Junior Hero

Part 6

I blinked my red, swollen eyes, and pulled off the oxygen mask. My voice was raspy, but at least I wasn't coughing any more. "Wait, what? The Wards?"

It had been in my plans to join the Wards all along, but I had kind of assumed that I'd have to put in a lot more footwork. Strut my stuff, so to speak. Prove to the PRT and the Protectorate that I had what it took to join their club.

And now, out of the blue, here was Armsmaster, the Halbeard himself, inviting me to join.

(Note to self: do not refer to him by that nickname, even in the privacy of my own thoughts, ever again.)

Well, not totally out of the blue. As he said, I had just saved a bunch of folks. I supposed that counted toward 'making a name' for myself. I'd just thought that it would take a few more nights, even a few more weeks.

"Well, you aren't legally obliged to join, of course," Armsmaster - Armsmaster! - went on. "But if you're looking to use your equipment in a heroic fashion, you could do a lot worse."

I sat up; I was still feeling fairly rough, but I felt that this sort of discussion really couldn't be carried out while I was flat on my back.

"My biggest problem," I confessed, "is getting the parts. I didn't really have my devices up to spec tonight, but between them and my costume, I've pretty well tapped out this month's allowance. And I really didn't want to have to wait another month before I went out."

He nodded. "A Tinker's biggest obstacle is money, yes," he confirmed. "Everyone else gets their powers more or less handed to them; Tinkers like us have to pay for materials and then put in the long hours just to be on the same playing field."

Perhaps thinking that he might have gone a little off-topic, he cleared his throat. "If you join the Wards, you'll get an annual salary and a trust fund, and after your first year, the salary doubles. Plus, of course, the training we give all our young capes, and the extra stipend that Tinkers get."

That got my attention. "Extra stipend?"

He nodded. "Anything you build using the stipend is effectively considered the property of the PRT, although in practice you have full use of it in the field, given that you're usually the one best suited to operate and maintain your equipment."

"Though some Tinker stuff does get used by the PRT," I guessed.

He nodded again. "Some Tinkers do mass-produce their equipment for general use, though they tend to be in the minority. A much more common case is when a Tinker outfits one or more of his teammates with equipment of his own design."

"So where does the PRT's 'ownership' come into it?" I asked, fascinated by the subject. I was learning more about being a Protectorate Tinker than I'd ever known before.

"Everything you build for use in the field has to be subjected to mandatory review and testing," he explained. "If it's found to be unsafe for use, or liable to cause too much collateral damage, you're required to fix that aspect of it. Fielding untested equipment that turns out to be unsafe can land you in legal trouble. If people get hurt, this becomes a great deal of legal trouble."

I gulped, thinking of my blithe use of my devices to this point.

"Which reminds me," he went on. "The fire crews reported an explosion upstairs at almost the exact time you teleported out. Was that one of your gadgets malfunctioning?"

"Not ... really," I hedged. "It was a problem that I knew about, but I had to go ahead anyway." Quickly, I explained about D-5 and its overload problem, and about how D-3 had run out of power. "So you see, I had to charge it up fast, or we'd all fry. And it was only when there was no drain on D-3 - that is, once everyone was out but me - that D-5 started to overload."

"I ... see," Armsmaster replied, and it really seemed to me that he did. "At least you endangered nobody but yourself. However, that is a flaw that you will have to correct in your next iteration of the device; you do understand this, don't you?"

I nodded earnestly. "Oh, yes," I agreed. "And I know how to do it, too. Once I have the materials for more QD units, I can use one to funnel any overload to a storage battery at home or something.". I grimaced. "It's just, like you said, putting together another D-5 will cost me time and resources. Building the QD units, that'll also cost."

We were out of the ambulance by now, walking in the chill - and smoke-free - night air. Behind us, the building still burned, but it was now under control. My breathing was easier, now that most of the smoke was out of my lungs.

"This D-5 unit," he commented. "What do you need it for, apart from absorbing energy to power your devices?" And overloading and blowing up, he didn't add.

"Oh, it also moves physical attacks to the far side of the bubble," I explained. "In fact, that's its primary function."

He was quick. "How about punches or kicks? Does it move the whole person?"

" ... not so much," I confessed.

"And that's a problem," he explained. "I would suggest body armour. Most Tinkers use it, for obvious reasons." He did not point out the very obvious fact that he was wearing some himself.

I shrugged. "Money."

"And as I said, the PRT can help you there." He held out a card. "Don't feel like you have to make the decision right this moment. Go home; get a good night's sleep. You've done well tonight. Here's my number. Ring it if you have any other questions."

I took the card and tucked it into my pocket. "Thanks. I will."

He went to his waiting motorcycle and swung his leg over it. I hit Return. As he started the bike up, he glanced back toward me and nodded once. I nodded back, and hit Memory 1.

Dramatic exits are awesome.

Or, at least they are when they work.

I didn't go anywhere.

This was embarrassing. I hit the Enter button twice more, to no great effect.

Unclipping D-1 from the chest harness, I turned it over and pried off the access panel. The trouble was, there weren't any working street lights, and I could barely see what I was doing. I reached for my torch, and realised that I must have dropped it, either up in the building, or when I jumped that last time. Either way, it wasn't on my belt.

Suddenly, light splashed across the open access panel, illuminating the interior. I looked up; Armsmaster was holding a torch, pointing it into the interior of D-1.

"Oh, uh, thanks," I stammered. He didn't say a word; I directed my attention to D-1.

It wasn't hard to find the problem; yanking out the QD unit had pulled a few wires free, and then the rough jump had jolted some of the quantum coils well out of alignment. Basically, right now? This thing didn't know how to teleport.

"Uh, gonna need some workshop time," I confessed. "I mean, I could cannibalise D-3 for a working set of Q-coils, but I've only got my basic pocket toolkit. And I'd really rather not jump without aligning them under proper conditions."

I looked down the street; all of a sudden, it seemed to be a very long way home.

Armsmaster nodded understandingly.

"Need a lift?"

End of Part 6