The Uptake: The 704, 2|0|0|-

[kether]

The Uptake, The 704. Book I, Chapter Ten. Go to first. Go to previous. Go to next.

TW: limb injury, gun



A fresh yard site could provide a change of scenery to clear his head, right?

Every time he came home without Galen in tow, it became that much harder for Torber to keep from their family that he’d found Galen. For six months, the Miners believed Galen had left or died. For two weeks, Torber had known otherwise. Though he’d brought Galen a cake on his eighteenth birthday, Torber had not mentioned to him that the whole family had gone to the Pyre Block earlier that same day; in order to deliver the gift, Torber had cut out after their visitation under the guise of needing some time to himself. He wondered how much longer he could keep up what essentially amounted to a double life, how much longer he could keep lying to his family about something like this. But how could he explain to them what had happened, if he didn’t completely understand it himself?

The complex duplicity of his situation led to a lapse in concentration. A piece of rebar tumbled off the drift he was working. It slammed down on his hand. He failed to stifle hollering about it. A couple other stalkers called out to check on him. He called back an all-clear. He ignored the sharp, throbbing pain several minutes. But, his hand had begun to swell up, and he couldn’t move two of his fingers on that hand. He gnashed his teeth beneath his respirator, and mentally skirted the certainty that he’d broken it. He’d only been on site at that yard a few hours at best, but the pain was too much for him. Seeing Bell about it would cost more than it was worth. Clouded by spite he snatched up the rogue piece of rebar and headed home.

With his respirator and goggles pulled down around his neck, Torber ran down in his head what first aid he could toss together in the apartment. He struggled one-handed to lockpick his own front door, fumbling with his trifold to put the pick back in its place then return the wallet to his back pocket. Such a dexterous task was that much more difficult lacking the use of one’s dominant hand. Though he bee-lined it to the bathroom to dig in the medicine cabinet, briefly he reeled from the mental whiplash of momentarily perceiving the way his bed sheet had been wadded up to resemble Galen.

He flung the rebar down in the hall in a reverberating frustration that his stress was getting bad enough to be making him see things.

The medicine cabinet yielded a bottle of antiseptic to deal with the nasty grinding cut he’d gotten from the rebar, but he didn’t find anything bigger than bandaids, so he went to the nightstand drawer to locate an old shirt he could cannibalize for a bandage. As he dug absently in the drawer, he realized the bedding was neither the same color as what he’d seen in his peripheral nor in the same shape, and he instantly snapped to his feet at the sound of rustling in the living room. He caught Galen trying to sneak out the door unnoticed.

“—Hey” was all Torber could stutter out in startled objection.

Galen froze, relieved it had been Torber but still caught in the act.

“What ya doin’ home?” Galen asked sheepishly, pulling his hood down.

“Slag why I’m here—why YOU here!” Suddenly his hand didn’t hurt so much.

“I... I come by s, s, sometimes. Didn’t wanna fess it.”

“How long y’been comin’ around—?” Sooner than process the fact Galen was standing in their apartment right in front of him, Torber couldn’t help but catastrophize the train wreck of anybody else coming home to find Galen here, and he was fast to devising ways to hide him quickly.

“Jus, s,s usst a few times. I... I, maybe four times now.” Galen looked up at the door anxiously. “Can I go now?”

“Y’really wanna—” Torber trailed off, biting his tongue. Galen wasn’t ready to come home yet, but here he was coming home anyway. “Yeah, it’s fine. Y’stay much longer, y’likely t’run into the kids.”

Galen couldn’t help but feel guilty for being uncomfortable staying, and he lingered, eyes on Torber’s feet. He quickly noticed Torber’s hand.

“Ya dreg, I knew it was bad y’was home middle the day! What happened!”

“Ain’t nothin’, man. I’ll manage.”

“Nothin’ my ass. Lemme see.”

Torber hesitated, but held it up with a sorry look on his face.

“I was tryin’ t’find a bandage or somethin’ t’wrap it.”

“Gotta better idea. Do one better. ...Slag f’that don’t look broken.”

“I ain’t goin’ t’the Clinic, Gale.”

Galen’s internal speculations halted, whether his brother’s injury had been the byproduct of a negotiator fistfight, and his face tightened at the mere mention.

“Ain’t nobody goin’ back to the Clinic.”

Tone alone put the hairs on Torber’s neck on end; he knew better than to ask for clarification.

“What’s y’bright idea then?”

The metahuman discarded his chance to get out of the house and started digging in the still open drawer of the nightstand. He held up a tee-shirt.

“This one ok?”

“I don’t— yeah, that’s fine.”

Torber watched passively as Galen helped him clean and wrap his dominant hand. Then Galen’s gloves came off and he wrapped his hands around Torber’s wrist. The pained concentration in Galen’s face left the elder brother speechlessly questioning what was wrong.

“Gotta work up a sweat,” Galen replied, reading Torber’s slack face. “Gonna make y’a cast.”

It didn’t take long before the metahuman managed to coax the stimulus to sweat, his forehead shining in a brassy high contrast to his pallor as liquid metal began to pour from his palms and saturate the torn fabric. The finesse with which Galen worked reminded Torber of someone sculpting very soft clay: Galen coated his wrist, hand, and index, middle, and ring fingers, but did so with an open, skeletal structure which allowed the skin to breathe. He stopped after he’d applied a solid layer, not more than a third of a centimeter, then held the arm out for it to dry. At first, the sensation had been cold, and now as it hardened Torber’s skin felt clammy. He shoved down the compulsion to comment on the sulfurous smell of the moisture evaporating from the layer of metal. As it dried, the metal took on a turquoise and white crust patina with sharp contrast flecks of a golden yellow.

Galen licked his hand clean, trying to compartmentalize the effect lapping up even those small smears of metal was having, to prevent himself from getting worked up over it; the thought process produced a detached demeanor to the instruction he gave next.

