Integration Read online

  At the mention of citizenship, Angela rose to her feet, her face flushed with anger. “You talk about citizenship. I was made, yeah, but like Ooze said, I’m an American product. And I don’t have to fight for my right to live here. What kind of garbage are you feeding us? What are you feeding me?”

  She pointed her finger at Stander in an accusatory gesture. “After all I’ve tried to do and after all we’ve done, you still think I’m some kind of alien? Well”—she pounded the table with her fist, and it cracked under the force of her blow—“take that and stick it up your—”

  Stander’s face turned a deep purple. “Now see here, young lady, this kind of talk…”

  In less than three seconds, the discussion descended into a shouting match. While his two friends argued the finer points of nationality and citizenship, Paul remained in a quandary over what to do. At first, he’d wondered why Ooze was taking the other side, but then reason cut in. Deep down he knew Stander was right.

  He thought back to when they’d worked in Los Angeles. A lynch mob had attacked them under orders from the police, and they’d barely survived. Who knew what New Yorkers would do? And if the armed forces got involved…

  “Fine,” he said in a loud voice and smacked the table for emphasis. The sound echoed through the warehouse and both sides ceased their legal arguments. “What do we get in return? Like you said, the average citizen doesn’t trust us, not all of them. We can’t go out without everyone staring at us. We can’t go shopping at the local supermarket, or go dancing, or go to a movie theater without someone wanting to start a fight or saying something dumb.”

  The color on Stander’s face had faded from deep purple to a bright red. Getting to his feet, he clasped his hands in front of his body. When he spoke, his voice sounded surprisingly gentle. “There’s nothing I can do or say to make people think differently. You know that, don’t you? There’s nothing anyone can say or do to make anyone else feel liked or welcomed.

  “What we can do, though”—and here, the passion in his words returned—“is we can stop those things from killing anyone else. They’ve murdered innocents in cold blood. Schoolteachers, doctors, children… Those people were simply trying to live ordinary lives.”

  “As we are,” Angela cut in and swept her hand around to indicate the contents of the warehouse. “This is our normal.”

  If this was going to be his normal, Paul thought, it was a pretty sad one. Growing up an orphan, he’d longed to be treated as one of the gang, accepted…liked. He’d never gotten that. The other kids at the orphanage had their own friends, their own rules and their own way of doing things. He’d been shut out since day one.

  Now, someone from the government was asking him to do for others when no one would do for him. Acceptance was his number one priority, but it wouldn’t come overnight, if ever. “Okay, say we help you…” And he repeated, “What do we get?”

  Stander leaned over to put his hands on the table. “I’m in for negotiations. I have been authorized to give you the following. Upon completion of this mission, we promise to keep the media off your backs—forever. We’ll also find you another place to live if this warehouse doesn’t cut it.

  “Angela, since you don’t eat, we’re going to whip up a lifetime supply of the synthetic blood you use…”

  Ooze made a bubbling sound. “That’s no offer. I can make enough in one week. You can do better.”

  Stander grunted. “All right, point to you, so here’s this to consider. Paul, since you want to lead a more normal life, the government will endow you with enough money to keep you going, at least for a few years.”

  “Normal? Normal in what way,” Paul asked, suddenly leery about this so-called giveaway. All of this talk amounted to nothing. It skirted the issue and in a big way. Keeping the media off their backs was an empty promise at best. The news sources always clamored for freedom of information, never mind they’d turn someone else’s life into a living hell while getting it.

  “Normal, as in lifestyle,” responded Stander, and his voice took on a persuasive air. “Doing what you do, fighting crime, eating, upkeep of this place—it all costs. If you want to further your education, that’s going to cost you a lot as well.”

  Instead of pushing for equality, Paul cleared his throat noisily and feigned an air of total innocence as he asked, “How much are we talking about?” If they were going to offer cash, fine, but he was curious.

  “Enough to get by on, then some,” the answer came. “That will come straight from the Treasury Department, all tax-free, although you may want to reassess your tax situation in the future if you ever go pro with this crime-fighting gig you’ve got.”

  He turned to Ooze. “As for you, we’re going to give you all the equipment you have here to analyze things—no strings attached—and once this job is done, we’ll never ask you for any additional scientific help.

  “I’ve gotten the go-ahead for this mission from the highest levels in the government. What we’re going to do is to go over there, assess the situation, take them down then capture them, if at all possible. That’s our first priority. If we can’t take them alive, we’ll take their carcasses and study them. That’s the second option, although I’d rather not go there.”

  All of this talk, as the saying went, was cheap. Speaking of money, saying they’d get ‘enough to get by on then some’ meant less than zero. Without a ballpark figure, it could mean a little or a lot. Paul wanted integration, nothing more or less—that, and coming back alive. “Uh, my colleagues and I would like to discuss this.” He made a motion to the far corner of the warehouse. “Excuse us for a second, please.”

  “Take your time.”

  In the far corner, the three conferred, keeping their voices low. “Can we trust him?” asked Angela. The wary look in her eyes shone out.

