The office of the public defender informed me that one Mr. George Alvarez would be my lawyer. I managed to get an appointment for the late afternoon, which meant that I could meet the principal, hopefully resolve Anne’s school situation, and then get my legal issues addressed.
The armour and rifle bits went into the basement, where I’d decided to set up a workshop. Given my Mechanic Level 9, I could probably run a small business of repairing stuff, or so I’d thought. It was all well and good to talk about charging thousands of dollars an hour as an ultra, but I had no idea how to go about it or who would pay.
That night, I readied myself for Prophet’s Roulette.
Me lying down in bed? Check.
Aspirin and water by the bed? Check.
Focus on the skill you hope to learn about? Check, I was thinking about Cure.
I triggered Prophet’s Roulette.
MP available? I needed 250, thanks to the increase in the cost of Prophet’s Roulette per level, and I had 272.
TEST OF LUCK: PASSED.
TEST OF INTELLIGENCE: PASSED.
SKILLS ARE ORGANIZED INTO SKILL TREES.
SKILL TREES ENCOMPASS ALL SKILLS RELATED TO A SUBJECT OR A THEME.
THE EARLIEST SKILLS YOU GAIN ARE THE ONES AT THE LOWEST LEVEL OF THE SKILL TREE. AS YOU GAIN PROFICIENCY AND LEVELS WITH LOWER LEVEL SKILLS, THE HIGHER LEVEL SKILLS ARE UNLOCKED.
THE NUMBER OF SKILLS YOU CAN KNOW IN A SKILL TREE IS CAPPED BY YOUR INTELLIGENCE.
THE NUMBER OF SKILL TREES YOU CAN ACCESS AT A TIME IS CAPPED BY YOUR WISDOM.
YOU CURRENTLY KNOW THE FOLLOWING SKILL TREES:
ENGINEERING:
MECHANIC LEVEL 9, MEDTECH LEVEL 1, ANALYZE.
HEALING:
FIRST AID LEVEL 2.
INSIGHT:
OBSERVE LEVEL 3, PROPHET’S ROULETTE LEVEL MAX.
ALIEN RESEARCH:
HIERARCHY LORE LEVEL 1.
SURVIVAL SKILLS:
COOKING LEVEL 6, BOOST CAPACITY.
MELEE COMBAT:
UNARMED COMBAT LEVEL 5, BLUNT WEAPONS LEVEL 1.
PUNCH, KICK, DODGE BULLETS, DEADLY BLOW, EVADE BLOWS, OVERHEAD THROW, BODY CHARGE, CRUSHING BLOW.
RANGED COMBAT:
UNERRING THROW.
SOCIAL DOMINANCE:
APPEAL TO THE HEART, APPEAL TO THE MIND, CALL TO ARMS.
….. What.
This was useful, but not urgent information.
Well, Prophet’s Roulette did give randomized information.
Still, at least I had an idea of where to try the next night. I’d focus on the Healing skill tree.
Also, this suggested that by levelling up First Aid, I could gain access to higher skills.
….Maybe I could volunteer to help at hospitals?
No, the golden glow would out me as an ultrahuman immediately.
It also struck me as rather sad that I knew twelve skills in Melee and Ranged combat and only ten in peaceful areas. And that was treating the creepily mind-control like Persuasion skills as peaceful. Actual career-relevant skills? Mechanic, Medtech, First Aid and Cooking.
If I wanted to be anything other than a fighter, I’d need to figure out how to learn a whole bunch of new skills.
Anne’s school, Everard High, was a yellow-brick building which showed signs of age. The paint was cracked on the outer walls and the lockers hid rust beneath a veneer of fresh paint. The dazzling off-white colour of the hallways was broken up by colourful posters put up by bands, the drama club, the debating society, and a dozen other student associations.
Principal Edward K. Johnston was a short, round and balding man who seemed relatively tiny compared to the massive desk in his office. His electric blue eyes, however, were sharp behind the half-moon glasses as he gestured the two of us to chairs.
“Mr. Drake?” he began. “I’m told you wanted to see me?”
“I’m here as Anne’s guardian.”
“Anne’s guardian of record is her father, Mr. Paul Drake,” commented Johnston. “I must say, you look fairly young for your age.”
“I’m her brother, Andrew.”
“Hm. Is there a reason Mr. Paul Drake did not feel this meeting worth attending?”
