I had been through a lot of intense, nerve-racking situations in the time since I had Touched. Basically non-stop, and probably more than my fair share, to be honest. But I could safely say that almost none of it had kept me as consistently anxious and twitchy as the next hour. An hour that I spent letting my Dadsmith cart me around that room introducing me to all those people. We must have spoken to at least a couple dozen men and women (and a couple in between). Some were important political figures, others were law enforcement or part of the actual tournament staff, the people putting this whole thing together. And a few were other Touched, local or visiting. Once all was said and done, there was no way I was actually going to be able to remember all of them. Not a chance in hell. Maybe I would have been able to remember them better if I wasn't so nervous about the fact that I had to spend so long around my father without him noticing anything familiar about me, but honestly it probably would have been a reach even then. It was a lot of people to be introduced to at once at any point, let alone when I was still sort of in shock about even being here. Fortunately, no one seemed surprised about it. That I was reeling and not in a state to be committing things to memory, that was. I was sure they would’ve been very surprised to find out the details about why I was so anxious about Silversmith finding out who I was. No one seemed to expect me to really remember that much about all the faces and names being thrown at me.
That was the impression I got, anyway. But considering how distracted I was through that whole thing, for all I knew, there was going to be some sort of pop quiz later about who was who. And my luck, it would count for points inside the actual tournament. I could jump off a building and fall a hundred stories through colored hoops while avoiding live gunfire, but if they asked me to so much as match five names to five photos of people I met hours ago, I was definitely screwed.
I did, at the very least, manage to pay attention properly when my dad introduced me to the leader of the local Conservators. She was a short, thin black woman wearing a dark gray bodysuit with reddish swirl patterns throughout it, a matching hood, and a red visor that left the bottom of her face exposed. Her name was Perimeter, and she was--well, she was cheerful.
“So, so good to meet you!” She was shaking my hand up and down rapidly, grinning the whole time. The two of us were actually almost the same height, with her only having maybe two inches on me, if that. “I’ve been keeping up with the news coming out of Detroit, and--” Her low, impressed whistle filled the air in that corner of that large banquet room or whatever it was. “Dude, you are just seriously impressive, you know that? Kinda makes me hope that, when you make it to graduation, you and the rest of your team give serious thought to moving down here.”
With an audible chuckle, Dadsmith raised his hand. “Hey now, I didn’t introduce the two of you just so you can poach one of our best rising Touched right out from under me. Besides, your city isn’t exactly lacking when it comes to impressive Stars. Take you, for example.” He gestured easily. “Tell the boy here about the tricks you do with that power of yours, I’m sure he’ll love it.”
“Ooh, I do enjoy talking about my power!” Lifting her chin with a quick, dazzling smile, she went right into it. “So here’s the deal, I name things--err in my head, it doesn’t need to be out loud. Can you imagine that sort of weakness? Wait, you actually have someone up there whose powers are determined by words he says outloud, don’t you? Final--no Lastword, that was it. He’s a Sell-Touched and--wait why am I telling you about people from your own city? I’m supposed to be talking about my power! Sorry, where was I? Name things. I name things in my head, and those things aren’t allowed to get within a certain distance of me. For simple things it can be generic like ‘bullets’ and that will apply to all bullets. Or blades or whatever. For complicated things like people or animals, I have to be very specific. I can’t just keep every person away from me. It either has to be a specific person, or ‘everyone in this matching uniform,’ or something like that. And I can’t just say ‘all Fell-Touched’ either. They’re too different, usually. Anyway, the more things I force to stay away from me, the closer they can get. If I’m only keeping one thing away, I can push it to about ten feet. Minus about one foot for each additional different thing. I can keep ten things about an inch from my body. Usually I keep it to about six things a few feet from me.”
“She can pack a pretty mean wallop with her punches too,” Dadsmith noted idly, sounding like he knew very well from experience. Right, they’d probably sparred a fair bit, that made sense. It wasn’t like my father was limited to only interacting with people inside Detroit most of the time.
With an honest to God self-conscious giggle, Perimeter shrugged. “Oh that’s just because I set whatever I’m punching to the longest possible distance right before impact. It protects me from any damage from actually hitting them, and they get violently propelled out away from me.” Her fingers snapped, as she added, “Oh, and I can set the uhh, protected thing as something other than myself, if I want to. Like you, see?” Her hand moved, tossing a small cookie at me. Just as quickly, it bounced off an invisible shield about a foot from my face and dropped to the floor. Or at least, it tried to. Before it could completely fall, the thing bounced off another invisible shield that she had apparently placed there. She’d apparently placed that one on the floor and set it at an angle, given the way it bounced directly into her hand so she could take a bite. Yup, she really was good with her power.
So good with it, in fact, that she was even able to fly under it. Well, it was more like hover-gliding, but still. By making the ground directly under her feet one of the targets of her barrier, she could actually lift herself into the air. Then she made the ground slightly behind her another target, and it pushed her forward away from that spot. From there, she simply constantly adjusted the targets so she would be pushed forward. She did it so quickly and smoothly that she could travel as fast as a regular car without any trouble. She glided in a circle around me to demonstrate, and it just looked like she was hovering as easily as any other Touched with actual flight powers.
