I caught a cab to VBC Tower and ended up sitting in the Bluestar 7 waiting room for an hour, because I had showed up way too early, in all my Bluestar hero gear, complete with shiny boots and a fresh polo, bright blue, with the classic four-point logo in white.
Randall came in through the main door, saw me waiting, and smiled like he thought it was funny. I stood up like I was coming to attention and said, “Sorry, I’m early.”
“That’s good,” Randall said. “I like early. That’s what drives me crazy about your generation. Everybody’s always late. A hundred devices on you that can tell time, permanent timestamp in your optics day and night, and everybody’s still late, like sending a text is the same as being on time. Drives me up the wall.”
Randall wasn’t old in the calendar sense; he was old like Veazey, mid-30s, but old beyond his years, after an epic history of military service, cut short when officers realized this guy wasn’t just a Special Forces badass, but an honest-to-god metahuman, whose presence in war zones was a violation of international law.
They hid him for as long as they could, but then somebody decided to make him famous, leaking video of Randall making unbelievable rifle and pistol shots in the field.
He was too gifted to stay in a war zone, and too public to use as an off-book assassin, so they shipped him home and put him in charge of a Bluestar team.
Randall was notoriously prickly and hard to impress, but I felt like I was off to a good start. He had me sit through several hours of orientation videos that were mostly just repeats of shit I’d seen already, but I dutifully sat through them again and correctly answered all the questions from my holographic proctor.
Randall was waiting when I got out, so I asked, “Hey, if I’m gonna to be arresting and punching people, shouldn’t I have some kind of formal law enforcement training, instead of just signing off on a workplace video?”
“Probably,” Randall shrugged. “It’s never really come up.”
* * *
“So, Mister… Randall. I’m supposed to be working with these people, but they all seem to hate me already. Have I already fucked myself here, just by working all this time with Denise?”
He shook his head. “It’s not about you, it’s not even about Hardy, except maybe with Jade. They don’t hate you, they hate adjuncts, because most of them aren’t serious about the job. Most adjuncts quit in a month or two, the first time they get shot or see a dead body or get splattered with something. They come and go so fast, it’s hardly worth learning their names. But you did your job and stayed in, and you’ve done real work in your time so far. Maybe my guys haven’t noticed yet, but I did, and if you can keep it up, I promise they’ll come around.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
* * *
I was trying to be cool about it, but it felt like I was minutes away from getting the thing I wanted most in the world. I had wanted a real Bluestar blue jacket since I first saw a video of Captain Cobalt wearing one in 1986.
Everybody wanted one, of course, but the Bluestar company had exclusive rights to the trademark and shut down anybody who tried to use Bluestar blue for normal clothes. It was supposed to be a clearly identifiable uniform for superheroes, so replicas were impossible to get.
Even the casual shirts had to be white with a blue logo, unless you had a badge. I had been strutting around in my Bluestar blue t-shirts for weeks, but now I was finally going to get the jacket.
I asked Randall if I could have one and he said, “Sure. Let’s go get you a jacket.”
He took me back to this amazing Bluestar locker room, like something you would install for a football team, with fancy tubs and massage stuff – showers that could peel your tattoos off and never ran out of hot water.
I was gawking at everything when a buck-naked Jade Katt stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel.
I hissed, “Holy sh—” and averted my eyes.
Randall looked at me for a second and said, “Are you really not used to co-ed lockers by now? I thought you and Hardy had been together for months.”
“We never used the locker rooms at HQ. Shitty facilities, shitty water pressure.”
Randall laughed. “So, naked superheroes are still a treat for you. Enjoy it while you can. If you stay with the team, you’re gonna see these people naked so many times, you’re gonna know their scars better than your own.
“Don’t waste your time on Jade, though. Jade’s got no use for men. Sometimes she likes to tease newbies who don’t know that yet, but you seem like a nice guy, so I’m gonna give you a heads up. Whatever she tries to run on you, just don’t react. It’ll drive her nuts, and it’ll get you in good with the other guys.”
Randall took me to a dressing room in the back and said, “Let me get everybody around for this.”
He whistled into his throat mic, and the members of Bluestar 7 filed in, including a slightly damp Jade Katt, still adjusting buckles on her uniform.
“Okay everybody, listen up. I’d like you all to meet Tim Kovak, temporary mage support until Carter gets back. We’re going to be evaluating him and taking him on live ops right away, so everybody introduce yourselves and be nice. I called everybody in because our new recruit has requested a jacket!”
He made it sound like a joke, like every idiot off the bus begged for a jacket, just like I had. Randall opened a locker and pulled out a patched, stained, stretched out monster of a white jacket, with the word TRAINEE stamped in big blue letters across the back.
“Really?” I said.
“Still want it?” Randall said, holding the nasty thing out to me.
“Hell yes, I still want it! It’s still a real Bluestar jacket for a real Bluestar team! Who cares if it’s ugly!”
That seemed to take everybody by surprise, and I got some good-natured laughs as Randall put the jacket on me.
“Do you guys really not clean the bloodstains off?”
“Not bloodstains,” Phil said. “Probably just food. We went a long time without any trainees, so Oleg used it for a napkin.”