“Mr. Paul Drake is currently in a coma, and has been that way since the attack.”
“I see. I don’t suppose you’d have a doctor’s certificate or something to that effect?”
Anne pulled out her cellphone. On it was a photo of Paul, in his monitoring bed.
“I can show you the doctor’s discharge certificate, if you like,” I added. “As well as their advice that he can be treated best via home care, since they’re worried about secondary infections. I can also show you how Anne and I have been monitoring his condition every day - it’s all in the bed’s system logs.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Johnston replied. He pressed a button on his intercom. “Ms. Davis, will you please update student Anne Drake’s records? Her father is indisposed due to a medical condition, and her guardian of record will be her brother. Mr. Andrew Drake. He will give you the details after our meeting.” The principal turned back to me. “I’m curious as to why we’re finding this out now. Ideally, we should have been informed as soon as there was a change in guardianship.”
“There’s no long-term change. I’m just stepping in for my father, for now.”
“I see. I understand that Anne has been going through a difficult time, which makes her behaviour a little more understandable. It doesn’t excuse the fighting, though.”
“Anne didn’t start it.”
“I believe she did? There are several witnesses claiming she threw the first punch.”
“In fairness, she was provoked.”
“Provocation is not a justification for violence.”
“Depends on the provocation. We once used a claim of hospitality as a basis to start a war.”
The principal’s eyebrows went up. “You’re quoting the Afghanistan invasion as a basis for your sister’s actions? That’s a stretch.” He grinned. “Nice try, though.”
“Are you aware of the words that started the fight?”
“Please, enlighten me.”
“Wanda Mears stated that Anne had caused the deaths of Mrs. Delft and the other students. She then said that our father should also have died in the attack.”
“I see.” Principal Johnston turned to Anne. “Ms. Drake. Can you repeat for me, the exact words that you heard Wanda say?”
“Uh…”
“Anne,” I squeezed her hand, “remember what we discussed. Tell the truth.”
Anne nodded, then began. “Wanda came up to me in recess, while I was getting books from me locker. With her were her friends. She said, there goes the coward, and her friends laughed at me.
“I ignored them. Then she said it was really a shame how I’d run, and left Mrs. Delft on the roof. I didn’t run!”
“I understand.” Johnston’s tone was gentle. “Could you please tell me what happened on the roof?”
“I… it happened really fast. The alien ship just swooped overhead, fired a big green blast. It hit the centre of the roof.
“Wanda and I were to the side, we just…. It felt like we were pushed back. It was hot. Really, really hot. We saw… There was no Mrs. Delft, no Avra, no Shyam. Just…. Char. Ash.”
“I see…. Let’s go back to yesterday, then. What did you do after what Wanda said?”
“I…. I was boiling mad. But I didn’t hit her. Then. I just… I thought I’d best ignore her, you know? Then she said… then she said it was a pity Dad didn’t get taken by the aliens also, then I’d have a matched set.”
“A matched set?”
“My mom…. She died a few years ago. Wanda knows that.”
Principal Johnston nodded sympathetically. “I understand that it was a painful thing to say. Nonetheless, fighting is never a good idea. If I at all reconsider your suspension, it would have to be with the understanding that there would be no more fights, no matter what.”
Anne gulped.
“Can we compromise?” I suggested. “Put Anne in a different class from Wanda and her buddies. And instruct Wanda not to approach within a hundred feet of Anne, nor to talk to her. Agree to this, and there’ll be no fights.”
Principal Johnston swivelled his gaze to me. “But I haven’t agreed to revoke the suspension.”
“The suspension is for a week. You’ll simply be postponing the problem. Or, you can agree to a compromise with a longer-term effect.”
Johnston’s eyebrows went up. “Is that so? And why should I agree to impose a penalty on Wanda Mears at all?”
“Not a penalty. Preventive action. Ask her if she wants to talk to Anne, and if she says no - which she probably will - then instruct her she’s barred from speaking to, or about, Anne for the rest of the school year. Anne will also agree not to speak or communicate with Wanda. In return, you get peace in the school, and two students who are being drawn into interpersonal conflicts get refocused on their academics.”
“My, my,” muttered Principal Johnston. “And I thought I was the educator here. Tell me, Mr. Drake, are you at all familiar with the principles of public education?”
