Happy Holidays, mrsachid!
A.N.D. LABORATORIES PRIVATE ZOO AND WILDLIFE PARK
5:45 P.M.
"Duck!"
In a normal world, David might have interpreted that as "decrease the elevation of your head to avoid incoming projectiles". But ever since he'd nearly taken a bar stool to the face after trying to fight a many-eyed tentacled monster, the call was more correctly translated to mean:
"Don't let the shape-shifting mallard get away!" yelled his boss in front of him, and David, adjusting the High-Frequency Particle Restabilizing Gun under his arm, careened sharply to the left for intercept.
After more shouting, a high-pitched mechanical whine, agitated feathers clashing against a hopelessly unfashionable Eisenhower jacket, and a miniature sonic boom, David found himself sprawled at the bottom of a grassy knoll, watching his boss, The Middleman, wrestle a resentful duck previously hell-bent on world domination into a specially-lined crate.
Archie re-checked the locks a final time before jogging over to David to help him up. There was a long streak of dirt and grass smeared down a leg of his black pants. "Jeepers! Are you OK?" he asked.
David waved the still-smoking HFPRG absently. "Fine," he said. "A little winded."
Archie's brow furrowed. "The duck hit you pretty hard back at the lab," he said, looking as if he was seconds away from ripping David's shirt off right then and there to check for any injuries.
Sighing inwardly (and a little regretfully), David stepped back and nodded toward the crateful of subdued if still resentful duck. "We should get it back to HQ, boss."
MIDDLEMAN HQ
6:10 P.M.
"Now that we've taken care of the megalomaniac waterfowl-" there was a resentful quack from inside the Cognitive Assimilation Therapy Cage, and David thumped it gleefully, "-we can get on with more pressing business, David. Namely, your training."
David groaned, not caring if it made him sound immature and whiny. "But I've been through Sensei Ping's hand-to-hand combat boot camp, your intensive firearms/science and technology/defensive driving workshops and that seminar on intergalactic diplomacy. What else is there to know?"
From where she was seated filling up the paperwork, Ida retorted, "How about Being a Deadbeat Musician 101? Oh, I forgot - you aced that already."
If only it didn't make me sound even more immature and whiny to answer back, David thought and pointedly did not stick his tongue out at her. Ida, Archie had repeatedly told him, did not generally like Middle-Apprentices and David shouldn't take her remarks to heart. Besides, she was a robot and didn't have any feelings that could be insulted or hurt.
Archie ignored their sniping as usual. Instead, he took out a clipboard and told David, "You have to remember: There is no end to what a Middleman can learn."
Resigned, David found a chair and sat comfortably. "You're the boss, boss. What's it gonna be?"
"Don't worry," Archie said, smiling. "It's simply a pop quiz on Middleman procedures, acronyms, weapons, gadgets and things."
David tipped his chair back and grinned. Those long nights leafing through the Middle-Manual might just pay off. "Hit me."
"Define HEYDAR and BTRS."
David laced his fingers behind his head. "The first is our shiny silver ball that gives us all the answers we need, like Google only without the pesky privacy laws. Also unlike Google, Ida puts it over her head. BTRS stands for 'Beyond the Realm of Science Scanner', which is what you point at unusual phenomena to figure out what's up - and shouldn't I have one of my very own now that I'm no longer an untrained operative?"
"When you've finished the module on quantum relativism," Archie murmured, jotting something down on the clipboard. "What's our motto?"
"The Middleman: Fighting Evil So You Don't Have To."
"What's Code 86?"
David cleared his throat. "It's Code for 'I am having personal time of a sexual nature and would prefer that Ida and the Real-Time Situation Recording Archive (and possibly my boss) not ogle me as I do it',” he said, though his tone only very vaguely approached the friendly teasing that he’d been aiming for.
The way Archie’s eyes were fixed on his clipboard showed he’d noticed it too. "Well- um, that's full marks, David. I'm, er, pleased that you've taken to our profession like a-"
"-duck to world domination?"
Archie beamed, good humor returning. "Precisely."
"Humans," Ida said behind them, and stamped another file.
A FLASHBACK
SIX MONTHS, TWO DAYS AND FOUR HOURS AGO
"Look, I'm not calling you 'The Middleman'. That's too long."
"But it rolls off the tongue very easily," his boss objected.
"You're missing the point!" David exclaimed. "Yes, 'The Middleman' has alliterative qualities that make it very easy to say in times of danger-"
"-or peace-"
"-or peace, but it's not a name. It's a title. And since we're going to share many moments of life-threatening peril in the foreseeable future, I'd rather call you by a name that's you, not a position that's been held by who knows how many people in the past."
"The Middleman is me, and there have been 3793 Middlemen," his boss replied. David simply stared at him. "Oh, all right. What do you want to call me?"
David shook his head. "That's not how it works; I'm not naming you. Give me a name."
"Fine. You can call me, uh, Archie."
"Archie? Is that your real name? Oh. I suppose asking for your real name is a violation of some regulation somewhere. What the hell. Archie it is." He held out his hand, and Archie eyed it suspiciously before shaking it. "Nice to make your acquaintance, Archie."
"You too, David."
THE ILLEGAL SUBLET THAT DAVID SHARES WITH ANOTHER YOUNG, LACONIC MUSICIAN
8:30 A.M.
Something was making an awful racket. It wasn't very loud, but it was extremely insistent and would not be ignored. David groaned and pushed his face into his pillow, trying to capture the dissipating traces of his dream.
It had been very nice, that much he could tell from the lingering rightness it left in him. He was behind the counter of the bar he used to work at, making desultory conversation with a couple of regulars as he wiped glasses down and kept an eye on the baseball game playing on the TV across the room. Then his attention was caught by a sharp rap of knuckles on wood, and he turned, and a husky voice punctuated by a pleasant smile had politely asked for a tall glass of milk. As David handed it over without comment (rule # 3 of bartending: all orders are equal), the polite, pleasant figure took a deep swig, smiled again, and suddenly boosted himself over the counter and kissed David deeply, all cold dairy and a hint of minty-fresh breath lingering on David's lips. Then he lifted an arm and shot a many-eyed tentacled monster that suddenly loomed out of nowhere-
-that was not good. David groaned again. Then he stuck an arm out and fumbled for the whooping Middle-Watch on his nightstand. ALERT , it intoned. PRIORITY MESSAGE
"What?" he muttered, jabbing at the call button a little too vehemently.
Archie's head (oh his mouth had been so pliant, and so fantastic) appeared on the tiny watch-face. He was bright-eyed and fresh-faced, completely unaware that his sidekick-slash-apprentice had just woken up from a very nice but completely inappropriate dream that retconned one highly-important detail in their introduction to each other. "David," he was saying, "we have a grade-three GEGW situation. Be at HQ in 10 minutes."
David yawned expansively, managing to slip on the watch and roll out of bed at the same time. "GEGW?"
"Genetic Experiment Gone Wrong," Archie replied.
"Gotcha."
David made hasty work of his Middle-Uniform, wrestling with the knot of his tie as he ran down the spiral staircase that separated his room from the rest of the sublet. His roommate was already on the couch, bent over his Gibson guitar and a battered notebook. Without even looking up, Neal tipped his head toward the fresh pot brewing in the Mr. Coffee they’d salvaged and painstakingly rebuilt.
"Thanks, man," David sighed, drinking deep. "There's an emergency at the office."
A huff of what might have been amusement. "Good thing your boss is cute." That was definitely amusement.
"Don't call him 'cute', I work for the guy," David replied automatically. "And you know me, saving the world in my own way. Where's my- never mind, found them."
Neal raised an expressive eyebrow. "Fight the good fight, asshole. Analogue tonight? Monty's playing."
David hurriedly jammed his feet into his boots and made for the door. "Don't let him drink all the beer. Gosh darn it, I'm going to be late."
"'Gosh darn it.'" Neal's voice was flatter than an out-of-tune note.
Wincing, David stubbornly refused to whirl around and defend himself. He was already late. So he called out, "My boss' boss' boss says profanity cheapens the soul and weakens the mind," and slammed the door shut.
AN UPSCALE SHOPPING MALL WITH A ROOF GARDEN
9:00 A.M.
"A topiary shrub turned into a tiger? How is that even possible?" He could feel Ida giving him a Look, despite her being miles away in HQ, and David rolled his eyes. "I know, I know. Six impossible things before breakfast. Let me rephrase: why would anyone want to turn a topiary shrub into a tiger? What for?"
"That's what we're here to find out," Archie said cheerfully, shutting the driver's-side door to the Middlemobile. He strode towards the police officer standing by the crime-scene tape, fake I.D. in hand, David at his side.
"Who are you?" the officer asked, eyeing them apprehensively. David couldn't blame her; even the hardiest members of law enforcement would be a little jumpy at a tiger materializing in a crowded haven of greenery in the heart of the busy metropolis.
Archie and David flashed their I.D.s. "I'm Mr. Lopez and he's Mr. Tyler. We're from the Tiger Conservation Union. We understand there's an endangered Panthera tigris tigris hiding among the azaleas."
"Yes," she said. "A kid discovered it, thought it was a stuffed toy at first. Everybody was evacuated, and so far no one's been hurt. The tiger hasn't even moved - it's just lying there, acting remarkably un-tiger-like."
"That happens sometimes," David said solemnly, and Archie added, "May we see the poor creature?"
She raised the tape in reply. "Be my guest."
As they moved away from her line of sight, Archie took out his BTRS and started scanning the hedges.
David asked him, "How do we even know that the tiger used to be a plant, and that it wasn't teleportation or wormholes or whatever?"
"Morphic resonance," Archie said and tapped something on the scanner. "This kind of animal-to-plant transformation is detectable by our sensors. Hmm. The BTRS is detecting traces of phlebotinum."
"Phlebotinum? What’s- Never mind. Your technobabble scares me." They reached the spot where the tiger was discovered. It was, as the officer had described, lying quiescent in a bed of pink rhododendrons. In an undertone, David asked, "Is it alive?"