In any case, I could definitely tell why she had been chosen to be part of the Conservators. She had an incredibly useful power to begin with, and she seemed to have a lot of experience and skill with it. I wasn't exactly sure how well that translated into being the leader, but maybe she was different, more serious and focused, when she was actually out doing that sort of thing. After all, the way someone acted in a social setting didn’t mean they couldn’t switch it up.
And to be completely fair, I was hardly one to throw stones about not seeming serious.
We talked about some of her Phoenix teammates too, like Bullyball (he controlled an invulnerable orb that could change sizes from being about as big as a marble to larger than a dump truck) and Second-Hand (by looking at someone and focusing, she could make energy-construct copies of their hands appear, which could move around on their own and, if that person had powers, create minor versions of those powers). The first obviously reminded me of Alloy, to the point that if he had been dead, I might’ve wondered if his powers were recycled to her. But no, both were very much still alive, thankfully. It was just one of those things. It did, however, make me think that it might be useful to let Peyton talk to the guy and see if he could tutor her a bit.
But yes, in the end, most of my interactions with all those people throughout the party went right in one ear and out the other. There was no way I would have the slightest chance of actually remembering all of them. Still, I did my best to be as polite as possible. Even if part of me did worry that my dad would somehow figure out it was me just because I was being polite to company, the way he taught me, rather than acting like a typical wild teen boy with no experience in this sort of situation. The temptation to act out just a little to avoid that, and maybe a little bit out of some genuine feelings of rebellion in that moment, was very strong. But I pushed it all down.
Finally, it was time for the pictures. The photographer and his assistants took about an hour getting everything they needed. He took solo shots, group shots with people in the same category or from the same area (like Dadsmith and me), or even just people they thought would look good in a photo together. There was a lot of posing and standing around. The guy was kind of pushy, but he obviously knew what he was doing. And I had the feeling that the main reason he came off as demanding was because he knew any or all of his subjects could be called away to deal with something else at any moment. He didn't have the luxury of being polite and patient.
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Then it was over. Almost before I really understood that we were done, half the people in the room had already fled. It was like they were afraid that if they waited even another second after the photographer was finished, someone would come up with another excuse to make them stick around even longer. Seriously, it looked like my old middle school classroom one second after the last bell rang on the final day before summer vacation. I was pretty sure a few of them had left actual dust clouds in the wake of their retreat. It was almost inspiring, to be really honest.
Whether it was a good or bad thing, my father wasn't one of those who abandoned the room. He saw me looking around with that air of bewilderment and gave a soft chuckle. “I suppose they all had very important matters to attend to.” Then he turned his attention fully to me, which didn't exactly do much to make me feel any less nervous. God, it was a good thing that I had a helmet keeping my entire facial expression hidden. It was hard enough as it was not to let my simple body language give anything away. He might have questions if he saw me reflexively flinch away from one of the most celebrated and revered Star-Touched in the entire state of Michigan. But by the same token, I couldn’t let myself lean into him too much for being my dad either. I had to stay completely neutral, as if he was just some guy I could mostly trust but didn’t know all that well.
Or maybe I was slightly overthinking the entire thing and should just take a fucking breath or two.
All of that ran through my head while he gave me a long look before speaking up. “As for you, how are you set on a place to stay? We can arrange a room for you at a nice hotel, completely anonymous. I assume you made sure your parents know that you're okay, at least? I know the law says you can't be required to tell them about your extracurricular activities, but we'd rather not have to deal with you being reported missing. That just complicates everything, believe me.”
Okay, was he digging for information about me? Was all of this a trick, a way to check their list of suspects for who I could be against any possible clues I gave them by responding to this? Was he waiting to see if I said anything that could let him eliminate possible Detroit teens they might have decided I could be? Or was I just being completely paranoid again? Hell, maybe it was both.
Whatever it was, I kept my cool and offered a shrug. “Don’t worry about me, you won’t get any missing child reports or anything.” That ought to be vague enough to not actually tell him much. “And I have a place to stay, with a friend.” It was true, I was staying in a room with Izzy, and we were definitely friends. Sisters could be friends. “It’s fine, really. You don’t have to find a place for me. I’ll be okay. And I’ll be able to participate in the rest of the tournament. My family… uh, they know I’m here.” Even that much was true, obviously. One of ‘my family’ even happened to be standing directly in front of me, basically asking if my family knew where I was.
For a moment, it looked like he might want to say something else about that, or push the issue slightly. But in the end, he simply nodded. “That's good to hear. But at the very least, make sure you take a doggy bag of this stuff.” His hand waved to indicate the tables still laden with food. “Even if you’re stuffed, I'm sure your friend would appreciate it. All this is all going to go to waste if someone doesn’t take it with them. They always make far too much food for these things.”