“It’s not a skill I’ve developed.”
“Well, it’s quite rare for a parent - or any guardian - to propose restrictions of this sort on their children as well as those of others. Leaving aside the civil liberties you are asking me to trample on, how do you expect us to enforce this? We barely have the resources to staff all our classrooms as is.”
I shrugged. “I’d suggest putting them in different classrooms. Or perhaps different shifts. Or Anne could be advanced a year.”
“Are you aware of her falling grades?”
“.... Yes.”
“And you propose she be advanced a year?”
“I’ll tutor her.”
“For that to work, you would need to be qualified to teach yourself. If I may ask, where did you go to school?”
“.... I’m home-schooled.”
“So, you are not, in fact, familiar with the curriculum even as a student. Much less qualified to teach another student.”
“I’ve worked construction. I earn. I have a knack for machines and repair things quite well.”
“That doesn’t actually answer my question. Who’s going to monitor Anne and make sure she doesn’t end up in conflicts with another student? The school doesn’t have the resources.”
“Her conflict is solely with Wanda. Any other student would be fine.”
Principial Johnston steepled his hands under his chin. Then he looked me in the eye. “Mr. Drake. Do you have a GED?”
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“... No.”
“Hmm. You’re quite eloquent, you know.”
“....I am?”
“Yes.” Johnston tapped his chin. “I have some experience with home-schooled students. In most cases, they do not display the level of intelligence and persistence you have displayed in one conversation.”
“Er…. thank you. I think.”
“Nonetheless, you are Anne’s guardian, at least for now. Do you have ADHD or any other health related disorder? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“No, no health problems.” Except for an annoying set of powers.
“Well then, have you considered getting a GED?”
I frowned. “Not… not really.”
“Then I have a compromise to offer, if you’ll listen to an old man’s suggestion.”
“Go on….”
“You could consider joining the twelfth grade here, at Everard.”
“...What?”
“It solves both our problems. You stay in school, and keep an eye on your sister to ensure that she doesn’t come within fifty feet of Wanda Mears. At the same time, you get an education. Have you thought about what you’re going to do for a career?”
“Uh… I thought I might run a repair shop.”
“A noble ambition. We have an excellent industrial arts course.”
“Industrial arts?” I asked, puzzled.
“He means shop,” explained Anne.
“Yes, I do believe that’s what students call it. Nevertheless, we cover all aspects of woodworking, repair, fixing, electrical wiring - everything you’d need to gain an understanding of the trades. Which you will need if you’re going to repair anything. Also, having a 24-credit high school diploma helps when you’re seeking to get a bank loan to start your business.”
“... Are you seriously offering me a place in your school?”
“Why not? You offered a solution, I counter-offered another. My proposed solution gets you what you want - your sister returns to school - and gets me what I want, which is less of a load on my teaching staff in terms of monitoring students.”
“I can’t monitor Wanda Mears if I’m studying here.”
“You don’t have to monitor her, you just have to monitor your sister. We can schedule your classes so that the two of you have recess and off periods together, and if you’re around Anne, I doubt any of the others will risk bullying her. You will, of course, be responsible for keeping her out of fights.” The principal looked me in the eye. “And no fighting yourself, of course.”
I wasn’t sure what to think.
The devil of it was, the offer seemed tempting. Ensure Anne stays in school, act as her de facto bodyguard? Doable. Get some additional training in what it took to actually run a repair shop, as opposed to the vague-and-fuzzy ideas I’d had so far? Seemed legit.
What did Principal Johnston get out of it?
I risked a quick Observe
EDWARD KERRY JOHNSTON
CLASS: TEACHER
RELATIONSHIP: ALLY
LEVEL 3
HP 100/100
EDWARD JOHNSTON IS THE PRINCIPAL OF EVERARD HIGH SCHOOL. A LIFETIME EDUCATOR, HE HAS GUIDED HUNDREDS OF STUDENTS THROUGH LEARNING DIFFICULTIES INTO SUCCESSFUL CAREERS. HE CARES DEEPLY AND PASSIONATELY ABOUT GETTING THE BEST OUT OF CHILDREN AND WORKS TIRELESSLY TO MAKE SURE EVERYONE CAN GET A GOOD EDUCATION.
IMPRESSED BY YOUR SPEECH, HE IS NOW AN ALLY YOU CAN COUNT ON.
