Chapter Ten: Dictating Genius

He was beginning to see what Mr. Green meant the other night when he said that you can't dictate genius. Even at an arm's length from him, Dexter was a million miles away, absorbed in his own thoughts and too busy thinking to speak. He was so distracted that at one point Ben had to seize him by the collar to keep him from walking into traffic. Dexter took no more heed of that than he did of the guards on duty at the main gate. Luckily they recognized their boss and raised no issues as Ben herded him toward his corporate headquarters. Ben was fairly certain his charge did not blink once the whole time.

The atrium was brilliantly lit and crowded with KND operatives and would-be soldiers of all descriptions and one tall and unhappy DexCorp employee standing just atop the stairs to the executive offices. Dark smoke generated by Mr. Green's emotional state billowed all around him and rolled down the steps in defiance of the ventilation system, effectively keeping the curious at bay and intimidating the crowd. Green cast a long and ominous shadow across the floor all the way to the doors and he was positively bristling, but Dexter was too preoccupied to pay much heed to anything. Around them the children fell silent, gazing with fascination and envy at the boy that was rich enough to finance a war and who had created most of their weapons. Having caught a glimpse of his companion's life, however, Ben doubted if a single one of them could have handled being Dexter even for a day.

"Dex? Dexter?"

He gave the redhead a nudge. Dexter finally blinked, coming back to the here-and-now. If he was surprised to find himself back home he gave no indication and he completely ignored the stares he was receiving. Ben nodded toward the steps and Dexter took in the sight of Mr. Green, following the lengthy (and rather pointy) shadow all the way to the source.

"Trouble?" Ben wondered softly.

"Yup," Dexter replied, completely unrepentant.

"Sorry."

He shrugged. "It's worth it."

With Ben at his heels he walked up to the looming green demon waiting on the landing and looked him square in the eye.

"Mr. Green," said the boy genius.

"Dexter."

"Nothing happened. We just went to the Mr. Smoothy on Westmorland Avenue and walked back."

"Is that all you have to say for yourself?"

"No. The strawberry smoothie was too sweet and I had fun."

"You're going to turn my hair brown before I reach 500," Green said, trying hard to sound stern but plainly just relieved he was safely back. "This way." Slowly they walked toward the offices where they could converse without fear of being overheard, with Ben taking up the rear. As soon as they were out of sight of the atrium, Green said, "You should have told me before you left. I'm responsible for you."

"Even I get tired of being indoors!" Dexter argued, sounding his age for once.

"Dexter," sighed his teacher, "it's not you."

"I know. It's that thing. It hasn't been seen for months."

"Two months, to be exact. Not since May when it blew up the DexCorp facility. I'm sure it knows your father and sisters are away."

"Enter Ben Tennyson," was the bitter reply. He gestured impatiently at Ben with a purple-gloved hand.

"That's not why he's here, Dexter," Green replied. He sounded almost hurt. "Your father met Ben and hoped you two would become friends. Nothing more."

Ben shifted, wondering why he felt guilty all of a sudden and why Dexter sounded upset. It was not as if meeting Utonium had been a secret. Up until now it simply had not been mentioned, but Dexter either knew or guessed more than he had indicated. Could he possibly think Ben's purpose here was just to watch over him the same as everyone else? Granted Utonium had asked him to keep an eye on his son, but that was not why Ben had agreed.

Dexter's tone softened as he said, "Then it's fortunate that he can fill my sisters' shoes. I refuse to be a prisoner in my own home, Mr. Green."

"And we refuse to lose you to Fuse," said the demon, resting his hand on Dexter's shoulder. "He tried once already to have you killed, Dexter. He'll try again. Please don't make it easy on him."

The Russian accent gave extra emphasis to his words as Dexter swore, "Rest assured that I am on my guard. The more we learn, the further ahead I plan."

"Please don't go out again without telling me." He saw the rebellious gleam in Dexter's eyes and hastily added, "I won't stop you. I can't. Not any more than you can stop me from worrying. But you can make my job and Security's job a bit easier if you just let us know when you want to leave."

"Very well, Mr. Green. I will inform you before I leave the campus."

"The building, Dexter," corrected Green. He was obviously used to dealing with stubborn geniuses because his voice was firm and he saw right through Dexter's attempt to find a loophole.

Dexter sighed. "The building," he promised quietly. He looked at Ben. "Thank you for the smoothie and the chili fries, Ben. Give me your watch."

"Huh?" He blinked at the abrupt change of topic.

"Your watch. I said I would look at it. Give it to me."

"Dex, you don't hav-"

Dexter glared and held out his hand. "Now, Mr. Tennyson."

"All right, all right!" With a little grumble, Ben dropped the digital watch into that purple-gloved hand, thinking it was a bit much to ask Baby Einstein to change a watch battery. "Here."

He closed his hand on the small device. "If you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

Nodding his head in farewell, he turned and headed down the hall. Something seemed off about Dexter, in his attitude and mannerisms. Ben had no idea of what it could be. Was he lonely? Mad? Sad? Depressed? Obsessed? He took a step after him and called,

"Hey, Dex!"

The younger boy stopped, and then turned around.

"What was your idea?"

He smirked a tiny bit. "If it works, I'll show you. Good night."

They watched as he disappeared into the heart of his corporate headquarters. Mr. Green sighed, his shoulders and horns slumping in unison.

"I hate it when he gets like this."

"He looks down."

"He is." The demon smiled wryly at Ben. "That usually triggers a few good days for science, if nothing else. He'll probably be awake until Wednesday. Thank you for distracting him, but please, Ben, don't let him leave the building without letting me know. It's for his own safety."