"Yes." Archie squinted at the BTRS. "It appears as if the structure of the topiary bush was manipulated so that it resembled the body of a tiger."
David thought this over and dropped to his heels in front of the tiger. It yawned hugely, showing off its sharp teeth and rough tongue, and rolled over. "It's cute for a carnivorous predator with the mind of a plant. But I still don't get why anyone would do this."
"Neither do I, but the possibilities are too horrifying to contemplate." Archie held the Middle-Watch to his mouth. "Ida, please run a scan on the HEYDAR for any pulsating phlebotinum energy signatures. Whatever device did this is bound to require a heck of a lot of juice."
"Two steps ahead of you, skippy. I've scanned the city and narrowed it down to one possibility. The strongest signature is coming from an abandoned warehouse at the old tuna processing plant."
AN ABANDONED WAREHOUSE AT THE OLD TUNA PROCESSING PLANT
11:07 A.M.
"One giant panda, one snow leopard- oh, three giant pandas, right- and a ratel. That's it? Wire the money to my account and I'll forward the shipping instructions when I receive confirmation." Archie and David, crouching behind some rusty canning equipment, watched as the mad scientist - they usually were, and this man's lab coat gave him away - stuffed his cellphone in his pocket and walked towards what appeared to be an enormous high-tech cannon that nearly reached the ceiling of the cavernous warehouse.
"It's a phlebotinum-powered plasma ray," Archie whispered in David's ear. His entire left side was pressing against David's back. "This is what he's using to turn plants into animals - rare, endangered animals that he's selling into the black market."
"The tiger in the roof garden was, what? Some sort of long-range test?" David whispered back.
Archie nodded, then suddenly stood up and stepped into the open. "Please step away from the plasma ray, sir."
The scientist whirled around, gaping. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" he snarled.
"I'm the Middleman, and I'm here to stop you from selling your fraudulent animals into the underground endangered animals trade," Archie declared. David saw his foot tap three times and carefully inched towards the other side of their cover, removing his gun from its holster. The Fire Exit Paradox Gambit: an oldie but goodie.
Sufficiently distracted by Archie and Archie’s apparent lack of firepower, the scientist broke into a monologue. "My colleagues thought that I was mad when I proposed this groundbreaking use of phlebotinum! Me, Doctor Hoyt, the world’s leading researcher in trans-kingdom morphology! Three institutes rejected my plans to build a plasma ray and my license to practice veterinary medicine was revoked! Humiliated, I built my own plasma ray and slowly created a fortune selling rare animals in the black market, so that one day, I could obtain enough phlebotinum to take revenge on those idiots in the institutes! My plan-"
-is sheer elegance in its simplicity, thought David.
"-is sheer elegance in its simplicity!" Hoyt concluded, triumphant.
"Your days trading animals modified using applied phlebotinum are over," Archie said calmly.
"Never!" Coat swirling dramatically, Hoyt spun and pressed a big red button on the plasma ray. Yellow light shot from it, missing Archie, who ducked away just in time. David didn't hesitate, and launched himself from his hiding spot. He rammed his shoulder into Hoyt's side, causing both of them to land a few feet away from the plasma ray. But Hoyt was evidently tougher than the garden-variety mad scientist because, cursing loudly, he managed to land a few lucky punches that stunned David while he made his getaway.
David wiped blood off his chin and got to his feet, muttering "Bastard!" before following him out of the room into one of the side corridors.
"You'll never catch me!" he heard Hoyt yell as David chased him through nearly-identical hallways. "I know this warehouse like the back of my hand!"
David gritted his teeth and concentrated on tracking the footsteps that seemed to echo around him. The taste of blood was still heavy in his mouth, his heart still pounding from the sight of Archie narrowly avoiding the plasma ray’s beam. He glimpsed a shadow and, whipping out his neutrino gun, quickly fired- at nothing.
"HA!!!" came from the opposite direction. Rolling his eyes at Hoyt's quick descent into a triple-exclamation-points level of madness, David reoriented himself, only managing to miss a flying toolbox to the head by tripping over some exposed pipes. The infuriating laughter receded from his hearing range.
"Why won't these fucking mad scientists just fucking surrender for once?" groaned David, getting up and breaking into a run, doubling back several times until he recognized the corridors again.
He's going back to the plasma ray! Archie!
He skidded to a halt at the room's entrance, quickly cataloging the pertinent elements of the situation:
Doctor Hoyt desperately typing something into the plasma ray's control interface. The plasma ray glowing an ominous yellow. Archie, unconscious on the floor, in the path of said plasma ray.
David didn't even blink; he aimed and pressed the trigger of his gun. He was only about six seconds too late.
The plasma ray exploded in a shower of sparks, electrocuting the doctor fatally, but not before he managed to slam a fist down on the start button. The ray emitted a burst of odd blue light that struck Archie square on the chest.
"No!" David yelled, sprinting towards him. He hopped right over Hoyt's lifeless form and fell to his knees at Archie's side. He frantically searched for a pulse, found one weak and thready but still there, and felt as though a white-hot lump that had suddenly lodged in his throat dissolve.
Archie stirred, a hand lifting to press itself on his forehead. David helped him struggle to a sitting position. "Wha-" he mumbled, then coughed, trying again in a stronger voice. "Sweet Caroline, what happened?"
"Doctor Hoyt's dead - fried by his own plasma ray," David said, jerking his head to the smoldering heap behind them. He didn't bother to sound apologetic about it. "And you got hit, but the color of the light wasn't yellow like it was the first time. How are you feeling?"
"I don't feel like my genetic material had been re-written to relocate me to a different branch of the animal kingdom," Archie assured him. "Just a little woozy, but I think that's from the defensive force-field around the plasma ray throwing me to the wall when I got too close trying to deactivate it."
David finally let go of Archie's arm. "Are you sure?"
Archie got to his feet and grinned reassuringly. "Nothing a good night's rest won't cure. Don't worry, the Middle-Watch will alert me if my DNA goes wrong."
"Hey, boss," David said. "There's something I need very badly."
Archie looked concerned. "What is it?"
David stepped closer and hugged him, burying his face in Archie's hair. He felt Archie stiffen minutely, and his breath hitch, and then he felt the pressure of Archie's fingers curling themselves tentatively around David's sleeves.
MIDDLEMAN HQ
THREE DAYS LATER
David was in the changing room, rummaging for a new jacket after a tiring day of chasing after - and later getting nearly burnt to a crisp by - a fire-spewing spirit summoned by a hapless gaggle of high school students, when the overhead lights started flashing red and white, and Ida's voice announced over the invisible speakers, CONTAMINATION ALERT. CONTAMINATION ALERT.
He groaned out loud. "Oh, come on. I know HQ is invaded three times a year on average, but I was about to go home and watch a mindless action movie!"
His watch chirped. It was Archie, who'd stayed in the control room with the artifacts they'd confiscated from the teenagers while David changed into non-singed clothing. "Great Barrier Reef! David, it seems that an artifact we've brought back for study has released an unknown alien pathogen," he said. "HQ will be going on lockdown to prevent its spread throughout the ten levels and hundreds of rooms within the building. Please stay calm."
Even as Archie said it, David could see the air vents on the walls closing and a slab of steel sliding in front of the door. He also heard the hissing noise of a ventilator kicking in somewhere above him.
"Yeah, I can see it," David reported. "What about you? You're in the room with the artifact!"
"I've moved to the nearest decontamination room while Ida (who's fortunately non-organic) directs the clean-up." He smiled reassuringly at David. "Don't worry. I'll be breathing in enough aerosolized antibiotics and scrubbing every inch of my body before the pathogen even begins to take hold."
David refused to imagine himself in a sterile Etruscan-tiled chamber with his boss, holding a foamy sponge while strategically-positioned steam billowed around Archie's naked- Now is not the time, he told himself sternly. "OK, boss. Keep in touch," he replied.
The changing room was really one of the worst places to be stuck in, David decided sourly after several minutes passed. He couldn't practice his martial arts skills because of the too-small space, and there weren't even any soporific technical manuals he could use to bore himself into the quick nap.
He settled down on the floor, well away from the pile of discarded charred clothing, and started practicing his air guitar. Neal had been making noises about writing a new song for weeks; David just hadn't been paying that much attention, what with being occupied by fighting evil and pursuing justice. He felt bad about how he'd zone out whenever his friends swapped lines of songs they'd written. Note to self, he thought, frowning to himself, find my scraps and see if there's anything salvageable for the next meeting.
Caught up as he was in ensuring that his fingers hadn't forgotten the chords to Our Lady Peace's last ten singles, he didn't notice the passage of time until his watch ("And it can tell time!" he'd said with fake awe when Archie pointed out the Middle-Watch's many features, and Archie had shot him a confused look) beeped the hour. David stretched cramped fingers, then stilled.
Archie hadn't spoken to him since the initial update.
David might often loudly complain about how by-the-book Archie was about so many things, never mind that David didn't usually know what "book" they went with during missions, but he could freely admit in the privacy of his own mind that it was soothing to work for someone who was so textbook Prentice-Hall could sell him to elementary schools. It was undeniably calming that Archie was predictable, an atomic clock of proper procedures and rigorous protocol despite the existence of monsters, aliens and androids.
From past experiences with HQ intrusions, David knew - as he knew of the dairy thing and the musical comedy thing - that Archie always, without fail, sent situational updates every five minutes on the dot. The only times he'd failed to send the updates where when the two of them were already implementing their scheme to remove from HQ whatever hostile entity had invaded it, or when Archie had been too injured or too unconscious to send them.
Since technically Ida was implementing the entity-removal scheme this time around-
David tapped his watch. "Boss? You there?" he asked, striving to keep his voice steady. No response. David swore loudly and tapped out the emergency sequence that forced all other active Middle-Watches within a five-mile radius to emit a 120-decibel tone.
When the watch whooped, David nearly collapsed in relief, but immediately straightened again when Ida's cranky face appeared on the face. "Why are you making that racket?" she asked. "Robot trying to save your ass from a potentially-deadly alien pathogen here!"