HE HAS TAKEN A LIKING TO YOU, BUT IS DISAPPOINTED THAT SOMEONE WITH YOUR INTELLIGENCE HAS NOT SERIOUSLY APPLIED HIMSELF TO STUDY. HE WOULD LIKE TO SEE YOUR TALENT NOT GO TO WASTE.
GOOD THING HE DOESN’T KNOW ABOUT YOUR POWERS, BECAUSE THAT WOULD MAKE HIM EVEN MORE DISAPPOINTED.
I gulped.
Edward Johnston was one of those rarities - a deeply good man. I had already taken advantage of one such good person - Mindy Taft - by pushing Persuasion a little strongly on her.
I didn’t want to try the same with Mr. Johnston.
Besides, his offer really did make sense.
“I have a … court date on Tuesday,” I replied. “If that goes well, I can start on Wednesday.”
“Then Anne can rejoin from Wednesday,” replied Principal Johnston. “Meanwhile, we can test you for academic aptitude and figure out exactly where you would place. I would suggest we do that on Monday morning, and we can work out your classes by the afternoon.” He shrugged. “It’s Friday today, so you have the weekend to ‘brush up’ on anything you need.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
As we entered the school’s parking lot, Anne turned to me. “What was that?”
“That…” I shrugged. “I agree, it was a bit surreal.”
“You’re telling me. I thought you’d get me back into school. You managed to get yourself stuck in it, too.” She sighed. “I hope we’re okay for money.”
“We should be. I have the five thousand they gave me at the site, plus we have almost another thousand saved up from before. That should last us at least three months. If we’re frugal.”
“We spend two thousand dollars a month?”
“Bed’s four hundred, the insurance premiums are two hundred, data, phones and TV are another hundred, and groceries… those just add up.”
Anne winced. “I never used to worry about this stuff, you know? Just… Dad used to take care of it all.”
“And you shouldn’t have to. I’m there.” I shrugged. “Maybe in a few months I can figure out how to get money as an ultra.”
Neither Anne nor I had been able to figure out how to get paid for my powers. Dixit’s words had stuck with me - ten thousand dollars an hour for an ultrahuman who could help during an alien attack, even in a support role? Who paid that, exactly, and how? And how could I collect it without revealing my identity?
I’d had half a mind to contact Morell and ask. But that was just asking for trouble. Besides, Dixit Contracting - and all its workers - had packed up and left the previous day. Trying to trace them would be - unwise.
“Let’s just hope the next meeting goes better,” I remarked.
George Alvarez was in his early twenties. As we entered his office, he greeted both of us with a smile. “Please sit.”
Alvarez pulled out a pen and pad as we sat.
“I’m a lawyer with the Public Defender’s Office,” he began, “and I will be representing you, Mr. Andrew Drake, in this preliminary hearing. Do you understand how the legal process works?”
“Not too well.”
“There are three steps - an arraignment, then a preliminary hearing, and finally a trial. At an arraignment, you would normally be informed of the charges against you; at the preliminary hearing, the prosecution has to show that there is enough evidence for a trial to be required; and if we go that far, then you would stand trial.”
“I got summoned for a preliminary hearing?”
“Yes, that’s because your case is being expedited. However, I’ve read the reports, and the filing of charges will only happen tomorrow.”
“Why tomorrow?”
“The prosecutor wants to meet you and decide if he should file charges at all.” Alvarez smiled. “Your case is very strong, on the basis of facts given so far. I’m planning to get a meeting with him today, and try to convince him to drop the charges.”
“That’s … good news.”
“Understood, but I would ask you not to celebrate yet. I’ve seen the police reports of what happened, but I would still like to go through it with you in detail.”
“Would everything we tell you be covered under lawyer-client confidentiality?”
“Absolutely. I cannot repeat anything you tell me, under any circumstances.” He began to make notes. “Can you walk me through what happened that night?”
Anne and I exchanged glances. I took a deep breath, and went ahead. “Firstly, there’s something you should know.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’m an ultrahuman.”
George’s pen snapped.
The lawyer looked at me, shocked. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“No, I actually am.”
Alvarez’s expression was one of dawning horror. “Oh no. Oh no!” He looked around wildly. Then he hissed at me: “Are you insane?”
“I thought you told me this was confidential!”
