Part Six

"Has he started puberty early, or something?" said Randy (Template) Devon, pacing irritably around the kitchen.

"He's ten years old," said Karen (Colossa) Devon, patiently, as she stood by the central table, hoping her husband would be reasonable about this bit of childhood mischief. "You have to expect some rebellious periods. As well as needing time to learn which pranks are going too far."

"Sarah is five, and a lot better behaved!"

"Well, since she got over the Terrible Twos," said Karen, trying to use humor to bring her husband's mood down.

"Exactly! Roy wasn't this bad then!"

"Don't be so hard on him," said Karen sternly, now trying a different tack, since humor hadn't worked. She knew Randy could be emotional, and sometimes needed a firm hand to bring him back.

"I gave birth to him," snapped Randy, "I can be hard on him if I want to!"

"Listen to yourself!" said Karen, hotly. "Listen to how you're talking, what you're saying and how you're saying it!"

Randy opened his mouth to yell something angry, but stopped. He closed his eyes, took a deep, ragged breath and let it out slowly.

"Sorry," he said, opening his eyes. "I don't know why I'm taking this out on you."

"Because you're angry at Roy and know you shouldn't yell at him," said Karen. She moved closer, put her hands on his shoulders. "Just... back off. Get some distance, and cool down."

"Yes, Ma'am..."

"I'll talk with Roy. Later."

She sat in one of the chairs around the kitchen table. After a moment, Randy sat, as well. He suddenly looked tired.

"God..." he said, quietly. "What are things going to be like if he gets powers?"

"We'll handle it. I mean, you run a school for super children, including troublemakers. You're a pro. You'll do fine."

"I hope so. It's just... it's all so different when it's your own kids."

* * *

"Oh!" said Michelle, as she paused with her chopsticks on the way to her mouth. She smirked. "Have your heard that former President Harvey Thurlin - in his obviously ghost-written autobiography - is claiming that his actions during his presidency were deliberately planned to - How did the book put it? - 'reveal the machinations of the secret masters of the dark state.' Then rants about how nothing has changed, in spite of his sacrifices."

"Yeah, that definitely sounds like bigger words than Thurlin liked to use," said Vic, smirking as she very deftly freed her chopsticks from their wrapper by tapping the blunt end on the table then yanking on the exposed parts of the wooden sticks. Leaving the wrapper free to topple out of the way. For the two of them there was nothing unusual about any of this, including the casual and nearly inhuman grace with which it was done. "Though that definitely sounds like one of his excuses."

Wok on the Wild Side had no real policy regarding what types of eating utensils people could use. Each place at a table or the diner-style counter was supplied with both eastern and western utensils. Both Vic and Michelle tended to use the chopsticks, though for some foods the fork, spoon and knife tended to work better. At least for them.

"What are you doing reading anything by - even through a ghost writer - that man?" said Vic, looking irritated.

"I didn't. There was an extensive review in one of my magazines, complete with quotes from the book. The reviewer really eviscerated the book, and Thurlin, too. Unfortunately, only metaphorically."

"Oh..." said Vic. She sighed and shook her head. "Well, all I know about that book is that even before it hit the shelves it was a best-seller just from the pre-orders. I'm guessing, or hoping, that most of the buyers are people who are just getting it out of curiosity."

"Don't be surprised if a lot of the people who buy it are his supporters," said Michelle, sourly. "There's still a lot of them around, too. I sometimes get customers who rant about how 'the machine' conspired to remove 'that great man.' Though, fortunately, there are fewer every year."

"This, too, shall pass."

"Well, in response to people saying it was ghostwritten, Thurlin is claiming it's an unauthorized autobiography."

Vic grinned at that, but the light mood didn't last. She sighed again, and focused on her food. She liked the menu here, and the atmosphere, and the people. She also appreciated that Michelle liked it; had, in fact, been the one who introduced Vic to the place. It was also close enough to their new apartment to be convenient without being so close that meals here were routine.

Despite not being in any hurry, they soon finished with their meal and ordered desert. The waitress - Sheila, again - had only been gone for a couple of minutes, when Vic suddenly raised her head and looked around.

"What was that?"

Michelle, knowing that Vic's hearing was much better than hers, just shrugged. The martial artist super continued swiveling her head, trying to clarify and locate whatever she was hearing.

"Okay, I see them, now. There's a couple of uniforms at the counter. I wonder if I should..."

"Not this time," said Michelle, putting a calming hand on Vic's arm. "Let's just sit and enjoy and let others handle whatever the problem is."

"Yes, Ma'am," said Vic. She was obviously reluctant, but complied.

However, the voices at the cash register quickly grew louder. Then the police officer speaking to the co-owner suddenly used a racial epithet against Xian. Michelle tensed.

"I changed my mind," said Michelle, obviously angry. "Sic 'em!"

Vic nodded. Smiling grimly, she rose and headed to the counter, pulling out her badge as she moved.

"Excuse me," she said, holding up her ID, as she approached the pair of uniformed police officers.

"Get out of here, girlie, if you don't want to get included in this!" snapped the older and more aggressive officer.

"I'm Federal Special Agent Vic Peltior. Is there a problem?"

He swung around, putting his hand on his PR-24 (which Vic couldn't help but mentally identify as a tonfa).

"The problem is that if you don't want to be arrested for trying to use a fake ID you better mind your own business!"

"No, Vince, that's her!" said the other officer, speaking for the first time, and looking alarmed.