"It wasn't meant for you, Ida," David snapped. "I was trying to reach Archie; he isn't responding to my call."
"He probably decided to stop bothering with your caterwauling," replied Ida, but David could tell her (metaphorical) heart wasn't into the gibe; Ida knew better than David that Archie considered his Middle-Watch sacrosanct. "I'll look into it. I hope the pathogen finds its way to where you are in the meantime."
David was too grateful to roll his eyes at the parting shot.
"I can detect his body's heat signature in the decon room," she reported instantly. "It's marginally elevated, but still within normal parameters."
At the word "elevated", David scrambled to his feet. "Shit, was he infected?"
"No pathogens whatsoever were detected in the decon room. Every trace of it was eliminated from him from the combo of the antibiotics and the decon protocol washing. And before you ask, no, he isn't allergic to anything in that room."
"Right. Get me out of here so I can see if he's OK."
"What part of 'lockdown' don't you understand? Nothing, I repeat, nothing organic is leaving its current position until the contamination has been cleared. Not even I can override that."
"What about Archie?" David nearly shouted, using his free hand in what he knew was a futile attempt to search for any release lock or control panel on the steel barrier.
She squinted at him. "What about him? Has his Code 47 activated?"
David stopped scrabbling at the door. Code 47, which contained a pre-recorded last message, was always transmitted when the Middleman was dead. "No," he admitted grudgingly.
"Then he's still alive. Stop badgering me so I can finish decontaminating and you can resume your normal blundering," Ida said, and closed the connection before David could further protest.
The next few minutes were sheer agony. David paced, swore intermittently and ran down emergency first-aid techniques in his head.
His Middle-Watch suddenly whooped again. "Can you open the door now?" David snapped. "Not in the mood for- Archie!"
His boss blinked up at him, looking vaguely confused. "David? I heard an awful racket. Did something go wrong with the decon?"
"No, it's-" David squinted at the screen, trying to pick up on the little details. Archie appeared to be in one piece and had not sprouted wings or other exotic appendages, but he did look exhausted. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and he couldn't tell if the droplets of water dotting his face were water or sweat. He looks debauched, just like he would if you-, and David ruthlessly stamped down on that line of thinking. "You weren't responding when I called you."
"Didn't I? I'm sorry for worrying you and Ida."
"I wasn't worried, unlike Lassie over there," Ida interjected into the conversation.
"Do you mind? The carbon-based life forms are talking here," said David. "Anyway, why didn't you reply? Did something happen?"
"Nothing, really," Archie said casually. "I had been in so much pain I blacked out, but I'm feeling better now."
David spluttered. "Excuse me? Nowhere in the history of ever was 'Spontaneously I was in a lot of pain that I lost consciousness' merely nothing, not even for Middlemen."
"But it really was nothing!" protested Archie. "After I finished scrubbing with the help of the Interrodroid, my insides suddenly felt like they'd liquefied, then hardened, then I didn't remember what happened next because I'd passed out. Then I woke up." He frowned. "I've got a bruise from where the Interrodroid was poking me."
David honestly did not know what to feel: jealousy because a robot had been trapped in the same room with his naked and wet boss while David was stuck playing imaginary alternative rock to an audience of ashes; concern for his boss, or annoyance towards the same boss for being his usual cavalier self. He settled for a mix of the last two - he'd be damned if he ever wished he were an android, and a pretty useless one like the Interrodroid, at that.
"You don't talk to other humans much, do you?" he told Archie. "Why were you in pain, then?"
"Bad dairy?" Ida offered, while Archie shrugged, seemingly unconcerned.
Something occurred to David. "Did it have anything to do with that plasma ray business with Doctor Hoyt? It messed with your morphology in some way, didn't it?"
"I don't think so. Our sensors would've detected that. I'm perfectly fine; it's probably a bad carton of milk like Ida said. Or a delayed reaction to whatever small amount of alien pathogen I inhaled before I got decontaminated."
David sighed and rubbed his temple. "As long as we make it clear that this never happens again," he muttered, and Archie flashed him a thumbs up.
A MONTH LATER
Archie was waiting for him at the empty storefront entrance when David went in for work. He wasn't wearing his jacket and both of his shirtsleeves were rolled up. It could only mean one thing.
"That time of the year again?" he asked, and Archie nodded solemnly. David wished very hard that an imminent apocalypse would suddenly take place; fighting off an invasion by a rogue alien fleet using only his bare hands was vastly preferable to-
"This ain't happy fun times for me either," Ida, head mirror in place, said as the three of them convened in the control room around the baby HEYDAR, a miniature version of the high-tech ball that dominated the ceiling. She plugged herself in and motioned to David and Archie. "You know the drill."
David pulled off his jacket and yanked up his sleeve. "Not even the three weeks I spent temping at the Asbestos Research Center required this kind of thing, you know," he said, averting his eyes from the large and pointy needles Ida was screwing onto the baby HEYDAR's surface.
"It's better if you don't look while it's happening," Archie advised him, but his voice was also unsteady and David could see that his arm was trembling slightly before David shut his eyes.
"Yeah, it's not like not seeing it would make it- fuck!"
Beside him, Archie was silent save for a change in the speed of his breathing.
(The first time they had to have their blood tested, David had let loose a long and pretty inventive stream of obscenity as the needle plunged into his arm.
There was no audible reaction from Archie, so David opened his eyes, suspicious that this was some sort of freaky test for wannabe Middlemen and Archie was merely observing his reaction. But no, he too was getting his blood drawn, and painfully too, if the way his fist was clenched was any indication.
"How could you stand not swearing when it does that?" he'd asked later.
Archie'd replied, "I've learned to develop a high pain threshold. At the same time, profanity cheapens the soul and-"
"-weakens the mind. I get it." He knew he sounded sarcastic, but Archie had smiled so brightly at David quoting him word for word that he found it- well, after that, David had made it his goal to be less free with the invectives (at least in Archie's hearing).)
The needle withdrew after what seemed like an eternity, leaving behind a throbbing pain in the crook of David's elbow. He let the tension ease out of his body before he opened his eyes and accepted the combination antiseptic/analgesic wipe from Archie. Ida was immersed in analysing their blood samples, so the two of them adjourned to the other side of the room.
David flexed his arm; the wipe worked mercifully fast and it only took moments before the pain subsided into the light burn reminiscent of overtaxed muscles. "Now that the mandated sadistic interlude is done, anything on the evil-fighting agenda today?" he asked Archie.
"Nothing's come up so far," said Archie. "The day's young. Someone's bound to have a harebrained scheme to take over or destroy the world." The baby HEYDAR dinged. "Results are done."
Ida is much more bearable relaying blood test results, David mused as she reeled off a string of polysyllabic words and numbers with extended decimal spaces that sounded like gibberish to David, but seemed to wholly absorb Archie's attention. He tuned it out, as usual, so when Archie yelped, "What?" he didn't immediately realize what was happening.
Archie was staring at Ida, bewildered. "What 'what'?" David asked him.
"Can you repeat that, Ida?" Archie asked.
"Human chorionic gonadotropin detected. Level: 30 mlU/ml."
"But that's- that can't be!"
"Can't be what? Clueless dude with no training in advanced chemistry here."
Ida stopped doing her mass-spectrometer impersonation and said, "The HEYDAR is never wrong, boss. Your blood doesn't make stuff up for funsies."
Archie ran an agitated hand through his hair. "But… hCG? That's impossible."
"What's impossible? What are you guys talking about?" David was beginning to regret not minoring in biochemistry back in college, he really was.
Apparently taking pity on him, Archie let off staring at Ida to explain, "There are only two reasons why hCG would be detected in anybody's blood. Neither is a good thing. Ida, can you do a quick scan to confirm either diagnosis?"
"What are these reasons?" David asked, worried at the panic dawning on Archie's face.
"hCG is either a tumor marker for gestational trophoblastic disease or-"
"Gestational? Isn't that-"
Ida turned around. "I've finished the scan. Congratulations. You're going to be a mother."
Archie closed his eyes. "-pregnancy. Away in a manger, Ida. Are you sure?"
"Do I look like I'm kidding?" Ida replied.
"Pregnancy. Our regulated monthly blood screening for weird job-induced illnesses just became your pregnancy test?" David's mind was reeling from the revelation.
"Fuck," Archie said.
TWENTY-THREE SECONDS LATER
FUCK!
All three of them stared at the image on the glowing screen. Correction: David and Ida were staring at the screen; Archie, who'd slumped into the nearest chair two minutes and one second ago, had both hands over his face and was moaning softly.
"Is there any possibility that this is not happening?" David said weakly.
"Sorry, but the scans are not prevaricating, deceiving or malfunctioning in anyway whatsoever," Ida said, not sounding sorry at all. "That's definitely a baby inside the boss, caused by a phlebotinum mutation the likes of which modern medicine has never seen."
The moaning grew louder. David glared ineffectively at Ida, then dropped into a crouch at Archie's feet. He placed his hands on Archie's knees. "Archie," he said lowly, "talk to me."
To David's deep relief, when Archie uncovered his face, there weren't any tears streaked across his cheeks. (If that stupid Doctor Hoyt had made Archie cry on top of everything else, David vowed to find a way to bring him back from the dead so he could have the pleasure of electrocuting him to a crisp again.) To David's even deeper alarm, Archie had his This-Is-The-Job face on.
He smiled down at David, a guttering candle compared to the supernova of his usual grin, and weakly patted the hands still on his knees. "I'm sorry about alarming you, David. Please get up."
David frowned, hesitating only very slightly before releasing his grip and standing up. "Don't apologize to me," he said, trying to keep his voice level.
"I'm so-" Archie started to say, then thought better of it. He took a deep breath and stood, swaying slightly. Clearing his throat, he smoothed down the sides of his jacket before turning to Ida. "Ida, can we assume that this threat has been contained?"
"If you mean that no one else is in danger of being spontaneously knocked up by a plasma ray, yes."