“From the government, you idiot!” hissed Alvarez. “Not from other ultrahumans! Ultra cases are handled by the Federal government!”
“Why not by here?”
“Because we can’t protect the building from spy devices!”
I suddenly realized what he meant.
Inventors could create tiny bugs that picked up sound and video and leave them ANYWHERE. Including in a public defender’s office.
And I’d just revealed my identity in one…
“Hey,” Anne said, “it’s not likely that there’s one in here. Besides, wouldn’t you have bug-sweepers to catch any spycams?”
“That’s just the point,” hissed Alvarez. “Inventech spycams are invisible to normal sensors and bug-sweeps. That’s how Morag Bael found the leaks in his organization!”
“Morag Bael?” I inquired.
“Villain inventor,” explained Anne. “He tapped the offices of a bunch of New York lawyers and found out someone in his gang was selling him out. Then he murdered dozens of people. Happened back in 2070.”
“That’s why we don’t deal with ultrahuman cases in state jurisdictions,” Alvarez growled. “I thought this was going to be a nice easy case…. Should’ve listened to my mama and gone into contract law….”
“Hey,” I tried to refocus the man. “Why don’t you just treat it like any other case. And we’ll keep my ultra nature out of it. I’m sure you’ve done a dozen such cases before.”
Alvarez shot me a poisonous look.
I whipped off an Observe.
GEORGE ALVAREZ
CLASS: LAWYER
FACTION: TANISPORT CITY ADMINISTRATION
RELATIONSHIP: ALLY (LOCKED)
HAVING PASSED THE BAR JUST LAST MONTH, GEORGE ALVAREZ IS THE NEWEST MEMBER OF THE TANISPORT PUBLIC DEFENDER’S OFFICE. HE HAS BEEN DEALING WITH DRUNK DRIVERS, DRUG ADDICTS AND OTHER MINOR OFFENCES FOR THE LAST COUPLE OF WEEKS, AND FINALLY GOT HANDED A PROMISING LOOKING CASE - SELF-DEFENCE, OPEN AND SHUT. THAT WAS YOU. UNTIL YOU MADE IT COMPLICATED.
NOW, GEORGE IS TERRIFIED THAT HE’S GOING TO END UP LIKE THE NEW YORK PUBLIC PROSECUTOR WHO TRIED TO INVESTIGATE MORAL BAEL, AND WORRIED ABOUT WHO’LL LOOK AFTER HIS OLD MA AND HIS CATS IF HE’S NOT AROUND. ALL THANKS TO HIS FIRST EVER MAJOR CASE.
AGAIN, THAT’S YOU. IN CASE YOU MISSED THE EARLIER HINT.
Oh dear.
“This is your first major case?” I inquired.
George Alvarez’s look became even more annoyed. “How did you guess that? An aspect of your power?”
“Actually, yes. I’m sorry…. I didn’t know all this stuff about ultrahumans. I’d never even heard of Morag Bael.”
“If it helps,” Anne interrupted, “he’s only seventeen. So you can’t really blame him for this.”
Alvarez leaned back in his chair. The fight seemed to go out of him. “All right. I guess the cat’s out of the bag anyway. You might as well tell me.”
It took us nearly two hours to tell Alvarez the whole story. Throughout that time, he kept asking questions and clarifications.
We spared him the part about the Grunters and Dixit, though.
Finally, he sat back in his chair. “Well. The way I see it, you need a lawyer.”
“Don’t we have you?”
“You do, for this case. I can’t be your full time counsel.” He sighed. “Ultrahuman law is - complex, specialized, and international. All things that take some of the best lawyers in the world. Heroes like Pandorum - or villains, for that matter - generate enough work to keep entire firms busy.”
“How is that possible?” I asked. “Surely ultras don’t end up in lethal fights every day.”
“You’d be surprised,” muttered Alvarez. “The main reason, however, is how the law sees ultras. I’m assuming you have no idea?”
We shook our heads.
“Fine,” Alvarez grumbled. “Back in 2060, after the Blindsinger incident, the United Nations got together and passed a global resolution forbidding any country from having ultrahumans serve in the military. Or in the police. It was unanimously agreed that you couldn't - and shouldn’t - have ultrahumans associated with national armies, since a nation can’t really control their ultras beyond a point.”
“Understood.”
