
" 'With hundreds of other people.' What is the occupancy rating for the Lodge?"
Was this guy deaf? Cad was pretty sure he'd just said that there had been whole slews of people attending the Lodge's grand reopening. Might as well have been a parking lot in there. A fun, happening parking lot.
"From the front to back door, and ceiling to floor. Hard to have a grand reopening if it isn't grand. The more the merrier, am I right? Of course I am."
"The occupancy rating, Mr. Spinner." If it were possible—and Cad didn't think it was—this guy was even less fun than Blade the Buzzkill.
"Oh, come on. You're looking for an actual number? It's a lodge! It fits at least twice as many people as it has rooms. Couples and families, and all of that."
"If you cannot give me a figure, it should be posted—"
"Posted? No, no, no. I was very specific that anything to be hung on the walls goes through me. No useless clutter or tasteless décor."
"Are you aware that the International Fire Code—"
"Fire code my muffler. You want fire protection? Take a good, hard look at the sprinklers on the roof. This is a log structure. Pure wood, Mr. Tyler—"
"Ryker."
"Whatever. All that matters is that those puppies turned this place into a water feature last night. Looked like the Bellagio Fountains, let me tell you, and it caused this pure wood structure to survive the nonsense that was that inferno."
"Sounds like your pressure may be adjusted too high."
"Piffle. That's what I wanted. It was too low, so I turned it up." Water, water, everywhere. It had been glorious.
Stickshift, what was that terrible sound?
"You turned it up." The investigator looked unimpressed.
"Yeah. I turned it up. Couldn't get any decent help to do it." Little stuck-up bellboy had the nerve to tell him 'no.' He had already turned the sprinklers on, was it really so difficult to then turn them up as well? Granted, Cad'd just about slipped a disc brake trying to throw the switch, and he was many times the little forklift's size, but that's the kind of work the help was for.
"What kind of sprinklers do you have, Mr. Spinner? Emergency sprinklers should not have a valve for boosting the pressure that can be accessed by non-firefighting personnel." The scowl on the agent's face was a borderline glare. "Where is the valve that controls pressure in the sprinkler system, Mr. Spinner?"
It was right about now that Cad got the feeling that he should have stopped talking a few minutes back. Something deep down told him it was for diverting the water from the main line. 'The firefighters need that to make deodorant,' or whatever the bellboy had said. Egads, was this his conscious? Get that out of here. He needed that mental space for ambition. And his current levels of ambition told him he was at the precipice of slippery, career-damaging slope. Best get out now, make this truck work for his questions.
"Your five minutes is up, Mr. Ryan."
"Ryker."
"I don't care. Are we done here? Yes we are."
"We are nowhere near finished with this issue."
"Why do you assume that I know anything? Mud and smoke and dirty dirt are not my cup of tea, trust me, and I keep my stunning Luminous Blizzard paintjob as far from that nonsense as possible. All I've ever done is run some sprinklers, which is entirely legal."
"Normally, yes. But I've gotten reports of a lack of water pressure at the air attack base stretching from last night to my investigation this afternoon. An emergency sprinkler or standpipe system should not allow any civilian to just tamper with it, not without at least triggering an alarm on the system. With that in mind, Mr. Spinner, where is this valve that allowed you to increase water flow to your sprinklers?"
"You're the federal investigator here. Go 'investigate' for it. It won't do you much good, it will look entirely normal—"
It was at about this time that the irritating groaning sound stopped and was replaced with the loud scream of tearing metal. A thick running pipe, part of the matrix that fed the roof sprinklers, ruptured explosively, filling a massive cone with flying shrapnel and water. Cad threw his gears in reverse; water might disrupt his wax, but he'd need a repaint if those sharp metal bits got him. The agent's secretary, on the other side of him from the rupture, was shielded from the impromptu geyser by his large boss' bulk, and was able to get out of dodge before he (or that paperwork) was soaked. The investigator was not so lucky, and Cad watched as he was engulfed by the deluge, completely disappearing into the spray. He heard a sound that might be small metal pieces bouncing off the agent's plating.
He gave a quick glance around. There was no one within sight that wasn't watching. Didn't they have better things to do? Like figure out how to turn all that water off. It was going everywhere.
Turn it off. That valve lever; had he remembered to turn it off after last night? They'd shut down the sprinklers once the coast was clear this morning… oh, slag.
Cad heard the growl of his engine before he saw the investigator emerge from the water, rolling forward slowly until his back bumper just barely cleared the spray. This also put him squarely in Cad's personal space. Cad flinched as he gave a slow exhale through all his vents, flinging water all over the place. He heard a click, and watched the secretary write furiously on that damned clipboard. The agent cleared his throat, clipped and tight and cold but still nowhere near as frightening as the glare on his face. If Cad found his gaze irritating before, it was downright apocalyptic now. Deep inside, his common sense tapped him on the flank and told him that if he didn't want a federal investigator to return to the government with less than favorable reviews of him, he'd better start placating.