He stepped past David to peer at the screen. "My vitals look stable. Any anatomical difficulties present?"
"Nope," Ida replied, and the image flickered, replaced by several others in quick succession. "Despite the boy wonder over there doing untold damage to the delicate circuitry of that plasma ray, all of your existing innards have remained intact. Your newer innards are likewise well-formed."
"Hey!" David snapped, oddly defensive. "If I hadn't shot at that thing, Archie would've been the one-of-a-kind Peromyscus middlemansis right now."
Archie flashed a soothing smile at him. "I know, and I'm very thankful." And the truly heartbreaking part was that David was 100 percent certain that Archie was telling the truth.
TWO MINUTES AND FIVE SECONDS LATER
In the time that David had been employed by The Middleorganization, he'd already had to face hyper-intelligent flamingos, ooze monsters from outer space, reformed succubi who'd channeled their devious wiles into fashion design, zombie turnips, and enough horrible misuses of science to make him heartily sick of the entire branch of knowledge. These experiences, he supposed, allowed his brain to relatively make peace with the fact that his very male, very earnest and very celibate boss was pregnant.
Watching said boss sip from a specially-prepared glass of milk (Ida had said it was rich in multivitamins and folic acid), David couldn't help but ask, "So, uh, this thing has happened before?"
Archie looked up questioningly from where he'd been sitting at the edge of the medbay's exam bed, his feet dangling off the edge. So absurdly young, came the sudden thought to David's mind, though he'd already been disabused many times over of the notion that Archie was in any way naïve or inexperienced.
"Middlemen who aren't biologically capable of producing offspring suddenly being able to do so, I mean," David clarified.
A thoughtful look passed over Archie's face and he set the milk down. "There's a protocol in place for it, if that's what you're asking. Code 73 Subsection G. It hasn't been activated since, oh, 1952, and that was only accidentally. Turns out what should have been activated was Code 73 Subsection K." At David's blank look, he added, "Protocol for Middlemen suddenly laying eggs. Anyway, it's basic procedure. Body scans, hormone levels, screening for possible tentacles and/or flippers."
"Flipper babies." Oh, right. There'd been that time with the homicidal android where Archie had asked a lot of probing questions about Cook and his sperm - his sperm, for crying out loud! - before shooting the android's head off with a very large silver cannon.
Archie nodded. Before he could continue, Ida came back into the room wheeling a chart of shiny instruments, most of which had parts that made David blanch inwardly and want to cross his legs in self-defense. He moved closer to Archie in moral support.
"Shirt up," Ida ordered, slipping on a pair of goggles bristling with wires and squiggly antennae; David caught a glimpse of toned stomach before it was obscured by a series of electrodes being attached efficiently to skin.
Archie took his eyes off what Ida was doing long enough to say, "You don't have to be here, you know."
"You're my partner!" David exclaimed, strangely affronted. "Of course I want to- wait, you don't want me to be here?"
To his surprise, a dull red color crept up Archie's neck. "It's not- heck, I know the whole business is awfully shocking, and I appreciate that you're here, but these tests are tedious and uninteresting, David. You're dismissed for the day."
David crossed his arms. "Yes, because swigging beer and listening to Radiohead covers until 2 a.m. is obviously more important than being with my boss while his body's been messed with by a malfunctioning plasma ray."
"Is that sarcasm?" Archie asked, momentarily distracted by a ticker tape of figures Ida passed him. "Never mind. Of course you can stay. We'll consider this, hmm, a training exercise in matters of unusual biology."
"Good, I've always wanted to learn more about the different subsections of Code 73," David muttered in an undertone, but obligingly bent his head as Archie began his lecture on variable fluctuations in hormonal detection within the human body.
A FLASHBACK
TEN MONTHS, TWENTY-ONE DAYS AND EIGHT HOURS AGO
"That was…unexpected," David said, staring at the ooze dripping from his arm with faint disgust.
"Sorry about the mess," replied the boy with the taser. Of course, he was spotless and his olive-green (huh, was it a vintage Eisenhower?) jacket ooze-free.
David shrugged. "I was going to quit this job anyway. Is this going to stain my shirt permanently?"
The boy swiped at the goo with his index finger and examined it thoughtfully. Then he licked it, a dainty swipe of his pink tongue. "Three washings with warm water and lots of strong detergent ought to do it."
"Did you just lick the oozing by-product from whatever that thing was that you just exploded with your taser?"
The boy's shoulders tilted upwards "It's non-toxic, and the 'thing' was a many-eyed tentacled monster escaped from another dimension. You're, uh, pretty good under pressure."
Leaning against an intact portion of the bar counter, David stuffed his clean hand into his pocket and squinted at the boy. Was he hitting on him? Usually, David could tell right off the bat, but this - plus the tentacled monster - was throwing him off his game, "I work nights and weekends at a bar in the seediest part of town. Can't show weakness or I get glass on my face every other Friday," he finally said.
"Huh." Whatever the boy - and there was really no other way to describe him: he had wide soft eyes with fine lines that suggested a lot of smiling, and if David had seen him on any other night, he'd have carded him without a second glance - was about to say next, it was interrupted by a whooping sound. It seemed to come from the silver watch on his wrist. "Phooey, I have to go. This is for you."
David took the business card thrust at him and asked, "Thanks, I guess. Is this the name of a cleaning service that specializes in tentacled-monster-ooze removal?"
But the boy was gone.
The card read,
JOLLY FATS WEHAWKIN
Temporary Employment Agency
OPEN 8 AM - 5 PM
"What kind of a name for a temp agency is this?" David wondered aloud to nobody in particular. He still pocketed the card.
ANALOGUE, THE BAR WHERE ALL THE BEST ROCK MUSICIANS IN TOWN HANG OUT
2:03 A.M.
Analogue was loud, smoky and reeking of stale bear and sweat as usual, but even the combined chaos of nearly fifty people having a good time to an amateur rock soundtrack couldn't drown out David's thoughts. He lifted his bottle to his mouth absently, only for his hand to meet resistance - it was Neal's hand, and Neal had an eyebrow raised.
"You OK, man?" he asked.
"Yeah.”
"You don’t look OK."
“It’s nothing."
Neal said, "Bullshit. That bottle's been empty for five minutes."
David scowled and pushed back his seat, nearly crashing into some person passing behind him. "I'll be at the bar."
Andy looked over from where he was chatting with some people David vaguely recognized from their building and said, "Next round's on me, or did you forget? Please tell me you did."
"And deprive you of the pleasure of getting me drunk? I don't think so," replied David automatically. Andy flipped him off and went back to his conversation, but Neal wasn't as easily distracted.
While some band onstage tuned its instruments, he leaned closer and asked, "What the hell is up, Dave? Some shit happen at work?"
David wanted to say, Hey, Neal. You know my current job? The one where I told you I do heavy lifting for a temp agency, except I work odd hours and come home with bruises or tracking slime or smelling of unidentified chemicals? I've been lying to you all this time: I'm actually the protégé of a freelance superhero. And you know how my boss is clean-living, perpetually-optimistic and old-fashioned despite looking like a college freshman? Well, I accidentally got him pregnant by carelessly shooting at a mad doctor's plasma ray, except he's all aw shucks goshdarned understanding about the whole thing and very firmly told me to go home and stop worrying. Unfortunately, I can't stop thinking about it, thinking about him and wondering about where he lives and what he's doing right now, if he's having an extra glass of milk to cheer himself up, or if he's permanently disabling my gun so I won't shoot at something I'm not supposed to ever again. I don't know if he's got anyone other than our robotic assistant Ida to be with him right now. I don't even know if he's OK.
But he replied, "Nah, I'm fine," and ignored Neal's unimpressed look for the rest of the (middling and derivative) set.
THE ALLEY BESIDE THE ILLEGAL SUBLET THAT DAVID SHARES WITH ANOTHER YOUNG, LACONIC MUSICIAN
SEVEN MONTHS AND TWENTY-NINE DAYS BEFORE DELIVERY
David wasn't sure what to expect when the Middlemobile rolled to a stop in front of him. It sure wasn't to Archie rolling down the window, beaming up at him and saying, "Hello, David. Ready to fight evil and pursue justice today?"
"Yes," said David, and got into the car. There was the customary paper cup of hot coffee on the passenger side cupholder, while a vaguely baguette-shaped bundle of napkins was stuck inside the driver's side one. This all seemed eerily normal.
The way Archie was briefing him about the current situation was normal too, insofar as anything involving a nefarious plan that involved otters with lasers strapped to their backs could be considered normal. Archie's driving was also (boringly) safe as usual.
So: not talking about the whole pregnancy business. David could deal with that. He drank his coffee and nodded in appropriate places to show he was paying attention to Archie's narrative, managing not to spill anything when the glove compartment spat out a stack of case-relevant folders.
He set the cup aside and started rifling through the research Ida provided. "An exploratory study into the probability of attack by rabid sea otters," he read from one of the printouts, eyebrows arched. "That could be useful. I think."
There was, huh, a thin green folder wedged between a monograph on laser-equipped mammals in history and a diagram of otter anatomy. Case folders, David knew, were all brown and had the Middleman logo embossed on the front. He snuck a glance at Archie, who had moved on to brainstorming with Ida about possible suspects, and peered at green folder's contents.
It was a set of papers on the "Initiation of Code 73 Subsection G for the Middleman". Science-y stuff, mostly: electrocardiogram readings that he'd remembered Ida had taken, images with blobby spots that Archie and Ida'd gone "hmm" at deeply, a comparative line graph of hormone levels in Archie's blood over the last three years. But there was also a crisp white slip of paper at the very back on which was printed-
"It's for your information," Archie said, pulling David away from his examination. Not looking at him, Archie explained, "I want you to know so there won't be any, um, more surprises. Ida calculated the date of delivery using a truly fascinating equation that involved-"
"I'm sure it was," David replied quickly to stem the flow of too much information. He raised the folder in a mini-salute. "I'll keep this safe. Now, about those otters…"
Of course, the whole thing turned out to be the brainchild of a television personality with more cash and fondness for fish-eating mammals than sense. Of course.