“Well, when the aliens attacked later that year, the governments of the world wanted to bring back ultras. There was just one problem - nobody could tell where the aliens would attack. So if aliens were to pierce the shield above Russia, and then cross the border to China and strike there, ultras serving Russia couldn’t cross the borders and the ones serving China would not get help. Clear?”
“Clear.”
“The UN managed to bypass this by declaring ultras to be mercenaries. All ultras, everywhere, are classified as mercenary soldiers and are to be paid a UN-mandated rate for combat service. Every nation in the world is a signatory, and the country the ultra is protecting bears the bill.”
“Wait - you’re saying the UN sets pay rates for ultrahumans?”
“Of course. That prevents poorer nations from getting stiffed. Otherwise, the richest nations in the world would set the rates and poorer nations would get bankrupted. The minimum starts at ten thousand per hour, and it goes up from there.”
“.... Has anyone ever paid less?”
“Paying differently than the UN’s rate is a violation of half a dozen international treaties. And it’s not as if ultrahumans are asking for less money.” Alvarez laughed. “I mean, what self-respecting ultra would work for a hundred bucks an hour?”
I decided to keep silent.
Alvarez continued. “Since ultrahumans are basically mercenaries, their conduct is governed by the UN’s Global Code of Mercenary Law. It’s also called the CJM….”
“CJM?”
“Codice Juris Mercanario, the Latin form. The same way that aliens are hostis humani generis - enemies of all mankind.”
“Ah. So if the aliens are enemies of all mankind, any military can attack them?”
“That’s correct. The classification of aliens as enemies of all mankind means any military force can, without consequence, attack any alien force, and no legal repercussions for doing so even in another country’s territory. Or international waters. And the CJM allows any country to pay ultrahumans for fighting aliens without consequence, or violating any other treaties.”
“So…. how do ultrahumans get paid for fighting?”
“Eager, aren’t you? You volunteer during an alien attack, and they’ll transport you to the attack site. Be warned - you have to actually fight, the government takes a dim view of ultras who show up but hang back. Anyway, not my problem. Basically, the ultra fights, carries a camera during the fight - or has a camera drone following him - and from the time he first makes contact with the enemy to the time he withdraws, he’s considered to be in combat against the foe. The ultra’s lawyer puts together the recording, sends it to the US government through appropriate channels, and the US government pays the money into a specified ultrahuman’s account in Austria. Generally with BastionBank. Payments out of this account into other accounts are prohibited from being questioned under the CJM, to protect the identities of the ultras. So ultras receive money into their Austrian bank accounts, which then transfer the money to their US - or other country - bank accounts.”
“So it’s not as easy as showing up and collecting a cheque.”
“No, in fact lawyers charge as much as five hundred dollars per hour to work on ultrahuman collections. Which is why you need to understand - your use of force as an ultrahuman, while your right, will end up creating a bigger mess than simply hiding your nature from the court.”
“Is that legal?”
“It is,” sighed Alvarez. “We’ll enter a plea of ‘Not Guilty’ and cite self-defence and the castle doctrine. That should get you off. Do you have any martial arts training?”
“Not formally… my power gives me some training.”
“Tell them that you know martial arts. You told the cop you saw the takedown move on video?”
“Yes.”
“Well, also tell them that you’ve practiced it. Maybe with your dad.” He shrugged. “Or you could say you learnt it to protect your sister. Have her demonstrate it or something.”
“That might work,” I said.
“I’ll speak to the prosecutor, see if we can get the charges dismissed. Just… don’t tell anyone the ultrahuman part, and stick to your story.”
The prosecutor, Rich Munez, was an older man with salt-and-pepper hair. He didn’t seem too pleased with me at first glance - in fact, he looked downright hostile.
A quick Observe, however, told me the reality of the situation.
RICHARD MUNEZ
CLASS: LAWYER
FACTION: TANISPORT CITY ADMINISTRATION
RELATIONSHIP: SYMPATHY
RICHARD MUNEZ IS A DEDICATED, SELFLESS PUBLIC SERVANT, WHO HAS ALWAYS OPPOSED GUN CONTROL. AN EX ARMY VET, HE IS AN ARDENT SUPPORTER OF THE CASTLE DOCTRINE AND BELIEVES A MAN SHOULD HAVE THE RIGHT TO DEFEND HIMSELF BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY. HOWEVER, HE NEEDS TO PUT ON A TOUGH FACE WITH ANY WHO ACTUALLY USE IT, TO AVOID BEING SEEN AS BIASED.