  “Seems kosher to me,” replied Ooze in a most sarcastic undertone, but then his mood turned serious. “Just think of what I can do with this stuff. I’ve got tests going that will revolutionize medicine.” He tapped his head. “Download, you know. I don’t know how Bolson managed to do it, but he gave me a lot of secrets, and every day something new pops up in this mind of mine. I can do a lot of good with this knowledge.”

  Do some good with the knowledge. Ooze’s mind held a lot of secrets. He’d already dreamed up a number of gadgets and gizmos. They were only a taste of what might come.

  A sudden shaft of fear speared Paul. He’d gone up against Peterson before and he’d barely managed to survive. If his enemy had mutated any further, he’d be a hard target to take in alive. “If we make it back, it could work for us.”

  “If we make it back,” Angela echoed and worried the dirt on the floor with the toe of her boot. “Mr. Army Guy can feed us this line about keeping the press away. I don’t think that will ever happen. He can give us money. Big deal. I’m not interested in getting rich. Either way, I’ll always be an outsider. I don’t care what they promise us.”

  Paul asked the obvious question. “Do we go?”

  She took in a deep breath and exhaled quietly then kissed him on the cheek. “I’m in. Where you go, I go.”

  Ooze pulled a face. “Not here. We got company.”

  “Are you in?” asked Angela, ignoring the comment. “We’ll need you.”

  Her question got a quick nod from him. “Yeah, I’m in,” Ooze replied. “I’d like to see what these guys are made of.”

  It was decided, and they returned to the table where Stander sat waiting. Once they’d told him, he rubbed his hands together in a brisk motion. “This mission is starting to sound better and better all the time.”

  “It hasn’t started yet,” Paul pointed out. “But…we’re in. We just need one more member to come with us.”

  Stander nodded. “I figured as much. Let’s get going.”

  Chapter Three

  Say Goodbye, Say Hello

>   Before they left, Paul had one stop to make, and he asked the colonel to drive him to a place in Manhattan. “I’ll take you over,” Stander said.

  Paul could have run, but it was noon. The streets were likely to be crowded, and he didn’t want to take the chance of a news crew following him. Even more, he just didn’t feel like talking to anyone. In the past, when he’d gone out during the day to go shopping or simply to take a walk, sometimes the pedestrians would stop to ask him for his autograph or to take a picture with him.

  On the other hand, more than a few shouted epithets. Lacy Matthews and other anti-Nightmare Crew proponents had left their mark, but Paul didn’t bother responding to the insults. When they came, sometimes accompanied by a chucked bottle or can, he stepped aside to let the projectile pass and raised his hand as if to say, Talk to it, not me.

  Acting rude wasn’t the best way to go. Public and private lives often intertwined and being in the public eye, so to speak, he understood how important image really was. Speaking to the average person on the street was the way to go. He felt it was the only way to show them that he was the same as they were, but now…he didn’t have the heart for it.

  Using the army truck, they cruised along the street. Traffic was surprisingly light at this time of day, and they cut through the lines of cabs, commuters and city buses. Once they neared their destination, a stab of nerves hit Paul in the gut. Hospitals…they bothered him. “We’re here,” Stander announced from the driver’s side. “Take whatever time you need.”

  Angela put her hand on Paul’s shoulder as he opened the door. Concern mixed with love shone in her eyes. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No.” He hated what he had to do, but he had no choice. “This is something I’ve got to deal with on my own.”

  Exiting the truck, the pedestrians stopped to gawk, but he paid them no attention and strode into Mount Nebo Nursing Home. Brother Max Dickinson was there, and as fate or irony would have it, it was the same palliative care unit Paul’s father had been in to pass his final days. When he asked them for his friend’s room number, the nurses seemed wary at first, but finally gave it up. “I won’t stay long,” Paul said.

  As he entered the room, he couldn’t help but gasp at the condition of his mentor. Max lay on the bed, as gaunt and wraithlike as any ghost interpretation around. Waxy skin, sunken eyes and equally sunken features… This was what death looked like, and it wasn’t pretty.

  Memory flash time, and Paul thought of his father’s passage into eternity. Dying from lung cancer, his father had rasped out how sorry he was for abandoning his only child. “Why didn’t you stay?” Paul had cried in anguish. “Didn’t I mean anything to you?”

  “I couldn’t take care of you,” his father had said, between coughs and hacking his life’s fluids into a wad of tissues. “I hoped others would.”

  It had been at that point that he’d ceased to become a parent. He’d helped bring a child into the world, but no more than that. By abandoning his son, he’d condemned him to a life of pain. uncertainty and isolation. It was too late for forgiveness. Paul had gotten up to walk to the door. “I had a father once. I don’t now, and I have another family.”

  He’d exited the room, cried over his loss in the bathroom and never returned. His father had died shortly after and now Paul was about to see another person—this time a person he liked and respected—make an exit from life.

  “You didn’t have to come,” Max said, weakly stirring in his bed and snapping Paul back to the here and now.

  Fighting back an impending outflow of tears, Paul said, “I had to.”

  “It wasn’t necessary. The people here take care of me. I watch television when I can…when I can focus. The drugs dull my mind, but when I see you…see you on television”—Max stopped to breathe in and out heavily, painfully—“I know what you’re doing is good and right. You are special in every sense of the word.”