“Give it a couple more minutes t’set up nice, an’ we can wrap the other half of the shirt around it so it don’t look as weird.”

Torber turned his arm this way and that best he could, gawking admiringly at the makeshift cast as he adjusted his knit cap with his free hand.

“Dude I can see your fingerprints in it. This is so. Wow.”

“I didn’t figure I needed t’really smooth it out much.”

“—This’s copper, ain’t it.”

Galen choked up and withdrew from him, flushing deep blue in the face.

“I, I, I had t’leave mostuvit in the alley after, but. I. I. Yeah.”

Trying to diffuse the stupid question, Torber pulled him into a hug.

“Hey now, I don’t mean nothin’ by it. This is so chouay. Thanks.”

“I, I hope it helps.”

“It already feels a ton better, man.”

Galen looked up at the alarm clock in the bedroom, and reached into his pockets to retrieve his gloves with a resignation.

“It’s, like, not even fifteen minutes ‘til they get back from s, s, school.”

A long silence followed.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Gale, but I really don’t think y’should just be sittin’ here when they get here.”

“I’ll lea—”

“No, no, no.” Torber held onto him tighter to prevent him from squirming away. “I mean, I think I should talk to ‘em first. Give ‘em a little... context. The way y’came t’me, I figure it’d... Well, I don’t know how I’d set up some forewarnin’ or nothin’, but maybe not catch ‘em totally off guard any rate.”

“I, I, I, —I was real lost that night,” he apologized, swallowing hard at the reminder of how badly he’d screwed up the night he’d approached Torber. “Ss, still lost. Less, s lost now, but, s, still.”

“Bro, if I was still upset about it, y’think I’d a kept comin’ back t’see ya?” Torber laughed genuinely at his own pun: “Don’t sweat it.”

“That was bad.”

“Gotta smile outta ya, though.” He took Galen by the shoulder and started walking to the living room. “I think y’could hide out in the far end of the closet. ‘Til Dad gets home.”

“I, I dunno—”

“Y’can take a nap, maybe,” he continued, opening the left half of the folding accordion door and parting the hanging clothes. “It ain’t too cramped.”

Galen didn’t have any more time to object, panicking as he heard running footsteps bounding up the stairs and down the hall, and he shoved himself down into the corner as fast as possible. Torber practically slammed the door behind him.

Vana pushed the door open, holding it for her brothers as she continued her story.

“—an’ that’s why Jim is a jerk. I’m tellin’ ya, he won’t stop it even if y’tell Ms. Prendergast on him.”

“I’ll punch him for ya,” Orpi offered, tossing his backpack down against the closet door. “Oh, hey Torb. Y’sure are home early.”

“I, ah, yeah. Ha. I was a klutz and hurt my hand.”

“Is it broke?” The other two backpacks joined the pile.

“Nah. Got cut up pretty bad, though.”

“Y’don’t need stitches or nothin’?” Galen could see through the slats of the door that Vana was trying to get Torber to show them his hand, but he wouldn’t let them get very close. “What y’got on it? That’s real hard an’ it smells weird.”

“—I wrapped some yard junk on it. It’s clean, promise.”

“The door’s open.”

“I’m gonna be fine, Ruti.” Though accustomed to the phrase, Torber couldn’t not stare off at the closet door, and ultimately broke off to dig in the right side of the closet in the kids’ toys to diffuse his nerves. “Why don’t y’tell me what all y’did at school today? Vana, what’s your classmate doin’ that the teacher’s ignorin’?”

“She ain’t ignorin’ it. He ignorin’ her. He a jerk, Torber.” She dragged out her cars and loop-tracks, and started building a track while she talked. “He won’t lemme play with my other friends if they playin’ with him. Like, today. He told me he didn’t want a girl playin’ Space Force with ‘em. I wanted t’be Commander Gorsch! Dean an’ Patrick wasn’t bein’ mean about it, but the instant Jim says a word they clam up. An’ it’s always like that.” The sound of a car wreck punctuated her irritation.

“I told ya, I’ll punch ‘im if y’say so,” Orpi repeated, sitting at the folding table by the closet.

“I’ll punch him too,” Ruti seconded, sitting down on the floor next to him.

“Nobody’s punchin’ nobody,” Torber grunted, sitting in the other folding chair opposite Orpi. “Orpi, you especially. A teenager ain’t beatin’ up a slaggin’ eight year old, man. For shame.”

“He bein’ a dreg to my lil’ sis.”

Galen couldn’t handle hearing them all in such close proximity to him, not having heard their voices, seen their faces, in so long. He sank back against the back corner of the closet, as far back as he could, and buried himself in the hanging clothing again, trying to tune it all out while he mentally rehearsed for when he’d eventually reemerge. But, no amount of preparation felt adequate. He’d nearly drifted off, finally letting himself be comforted by the sounds of his family, to hear the front door swing open.

“Daddy!” Ruti ran up and latched onto his leg.

“Hey buddy,” Dolom smiled, patting him on the head and trailing off. “Torber, y’leave y’phone at home or somethin’? Been tryin’ t’raise y’all afternoon.”

“I, no— Slag, I didn’t even realize y’texted me.” Torber shot up from the couch from where he’d been watching TV with the kids, and walked up to him. “I screwed up my hand earlier. Came home t’take care f’it. An’ there’s... somethin’ else, came up.”

“Are y’ok? I needed y’help with a deal, found a canister of Carbamex I need t’unload. Y’know how bad my nerve is, gettin’ ridda blacklist stuff.”

“—I’ll be fine, Dad. I’ll help ya unload it first thing in the morning. But about that thing that came up... Y’should probably sit down.”

“What? What is it?”

“—I found Galen.”