“So tell me, Mr. Drake,” Munez said, “do you not feel at all guilty about ending four lives?”
I realized it was a trap question - if I said yes, he would claim I should be pleading guilty, and if no, I would be seen as a sociopath.
Sidestep.
“I feel that I had to save my sister’s life, and mine,” I said. “I didn’t feel I had a choice.”
“But you needn’t have actually gone so far as to kill them. Why didn’t you just disable them?”
I sighed. “Mr. Munez, I didn’t know how to disable them. Or how to kill them, for that matter.”
“But you did kill them.”
“Like I said, I didn’t intend to. I have some very basic martial arts training - not enough to knock out a person with a single blow. Actual fights aren’t like the movies.”
“Come on, Richard,” interjected Alvarez. “We’ve been at this for an hour. Surely you’re satisfied now?”
Munez fixed Alvarez with a glare. “I’m not sure I can agree to no record.”
“No record, no time, nothing. It’s self-defence plus castle doctrine - as clear-cut a case as we can ever get. For God’s sake, the ringleader - Ezekiel Crawley - is guilty of multiple murders. Andrew Drake has absolutely zero record, no priors, is a juvenile….”
“He’d be tried as an adult….” rumbled Munez.
“... and he took on four armed men just with martial arts.”
“I’m not convinced,” replied Munez, “because as we know, both Crawley brothers were dirty fighters with a lot of blood on their hands. All we have against them is Andrew Drake - a seventeen year old scrawny kid. And real life isn’t like the movies. How exactly did he beat them?”
I sighed. “Mr. Munez, I work construction.”
“So?”
“So, I may not look it, but I’m pretty strong. As in, I can carry fifty-four kilos without taking a breath.”
“That’s not exactly a large number.”
“And I can carry that fifty-four kilo weight for an indefinite period of time. Say, for a ten mile hike.”
Munez’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Am I missing something?” asked Alvarez.
“Army’s basic training involves ruck marches,” explained Munez, “which are thirty kilos of gear, for a four mile or five mile hike. You planning on a career as a soldier, son?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know yet. Might just become a fireman, instead.”
“If you’ve been doing that kind of physical training, then I suppose you’re tougher than you look.”
If only you knew. “Maybe. I didn’t think that far.”
“Does your school have an ROTC program?”
“I’m home schooled. It lets me train on my own time.”
Munez leaned back. “Planning to continue home schooling?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll be giving a placement test at Everard High on Monday. If things work out, I might do the twelfth grade in a regular school.”
“I see.” Munez seemed to consider the situation, then sighed. “I’m going to recommend that you take some formal martial arts training.”
“You can’t recommend that,” said Alvarez.
“If you do - if you agree to go through some training that teaches you restraint, and how to calibrate the force you apply - then the city will drop all charges.”
“I’m willing to agree to that - but the city will have to foot the bill. Little short on cash.”
Munez smiled. “That won’t be a problem. Everard has a martial arts class as an elective - the instructor’s a good friend of mine.”
I nodded. Alvarez nodded.
QUEST COMPLETED! PROVE YOUR INNOCENCE. +500 XP.
NEW SKILL GAINED: LAWBREAKER
LEVEL 1: 50% CHANCE OF AVOIDING LEGAL CONSEQUENCES FOR ANY CRIMES YOU COMMIT.
NEW TITLE GAINED: ABOVE THE LAW.
25% CHANCE THAT ANY POLICE OR LAW PERSONNEL WHO WITNESS YOU COMMITTING A CRIME WILL HELP YOU COVER IT UP.
… What the hell was up with these new skills?
Well, I was off the hook for now, at least.
QUEST ALERT! LEARN NON-LETHAL COMBAT SKILLS FROM A MARTIAL ARTS INSTRUCTOR AT EVERARD.
REWARD: +100 XP, NEW SKILL UNLOCKED: KNOCKOUT BLOW, STUNNING BLOW.
….. I have non-lethal options for combat? And I’m discovering these now?
One thing was for sure - once I started at Everard, I was making a beeline for the martial arts class.
HP: 120/120 PP 228/228
MP: 272/272 CP 220/220
AP: 132/132
$6,300.00 XP: 2195/3000 Ethics: +7