Part 2
5:45 P.M.
"Duck!"
In a normal world, David might have interpreted that as "decrease the elevation of your head to avoid incoming projectiles". But ever since he'd nearly taken a bar stool to the face after trying to fight a many-eyed tentacled monster, the call was more correctly translated to mean:
"Don't let the shape-shifting mallard get away!" yelled his boss in front of him, and David, adjusting the High-Frequency Particle Restabilizing Gun under his arm, careened sharply to the left for intercept.
After more shouting, a high-pitched mechanical whine, agitated feathers clashing against a hopelessly unfashionable Eisenhower jacket, and a miniature sonic boom, David found himself sprawled at the bottom of a grassy knoll, watching his boss, The Middleman, wrestle a resentful duck previously hell-bent on world domination into a specially-lined crate.
Archie re-checked the locks a final time before jogging over to David to help him up. There was a long streak of dirt and grass smeared down a leg of his black pants. "Jeepers! Are you OK?" he asked.
David waved the still-smoking HFPRG absently. "Fine," he said. "A little winded."
Archie's brow furrowed. "The duck hit you pretty hard back at the lab," he said, looking as if he was seconds away from ripping David's shirt off right then and there to check for any injuries.
Sighing inwardly (and a little regretfully), David stepped back and nodded toward the crateful of subdued if still resentful duck. "We should get it back to HQ, boss."
MIDDLEMAN HQ
6:10 P.M.
"Now that we've taken care of the megalomaniac waterfowl-" there was a resentful quack from inside the Cognitive Assimilation Therapy Cage, and David thumped it gleefully, "-we can get on with more pressing business, David. Namely, your training."
David groaned, not caring if it made him sound immature and whiny. "But I've been through Sensei Ping's hand-to-hand combat boot camp, your intensive firearms/science and technology/defensive driving workshops and that seminar on intergalactic diplomacy. What else is there to know?"
From where she was seated filling up the paperwork, Ida retorted, "How about Being a Deadbeat Musician 101? Oh, I forgot - you aced that already."
If only it didn't make me sound even more immature and whiny to answer back, David thought and pointedly did not stick his tongue out at her. Ida, Archie had repeatedly told him, did not generally like Middle-Apprentices and David shouldn't take her remarks to heart. Besides, she was a robot and didn't have any feelings that could be insulted or hurt.
Archie ignored their sniping as usual. Instead, he took out a clipboard and told David, "You have to remember: There is no end to what a Middleman can learn."
Resigned, David found a chair and sat comfortably. "You're the boss, boss. What's it gonna be?"
"Don't worry," Archie said, smiling. "It's simply a pop quiz on Middleman procedures, acronyms, weapons, gadgets and things."
David tipped his chair back and grinned. Those long nights leafing through the Middle-Manual might just pay off. "Hit me."
"Define HEYDAR and BTRS."
David laced his fingers behind his head. "The first is our shiny silver ball that gives us all the answers we need, like Google only without the pesky privacy laws. Also unlike Google, Ida puts it over her head. BTRS stands for 'Beyond the Realm of Science Scanner', which is what you point at unusual phenomena to figure out what's up - and shouldn't I have one of my very own now that I'm no longer an untrained operative?"
"When you've finished the module on quantum relativism," Archie murmured, jotting something down on the clipboard. "What's our motto?"
"The Middleman: Fighting Evil So You Don't Have To."
"What's Code 86?"
David cleared his throat. "It's Code for 'I am having personal time of a sexual nature and would prefer that Ida and the Real-Time Situation Recording Archive (and possibly my boss) not ogle me as I do it',” he said, though his tone only very vaguely approached the friendly teasing that he’d been aiming for.
The way Archie’s eyes were fixed on his clipboard showed he’d noticed it too. "Well- um, that's full marks, David. I'm, er, pleased that you've taken to our profession like a-"
"-duck to world domination?"
Archie beamed, good humor returning. "Precisely."
"Humans," Ida said behind them, and stamped another file.
A FLASHBACK
SIX MONTHS, TWO DAYS AND FOUR HOURS AGO
"Look, I'm not calling you 'The Middleman'. That's too long."
"But it rolls off the tongue very easily," his boss objected.
"You're missing the point!" David exclaimed. "Yes, 'The Middleman' has alliterative qualities that make it very easy to say in times of danger-"
"-or peace-"
"-or peace, but it's not a name. It's a title. And since we're going to share many moments of life-threatening peril in the foreseeable future, I'd rather call you by a name that's you, not a position that's been held by who knows how many people in the past."
"The Middleman is me, and there have been 3793 Middlemen," his boss replied. David simply stared at him. "Oh, all right. What do you want to call me?"
David shook his head. "That's not how it works; I'm not naming you. Give me a name."
"Fine. You can call me, uh, Archie."
"Archie? Is that your real name? Oh. I suppose asking for your real name is a violation of some regulation somewhere. What the hell. Archie it is." He held out his hand, and Archie eyed it suspiciously before shaking it. "Nice to make your acquaintance, Archie."
"You too, David."
THE ILLEGAL SUBLET THAT DAVID SHARES WITH ANOTHER YOUNG, LACONIC MUSICIAN
8:30 A.M.
Something was making an awful racket. It wasn't very loud, but it was extremely insistent and would not be ignored. David groaned and pushed his face into his pillow, trying to capture the dissipating traces of his dream.
It had been very nice, that much he could tell from the lingering rightness it left in him. He was behind the counter of the bar he used to work at, making desultory conversation with a couple of regulars as he wiped glasses down and kept an eye on the baseball game playing on the TV across the room. Then his attention was caught by a sharp rap of knuckles on wood, and he turned, and a husky voice punctuated by a pleasant smile had politely asked for a tall glass of milk. As David handed it over without comment (rule # 3 of bartending: all orders are equal), the polite, pleasant figure took a deep swig, smiled again, and suddenly boosted himself over the counter and kissed David deeply, all cold dairy and a hint of minty-fresh breath lingering on David's lips. Then he lifted an arm and shot a many-eyed tentacled monster that suddenly loomed out of nowhere-
-that was not good. David groaned again. Then he stuck an arm out and fumbled for the whooping Middle-Watch on his nightstand. ALERT , it intoned. PRIORITY MESSAGE
"What?" he muttered, jabbing at the call button a little too vehemently.
Archie's head (oh his mouth had been so pliant, and so fantastic) appeared on the tiny watch-face. He was bright-eyed and fresh-faced, completely unaware that his sidekick-slash-apprentice had just woken up from a very nice but completely inappropriate dream that retconned one highly-important detail in their introduction to each other. "David," he was saying, "we have a grade-three GEGW situation. Be at HQ in 10 minutes."
David yawned expansively, managing to slip on the watch and roll out of bed at the same time. "GEGW?"
"Genetic Experiment Gone Wrong," Archie replied.
"Gotcha."
David made hasty work of his Middle-Uniform, wrestling with the knot of his tie as he ran down the spiral staircase that separated his room from the rest of the sublet. His roommate was already on the couch, bent over his Gibson guitar and a battered notebook. Without even looking up, Neal tipped his head toward the fresh pot brewing in the Mr. Coffee they’d salvaged and painstakingly rebuilt.
"Thanks, man," David sighed, drinking deep. "There's an emergency at the office."
A huff of what might have been amusement. "Good thing your boss is cute." That was definitely amusement.
"Don't call him 'cute', I work for the guy," David replied automatically. "And you know me, saving the world in my own way. Where's my- never mind, found them."
Neal raised an expressive eyebrow. "Fight the good fight, asshole. Analogue tonight? Monty's playing."
David hurriedly jammed his feet into his boots and made for the door. "Don't let him drink all the beer. Gosh darn it, I'm going to be late."
"'Gosh darn it.'" Neal's voice was flatter than an out-of-tune note.
Wincing, David stubbornly refused to whirl around and defend himself. He was already late. So he called out, "My boss' boss' boss says profanity cheapens the soul and weakens the mind," and slammed the door shut.
AN UPSCALE SHOPPING MALL WITH A ROOF GARDEN
9:00 A.M.
"A topiary shrub turned into a tiger? How is that even possible?" He could feel Ida giving him a Look, despite her being miles away in HQ, and David rolled his eyes. "I know, I know. Six impossible things before breakfast. Let me rephrase: why would anyone want to turn a topiary shrub into a tiger? What for?"
"That's what we're here to find out," Archie said cheerfully, shutting the driver's-side door to the Middlemobile. He strode towards the police officer standing by the crime-scene tape, fake I.D. in hand, David at his side.
"Who are you?" the officer asked, eyeing them apprehensively. David couldn't blame her; even the hardiest members of law enforcement would be a little jumpy at a tiger materializing in a crowded haven of greenery in the heart of the busy metropolis.
Archie and David flashed their I.D.s. "I'm Mr. Lopez and he's Mr. Tyler. We're from the Tiger Conservation Union. We understand there's an endangered Panthera tigris tigris hiding among the azaleas."
"Yes," she said. "A kid discovered it, thought it was a stuffed toy at first. Everybody was evacuated, and so far no one's been hurt. The tiger hasn't even moved - it's just lying there, acting remarkably un-tiger-like."
"That happens sometimes," David said solemnly, and Archie added, "May we see the poor creature?"
She raised the tape in reply. "Be my guest."
As they moved away from her line of sight, Archie took out his BTRS and started scanning the hedges.
David asked him, "How do we even know that the tiger used to be a plant, and that it wasn't teleportation or wormholes or whatever?"
"Morphic resonance," Archie said and tapped something on the scanner. "This kind of animal-to-plant transformation is detectable by our sensors. Hmm. The BTRS is detecting traces of phlebotinum."
"Phlebotinum? What’s- Never mind. Your technobabble scares me." They reached the spot where the tiger was discovered. It was, as the officer had described, lying quiescent in a bed of pink rhododendrons. In an undertone, David asked, "Is it alive?"