Wait, wasn't the Secretary of the Interior still on grounds somewhere? Making the government much, much closer that Washington? Well, spit him like a roast…
Cad met the big truck's steely scowl with an awkward laugh he hoped to hell the guy didn't see through.
"W-well, that was, uh, new. I assure you, it's not supposed to do that." Cad pinned a nearby employee with a glare and sent him towards housekeeping with a ferocious hiss. He turned back to his most unhappy guest when he heard his huge tires crunching small bits of gravel into the cobblestones.
"So, aheheh… towel?"
"Valve, Mr. Spinner. Right now."
Blade had to dredge up the deepest of his reserve willpower to not laugh. He winced instead, but he was sure the effect was ruined by the grin on his face that he could not seem to get rid of. Part of him wanted to be furious; the ever-rational part of his personality took immense offense at the amount of water being wasted as it erupted from an over-pressurized, blown-out pipe. This part, however, was being danced upon as his sense of humor thoroughly enjoyed watching the overflow consume Ryker entirely. He did not entirely feel bad for him; the crash tender was tough enough to impress, and he carried more water than this inside of him. The humor came from the fact that Cad's misstep had just reared back and bitten in the face one of the few people able to send his career and high-flying ego on a painfully catastrophic introduction to the ground. He rather wished he were closer. When the investigator slowly rolled from deluge and crowded into Cad's face, he would kill to see both expressions. Even so, he could hear the ARFF's massive engine from his perch on the roof; it made a deep, threatening, purring rumble that carried so many unsaid threats Blade was sure Ryker's assistant would need another clipboard. Blade had heard Avalanche make a similar sound once.
Even from a couple hundred feet away, well out of hearing range of any normal conversation, he could see that the entire demeanor of the confrontation had changed. Cad was suddenly much more accommodating; he was placating, clearly, and it did not take long for Ryker's next bark to send him scooting swiftly towards the side of the building. They passed under Blade's helideck as they did, and he had to resist everything in him that wanted to rub his sneer in Cad's face. He was able to school his expression down just long enough for himself and Cad to cross gazes. The superintendent's sheer contempt just fueled Blade's glee.
'Glee', huh? He'd keep that description to himself. Sounded way to upbeat for him. If anyone asked, he'd describe his feelings as 'tentatively optimistic.'
Windlifter shifted so that Blade could see off of his end of the deck. Blade was glad the Sikorsky was so tall, else he couldn't fit under his rotor span. Beneath them, Blade could see the lever and water control valve in question. Also, the reason for Ryker's immediate suspicion at the base; indeed the lever was down, in-line with the supply pipe, and still shunting water to the lodge. Seeing it with his own eyes tempered his good mood a fair bit. How dare he. That was borderline willful endangerment.
At this distance, Blade could pick out their conversation.
"D-did I say that I had flipped the switch? You see, what I meant was—"
Ryker was clearly not buying any of it. Cad had evidently put his tires so far inside his own mouth he couldn't possibly pull them out.
"I was assuming Cad was clever enough not to incriminate himself to the TMST." Blade gave a soft chuckle; where was the sport if Cad wasn't at least going to fight back a bit. He wanted to see Ryker unload all over Cad. What had Drip called that level of anger and badaftery? Beastmode? Yeah, that's it.
Next to him, Windlifter gave a quite 'hm' as he watched the proceedings below.
"My mother gave me a piece of advice once, something she'd learned from her parents, and their parents before them." Windlifter gave Blade a look, and he recognized it well enough as the closest to an outwardly visible smirk as Windlifter ever got. " 'Never pass on a good opportunity to shut up'."
Blade suppressed a snort. Truer words had never been spoken. Nothing hurt like saying too much.
Across the lot, Blade noticed both a yellow fire engine and a smaller, older SUV heading dead-to-rights for Cad and Ryker. One was surely the Fusel Lodge's assigned engine. Blade'd never met the guy. He frowned; he should endeavor to fix that in the near future. The other, Blade couldn't quite place, but from the scowl on his face and the crisp logo on his flank, he had a lot of unpleasant business with Spinner.
As the distance closed, Blade almost choked in surprise. That logo. The Department of the Interior? All his Christmases, they were here, and it was only late July. If Ryker carried a big stick, this old guy wielded a whole slagging tree. He could feel his 'tentative optimism' give an excited spasm.
He'd had to sit in that water stream for a moment to get his thoughts under control. The water had scattered them to the wind, and it was hard to order his mind back to normalcy when a writhing, searing rage pumped hotly through his head. He was glad the spray hid his expression, gave him time to slowly, forcefully, return it to some vague semblance of something professional. White-hot anger did not a good conversation make. He could feel the water settle into the seams on his plating, as close to cooling his interior as physically possible.
Upon emerging from his impromptu shower and returning his attention to the task at hand (which had become so much more personal than he would have ever liked), he found Cad Spinner to be much more docile in his engagement. Except for that flippant remark about a towel. Unnecessary, unless his motive was to send Ryker to an early death from fury-induced fluid over-pressurization.
