Masks XXVIII: Old School

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Three

"Turkey Jerky?" said Cal, reaching over to hold out a bag to his office mate.

"Thanks," said Vic. She gave a huge sigh as she accepted some of the smoked meat.

"You seem down."

"It's just... there are so many things which are just... hanging. The 'You're Arrested' mask murders, the identity of whoever hired those guys to steal the balance blades, the mastermind behind the fake volcano and that radioactive android at the Super Combat islands..."

"I may not know much about crime solving," said Cal, "but I do know a lot about problem solving. I think that's why Drake asked for me, when he was put in charge of this branch of the Bureau. One of the things I know about solving problems is that sometimes you have to put a particular problem aside for a while and work on something else."

"Heh. That might actually work. I'll try and focus on something besides those troubles for a while."

* * *

As a follow-up to the "death van" attacks - which Vic had been instrumental in stopping, and which hadn't actually killed anyone - a representative of the Bureau of Special Resources had been asked to meet with two people from the city. One of them was a man from the Mayor's Office, and he was accompanied a plainclothes detective representing the Detroit Police Department. There was also a man from a private business. The company the last worked for wanted clearance from the Bureau and Detroit police to destroy the house where the van builders/operators had been based. The company needed this formal go-ahead despite the fact that all evidence had been remove long before. Vic had volunteered to formalize the examination and approval. Partly because she had been involved in the capture of those behind the van. However, she also had not been inside the house before today and was curious about it. Partly Vic was here so she could get out of the office and away from unsolved cases.

The hideout proved disappointingly like any other empty house. The only remaining standout feature it had was that it was the last structure standing in the neighborhood, left untouched until the court cases against the young perps were settled. Which they finally had been, due to plea bargaining. However, the method being used to demolish the houses was unfamiliar to Vic.

"You're using fungus?!" said Vic, once they were back outside. She was a bit distracted by the pieces of heavy equipment already working on the remnants of some of the neighborhood houses.

"To break down the wood, mold and wallboard, and a few other things," said the man, who represented a company selling methods to safely remove the hazards presented by the many damaged buildings in the Detroit area. Some of which were actually left over from the riots in the Sixties. "Some of the fungi specifically eat the glue holding things together. Others attack other kinds of binders. Such as some of the fibers in most carpets, for instance. Others sequester heavy metals; and so on. Any structure which the city says is beyond saving, we seed with our engineered varieties of fungus. They can't survive sunlight or even too much fresh air, so they won't spread beyond where we put them. They don't spread through the ground because there's nothing there they are designed to eat. In just a few weeks, this whole house will be nothing more than a pile of compost."

"So it literally digests old buildings," said Vic, still sounding uncertain.

"This stuff turns water-damaged wood and many other construction materials - including anything held together by any of the common glues - into compost," said the man, proudly. "If we need to, we rip holes in the roof to let the rain in. The fungus does all the rest. It also devours mold contamination. All that will be left untouched is the metals, minerals like glass, most polymer items and any ceramics, such as the commodes. We will sift out that stuff and recycle it. Remember, most soil is just sand with organics mixed in."

"What if it starts, uhm, digesting something it shouldn't?" said Vic. "Say, the spores are blown around on a cloudy day and hit a new place under construction?"

She seemed far more concerned about what could go wrong than did the two men from the city. To be fair, they likely had already been through all this, since the company had been seeding abandoned buildings in Detroit for over a year.

"It can be stopped by a specific anti-fungal agent, or any of several ordinary detergent solutions."

"Sounds like a plan," said Vic, nodding. Though she thought the man was overselling the product.

"This isn't our first restoration," said the representative of the biochemical company, sounding confident. "We first tested this in small communities hit by Katrina. We've improved the fungus and its application with every subsequent disaster where lots of buildings have been damaged and abandoned. We did booming business after the Shilmek war. The government even approached us about weaponizing our fungus to attack Shilmek fabrics or whatever, but the war didn't last long enough for us to even finish the preliminary studies."