"Yes." Archie squinted at the BTRS. "It appears as if the structure of the topiary bush was manipulated so that it resembled the body of a tiger."
David thought this over and dropped to his heels in front of the tiger. It yawned hugely, showing off its sharp teeth and rough tongue, and rolled over. "It's cute for a carnivorous predator with the mind of a plant. But I still don't get why anyone would do this."
"Neither do I, but the possibilities are too horrifying to contemplate." Archie held the Middle-Watch to his mouth. "Ida, please run a scan on the HEYDAR for any pulsating phlebotinum energy signatures. Whatever device did this is bound to require a heck of a lot of juice."
"Two steps ahead of you, skippy. I've scanned the city and narrowed it down to one possibility. The strongest signature is coming from an abandoned warehouse at the old tuna processing plant."
AN ABANDONED WAREHOUSE AT THE OLD TUNA PROCESSING PLANT
11:07 A.M.
"One giant panda, one snow leopard- oh, three giant pandas, right- and a ratel. That's it? Wire the money to my account and I'll forward the shipping instructions when I receive confirmation." Archie and David, crouching behind some rusty canning equipment, watched as the mad scientist - they usually were, and this man's lab coat gave him away - stuffed his cellphone in his pocket and walked towards what appeared to be an enormous high-tech cannon that nearly reached the ceiling of the cavernous warehouse.
"It's a phlebotinum-powered plasma ray," Archie whispered in David's ear. His entire left side was pressing against David's back. "This is what he's using to turn plants into animals - rare, endangered animals that he's selling into the black market."
"The tiger in the roof garden was, what? Some sort of long-range test?" David whispered back.
Archie nodded, then suddenly stood up and stepped into the open. "Please step away from the plasma ray, sir."
The scientist whirled around, gaping. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" he snarled.
"I'm the Middleman, and I'm here to stop you from selling your fraudulent animals into the underground endangered animals trade," Archie declared. David saw his foot tap three times and carefully inched towards the other side of their cover, removing his gun from its holster. The Fire Exit Paradox Gambit: an oldie but goodie.
Sufficiently distracted by Archie and Archie’s apparent lack of firepower, the scientist broke into a monologue. "My colleagues thought that I was mad when I proposed this groundbreaking use of phlebotinum! Me, Doctor Hoyt, the world’s leading researcher in trans-kingdom morphology! Three institutes rejected my plans to build a plasma ray and my license to practice veterinary medicine was revoked! Humiliated, I built my own plasma ray and slowly created a fortune selling rare animals in the black market, so that one day, I could obtain enough phlebotinum to take revenge on those idiots in the institutes! My plan-"
-is sheer elegance in its simplicity, thought David.
"-is sheer elegance in its simplicity!" Hoyt concluded, triumphant.
"Your days trading animals modified using applied phlebotinum are over," Archie said calmly.
"Never!" Coat swirling dramatically, Hoyt spun and pressed a big red button on the plasma ray. Yellow light shot from it, missing Archie, who ducked away just in time. David didn't hesitate, and launched himself from his hiding spot. He rammed his shoulder into Hoyt's side, causing both of them to land a few feet away from the plasma ray. But Hoyt was evidently tougher than the garden-variety mad scientist because, cursing loudly, he managed to land a few lucky punches that stunned David while he made his getaway.
David wiped blood off his chin and got to his feet, muttering "Bastard!" before following him out of the room into one of the side corridors.
"You'll never catch me!" he heard Hoyt yell as David chased him through nearly-identical hallways. "I know this warehouse like the back of my hand!"
David gritted his teeth and concentrated on tracking the footsteps that seemed to echo around him. The taste of blood was still heavy in his mouth, his heart still pounding from the sight of Archie narrowly avoiding the plasma ray’s beam. He glimpsed a shadow and, whipping out his neutrino gun, quickly fired- at nothing.
"HA!!!" came from the opposite direction. Rolling his eyes at Hoyt's quick descent into a triple-exclamation-points level of madness, David reoriented himself, only managing to miss a flying toolbox to the head by tripping over some exposed pipes. The infuriating laughter receded from his hearing range.
"Why won't these fucking mad scientists just fucking surrender for once?" groaned David, getting up and breaking into a run, doubling back several times until he recognized the corridors again.
He's going back to the plasma ray! Archie!
He skidded to a halt at the room's entrance, quickly cataloging the pertinent elements of the situation:
Doctor Hoyt desperately typing something into the plasma ray's control interface. The plasma ray glowing an ominous yellow. Archie, unconscious on the floor, in the path of said plasma ray.
David didn't even blink; he aimed and pressed the trigger of his gun. He was only about six seconds too late.
The plasma ray exploded in a shower of sparks, electrocuting the doctor fatally, but not before he managed to slam a fist down on the start button. The ray emitted a burst of odd blue light that struck Archie square on the chest.
"No!" David yelled, sprinting towards him. He hopped right over Hoyt's lifeless form and fell to his knees at Archie's side. He frantically searched for a pulse, found one weak and thready but still there, and felt as though a white-hot lump that had suddenly lodged in his throat dissolve.
Archie stirred, a hand lifting to press itself on his forehead. David helped him struggle to a sitting position. "Wha-" he mumbled, then coughed, trying again in a stronger voice. "Sweet Caroline, what happened?"
"Doctor Hoyt's dead - fried by his own plasma ray," David said, jerking his head to the smoldering heap behind them. He didn't bother to sound apologetic about it. "And you got hit, but the color of the light wasn't yellow like it was the first time. How are you feeling?"
"I don't feel like my genetic material had been re-written to relocate me to a different branch of the animal kingdom," Archie assured him. "Just a little woozy, but I think that's from the defensive force-field around the plasma ray throwing me to the wall when I got too close trying to deactivate it."
David finally let go of Archie's arm. "Are you sure?"
Archie got to his feet and grinned reassuringly. "Nothing a good night's rest won't cure. Don't worry, the Middle-Watch will alert me if my DNA goes wrong."
"Hey, boss," David said. "There's something I need very badly."
Archie looked concerned. "What is it?"
David stepped closer and hugged him, burying his face in Archie's hair. He felt Archie stiffen minutely, and his breath hitch, and then he felt the pressure of Archie's fingers curling themselves tentatively around David's sleeves.
MIDDLEMAN HQ
THREE DAYS LATER
David was in the changing room, rummaging for a new jacket after a tiring day of chasing after - and later getting nearly burnt to a crisp by - a fire-spewing spirit summoned by a hapless gaggle of high school students, when the overhead lights started flashing red and white, and Ida's voice announced over the invisible speakers, CONTAMINATION ALERT. CONTAMINATION ALERT.
He groaned out loud. "Oh, come on. I know HQ is invaded three times a year on average, but I was about to go home and watch a mindless action movie!"
His watch chirped. It was Archie, who'd stayed in the control room with the artifacts they'd confiscated from the teenagers while David changed into non-singed clothing. "Great Barrier Reef! David, it seems that an artifact we've brought back for study has released an unknown alien pathogen," he said. "HQ will be going on lockdown to prevent its spread throughout the ten levels and hundreds of rooms within the building. Please stay calm."
Even as Archie said it, David could see the air vents on the walls closing and a slab of steel sliding in front of the door. He also heard the hissing noise of a ventilator kicking in somewhere above him.
"Yeah, I can see it," David reported. "What about you? You're in the room with the artifact!"
"I've moved to the nearest decontamination room while Ida (who's fortunately non-organic) directs the clean-up." He smiled reassuringly at David. "Don't worry. I'll be breathing in enough aerosolized antibiotics and scrubbing every inch of my body before the pathogen even begins to take hold."
David refused to imagine himself in a sterile Etruscan-tiled chamber with his boss, holding a foamy sponge while strategically-positioned steam billowed around Archie's naked- Now is not the time, he told himself sternly. "OK, boss. Keep in touch," he replied.
The changing room was really one of the worst places to be stuck in, David decided sourly after several minutes passed. He couldn't practice his martial arts skills because of the too-small space, and there weren't even any soporific technical manuals he could use to bore himself into the quick nap.
He settled down on the floor, well away from the pile of discarded charred clothing, and started practicing his air guitar. Neal had been making noises about writing a new song for weeks; David just hadn't been paying that much attention, what with being occupied by fighting evil and pursuing justice. He felt bad about how he'd zone out whenever his friends swapped lines of songs they'd written. Note to self, he thought, frowning to himself, find my scraps and see if there's anything salvageable for the next meeting.
Caught up as he was in ensuring that his fingers hadn't forgotten the chords to Our Lady Peace's last ten singles, he didn't notice the passage of time until his watch ("And it can tell time!" he'd said with fake awe when Archie pointed out the Middle-Watch's many features, and Archie had shot him a confused look) beeped the hour. David stretched cramped fingers, then stilled.
Archie hadn't spoken to him since the initial update.
David might often loudly complain about how by-the-book Archie was about so many things, never mind that David didn't usually know what "book" they went with during missions, but he could freely admit in the privacy of his own mind that it was soothing to work for someone who was so textbook Prentice-Hall could sell him to elementary schools. It was undeniably calming that Archie was predictable, an atomic clock of proper procedures and rigorous protocol despite the existence of monsters, aliens and androids.
From past experiences with HQ intrusions, David knew - as he knew of the dairy thing and the musical comedy thing - that Archie always, without fail, sent situational updates every five minutes on the dot. The only times he'd failed to send the updates where when the two of them were already implementing their scheme to remove from HQ whatever hostile entity had invaded it, or when Archie had been too injured or too unconscious to send them.
Since technically Ida was implementing the entity-removal scheme this time around-
David tapped his watch. "Boss? You there?" he asked, striving to keep his voice steady. No response. David swore loudly and tapped out the emergency sequence that forced all other active Middle-Watches within a five-mile radius to emit a 120-decibel tone.
When the watch whooped, David nearly collapsed in relief, but immediately straightened again when Ida's cranky face appeared on the face. "Why are you making that racket?" she asked. "Robot trying to save your ass from a potentially-deadly alien pathogen here!"