Cad was now much quicker to comply with taking Ryker to the water flow control valve on the side of the lodge. Sure enough, it was that same ill-labeled thing he'd looked at earlier today. The superintendent was equally quick to throw the lever back up into its normal positioning. Or try to; Ryker would never admit that watching him struggle to flip a switch was darkly amusing.
Ryker's attention was drawn by the approach of two other vehicles. The first, a large yellow type one engine, met his gaze and gave him a crisp nod, which Ryker returned smartly. The second caused him to sit a little higher and sharper on his suspension; it was not every day the US Secretary of the Interior rolled through his investigation.
Ryker frowned a bit. There was no way he had traveled all the way here from his office in Washington just for this, and in such a short amount of time. Ryker's job required a prompt on-scene response; the Secretary's did not.
"Spinner!" That was not the tone of voice possessed by a calm man.
"Ah! Mr. Secretary!" The grin that stuttered across the superintendent's face was one of the most forced Ryker had ever seen. If Cad could dig a hole deep enough to hide in, Ryker was positive he'd be doing it right now.
"What the hell is going on!?" Ryker gave some ground, allowing the Secretary to place himself immediately in from of Cad.
"O-oh, this? It's nothing!" He shot Ryker a nervous look. "He's almost finished, and it's certainly nothing criminal…"
"I didn't mean him," the Secretary snapped, and Ryker took no offense, "I meant the park! How was that situation last night allowed to devolve so badly?"
"It didn't turn out that bad. The lodge is fine!"
"I don't give a damn about the Lodge!" Ryker noted that hearing this made Cad look visibly hurt. "I meant the fire. The evacuation! Where were your emergency plans, your staff to control traffic? Mr. Jammer, Pulaski and I had to do everything ourselves!" Pulaski. Ryker looked at the yellow engine, who fidgeted just slightly with a front tire in minor embarrassment. The crash tender noted damage to his canopy nozzle.
"The fire didn't look that big…" Cad mumbled.
"Not that big!? I was in it! Almost everyone in the park was in it!" Even Cad balked at that, and Ryker heard what sounded remarkably similar to a pair of helicopters wincing from the roof. "You—we—are so lucky your air attack base threw their rulebook out the window to give us a line through the fire! At night!" The Secretary stopped to catch his breath, and took some time to look at Ryker. The ARFF sat quietly and let himself be appraised.
"Is that what this investigation is about, Mr. Ryker?"
Ryker did not opt to show any surprise that the Secretary of the Interior knew who he was.
"Partially, sir. Mostly in regards to a pair of aircraft crashes, at least one of which may stem directly from an improper divergence of a main water supply line from the Piston Peak Fire Attack base." The Secretary nodded, and seemed to consider something, briefly.
"Consider their fine paid."
"Beg pardon?"
"For engaging a wild fire at night. Consider it paid, since I highly doubt even I'll be able to dissuade one of the authors of the current Aircraft Safety Code from enforcing the regulations he wrote himself."
Ah. His name was in the credits of that handbook, wasn't it? And with his Investigator ID number painted on his plating, he supposed any quick government search would pull him up. He looked at his aide, who grinned wide enough for the both of them (he'd have to talk to him about that later), scribbled something on a document, and gave Ryker a nod.
"Done, then." If the two helitankers up on the deck had any reaction, he didn't hear it.
"Do you still need to speak to Mr. Spinner here for anything else?"
"Yes. We are not done talking about his misappropriation of a municipal resource." He fixed Cad with a glare, and was surprised when he was met with an indignant squawk.
"Actually, if I may, I'm quite busy here—"
"Actually, he has all the time in the world. Take what you need from him."
"M-Mr. Secretary—" Cad started, only to be cut off by the Secretary's frosty stare.
"Don't you even dare, Spinner. No one here has time for it. All our jobs now include cleaning up your mess."
"But what about my job?"
"What job is that? You don't have a job."
Cad's eyes widened.
"W-wait. You can't—"
"I have, Spinner. Get your things and get out."
Ryker heard his assistant's pen click. He let his gaze get away from him, crossing with the Fire Chief still perched on the roof. He did not share a smirk with him; he had no stakes in the career of one overbearing park employee. It did not stop him from taking note of the dangerous grin that fought its way across the red chopper's face. He rolled up to Spinner, this time close enough to be pushing way past bullying, and put his steel mask back into place.
He had an investigation to finish.
AN:
*whew* Here it is. Part two, In Which Ryker Has a Bad Day, But Cad Get's What's Coming to Him.
Guh, parts of this one feel weird to me, but there's no helping it. I gotta get back to my regularly scheduled silly and cute stuff soon.
Its, like, 3am for me right now, but I was so determined to finish. This chapter is entirely unbeta'd, and I'm sure i have weird grammatical errors and awkward tense changes in here. And typos. I'll edit once I wake back up. I also seem to have gone crazy with the italics, but it's probably because I don't have quite the skill to put the emphasis in a sentence where I need it.
Ryker is still mad fun to write. Also, methinks I'll give poor Pulaski some love in the future; poor guy got hired just in time for the slag to hit the fan.
Also, more Ryker. Cuz he's awesome. Did I mention that? Oh, well.
Ryker.