Vic looked around the dying neighborhood and sighed. She had come out here in part to get away from her problems. Instead, she was feeling a bit depressed. She remembered that night, with the helicopter and the multiple police cars and the EMP. All that was left, now - at least that showed - was this one house and empty, overgrown lots with piles of what looked like loam. At least the farm, beyond the fence, was little changed. Though the fields had been plowed recently. Maybe. Vic wasn't sure. Spending a few Summers helping her - at the time his - farmer grandfather was a long way from being an expert on fields.

"Well, we're through with the house," said Vic, oddly tired. "If the city is okay with it, go ahead."

"Oh, we're definitely done with this entire neighborhood," said the minor city official present, cutting off the Detroit PD Detective. "We have someone interested in turning this into a horse farm."

"Once more, commercialism drives activity," said Vic, drawing strange looks from the police detective and city official. The company rep seemed to not only understand her, but to approve of what she had said.

* * *

Vic was more glad than usual to get home that afternoon. She was starting to wonder if she had chosen the right career. However, even before she could get out of her office clothes, her wife intercepted her. Michelle looked unusually pleased about something.

"Well, I spent part - a small part, actually - of the money that deceased customer left me. Didn't even amount to the interest accrued for the past year."

Michelle grinned as she held up a hardbound book, previously behind her back.

"Malcolm 'Dutch' VanDemeer and Lawrence Hawthorn have collaborated on a multi-volume history of masks. I paid into their fundraiser, and am actually going to get a fancy version of each book as it ships from the publisher. So I get them before the book stores do or even before Amazon. Each volume will contain a lot of material from their combined experiences, as well as the various diaries and journals of the masks they knew. That includes things from the private records of the original Night Master!"

"Wow!" said Vic, eyes going wide. "Having met both those guys and heard them talking about what they did and saw in the Thirties and later, that promises to be... revelatory. I wonder if they did this because of the journals for The Operators being published. Though why did they have a fundraiser? They both have plenty of money."

"Advanced publicity, if nothing else. Though hearing you talk about them made me want to get this as soon as possible. I wanted to wait and read it together with you tonight, but when I came home and found the package waiting I just couldn't resist skimming it."

Michelle opened to a bookmarked page and read:

The Cliff House in San Francisco, sometime in 1937:

"Just what do you mean, by 'you folks'?" Judson the tiny woman.

"How long has it been since you had a cold?" asked Fen, jabbing in his direction with her fork. "Or any other illness? I'm willing to bet several years, at least. I'm also willing to bet that your bullet wound was completely healed in about a week, and that after the first day it hardly bothered you. That you have better vision and hearing than most other people. That things most folks find difficult you find easy, and that things they find impossible you find merely difficult. I have already remarked on your youthful appearance, and you on mine. Shall I go on?"

"I hadn't thought about these things in a while," said Judson, slowly, as he nodded thoughtfully. "There was a time when it seemed to me that there was, indeed, something special about me. I didn't follow up on the concept, though. It seemed... immodest. I also had more urgent matters to attend to."

"You're what I refer to as a Type One," said Fen. "Young Janis is a Type Three. Dutch is a Type Two."

"How many of - 'us' - are there?" asked Judson, intensely curious. As well as noting that she didn't say what category she fit into.

"At least several thousand, scattered across the world, and the number is increasing," Fen informed him. "In fact, it is increasing far faster than the world's population. Some of that increase is likely simply due to the improved ease of communication, so we know about more of them. Also, I have traced - with varying degrees of certainty - some of these characteristics back several generations. Speaking of which, it tends to run in families. You ought to hear Dutch talk about his grandfather on one side and his great aunt on the other."

"Then this 'something' is hereditary," Judson said, thinking of his own mother and half-sister.

"I don't know," Fen admitted. "Some people seem to be born strange... while others may have strangeness thrust upon them."