A long, heavy silence. Suddenly the father understood why Torber had been so severed from reality not to notice his phone getting blown up. Dolom’s head whipped around in concern at the younger ears hearing any more details.

“We can finally put him t’rest, then. ...Y’sure it’s him?”

Torber screwed his face up and threw his hat on the coffee table, starting to pace.

“—No, I found him. Guess it’s more accurate t’say he found me.”

“What! He ok?”

“Told ya he flaked,” Orpi muttered under his breath. Vana punched him in the arm hard. “OW! What’s that for!”

“...Thank you. That, I approve of. Galen had every reason t’flake. He, he was scared. An’ it’s... understandable. He... don’t quite look like himself anymore. —But he’s still Galen. An’ for however scared he is, last thing he’s wanted was t’scare us. I was scared at first, t’be truthful. So yeah. I found him. An’... he’s here.”

“Since when!” Vana cried out, exasperated. “We been home for two hours! Just us here!”

Galen took it as as good a cue as any to open the closet door and scoot forward through the clothes, making certain his hood stayed pulled down as he slumped against the frame of the door. He looked up anxiously to see everybody piled over the back of the couch, staring in shock.

Ruti was the first to unfreeze, running up to Galen and cramming himself up in his lap. Recovering from the near-tackle, he got a death-grip on his youngest brother and gnashed his teeth, sniveling.

“The slag y’doin’ in the closet, twip!!” Orpi roared, doubling over laughing at him. “Y’been in there half a year or somethin’!?”

“Sh’up, twip—” Galen choked out.

“—Galen where y’even been—” Dolom couldn’t hold it back anymore and stood, his approach prompting everyone to pile into the floor around Galen.

Torber stood off from the rest, still struggling with directing conversation. Reunions weren’t exactly something negotiators typically handled. Besides, he’d already had his reunion with Galen, and didn’t want to interfere with theirs.

“EW! Y’need a bath.” Ruti groaned with a fake snarl, playfully pushing him away. The roughhousing knocked his hood back, and suddenly they were all back to staring at him again.

“I—”

“Told y’all it was gonna take some gettin’ used to,” Torber chirped flatly, uncertain how well things were going.

“What happened?” Dolom insisted, glaring at Galen’s disfigured features.

“Th, th’accident back at Christmas,” Galen replied, pulling his hood back over his head and trying to pull away from their eyes. “It, i—i—i— it did stuff t’me. Nobody knew there was chemicals in the drums, but it’s. It’s— It’s ‘cause they cleaned ‘emself up.” His ears rang, terrified. Why did he get himself into this? “It— I, I, I, I ain’t human anymore.”

“What the slag does that mean?” Dolom continued, trying so hard to understand. He felt like he was being tormented by a corpse.

“I left ‘cause I, I, I— ‘cause I started eatin’ stuff wasn’t food. I thought I was gonna die—” Galen looked up and met his father’s gaze. “Whatever that junk was, it’s makin’ me eat the yards, Dad. Regular food... makes me sick.”

“That’s sick,” Orpi snorted to feign being unimpressed somehow. “Y’tryin’ t’say y’eat garbage?”

“—Not exactly.” Galen’s stress got the best of him and he grabbed and swallowed one of Vana’s cars before he could help himself. The instant he realized what he’d done, his face twisted up and he pressed it against the wall, trying to calm himself down. “I—” He couldn’t form the words.

“He eats computer parts an’ metal,” Torber chimed in, speaking up for Galen as usual. “Batteries. Y’like batteries, yeah?”

“—Batteries are safe,” Galen agreed. “Soap.”

“—My car!” Vana couldn’t frown harder.

“S, ss, sorry.” He started trying to shove himself back in the closet, only for the three kids to grab the back of his hoodie to prevent him from shrinking further away from him. “—Ahhall I do is eat.”

“Y’make stuff,” Torber corrected with positive inflection. He held up his broken hand and started to unwrap the outer half of the bandaging to reveal the bizarre metallic brace beneath. “Y’still Gale. Y’stayed today ‘cause y’was worried about me.”

“How long y’known he was still alive?” Dolom asked pointedly, picking up on Torber’s narrative syntax that neither of them were telling the family everything.

“—I reached out t’Torb ‘bout two weeks ago. I been so scared, Dad.” He wished he could come out with the real reason he had been away for so long, but just his physical condition was upsetting enough. He hadn’t even told Torber yet. "I wish I could’a come back sooner.”

“Y’gonna stay?”

Galen could tell his father wasn’t scared of him yet, and looked up at him again.

“Yeah. If it’s ok—”

Orpi got up in Galen’s face and yanked the hood back again, looking him over.

“Y’look like ya took a bath in sulfuric acid,” he prodded, smirking.

“Knock it off, man,” Galen sputtered, kicking his feet at Orpi’s to get him out of his personal space. “What, ya wanna see?” Crinkling his nose, he unzipped and took off the jacket, exposing his pasty, cracked, bare arms. “It’s probably ‘cause a the sweat,” he started, snatching up the opportunity to push the conversation to something different. He removed his gloves with his teeth, and rubbed his hands together, trying to figure out something that would prove a good demonstration. Once he got his sweat running, he went with the first thing that came to mind, and he pinched and smoothed the metal in his hand until a figure was formed from it. With his gloves dangling absently in his teeth, Galen held up an army man made of copper, and offered it to Orpi, who took it. Thoughtlessly he wiped his hands off on his pants, only to grunt to himself in annoyance at the lapse of judgment.

“How did you DO that!” Ruti exclaimed, tugging Galen’s tank top and reaching for the toy Orpi had just taken. Orpi let him have it, still faking that he was unimpressed and not excited to have his brother home.

“Metal comes outta my skin now.” Galen started to put his gloves back on. “I dunno how it works.”

“Make me somethin’,” Vana pleaded. “Pleeease?”