"That explosion in DexCorp wasn't an accident, was it?"

"Hardly. Do you know what a Fusion is?"

"No."

"They're Fuse's copies of people. Somehow those little Fusion Spawns get samples of DNA and can created twisted versions of people. They're revolting. They're complete distortions of a person and their personality and motivations. The first one confirmed was a copy of Samurai Jack, and he's the one that planted the bomb that almost killed Dexter. We fully expect him to make another attempt. That's why Professor Utonium was so reluctant to go to Florida."

"Why off Dexter?"

"He's the greatest threat Planet Fusion faces, and unfortunately Fuse knows it."

"How?"

"The Plumbers." He saw Ben's expression and hastily added, "Oh, it wasn't an intentional move on their part. Not at all. They've sent some of Dexter's null-void weapons off world to a lunar colony that was right in Planet Fusion's path. Dexter's null-void technology is the only thing we know of so far that can disrupt Fusion Matter and stop those monsters for good. Fuse's scouts captured one of the rifles before the Plumbers remotely destroyed it. Fuse traced it back to the Earth and to DexLabs and to Dexter."

He worked the next question with great care. "So . . . is Dexter the reason why we're being invaded?"

"I think they were planning the attack regardless, but this just gives Fuse that much more reason to conquer the earth."

"Does he know all this?" Ben asked, pointing down to where the laboratory was housed beneath layers of bedrock.

"Why else do you think he turned over his company and all its holdings to this war, Ben?" Without waiting for an answer, Mr. Green added, "That's why we're trying so desperately hard to keep him safe. Can you imagine what a disaster it would be if there was a Fusion of Dexter running around? An evil version of him, equally intelligent and driven to destroy, that answers to Fuse?"

Ben blinked. It was a horrifying notion, not to mention frightening in the extreme. He had faced an evil copy of himself in the past. It had been a disturbing experience.

"So why does he want to leave?"

The olive-skinned demon smiled sadly. "Because he's a thirteen-year-old boy and he's sick to death of being sick. Please, Ben, don't let him leave the building without letting us know."

He held up his hands in surrender. "I won't even suggest it again."

"That's not fair. He can leave. We just have to take steps to keep him safe when he does, that's all."

"Okay. I promise."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

The message came late the following morning as Ben joined his usual gang of KND operatives to train the recruits for Sector V. The biggest challenge they faced was figuring out the best way of fighting with the multi-purpose weapons their new soldiers wielded. Despite their wildly varied appearances, most of the weapons were null-voids, but many also served as swords or spears or clubs or sonic disruptors or plasma phasers. All were good for fighting at a distance and close in, but unfortunately most teenagers weren't too adept at such things.

"How come you get all the mail, Tennyson?" grumbled Number Four. Abruptly he surged forward as he caught a serious error in the team they were training on weapons. One boy, who was dressed as if he had walked off the wall of a tomb from the Valley of the Kings, was not holding his weapon properly. "Oi! King Tut! Yeah, Mr. Walk Like An Egyptian! You! Keep that weapon pointed down until you're going to use it, mister, or you'll skewer the fairy godmother!" He waved at the girl a few feet in front of the boy who had a shimmering purple outfit on and large wings strapped to her back.

The teenager he chastised realized his mistake and corrected himself. The grape-colored fairy cast him a dazzling smile. The blond boy shook his head in exasperation, dropping back in his seat. "How can they fight in Hallowe'en costumes?"

Number One shrugged. "We always could."

"We had to!"

The note had been delivered by a chubby, fuzzy, yellow demon with a nose like an elephant and a voice that was both squeaky and deep all at once. Before relinquishing the message the squat little thing insisted on demonstrating his ability to spell his own name, and thus Ben Tennyson and KND operatives Numbers One, Two, and Four learned the correct spelling of Fred Fredburger.

"It's not from Mr. Plutonium again, is it?" wondered Number Four, resisting the urge to pop a gumball in Fred's behind as he danced away.

"That's Professor Utonium," corrected fanboy Number Two. "Ben, if it is from the Professor can I have that one, too?"

"Sure," Ben promised easily, knowing it could not be from Utonium. Once again the KND were thoroughly nosy (though they would have called it curious) to see who had written to Ben and what they had to say. Four words later, they were none the wiser. In fact, they were completely confused.

Your watch is fixed.

That was all, but Ben took it for an invitation. He smirked, never having seen such precise handwriting in his life nor anyone that used graph paper as stationary.

Number Four frowned. "Your watch is fixed? What the heck is that supposed to mean?"

"Just what it says, I suspect. It was broken, and now it's not," Number One replied, looking over the rim of his sunglasses. He glanced at Ben's wrist to confirm that was the case. When his subordinates stepped away to instruct the recruits in the next drill, Number One quietly asked, "So you got through to him?"

It seemed too much (and too fantastic) to explain it all, so Ben just said, "Um . . . yeah."

"I take it your apology was accepted."

He let out a little laugh, remembering his first foray into the laboratory. "You might say that."

The KND leader smiled, and there was mild envy in his expression. "Well done, Ben."

Having the respect of someone like Nigel Uno was as heartening as it was important, and Ben returned the smile. He glanced at the note one last time before folding it and stuffing it into the pocket of his jacket. Still tired from being up late the night before, he realized that with this note as good as ordering him to come get his watch back, he was in for another late night. Oh, well, at least with Dex it promised to be an interesting time.

You might not be able to dictate genius, but that sure as heck didn't stop genius from dictating.