Junior Hero

Part Eight

"So, are you going to go through with it?" asked Dad.

He'd calmed down overnight, although he still wasn't exactly thrilled at me.

"I understand it's dangerous in the Wards," Mom put in anxiously.

"Nowhere near as dangerous as it is out there for a lone hero, or even a rogue," I pointed out.

I swallowed a spoonful of cereal and continued. "I'm a Tinker. That means I can build stuff other people can use. Stuff that very basically gives them a super-power. Any criminal gang would love to get their hands on a Tinker. I'd sooner join New Wave." I paused, thinking about their no-masks policy, and about the fate of Fleur, ten years ago. "Well, maybe not New Wave."

"But can't you just ... not build things?" fretted Mom. "If you don't do that, then no-one will know."

I drew in a deep breath. "I can't," I confessed. "Dad, how would you feel if you were banned from teaching physics, ever again? Even though you knew you could teach so many people so much? Mom, what if you had to give up your job at the TV station? Never have anything to do with journalism, ever again? Could you do it?"

I saw the consternation in their faces. To give up what they had devoted a major portion of their lives to ... the analogy shook them a little.

"Surely it's not that bad ..." Dad began.

I nodded. "Yes. It is. I get a dozen new ideas an hour. Most of them will have to wait till I get the right materials to build them, or are simply too big, too expensive for me to even consider constructing on my own, but there are so many things I can build."

Dad considered this. "I see."

"And are these things safe to use?" asked Mom.

"Sure," I agreed. "D-1 only acted up because I had to do some fast rewiring and then got caught in an explosion. And even then, with the quantum coils out of alignment, it just failed to work. It could have been much worse. I built in that safeguard on purpose."

I considered adding, I'd rather not arrive at all than only half of me get there, but I figured that might be counter-productive.

Dad rubbed his chin, a sign he was thinking hard. "Well then. We'll consider this Wards thing. If you have to build these things, and it's unsafe for you to not be in a team ..."

"Thanks, Dad," I told him sincerely. I did want to be in the Wards, but I seemed to recall something about parental permission. If Mom and Dad withheld permission, this could be problematic.

"But no more secrets, Robbie," Mom stressed. "We should be open as a family."

"Yes, son," Dad agreed. "If you have something on your mind, come to us."

This was as good an opening as I would ever get.

"Well, there is something else, kind of connected to this ..." I began.

Both of them looked attentive.

"You might not like this one ..." I temporised, grimacing slightly.

"Spit it out, son," Dad told me heartily.

"I'm ... kind of thinking that I know where I get this ability from," I confessed. "And I don't think it's from you, Dad."

They both stared at me.

"What are you saying?" asked Mom.

Dad blinked, stared at me, then at Mom, then back at me. "Yes, what are you saying?"

This had been a bad idea. I glanced at the clock. "Uh, shouldn't I be getting ready to catch the bus?"

"I'll drive you," Dad stated flatly. "Answer the question."

"Okay, I can do the math," I told them both. "I know what happened about nine months before I was born. I know which famous Tinker you met at that college party, Mom. And I know I don't get my blond hair from either one of you."

I may as well have dropped a live rattlesnake on the table. They were both frozen, staring at me. They both knew who I was talking about, of course. Slowly, they turned to look at each other.

"Molly, you didn't ..." Dad's voice was barely recogniseable as his own.

Mom lowered her eyes, didn't speak.

"Molly ...?"

Abruptly she raised them again. "Yes!" she snapped. "Yes, I left the party with him! But I saw who you were climbing all over!"

"I told you, I never even made a pass at Alexandria!" he protested.

She snorted. "And how about that little bitch Julia Clements? Did you make a pass at her?"

Silence. Dad's face slowly paled. Mom's expression registered bitter triumph.

I slumped. I had really, really put my foot in it here.

"Mom, Dad -" I began.

"Not now, son," Dad replied, without looking away from Mom's face.

"No, really," I protested. "I just want to say one thing."

They both glanced at me.

"I don't care. I love you both. Dad, you're my Dad, even if you're not my father! It doesn't matter! We're a family, here, now, and that's not going to change, just because things happened before you two were married."

The tension in the room didn't go all the way down, but it did ease off a notch or three. Dad took a deep breath. Mom blinked and dabbed at her eyes.

"Well?" he asked quietly, as if continuing an unspoken conversation.

"No-one else," she replied.

He nodded. "Sorry. And me neither. That night ..."

She nodded. "We were young and stupid."

They both turned to look at me, being the current incarnation of teenagerhood in the house.

"You are being sensible with that girl you're seeing, Kate Hernando, right?" asked Mom.

I raised both my hands. "She's kissed me on the cheek, that's all!" I protested.

Dad raised an eyebrow. "Huh. Now I know you're not my biological son." Mom punched him on the shoulder, not lightly.

"Uh ... is it all good then?" I ventured.

Mom and Dad eyed each other. "Hero," he stated.

"Julia Clements," she countered.

There was a pause.

"He's dead," she went on.

"She's fat," he responded.

"Really?"

He nodded. "Saw her on the bus a month ago. Two kids, a third in a stroller. She's kind of let herself go. She'd make two of you."

Mom looked down at herself; not the most svelte of bodies, she was still keeping herself in reasonable shape.

They both looked at me.

"We're good," Mom told me.

I stood up; my parents did the same.

Then I hugged Mom; it seemed to be the thing to do. Dad joined in, wrapping his arms around the both of us.

"Don't ever do anything like this without checking with us first, okay?" Dad's voice was down to his 'mildly irritated' tone.

"Okay," I agreed. "About that lift ...?"

"I'll drive you to the bus stop."

"Thanks."

End of Part 8