"It wasn't meant for you, Ida," David snapped. "I was trying to reach Archie; he isn't responding to my call."
"He probably decided to stop bothering with your caterwauling," replied Ida, but David could tell her (metaphorical) heart wasn't into the gibe; Ida knew better than David that Archie considered his Middle-Watch sacrosanct. "I'll look into it. I hope the pathogen finds its way to where you are in the meantime."
David was too grateful to roll his eyes at the parting shot.
"I can detect his body's heat signature in the decon room," she reported instantly. "It's marginally elevated, but still within normal parameters."
At the word "elevated", David scrambled to his feet. "Shit, was he infected?"
"No pathogens whatsoever were detected in the decon room. Every trace of it was eliminated from him from the combo of the antibiotics and the decon protocol washing. And before you ask, no, he isn't allergic to anything in that room."
"Right. Get me out of here so I can see if he's OK."
"What part of 'lockdown' don't you understand? Nothing, I repeat, nothing organic is leaving its current position until the contamination has been cleared. Not even I can override that."
"What about Archie?" David nearly shouted, using his free hand in what he knew was a futile attempt to search for any release lock or control panel on the steel barrier.
She squinted at him. "What about him? Has his Code 47 activated?"
David stopped scrabbling at the door. Code 47, which contained a pre-recorded last message, was always transmitted when the Middleman was dead. "No," he admitted grudgingly.
"Then he's still alive. Stop badgering me so I can finish decontaminating and you can resume your normal blundering," Ida said, and closed the connection before David could further protest.
The next few minutes were sheer agony. David paced, swore intermittently and ran down emergency first-aid techniques in his head.
His Middle-Watch suddenly whooped again. "Can you open the door now?" David snapped. "Not in the mood for- Archie!"
His boss blinked up at him, looking vaguely confused. "David? I heard an awful racket. Did something go wrong with the decon?"
"No, it's-" David squinted at the screen, trying to pick up on the little details. Archie appeared to be in one piece and had not sprouted wings or other exotic appendages, but he did look exhausted. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and he couldn't tell if the droplets of water dotting his face were water or sweat. He looks debauched, just like he would if you-, and David ruthlessly stamped down on that line of thinking. "You weren't responding when I called you."
"Didn't I? I'm sorry for worrying you and Ida."
"I wasn't worried, unlike Lassie over there," Ida interjected into the conversation.
"Do you mind? The carbon-based life forms are talking here," said David. "Anyway, why didn't you reply? Did something happen?"
"Nothing, really," Archie said casually. "I had been in so much pain I blacked out, but I'm feeling better now."
David spluttered. "Excuse me? Nowhere in the history of ever was 'Spontaneously I was in a lot of pain that I lost consciousness' merely nothing, not even for Middlemen."
"But it really was nothing!" protested Archie. "After I finished scrubbing with the help of the Interrodroid, my insides suddenly felt like they'd liquefied, then hardened, then I didn't remember what happened next because I'd passed out. Then I woke up." He frowned. "I've got a bruise from where the Interrodroid was poking me."
David honestly did not know what to feel: jealousy because a robot had been trapped in the same room with his naked and wet boss while David was stuck playing imaginary alternative rock to an audience of ashes; concern for his boss, or annoyance towards the same boss for being his usual cavalier self. He settled for a mix of the last two - he'd be damned if he ever wished he were an android, and a pretty useless one like the Interrodroid, at that.
"You don't talk to other humans much, do you?" he told Archie. "Why were you in pain, then?"
"Bad dairy?" Ida offered, while Archie shrugged, seemingly unconcerned.
Something occurred to David. "Did it have anything to do with that plasma ray business with Doctor Hoyt? It messed with your morphology in some way, didn't it?"
"I don't think so. Our sensors would've detected that. I'm perfectly fine; it's probably a bad carton of milk like Ida said. Or a delayed reaction to whatever small amount of alien pathogen I inhaled before I got decontaminated."
David sighed and rubbed his temple. "As long as we make it clear that this never happens again," he muttered, and Archie flashed him a thumbs up.
A MONTH LATER
Archie was waiting for him at the empty storefront entrance when David went in for work. He wasn't wearing his jacket and both of his shirtsleeves were rolled up. It could only mean one thing.
"That time of the year again?" he asked, and Archie nodded solemnly. David wished very hard that an imminent apocalypse would suddenly take place; fighting off an invasion by a rogue alien fleet using only his bare hands was vastly preferable to-
"This ain't happy fun times for me either," Ida, head mirror in place, said as the three of them convened in the control room around the baby HEYDAR, a miniature version of the high-tech ball that dominated the ceiling. She plugged herself in and motioned to David and Archie. "You know the drill."
David pulled off his jacket and yanked up his sleeve. "Not even the three weeks I spent temping at the Asbestos Research Center required this kind of thing, you know," he said, averting his eyes from the large and pointy needles Ida was screwing onto the baby HEYDAR's surface.
"It's better if you don't look while it's happening," Archie advised him, but his voice was also unsteady and David could see that his arm was trembling slightly before David shut his eyes.
"Yeah, it's not like not seeing it would make it- fuck!"
Beside him, Archie was silent save for a change in the speed of his breathing.
(The first time they had to have their blood tested, David had let loose a long and pretty inventive stream of obscenity as the needle plunged into his arm.
There was no audible reaction from Archie, so David opened his eyes, suspicious that this was some sort of freaky test for wannabe Middlemen and Archie was merely observing his reaction. But no, he too was getting his blood drawn, and painfully too, if the way his fist was clenched was any indication.
"How could you stand not swearing when it does that?" he'd asked later.
Archie'd replied, "I've learned to develop a high pain threshold. At the same time, profanity cheapens the soul and-"
"-weakens the mind. I get it." He knew he sounded sarcastic, but Archie had smiled so brightly at David quoting him word for word that he found it- well, after that, David had made it his goal to be less free with the invectives (at least in Archie's hearing).)
The needle withdrew after what seemed like an eternity, leaving behind a throbbing pain in the crook of David's elbow. He let the tension ease out of his body before he opened his eyes and accepted the combination antiseptic/analgesic wipe from Archie. Ida was immersed in analysing their blood samples, so the two of them adjourned to the other side of the room.
David flexed his arm; the wipe worked mercifully fast and it only took moments before the pain subsided into the light burn reminiscent of overtaxed muscles. "Now that the mandated sadistic interlude is done, anything on the evil-fighting agenda today?" he asked Archie.
"Nothing's come up so far," said Archie. "The day's young. Someone's bound to have a harebrained scheme to take over or destroy the world." The baby HEYDAR dinged. "Results are done."
Ida is much more bearable relaying blood test results, David mused as she reeled off a string of polysyllabic words and numbers with extended decimal spaces that sounded like gibberish to David, but seemed to wholly absorb Archie's attention. He tuned it out, as usual, so when Archie yelped, "What?" he didn't immediately realize what was happening.
Archie was staring at Ida, bewildered. "What 'what'?" David asked him.
"Can you repeat that, Ida?" Archie asked.
"Human chorionic gonadotropin detected. Level: 30 mlU/ml."
"But that's- that can't be!"
"Can't be what? Clueless dude with no training in advanced chemistry here."
Ida stopped doing her mass-spectrometer impersonation and said, "The HEYDAR is never wrong, boss. Your blood doesn't make stuff up for funsies."
Archie ran an agitated hand through his hair. "But… hCG? That's impossible."
"What's impossible? What are you guys talking about?" David was beginning to regret not minoring in biochemistry back in college, he really was.
Apparently taking pity on him, Archie let off staring at Ida to explain, "There are only two reasons why hCG would be detected in anybody's blood. Neither is a good thing. Ida, can you do a quick scan to confirm either diagnosis?"
"What are these reasons?" David asked, worried at the panic dawning on Archie's face.
"hCG is either a tumor marker for gestational trophoblastic disease or-"
"Gestational? Isn't that-"
Ida turned around. "I've finished the scan. Congratulations. You're going to be a mother."
Archie closed his eyes. "-pregnancy. Away in a manger, Ida. Are you sure?"
"Do I look like I'm kidding?" Ida replied.
"Pregnancy. Our regulated monthly blood screening for weird job-induced illnesses just became your pregnancy test?" David's mind was reeling from the revelation.
"Fuck," Archie said.
TWENTY-THREE SECONDS LATER
FUCK!
All three of them stared at the image on the glowing screen. Correction: David and Ida were staring at the screen; Archie, who'd slumped into the nearest chair two minutes and one second ago, had both hands over his face and was moaning softly.
"Is there any possibility that this is not happening?" David said weakly.
"Sorry, but the scans are not prevaricating, deceiving or malfunctioning in anyway whatsoever," Ida said, not sounding sorry at all. "That's definitely a baby inside the boss, caused by a phlebotinum mutation the likes of which modern medicine has never seen."
The moaning grew louder. David glared ineffectively at Ida, then dropped into a crouch at Archie's feet. He placed his hands on Archie's knees. "Archie," he said lowly, "talk to me."
To David's deep relief, when Archie uncovered his face, there weren't any tears streaked across his cheeks. (If that stupid Doctor Hoyt had made Archie cry on top of everything else, David vowed to find a way to bring him back from the dead so he could have the pleasure of electrocuting him to a crisp again.) To David's even deeper alarm, Archie had his This-Is-The-Job face on.
He smiled down at David, a guttering candle compared to the supernova of his usual grin, and weakly patted the hands still on his knees. "I'm sorry about alarming you, David. Please get up."
David frowned, hesitating only very slightly before releasing his grip and standing up. "Don't apologize to me," he said, trying to keep his voice level.
"I'm so-" Archie started to say, then thought better of it. He took a deep breath and stood, swaying slightly. Clearing his throat, he smoothed down the sides of his jacket before turning to Ida. "Ida, can we assume that this threat has been contained?"
"If you mean that no one else is in danger of being spontaneously knocked up by a plasma ray, yes."
He stepped past David to peer at the screen. "My vitals look stable. Any anatomical difficulties present?"