Judson rolled his eyes at her paraphrasing of the Bard.

"Anyway, some people seem to be able to do more than others practically from birth, while others live normal lives for decades, then suddenly discover that they can start fires with a dirty look, or something equally odd."

"No-one knows what is causing this?"

Fen was quiet for a long moment, then sighed and shook her head.

"That is one of the things I hope this study will reveal."

"So, these abilities run in families, and there are more people who have them every year," said Judson, when she didn't elaborate. "That sounds distressingly like evolution."

"To some extent," Fen agreed. "However, even people who had unusual abilities twenty years ago have them more strongly, now. Take me, for instance. When I first demonstrated telekinesis it seemed like a miracle that I could lift a twig with thought alone. Today, I can lift more than my own weight."

"That explains something I noticed about your loft," said Judson, nodding. "The kitchen counters and table are built to your height, but the upper cabinets are situated at the normal level above the floor. With nary a stool nor stepladder in sight."

"That was very observant," said Fen, sounding pleased. "You are the first person to notice the discrepancy. Or at least the first to comment on it. Yes, I can put things into or bring them out of the cabinets with telekinesis. Or I can levitate myself. The latter takes a great deal of effort, though."

"Something very disturbing just occurred to me," said Judson, his tone the sort which most people would use for discussing a minor quirk in the weather. "Regarding Big Eddie..."

"You think he might be one of us."

"He is unusually large, unusually strong, and unusually good at controlling his criminal empire."

"He may have whatever it is that makes us different," said Fen, with a shrug. "Or he might just be big and strong and smart. You can't blame everything on this."

"Still, if he is..."

"It might explain why you and everyone else have had such a difficult time getting rid of him."

"How do we tell?" Judson asked. "How do we determine just who is one of 'us?'"

"With some people it's obvious," said Fen. "We do seem to have distinguishing features, though those are not always something physical. Ever meet someone who had 'the look of eagles?'"

"I take your point," Judson replied, remembering several individuals he had known who qualified.

"Then there's whether they have any persistent debilitating injuries, or ever get sick, both of which would tend to eliminate someone from our rather exclusive club," Fen continued. "Also, if someone can place a hex or do something else which should be impossible, that is a dead giveaway. As for being certain, well, my research might reveal some specific factor which can be tested for."

* * *

Melody closed the book and looked expectantly at her wife. Somehow, during her reading the pair of them had migrated to their new couch.

"Wow," said Vic, as the other woman finished. "Now I'm wondering if Conrad Kostinos is, as the book puts it, 'one of us.'"

"Maybe. As it also says, maybe he's just smart. Of course, being smart, by itself, doesn't guarantee success, and Conrad Kostinos has been very successful."

Melody opened the book a different marked page to read another excerpt, also from 1937:

"Inventiveness runs in my family, though not necessarily practicality," said Fen, chuckling. "One cousin, around fifty years ago, decided he was going to build a sidesaddle bicycle. What scared people was that he almost succeeded."

"Okay, that's funny," said Vic, grinning. "That cousin sounds like a failed gadgeteer."

"That's only a couple of excerpts," said Michelle, closing the hardback with a clap. "You really should read this."

"It's amazing how much she got right back then," said Vic, thinking about what Michelle had read to her. "Though she also got a lot of stuff wrong or only half right."

"Hawthorne, later in the book and later in history, also writes about being the other sex, through his shape changing," said Michelle, giving Vic a pointed look.

"Been there, done that," said Vic, with a sigh. "Though it was only once in my case, and involuntary at that. Still disturbing."

"I'm almost finished with this. You can have it next."

"Okay, okay!" said Vic, laughing. "Geeze, you had me at 'Malcolm VanDemeer and Lawrence Hawthorn have collaborated on a history of masks.' Also, that sounds like a lot more than just 'skimming'! When did you find time for reading that much?"

"Well, reviewers and others have published excerpts - samples, I guess - so I already had a good idea what to read you for some parts."