“I, uh. ‘K.” After a moment of deliberating on it, he went back to work, producing a snail and holding it out for her.

“That is so cool!” She snatched it up and inspected it, bowled over with how cool her brother was. Sniffing the freshly crafted figure and making a face, she looked over at Torber’s injured hand. “Y’made that, too, didn’t ya.”

“Yeah, I know I smell.” Galen shifted in his place, glancing down at his gloves in his lap. “It’s ok if I stay, yeah?”

Dolom grabbed his ankle forcefully.

“Please don’t leave again. I don’t care how bad y’think y’gone scare us, how scared y’get. We y’family.”

“Yeah, I know.” Scarcely, Galen internalized, «Family. That’s the problem. Y’all ain’t even know what I’m so scared of.» And yet, “Y’eat yet, Dad?”

“—No, course not.”

“I could sure go for dinner,” Torber seconded, recognizing the diversion. “I think we all could. If that’s ok with you, Galen.”

The others couldn’t process why Torber would ask such a thing and with an expectant daze looked to Galen, who rubbed at his nape, self-conscious.

“I, bein’ ‘round normal food don’t bother me. Jus’ can’t eat it.”

“So y’comin’ with,” Torber continued, crouching down and handing Galen’s hoodie back to him from the closet floor. “It’s settled,” he smiled.

Galen laughed, smiling back, and he cracked the most light-hearted self-deprecating joke he could manage:

“What, y’think I was askin’, tryin’ t’duck out?”

▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼

The family ended up at Santo’s Diner as always that night. They came in the door and the six of them stood in the entryway. Torber absently removed his hat and tucked it in his back pocket. As they awaited the host to take them to a table, Galen got noticeably more fidgety, withdrawing into his hoodie.

“Y’ok?” Torber whispered to him.

Before Galen could form a response, the host came up.

“Six tonight?” The Miners were regulars, and she remembered this was a change in group number. “Excuse me, I’m sorry, Sir? I’m going t’have to ask you to remove your hood inside. City code and all that.”

“...Yeah.” Galen didn’t even argue with her, knowing full well why.

She tried her best to stifle her knee-jerk revulsion, but it still came out in a tic.

“It’s a stupid code,” Torber started: it was a comfort for his brother not to have to get stared at directly. “–He survived a yard accident–”

Galen grabbed him by the shoulder to shut him up. The look in his eyes pleaded him not to make a big deal out of it.

“I’m sorry,” the host tried, furrowing her lip and trying not to stare. “Really, I apologize. Didn’t mean any hurt by it. …Y’all want a corner booth tonight? If it makes things more amiable, y’can put it back on. Less likely t’draw attention in the corner. Bigger table, too,” she added with a welcoming little grin, suggesting her impression that Galen’s survivor status was why he’d been absent from the head count for all that time.

“That’d be great, Mimet,” Dolom replied, shepherding the kids to follow her.

Once the rest of them were enough steps away from them, Galen leaned into Torber’s shoulder.

“That law’s cause a me, ‘Nite,” he whispered in a hurt, feeling like explaining that much would quieten Torber’s protectiveness a bit. “I–”

“Don’t talk y’self down, man,” he interrupted, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him in to try to jostle the bad emotions out. “The city’s got weird, dumb rules. Y’know y’can’t take handheld Vees up past Level 14? How dumb’s that? What situation could that ha–”

“I, I ain’t exaggeratin’ Torb. I’m the Supermarket Geek.”

“S–”

“Gale, pile in man,” Dolom insisted. “Whatever y’all chewin’ on over there can fall out on the table with all the other catchin’ up we gotta do.”

“Ya, Torb, stop hoggin’ him,” Orpi jabbed, rolling his eyes with his gaze already boredly on a menu.

It took Torber a moment to snap out of staring at Galen as he tried to process what Galen had just confessed. He couldn’t make sense of whether he could grasp the correlation of the two details. He recalled again the code posting signs outside most establishments’ front doors. The ‘covered head code’ Tri-City had passed this year was because of the Supermarket Geek? And the Geek was his brother? He’d always heard justification that it had been so the hybrids had a harder time concealing their animalistic features, but... the stories he’d heard of the Geek eating right in the middle of the stores he plundered, the intimation of Galen’s face to that–

Galen took the welcome chance to change subjects and slipped in between all the kids, threading his arms out to either side of the back of the booth to pull them all closer. Orpi allowed it.

Torber swallowed hard, and with a knowing look shared between them the elder owed it to Galen not to further pry, especially not in present company. He joined them on the end of the booth and grabbed the last menu.

Mimet had waited patiently while everyone got in, then took their drink orders counter-clockwise starting with Torber. When Galen told her he didn’t want anything, she noted to bring him water.

“So where y’been holin’ up at?” Dolom started, adjusting his iced tea.

Galen fidgeted with the red vinyl menu with a screwed up look on his face.

“I don’t know why I didn’t give that back t’her,” he mumbled, pushing it away from himself. “Place under Bayonne. Ain’t much, but can’t expect much squattin’ an’ all.”

“Don’t sell it short man, y’got that queen size mattress y’found,” Torber chirped playfully over his menu.

Another reminder Torber had regained contact with Galen before the others. Dolom’s face tightened a bit. It hurt him in a big way that Galen had trusted his brother over his own father, but he refused to admit to it, and focused on his menu options.

Orpi nudged a spoon nearer Galen’s personal space on the table, trying to go unnoticed while the adults talked. Vana glanced to Orpi, not quite getting what he was doing. Ruti watched all three adults intently.

“Y’gone give up y’home away from home and move back in, or y’need the escape destination?” With a joking grin, the father added, “A queen size’s bigger’n what I got, man.”

The spoon vanished, and Orpi retained his poker face. Vana’s eyes widened, but she said nothing. Ruti caught on that his siblings were conspiring about something, and saw Galen vanish the fork Orpi nudged nearer to him, too. The youngest kept mum, understanding Orpi was trying to see how long this could go unnoticed.