"Nope," Ida replied, and the image flickered, replaced by several others in quick succession. "Despite the boy wonder over there doing untold damage to the delicate circuitry of that plasma ray, all of your existing innards have remained intact. Your newer innards are likewise well-formed."
"Hey!" David snapped, oddly defensive. "If I hadn't shot at that thing, Archie would've been the one-of-a-kind Peromyscus middlemansis right now."
Archie flashed a soothing smile at him. "I know, and I'm very thankful." And the truly heartbreaking part was that David was 100 percent certain that Archie was telling the truth.
TWO MINUTES AND FIVE SECONDS LATER
In the time that David had been employed by The Middleorganization, he'd already had to face hyper-intelligent flamingos, ooze monsters from outer space, reformed succubi who'd channeled their devious wiles into fashion design, zombie turnips, and enough horrible misuses of science to make him heartily sick of the entire branch of knowledge. These experiences, he supposed, allowed his brain to relatively make peace with the fact that his very male, very earnest and very celibate boss was pregnant.
Watching said boss sip from a specially-prepared glass of milk (Ida had said it was rich in multivitamins and folic acid), David couldn't help but ask, "So, uh, this thing has happened before?"
Archie looked up questioningly from where he'd been sitting at the edge of the medbay's exam bed, his feet dangling off the edge. So absurdly young, came the sudden thought to David's mind, though he'd already been disabused many times over of the notion that Archie was in any way naïve or inexperienced.
"Middlemen who aren't biologically capable of producing offspring suddenly being able to do so, I mean," David clarified.
A thoughtful look passed over Archie's face and he set the milk down. "There's a protocol in place for it, if that's what you're asking. Code 73 Subsection G. It hasn't been activated since, oh, 1952, and that was only accidentally. Turns out what should have been activated was Code 73 Subsection K." At David's blank look, he added, "Protocol for Middlemen suddenly laying eggs. Anyway, it's basic procedure. Body scans, hormone levels, screening for possible tentacles and/or flippers."
"Flipper babies." Oh, right. There'd been that time with the homicidal android where Archie had asked a lot of probing questions about Cook and his sperm - his sperm, for crying out loud! - before shooting the android's head off with a very large silver cannon.
Archie nodded. Before he could continue, Ida came back into the room wheeling a chart of shiny instruments, most of which had parts that made David blanch inwardly and want to cross his legs in self-defense. He moved closer to Archie in moral support.
"Shirt up," Ida ordered, slipping on a pair of goggles bristling with wires and squiggly antennae; David caught a glimpse of toned stomach before it was obscured by a series of electrodes being attached efficiently to skin.
Archie took his eyes off what Ida was doing long enough to say, "You don't have to be here, you know."
"You're my partner!" David exclaimed, strangely affronted. "Of course I want to- wait, you don't want me to be here?"
To his surprise, a dull red color crept up Archie's neck. "It's not- heck, I know the whole business is awfully shocking, and I appreciate that you're here, but these tests are tedious and uninteresting, David. You're dismissed for the day."
David crossed his arms. "Yes, because swigging beer and listening to Radiohead covers until 2 a.m. is obviously more important than being with my boss while his body's been messed with by a malfunctioning plasma ray."
"Is that sarcasm?" Archie asked, momentarily distracted by a ticker tape of figures Ida passed him. "Never mind. Of course you can stay. We'll consider this, hmm, a training exercise in matters of unusual biology."
"Good, I've always wanted to learn more about the different subsections of Code 73," David muttered in an undertone, but obligingly bent his head as Archie began his lecture on variable fluctuations in hormonal detection within the human body.
A FLASHBACK
TEN MONTHS, TWENTY-ONE DAYS AND EIGHT HOURS AGO
"That was…unexpected," David said, staring at the ooze dripping from his arm with faint disgust.
"Sorry about the mess," replied the boy with the taser. Of course, he was spotless and his olive-green (huh, was it a vintage Eisenhower?) jacket ooze-free.
David shrugged. "I was going to quit this job anyway. Is this going to stain my shirt permanently?"
The boy swiped at the goo with his index finger and examined it thoughtfully. Then he licked it, a dainty swipe of his pink tongue. "Three washings with warm water and lots of strong detergent ought to do it."
"Did you just lick the oozing by-product from whatever that thing was that you just exploded with your taser?"
The boy's shoulders tilted upwards "It's non-toxic, and the 'thing' was a many-eyed tentacled monster escaped from another dimension. You're, uh, pretty good under pressure."
Leaning against an intact portion of the bar counter, David stuffed his clean hand into his pocket and squinted at the boy. Was he hitting on him? Usually, David could tell right off the bat, but this - plus the tentacled monster - was throwing him off his game, "I work nights and weekends at a bar in the seediest part of town. Can't show weakness or I get glass on my face every other Friday," he finally said.
"Huh." Whatever the boy - and there was really no other way to describe him: he had wide soft eyes with fine lines that suggested a lot of smiling, and if David had seen him on any other night, he'd have carded him without a second glance - was about to say next, it was interrupted by a whooping sound. It seemed to come from the silver watch on his wrist. "Phooey, I have to go. This is for you."
David took the business card thrust at him and asked, "Thanks, I guess. Is this the name of a cleaning service that specializes in tentacled-monster-ooze removal?"
But the boy was gone.
The card read,
JOLLY FATS WEHAWKIN
Temporary Employment Agency
OPEN 8 AM - 5 PM
"What kind of a name for a temp agency is this?" David wondered aloud to nobody in particular. He still pocketed the card.
ANALOGUE, THE BAR WHERE ALL THE BEST ROCK MUSICIANS IN TOWN HANG OUT
2:03 A.M.
Analogue was loud, smoky and reeking of stale bear and sweat as usual, but even the combined chaos of nearly fifty people having a good time to an amateur rock soundtrack couldn't drown out David's thoughts. He lifted his bottle to his mouth absently, only for his hand to meet resistance - it was Neal's hand, and Neal had an eyebrow raised.
"You OK, man?" he asked.
"Yeah.”
"You don’t look OK."
“It’s nothing."
Neal said, "Bullshit. That bottle's been empty for five minutes."
David scowled and pushed back his seat, nearly crashing into some person passing behind him. "I'll be at the bar."
Andy looked over from where he was chatting with some people David vaguely recognized from their building and said, "Next round's on me, or did you forget? Please tell me you did."
"And deprive you of the pleasure of getting me drunk? I don't think so," replied David automatically. Andy flipped him off and went back to his conversation, but Neal wasn't as easily distracted.
While some band onstage tuned its instruments, he leaned closer and asked, "What the hell is up, Dave? Some shit happen at work?"
David wanted to say, Hey, Neal. You know my current job? The one where I told you I do heavy lifting for a temp agency, except I work odd hours and come home with bruises or tracking slime or smelling of unidentified chemicals? I've been lying to you all this time: I'm actually the protégé of a freelance superhero. And you know how my boss is clean-living, perpetually-optimistic and old-fashioned despite looking like a college freshman? Well, I accidentally got him pregnant by carelessly shooting at a mad doctor's plasma ray, except he's all aw shucks goshdarned understanding about the whole thing and very firmly told me to go home and stop worrying. Unfortunately, I can't stop thinking about it, thinking about him and wondering about where he lives and what he's doing right now, if he's having an extra glass of milk to cheer himself up, or if he's permanently disabling my gun so I won't shoot at something I'm not supposed to ever again. I don't know if he's got anyone other than our robotic assistant Ida to be with him right now. I don't even know if he's OK.
But he replied, "Nah, I'm fine," and ignored Neal's unimpressed look for the rest of the (middling and derivative) set.
THE ALLEY BESIDE THE ILLEGAL SUBLET THAT DAVID SHARES WITH ANOTHER YOUNG, LACONIC MUSICIAN
SEVEN MONTHS AND TWENTY-NINE DAYS BEFORE DELIVERY
David wasn't sure what to expect when the Middlemobile rolled to a stop in front of him. It sure wasn't to Archie rolling down the window, beaming up at him and saying, "Hello, David. Ready to fight evil and pursue justice today?"
"Yes," said David, and got into the car. There was the customary paper cup of hot coffee on the passenger side cupholder, while a vaguely baguette-shaped bundle of napkins was stuck inside the driver's side one. This all seemed eerily normal.
The way Archie was briefing him about the current situation was normal too, insofar as anything involving a nefarious plan that involved otters with lasers strapped to their backs could be considered normal. Archie's driving was also (boringly) safe as usual.
So: not talking about the whole pregnancy business. David could deal with that. He drank his coffee and nodded in appropriate places to show he was paying attention to Archie's narrative, managing not to spill anything when the glove compartment spat out a stack of case-relevant folders.
He set the cup aside and started rifling through the research Ida provided. "An exploratory study into the probability of attack by rabid sea otters," he read from one of the printouts, eyebrows arched. "That could be useful. I think."
There was, huh, a thin green folder wedged between a monograph on laser-equipped mammals in history and a diagram of otter anatomy. Case folders, David knew, were all brown and had the Middleman logo embossed on the front. He snuck a glance at Archie, who had moved on to brainstorming with Ida about possible suspects, and peered at green folder's contents.
It was a set of papers on the "Initiation of Code 73 Subsection G for the Middleman". Science-y stuff, mostly: electrocardiogram readings that he'd remembered Ida had taken, images with blobby spots that Archie and Ida'd gone "hmm" at deeply, a comparative line graph of hormone levels in Archie's blood over the last three years. But there was also a crisp white slip of paper at the very back on which was printed-
"It's for your information," Archie said, pulling David away from his examination. Not looking at him, Archie explained, "I want you to know so there won't be any, um, more surprises. Ida calculated the date of delivery using a truly fascinating equation that involved-"
"I'm sure it was," David replied quickly to stem the flow of too much information. He raised the folder in a mini-salute. "I'll keep this safe. Now, about those otters…"
Of course, the whole thing turned out to be the brainchild of a television personality with more cash and fondness for fish-eating mammals than sense. Of course.
Part 2