  “I have to go away.” Paul hated to say those words, as he knew that when he returned, Max would not be on this plane of existence anymore. He tried to fight down tears and hastily swiped the back of his hand across his eyes.

  “Understood,” replied Max, nodding slowly. “You have to…protect the city. All cities, all life… It’s precious. Remember that.”

  “I will.”

  They talked a little more, but Max was clearly weary and spent, and he drifted in and out of consciousness. Finally, a nurse entered the room. Short and stocky with a round and kindly face, she nodded at him then went over to the bed to fix the sheets. “I’ll have to ask you to leave,” she said in a not-unkind way. “He needs to rest.” She turned her attention to adjusting the intravenous drip.

  Once again the tears started from his eyes, and why couldn’t he man up? He covered his brow with his hand in order to hide his emotions, but he couldn’t hide the catch in his voice. “I understand.” Turning to face Max, he added, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  A second later, Paul bent over to hug him gently. He tried to keep his voice from choking and failed. “Thanks for being…for being my teacher…and my friend. You were the only friend I ever had at the orphanage.”

  He released Max then stood up, but his mentor grabbed his hand—hard. Max blinked rapidly and his eyes held clarity in them that hadn’t been there before. “This may sound…religious to you, but I don’t mean it to be. Stay on the side of the angels. No matter what, stay true to what you are—a good young man.”

  It took everything Paul had not to break down in sobs. “I promise.”

  It was a promise he intended to keep. Outside, the nurse gazed at him with a mixture of wonder and perhaps terror. He didn’t know about the latter. “We… We didn’t think you’d come,” she said. “I didn’t think you were real.”

  “I am. I’m here, and how is he?” Perhaps he should have been more diplomatic, but he felt drained and angry at the world and Mother Nature for taking away a person who only wanted to do some good.

  The nurse’s expression, formerly of shock, assumed a professional air. “He’s very tired,” she said. “He asked for you a number of times. Who was he to you?”

  “He was my teacher,” Paul answered, his voice quivering from the overwhelming flood of emotion. “He tried to help me when I was…younger.” At the age of eighteen, he may have been young, but after all he’d been through the past year, it felt as though he’d already lived two lifetimes. “How long…” He couldn’t finish his question.

  The nurse shook her head. “It’s a matter of days. The disease’s progress has accelerated. All we’re giving him is painkillers. He told me he’d already made his peace with God. He’s a nice man.”

  There came a time to say something, but Paul couldn’t find it in himself to dredge up any words of hope. When nothing could be added to the conversation, he was silent. His mentor was dying, and he was about to go off and fight others of his kind who were threats to humanity. It should have scared him, but right now all he felt was a sense of loss. “If, er, when he…”

  Paul wanted to say when Max died, he wanted to be informed, but he couldn’t get out the words. Instead, the nurse said it for him. “He has no next of kin. Is there an address we can reach you at?”

  “Have you got a pen?”

  The nurse walked over to the counter and grabbed a pen and piece of paper. She handed both items over, and Paul hastily scribbled down his email address. “Let me know, please,” he said, then walked out of the hospital.

  On the streets in broad daylight, he could no longer hold back the tears. Crying wasn’t called for, but it was a human trait, and he was grateful he still had that side to him. Curious passersby stopped, stared, then moved on. They had their own lives to live. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Angela get out of the truck. She led him to the passenger side, pulled him inside then held him while he wept on
the way to the airport. Stander glanced at him during the ride but said nothing.

  Once they arrived, Paul’s tears had stopped and a sense of resolve filled him. He’d made a promise, one he intended to keep.

  “We’re here,” Stander said, as he parked in a private hangar. He got out of the truck and walked over to a small jet. “This jet belongs to the Army and is used by the State Department higher-ups. They’re allowing us use of it. It’ll get us to where we need to go.”

  Paul nodded dully. “Then let’s get going,” he said, wanting more than nothing to get this job over and done with.

  Stander eyed him with what looked like concern. “Son, don’t get me wrong. I don’t know who you went to visit or what exactly went on, but are you going to be okay? We need all hands on board for this.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Paul replied as he boarded the airplane.

  “He just needs some time to focus,” added Angela as she mounted the steps. “Don’t worry.”

  Stander said nothing more and got on board with them. Once the door slammed shut, he went forward and asked the pilot to take them to their destination.

  ****

  From the air, San Diego looked to be a lovely city. On any other day, this would have been a perfect time to go sightseeing, but this was no ordinary one. They landed at Lindberg Field, immediately went into a private hangar and changed from the private plane to an army helicopter. “Where are we going?” asked Paul, as he gazed out the hangar window.

  “Tijuana, the Baha desert area of Mexico,” Stander informed them, over the sound of rotors. “We’ve made arrangements with the Mexican authorities.”

  An hour later, they landed in the desert. It was hot, dry and a wind blew the shifting grains of sand around. Stander waited with the pilot and Angela back at the copter. As he trekked across the dunes calling out Sandstorm’s name, Paul hoped for a response. “Hey, it’s us,” he cried. “C’mon, buddy. We need you!”