“I, I could bring it home,” Galen offered, feeling guilty. “It’s kinda nasty, though. More from me sleepin’ on it than it bein’ wherever it was ‘fore I ran off with it.”

“Slag, where did my spoon go for my tea?” the father muttered, looking under his menu and napkin, then to his sides. “Torb, gimme yours.”

“–Sure thing.” He complied mechanically, half-forming the comprehension what was taking place. Glancing over at Galen caught him zoned out, likely thinking about the mattress. On a hunch Torber looked around at the napkin-wrapped utensils, to find most of the paper empty, and he couldn’t process the confirmation he’d been right. “–Gale–”

The meta’s face crumpled up deep blue when the youngest three burst out laughing, and he pulled his hood over his head in revulsion when he consciously tasted the steel on his breath.

“Y’all!” Torber started, glaring at each of them in a panicked desperation. “He ain’t a toy.”

“What–”

“–Orpi,” he wagged a finger at the culprit as he pieced it together, “been puttin’ everybody’s silverware under Galen’s nose while we was talkin’, Dad. Knock it off, twips. It ain’t funny–”

“S’fine, Torber,” Galen muttered, still gripping his hood with trembling hands. “They just… tryin’ t’get used to it.”

“Slag f’at ain’t weird,” Orpi uttered with a wide, toothy awe. “Y’ain’t even notice it, do ya.”

“Leave him alone,” Dolom grunted, staring squarely at Galen from the incidental demonstration. “…He… can’t help it…”

“Y’don’t even chew it up,” Vana marveled. “Y’just…” made the bottoms up gesture, “swallow it.” Her nose crinkled into her grin, disgusted but enamored.

Ruti offered one of the few remaining utensils up to Galen: a fork.

Galen simply stared at it for a moment, unable to wrap his head around the fact this was actually happening. The tension at the table cut when he snorted and smiled, reaching out to take it.

“Thanks, lil man,” he appreciated weakly, and resignedly swallowed it handle-first.

“That don’t hurt, does it?” the father asked with a vague absent gesturing at his own throat.

“Not in the slightest.” Galen laughed, hiding the hollow best he could.

Torber picked up on the flat tone and look on Galen’s face. Knew it was from the foodstuff being metallic, and bit his lip. He was about to say something, but Mimet came back.

“Are we ready t’order?” she wondered pleasantly.

“Yeah, let’s. Let’s do that,” Dolom agreed, handing her his menu. “Chicken club, extra horseradish. An’ a salad instead a fries, please.”

“Make that two,” Orpi followed. “’Cep he can have my horseradish.”

“I’d like the chili please,” Vana requested. “An’ Ruti says he wants the chocolate chip pancakes.”

“Cheeseburger please,” Torber chimed in detachedly, gathering everybody’s menus and handing them over to Mimet. "Extra onion and pickle, if y'could."

“And you?” she asked, gesturing to Galen–who, boiling in self-consciousness, tried to tune out that he’d been spoken to, but didn’t want to come off as rude.

“…I’m good.”

The children burst into another wave of laughter and Mimet blinked. Torber leaned nearer to her and motioned her to do the same, the fatigue of trying to mediate the evening finally beginning to wear him down.

“Could we… get another round a utensils, too. An’ don’t bring ‘em ‘til y’bring the food if y’could.”

“I, yeah, sure.”

Once Mimet left, Galen laughed off the kids making fun of him, taking his hood back off to try to prove he was no longer on edge.

“Really though, don’t do that with stuff ain’t yours. It is pretty funny, I guess. …But those wasn’t mine t’eat.”

"Yeah, y'all. Don't get 'im all strung out on his first night home again," Dolom agreed, still trying to understand what was even going on with his son. "He tells y'not t'do somethin', please if you can do one thing for me—don't do it."

No one ever offered any explanation as to why they'd needed more utensils, but Torber doubled up the tip their father had left Mimet to make up for any trouble it might have caused her. While everyone ate, Galen had surreptitiously removed one glove in his lap and left a penitent smear of iron under the table, not at all unlike the deposit of chewed gum.

▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼

Torber chaperoned Galen getting a small snack on the way home, promising to come back before midnight. Galen needed to eat dinner, too, he'd argued—but in honesty he could tell Galen needed space more than food. He picked a small yard well-lit by the streetlamps, one that he felt was clean enough and safe enough for them to traverse without a respirator, and sat off to the side while Galen ate.

"So, ah, findin' anything good over there?" It wasn't so much that Torber consciously wanted to think about what Galen might feasibly be eating, but rather that the choice of venue was satisfactory.

"Yeah, s'fine. Findin' lots of ol' batteries. ...It was so weird t'see ya take off y'hat at dinner," he commented, mentally fidgeting.

"I didn't even think about it. It's been so commonplace recently. Guess it became normal pretty easy." Torber took his hat off and smushed it this way and that while he thought. "What kinda stuff y'findin' in a store y'ain't find out here, anyway? I mean, I'm still tryin' t'wrap my head 'round what y'diet even is now, is all. I can't even begin t'imagine—"

"S’not any one thing," Galen blurted out, sitting in silence after he'd cut off his brother before it turned into rambling. "I mean, it's everything. It's... it's easy access. My gut fixates. It fixates hard. Y'know how y'get when ya crave a real specific flavor? And until y'eat it, y'can't stop thinkin' about it? I dunno how bad that kinda thing might bother you, but if y'can compare back when my appetite was normal to now, it can be the difference between a pesterin' whisper an' nails on a chalkboard."

The two sat awkwardly for a bit.

"...Lead yelluh. Lead slaggin' yelluh."

"...What?" At first Torber thought Galen might have found something yellow, but Galen hadn't budged from where he sat.