"Who 'her'?" said the older man, not taking his eyes off Vic.

"That fed that looks like a kid. She does undercover work at raves and stuff."

Not exactly the situation, but close enough.

"This is a valid ID," said Vic, patiently. "Listen, I've been here for over an hour and haven't noticed anything. Is there a problem?"

She left unsaid that the only untoward event she had witnessed during that period was the one the cops were causing.

"We... got a report of a disturbance," said the first officer, vaguely and reluctantly. He covered his sudden change of attitude well, but it was still obvious to Vic.

"Like I said, I was having a meal with my spouse and didn't notice anything. This is a nice, quiet, family establishment. If there was a complaint of a disturbance, I'd say either someone got the restaurant wrong, or they're playing a prank."

While Vic watched, the officers went through the motions of checking out the complaint - a lot more politely, now - but left quickly.

"Thank you," said Xian, gratefully. "Would you like some egg rolls?"

"No, thank you," said Vic, smiling. "We've already had our main course and actually ordered desert. I also think, given what just happened, it would be a bad idea for me to take anything which might be interpreted as a bribe or payout."

"Well, thank you, again." He sighed. "I wonder if this has anything to do with that uptight couple who left without paying the other day."

"I remember them," said Vic, her smile vanishing. "Could be. That guy struck me as both petty and vindictive."

* * *

"There's going to be a demonstration - a protest - downtown this evening," said Drake, the next morning at a special meeting of the three workers under his command, plus some FBI personnel also based in the Federal Building. "I'm telling all of you just to make sure you don't get caught by surprise. However, Vic, Carl and his team, and myself will be at the demonstration. Primarily as witnesses, but also just in case."

Vic sighed in resignation and nodded. A glance at FBI Special Agent Carl Duquesne showed he was having a similar reaction.

"While the black SUV attacks are the expressed reason for the demonstration, there will be a lot of other complaints aired. People will talk about the high murder rate; especially how so many murders go unsolved. About how the politicians keep offering the same bland reassurances and proposing the same solutions which have never worked before. There will be talks about police harassment of innocent people, because of race or sexual orientation or whatever. Also addressed will be political corruption, focusing on the police and other city government offices. Just... stay away if you don't have to be there and don't want to be involved in a huge get-together which might just turn into a riot."

Vic nodded more firmly this time. As someone who had occasionally been harassed because of her apparent age or powers or involuntary sex change, and who was married to a Black woman, she definitely had an interest in seeing such problems aired. She just hoped the demonstration - both sides - stayed peaceful. Actually, as she thought about the matter while part of her brain noted the details her boss was going over, she realized that often for recent events, both demonstrators and police started out peaceful, but outside agitators - some actually from well outside the area - deliberately upset things. She resolved to be on a special lookout for those. Vic also worried that the black SUV might make an appearance, just to thumb its metaphorical nose at the city residents and authorities.

"Officially, we in federal law enforcement have nothing to do with the event," said Drake, looking around the room. "However, those already mentioned and some folks on loan from the Bureau of Special Resources office in Chicago are going to be there as observers, and for just in case."

"Chicago?" said Vic, surprised.

"They have the closest Bureau office with other super operatives available at that time. Given the SUV and the Dare situation they might just be needed. Though, hopefully, not."

"Just who are they sending?" said one of the FBI agents.

"Ruckus, Tomboy and Vigilant," said Drake, with a slight smirk.

"Yow!" said Vic, startled. "They, uh, all have a reputation for..."

"Violence," said that same agent.

"Well, let's say 'vigorous response to aggression,'" said Drake, now appearing a bit concerned. "I just hope they aren't seen as provocative by the demonstrators."

* * *

Fortunately, the Friday protest went peacefully, and for the most part smoothly. There were a few technical and organizational glitches but people were able to speak their grievances and be heard. The main disappointment was the complete lack of any official presence aside from police, ambulance and firefighting personnel at the periphery of the crowd. No-one of authority with the city appeared on the scene, much less addressed the crowd. Which may have been part of the reason things were mostly peaceful.

Oh, there were a few minor assaults and several accidents, including a couple of incidents where someone unintentionally ingested something toxic or allergenic. Otherwise, the local news had little to report on except the event, itself, and the points it raised.

"I just realized," said Vic, as she, Drake and the other feds gathered under the lights near their vehicles after the demonstration, "they were using an old-fashioned wired microphone."

"Yeah," said Agent Duquesne, nodding. "Protestors learned years ago that wireless mics could be jammed, or taken over. Especially the new, WiFi ones."

While no city officials made an appearance at the protest, the next morning both Mayor Minot and Police Chief Soviren made announcements in regard to the points raised by the demonstrators. Neither took questions. The Police Chief closed his press conference with a short statement justifying the reduction in number of police personnel working on homicides and other serious crimes.

"Remember the old saying: Less is more."

"Did he just quote Big Brother?!" said Vic, startled, as she and a few others watched the local news on the TV in the Federal building's break room.

"Che Guevara," said FBI Special Agent Chet Davis, sourly.

"So how does he justify diverting all those officers to investigating less-serious crimes?" said one of the incredulous FBI women also there. "Usually stuff involving swindles of wealthy people and businesses?"

"Why should he justify that?" said Davis, sourly. "It would just be highlighting what he's doing that people object to. Well, the unimportant but noisy people."

"At least the demonstration went peacefully," said Vic, optimistically.

"Yeah, but there's more coming," said Carl.