My gaze shifted that way, taking in all those platters. It looked like most of it had barely been touched, which really said a lot about how much there had been to begin with, since I had seen plenty of people walking around with full plates and even going back for seconds. It was kind of absurd just how much food was here, and now they were just going to throw out anything left?
“I think I'm going to need a bigger sack,” I announced after taking all that in. Then I told my father what I wanted to do. He, in turn, immediately agreed to help, and assured me that we didn't need any sacks. Or boxes for that matter. Instead, he simply told the event organizers what we were doing. Those people, in turn, asked us to wait a moment before coming back with their own very important contribution to add to the pile of food.
Once they were done, my dad wrapped up each of the tables with one of his silver constructs, keeping them completely steady and the food on them motionless while walking out the room with the things hovering just ahead of him. I followed suit, and both of us left the arena completely. We had seven large, silver, oval egg-shaped things leading the way. Which probably looked a bit odd. Then again, we were still in costume, so it wasn’t like we were going to blend into the crowd.
Together, the two of us took those tables of food out to the streets. Then my father put a silver disc under me, and lifted us into the air. Part of me wanted to object and insist that I could come on my own, but honestly, I was pretty tired by that point. And it felt like pushing back too much and that would be suspicious. Especially given what we were doing. So, I stayed put and allowed him to carry us over several streets until we found our way to a much dingier, definitely poorer part of the city. This area hadn’t been cleaned up for the tournament, and didn’t have all the fancy casinos or resorts. It was just a series of narrow streets, dingy apartment buildings, and a lot of cars that looked like they were on their last legs. Oh, and homeless people. So, so many homeless. There was a large parking lot behind what looked like some sort of empty factory, next to an actual park that had definitely seen better days. The whole place was overgrown with weeds, wherever there weren’t tents. And there were a lot of tents. It looked like the city was just pushing all their homeless people to live here in this one area. Which, to be fair, was better than some cities, who just did their best to push them completely out, or imprisoned them by making ‘not having a place to live’ a criminal offense. Still, it made me sick.
It was different, showing up in a place like this away from Detroit. At first, as we came down in the middle of the park, the people there shied away. They didn’t recognize us immediately, the way they would have back home. Especially my dad. But then one of them pointed, not at Dadsmith, but at me. I heard him say something about the LEAT games. Then someone else, a much older guy with a long gray beard and a missing arm, hummed a little bit of Yakety Sax while waving his hand through the air as though to pantomime my race through the city back when I had been running away from Cuélebre. Which honestly felt like a lifetime ago. As soon as he did that, several others seemed to remember that same video and started laughing. They weren’t shying away anymore, at least. Some of them came closer to see what was going on.
“Well,” my father announced with a cough, “it looks like this is really your show now. They know you.” He actually sounded somewhat proud, which sent a weird feeling through my stomach.
Right, here went nothing. Stepping that way, I extended a hand and greeted the first guy who had recognized me. He seemed somewhat taken aback, but grinned and accepted the gesture. Yet again, I was glad my mask and helmet kept my expression hidden, and that I had plenty of experience not giving away anything with my body language. Because as he greeted me, I caught a wave of his breath. It was… really not great. But even just having that thought made me feel guilty, so I shoved it down as hard as I could. The guy obviously didn’t have much of a chance to take care of himself. None of these people did. That was the entire freaking point about why we were here. I’d asked my dad to bring us to the poorest part of town, with the most people who needed all that food. It was completely beyond stupid and wasteful to throw it away.
More of those people came up as soon as I finished greeting the first guy, whose name was Tommy. They introduced themselves, one after another, name after name, face after face. But somehow, odd as it was, I felt like I might actually have a decent chance of remembering them.
Finally, after taking the time to meet what had to be over a hundred people (with plenty more just staying in the background, too shy or whatever to come forward), I introduced Silversmith and asked him to show them the tables. When they saw all that food, Tommy and the rest looked both confused and overwhelmed. But I assured them it was fine. They could take all of it. And, maybe just as important as the food if not more so, there were the bags piled up at the end of one of those tables. They were made of thick, silverish material, with the ability to fold the ends over and clip them in place to seal the bag shut. Those bags were actual Touched-Tech. When food was placed in them and sealed, it would stay fresh for several days. That was what the people back in the stadium had brought out once we told them what we were doing. This way all this food wouldn’t go bad if the people here didn’t eat it immediately.
The two of us stayed there and watched while all those people took the food, sorted it out, put it in the bags to keep it fresh, and thanked us. It was… awkward, and I really didn’t know how to react to their gratitude. This was all just… the bare minimum we could possibly do. But at least it was something. These people would have some food for the next few days.
We stayed longer than I’d meant to, talking with Tommy and the rest. But eventually, it was time to go. I could barely keep my eyes open by that point. If I was going to participate in the tournament the next day, I really needed to sleep.
As we flew away on another of those silver discs (Dad had told the people there to keep the tables too and do whatever they wanted with them), he looked at me. “You’re a good kid, Paintball. I’m glad you’re part of our city.
“And I can’t wait to see how you do in the rest of these games.”