"The stuff I drowned in. Lead yelluh. Some of it was glowin' neon green, but..." Suddenly sating an appetite was the last thing on Galen's mind, and he stared off into the ultraviolet cityscape above them in the near distance. "I was climbin' an unstable drift. I knew it was unstable 'fore I tried, but I got reckless after I got stupid. The drift was pretty much all toxic waste drums, but I was goin' after some... some medical equipment at the top. I fell an’ took some th'drums with me. If the fall didn't knock the wind outta me, that drum a yelluh shit..."

He trailed off to to shovel a blind palmful of yard waste in his mouth, and just sat motionless for a minute while he swallowed it.

"Longest moment in my life was waitin' for the ground t'catch up with me. Y'know those nightmares when y'fallin' but y'never land...? Landin'. Landin' was the hard part. Then the fallin’ sky landin’. All I could see for days was that fuckin' yelluh shit.”

“Gale,” Torber started, shifting forward in concern. The tone in his brother’s voice was flat and uneven. “Why y’tellin’ me all this. Focus.”

The metahuman, in an unhinged calm, turned and looked him in the eye.

“The real sharp cravings are yelluh. That’s all I can see when I— ...Y’seen me on the Web by now, y’gotta’ve.” Torber nodded dumbly, unsure how to read him let alone understand what he was trying to explain, but he knew it was important. “—When I get like that.”

“Y’been avoidin’ comin’ home cause of the police, then,” Torber speculated, frowning. “I can’t imagine the force of the impulses y’describin’, man. Y’can’t help it. But y’got us t’help ya—”

“Ain’t just the cops. It’s the hunger itself. —Th, they did things to me—”

Galen decided he just wanted to lay down where he was, and disliked a great deal that he’d even tried to explain what was going on in his head. Torber came over to him and sat down, and put a hand on his shoulder.

“They who?”

The Geek’s eyes shot wide at realizing the way he’d said what he had, but Torber didn’t see the look on his face within the hood.

“The, the, the. Th. The chemicals. The drums a shit.” «Shit.» He hoped it sounded just as off as everything else he’d said, and kept rolling with it when Torber didn’t immediately call bullshit. “Say that first, I’ll get a cravin’ for batteries. Then I gotta wash it down with a particular soap. Then coolant. Weedkiller. Steel wool. Nail polish remover. It just keeps snowballin’. Got half a mind t’think the next thing helps my gut digest the last one. They usually run me outta the store ‘fore I can get to the last ingredients. Nevermind how loon I gotta look t’somebody dunno what’s goin’ on with me, seein’ me eat all this stuff. I go nuts. I... I see yelluh.”

“Y’think it’s like a recipe, then?” Torber wondered aloud, moreso trying to assure he was listening than genuinely having any clue the nadir of what his brother was describing. “Y’sayin’ y’think y’gut’s cookin’ somethin’?”

“Dunno. Jus’ kinda runnin’ my mouth at this point.” He tightened into a fetal curl. “I know y’won’t lemme just sleep here.”

“Comon, we both tired, man. We’ll hit the shower on the way back t’the apartment.” He nudged Galen to turn onto his back and look up at him, and smiled through his exhaustion. “Lookin’ forward t’not sleepin’ alone tonight.”

“Honestly?” Galen got up. “Same.” Torber followed suit, letting Galen lead off to the community bath. “I wasn’t sure whether y’knew the Geek was me,” he continued, not looking to Torber. “An’ when I knew y’didn’t, wasn’t sure whether y’was ok with it. ...Y’took it way better’n expected.”

Torber grabbed him by the shoulder and kept walking beside him.

“Y’not hurtin’ nobody, bro. Startlin’ em maybe, definitely a lil’ property damage here’n there.” He laughed. “Comon, y’really thought I’d disown ya or somethin’ cause a that?”

“...Yeah, actually...”

“Everybody gotta eat,” he play-shoved, hurt Galen’s depression had him so convinced of the potential for catastrophe such as what he’d just described. “Go on, get in that shower. I bet y’long overdue f’one. Y’feel better after. I know I always do.”

▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼

“Hold still.” Vana was practically climbing up Galen’s shoulder with his hair in both hands. He laughed awkwardly, apologizing through a grin.

“It kinda tickles is all.”

“I’m almost finished though!” She’d done a braid with the front long half of her brother’s hair, and presented the loose ends before his face with her pinched fingers apart. “Here, do the metal thing at the end.”

“Y’want me t’— ‘k.” He took off his right glove and smeared off a thumbful of copper into his hair between where she’d held her place, though he knew it wouldn’t last long considering its proximity to his mouth. “How’s that.”

She shoved his shoulders and prodded him to stand up and look at himself in the mirror above their dresser. Another laugh came out of him.

“What?”

He sighed, smiling distantly. «Reminds me a mom.» “I like it, s’all.”

“Gets the hair outta y’eyes,” Orpi commented from the doorway. “Need a haircut.”

Galen simply shrugged at him, deadpan, and walked past him leaving Vana to do the same with her own hair in the bedroom. Torber, Ruti, and their father were waiting on the couch, vacantly watching cartoons on the Web, the adults still not quite awake. When they were ready for the day, they gathered over a quick street food breakfast before hitting the yards.

“—Don’t care summer’s the hottest.” Orpi swallowed the bite of his breakfast spring roll. “I learn more from shadowin’ Dad than I learn all year at school. I hate it. Hate it so much. So glad the year’s over.”

“Y’doin’ good learnin’ how t’truffle.” Dolom cooly savored his coffee. “Book smarts ain’t the only kinda smarts.”

“I miss classes.” Galen fidgeted with his braid. “Miss books.” He didn’t like thinking back to his first running trends of truancy.

“There’s the sourpuss we missed,” Torber joked, grabbing him and pulling him into a side-hug. “The hopeless romantic an’... resident stick in the mud. We all ditch that useless hunk a concrete eventually—some sooner rather’n later. They only pour useless knowledge into y’head in there. Y’get th’real deal—” he gestured toward the Yards by shaking Galen’s shoulder, “—out here.”

“I’d chew on that with ya,” Vana interjected, “but y’know where I think y’right an’ wrong.”

“All y’do durin’ the summer is study while we out here trufflin’.” Orpi tossed his wadded wrapper like a basketball in the nearby trashcan. “Y’gonna hafta learn the Yards one day.”

“She runs circles ‘round all her classmates,” Dolom argued, supportive and proud. “Gonna end up with a PhD or somethin’ at this rate.”

“Maybe.” She rubbed the shaven back half of her head and held up her reader. “I... I should get back home with Ruti.”

“See ya at dinner. Love y’all.” Dolom smiled and tossed her a kiss, waving to both of the youngest who reciprocated as they took a few backwards steps then started off back toward home.

“Her head’s gonna explode one day tryin’ t’keep all that information in her head ‘stead a lettin’ the computers do it all,” Orpi muttered.

“How’d they do all that ‘fore computers, then?” After a pause, Dolom straightened. “I don’t always understand what y’kids are about, but I know y’made of somethin’ real. If she wants to blow her allowance on tech journal subscriptions an’ all that junk, that’s her time an’ cred. Way I see it, she’s enrichin’ herself. Even if she still ends up in the Yards by y’all’s age, she’ll know how the people who wrote all that stuff thinks. It’s perspective.”

“Lotta mess t’get perspective.” Orpi lingered hard on his father’s words.

“Let’s not get started on what mistakes it takes for a body to learn from ‘em.” Galen finally broke out of Torber’s grip on his shoulder and moved toward hitting the Yards. “I think I got everybody beat on that.”

“Hey, y’forgot y’respirator,” Torber blurted out, not used to seeing him with his hood down for extended times. “D’we need t’—”

“Y’ain’t seen everything I gotten into since the accident,” he insisted, turning to make eye contact best he could. “I, I didn’t forget it. Don’t, don’t need it.” The three of them paused and looked squarely at him with a look mixed of confusion, concern, and cognizance. “C, c, c, c— comon. We’ll all hit the same Yard yeah?”

“Yeah...” Dolom sighed, still not used to his son’s ghoulish condition. “...Let’s.”

Dolom picked one of the three Yards on Christiansen and they headed in, putting on their gloves, and those who had them pulling up their respirators. They all started at the same drift, but ended up splitting up as they worked. At one point, Torber left unnoticed then returned about an hour later. He went to Dolom first and they chatted briefly before Torber gave him something and patted him on the shoulder, then he approached Galen.

“I forgot t’unload the verbot Dad gave me last night.” Torber crouched down to sit, glossing over the fact he’d caught Galen picking through the drift to find things he felt like eating. “Eighteen creds just f’one dinky lil’ canister. S’nuts.”

Galen tried to remember what their father had found the day before, appearing to be simply scrutinizing the drift for his next morsel. Carbamex, right? “Hackers eat up that truck. I guess hotboxin’ wafers s’still real popular.”

“Yeah.” Torber squinted suspiciously at the casual jargon. “What you know about circuit slag, man?”

He flushed ruddy in the face, and started digging through the side of the drift again, his mind racing.

“—Hacker discards just taste different, aight?” He shoved a cell phone case in his mouth and swallowed it whole. “Doin’ it all by hand. It just. N, nn, nevermind.”

“Y’keep eatin’ all the good stuff y’find, an’ y’won’t have anything t’dump at the sorters’ cadre tonight,” Torber jabbed playfully, understanding full well this was Galen having his own breakfast. The lighthearted comment lit something in Galen, though, and the mutant stopped eating altogether, turning his back to recline against it in tacit defiance of his appetite. He lay there for the longest, staring off into the upper city before finally looking up at Torber, who’d since sat near him.

“No more cuttin’ profits with the sorters, man.”

“I don’t follow.” Torber didn’t like where this was going.

“Slag that noise. Y'just gotta turn me loose in the Yards. Pile it up where I can reach it. Come back when I slept it off.” The elder tried to object, but Galen kept talking, sure of himself for the first time in what seemed like forever. “Cargo ain’t fragile no more. No more glass. No more dust in mason jars. It comes out solid. Whatever shape the dealers want.”

“Gale, I—” Torber didn’t even know where to begin. “I seen what eatin’ too much does t’ya. I couldn’t—”

“Y’fed me ‘too much’ in that alley,” he snapped insistently, his hand wandering beside him to feel for something to put in his mouth. Ultimately he decided then was the time to suck the copper out of the tip of his braid, and it rested in the corner of his mouth as he spoke next. “I had t’leave most’a that copper there, there was so much. All I had to show for it was th’experience. Been eatin’ at me somethin’ nasty, t’be honest. Ain’t a way one man can carry that much copper. Leavin’ it all there, feels to me like I blew all those creds on a hooker and some stupid-expensive booze or somethin’, man.”

The nonchalant and bizarre strings of verbiage boxed Torber’s ears a bit, and he had to sit and think how to reply.

“...Could... two guys carry it? Or at least, make off with part of it?”

“I hadn’t gone back since t’look at it. Didn’t wanna risk the... temptation. Surprised I even could walk away from it, all things considered. We could... cut out and see if we can’t figure out it’s possible? If I get crazy, you’d be there t’pull me away?”

Torber tried to hide that his sweating wasn’t from the clouds breaking.

“How much are y’estimatin’ that represents, Gale? I don’t deal in raw metals enough t’know goin’ prices. More a sorter thing.”

“There was probably over five hundred pounds in what I left behind.” Galen swallowed hard and let his hair fall from his mouth, noticing himself fixating on the mere concept of that much metal in one place, and on the memory of the experience that had left it there. “I dunno ‘Nite, probably... ‘tween three and four hundred cred?”

The number had Torber’s ears ringing again, and the endearment dug at him. He couldn’t believe he’d fed his brother something that represented that much money, without even realizing the value. It deranged him to skirt the notion that the copper retained its worth after being eaten.

“We gonna see if it’s remotely doable. An’ we comin’ right back here if we can’t figure out how t’move it, and regroup. Gotta be a way to get it to a cadre floor.”

So they calmly got up and left the Yard and walked to the alley they’d been talking about. As they neared the chain-link gate now without a padlock, Galen’s hand shot up to seize a fistful of Torber’s vest, and when Torber looked to him Galen’s eyes were in a fierce delirium, his mouth running with saliva. Torber started to ask him if he was okay, but Galen threw up a hushing finger, dragging the two of them to hug the brick wall.

“It’s haunting,” a voice remarked. “Like... someone made a snow angel in the slag. Except that’s impossible.”

“Clearly that’s entirely possible,” a second replied with ennui. “Otherwise we wouldn’t be looking at it right now.”

Galen couldn’t shake the gut feeling he knew the second voice. He tried to peek around the corner from where they hid about fifteen feet away, but ultimately didn’t think it was possible without giving away their position. Swallowing couldn’t get his stress to quit his drooling. Torber immediately knew something was wrong from the fact his brother was struck with such panic he couldn’t unglue himself from the alley wall, and he tried to take him by the arm to usher him away, but got nowhere. Even without the cache of copper inside him, the mutant was unnaturally heavy from the metals that had come to saturate his bones.

“I know this has to be the weirdest presumption I’ve made about all this, but I just can’t get past knowing Mark and Anise left approximately this exact bulk of scrap back here after our last air conditioning contract. What could have melted it down in the exact same spot without heat or chemicals, then done that with it?”

“...Not, what. Who.” The second voice began to chuckle and goosepimples shot up Galen’s spine. Saurer. “You see the crust there? That’s his sweat.”

“What—” The first voice cut off abruptly, then whispered. “What do you mean?”

“Couldn’t keep yourself from coming back for the leftovers, you freak?”

Torber’s eyes shot wide, knowing they’d been found out, and immediately shoved Galen as hard as he could. The two figures from the crossway of the alley were fast on them, the four tearing North down the street.

“Shit! I didn’t think I was right!” Saurer pulled a gun, cocking it to make sure it was loaded with the safety off. “Keep running, Stalker! Maybe you’ll get lucky!” Not giving the bystanders warning, he fired a test shot at Galen and laughed, not missing a step.

“Gale what the fuck!” Torber hollered. He shepherded him into a side street, trying not to cost them speed.

“JUST RUN YEAH?”

The four sped through the maze of tight streets throughout the industrial section of the fringe of city limits for a bit before Galen recognized they’d just set foot on Hanbrook Street. Ahead of Torber now, he sprinted up to the apartment complex, hoping to lose them in the building. In the chaos, it didn’t click in Galen’s head that the gates were wide open.

“HEY!” A third chasing voice exclaimed. “This is private property!”

“Shit shit shit—” Galen didn’t turn or slow down. Initially he’d intended to run up the stairs and hide in the upper stories of the skeleton of the unfinished apartment complex, but he knew he couldn’t do anything but outrun them now. He tried to take the chain link fence at the opposite end of the lot at full speed, using his momentum to get altitude, but his weight planted him about halfway up, and he stunned himself with the springback of the fence slamming him in the face. Torber had already gotten to the top of the fence, ready to hop the barbed wire, before he noticed Galen had fallen back. The moment’s mistake was all it took for Saurer and the two security guards to catch up.

Saurer slammed down a boot on Galen’s chest before he could get up, and knelt slightly to put the gun to Galen’s forehead. He smirked to flash his capped tooth.

“You’re worth way more than you could understand, you slagging stupid Stalker.”

Having his back to Torber had been a mistake, and the elder brother leapt without hesitation onto the assailant, the two rolling away from Galen. They broke into a fistfight on the ground, the gun getting lost. Galen’s gut flew into fight-or-flight and reflexively he scrambled for the gun.

“No nO NO—” Saurer’s attention immediately went to the mutant’s movements, costing him a punch square across the face. Before he could physically object to the inevitable, Galen had swallowed the gun. Torber pinned down Saurer on his stomach, and started patting down his pockets and belt. “You piece of shit how are you managing this with a broken arm— oW—”

The security guards cornered Galen soon after, and tried to get a grapple hold on him. He squirmed out of one of their grips, but the other still had his foot. The second guard got a kick to the face with the foot he’d grabbed, sending him sprawling into the other. While Galen had struggled with the two guards, Torber had found handcuffs on Saurer and used them to lock a wrist to an ankle.

“You fucKING—”

“I don’t know what you want with my brother, but—”

" 'NITE...!”

Standing, Galen snatched Torber’s vest by the hood and dragged him to his feet too. With the two guards stunned, they got a head start running back toward the gate. But, in the time they’d fought, one of the guards had called for backup, and police cars screamed down the street from both ends. For a moment they froze in panic, unsure which direction to take. Before either of them could think, they each sprinted a different way down the street. Breaking up had been a good instinct, Torber easily losing the police that had tailed him for about six blocks. He collapsed behind a dumpster, trying to catch his breath.

Galen ran until he hit a pocket of foot traffic, and tried to used it as a smokescreen, ducking down the stairs of the 89th Street subway. There wasn’t a rail car at the platform when he jogged up to it. He thought he heard the police coming down into the subway, and panicked, jumping down onto the tracks and sprinting until he found an access tunnel, then sprinted down that until his legs wouldn’t take him any further.

Go to next »»»