Leo - not "Leonard", nor "Leon", at age thirteen you have to have a cool name - remembers the first time he sat in the driver's seat of his very own car.
Mr. Dorsey was a junkyard owner, and his new father. Leo remembers that this was when he realized how important junk was. Mr. Dorsey taught him that. "Everything you see in this yard is unwanted by someone," he said to the boy a few days after the fostering paperwork was signed. "That doesn't make it useless. That doesn't make it garbage. It means that somebody just couldn't see the value of it." He gave the boy a hug. Leo silently cried as he hugged back.
The car was a wreck. The engine wouldn't turn over. The structural damage was considerable. But there was potential. When Leo looked it over, the familiar flash in his brain told him how it could be fixed. He saw the limitless possibilities, the galaxy of ideas hiding inside the metal frame. It made sense. It had clarity. He'd asked Mr. Dorsey for permission to raid the junkyard for parts to fix it. The junk-man assented with a kindly smile.
The engine was the easiest. Leo got parts from other engines, parts that didn't belong together, and he made them work. He watched himself piece together gears and coils and clockwork in ways that seemed obvious, but were impossible to explain to the curious Mr. Dorsey. The body work was tougher. Leo spent hours learning to weld properly, and his foster father still insisted on supervising whenever he used a torch. He caught young Leo inhaling paint fumes and firmly insisted that he'd do the painting himself, once the rest was finished.
Leo learned fluids - brake fluid, oil, lubricant, gasoline. A dozen different liquids pumped through the arteries of a car, keeping it alive and mobile. Mr. Dorsey took him to the thrift store and they bought the oldest, thickest clothes that'd fit Leo's still-growing frame. Then he got as dirty as he'd ever been allowed to get by any of his foster parents, then or since, but by the end of it he knew everything by sight and smell.
Mr. Dorsey didn't participate in Leo's computing hobby. Mechanical things were his interest. So when he saw Leo wiring a ponderous black box into the battery and flipping switches experimentally, he lost interest. "Just don't stay up too late," he warned the boy, who heard but didn't listen.
And so Leo found himself in the driver's seat of his very own car. And at 2 a.m., he finally sighed. "Please start," he begged of the air, gripping the steering wheel tightly.
"I'm trying, Leo, I'm trying," came an apologetic voice from the black box.
"I know, but I was so sure the ignition was wired into you correctly." Leo sighed and leaned forward, resting his forehead lightly on the steering wheel. "I'm tired. I'm gonna go to bed. Goodnight, Otto."
"Goodnight, Leo," came the voice.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Leaving home - age 6
He remembers the families by name. The faces and the fear blend together, but the names were always different. Carson, Dorsey, Lancaster, Delacruz. It was .. the Pucketts, at age six.
Leonard - they always called him Leonard - was in the kitchen, alone. The door blew off its hinges. Standing in the doorway, holding a smoking weapon, was his father Judson. Past him an oblong slab was parked at the curb. The Gnome's escape vehicle.
"Come on, kid, we're leaving." The old man grabbed Leonard by the collar and hauled him away from the kitchen and through the living room, past the handful of half-unwrapped toys the Pucketts had bought for him, past the photos of Mr. and Mrs. Puckett and their dead son. They'd have to find a different replacement boy now, Leonard thought sadly.
Leonard was tossed into the passenger side, while Judson climbed into the driver's seat and started up the car. Any ordinary person would have been shocked by the unfamiliarity. The whine of electrics and the fully computerized panel wouldn't be present in regular vehicles for decades. To Leonard, the comfortable house and family were the unfamiliar element. In a way, this felt more normal. In a way, he was grateful.
He remembers asking questions that felt banal at the time. "Why aren't there sirens, daddy?" his six-year-old self said. Judson, driving, laughed at that. "Cops were too slow, and your dad was too smart, kid."
He remembers the two weeks he spent with Judson Snow. He remembers getting anything he wanted - all McDonald's hamburgers, all the time - and finding that he didn't much like the taste. He remembers asking about mommy. That was a new idea to him, a mother figure. He remembers Judson laughing in a way that wasn't funny at all.
He remembers the hotel room door being blown away, and thinking, "dad's here." Only his dad was in the room already, and it was a team of superheroes. Like Saturday morning cartoons, only serious. They acted like cops back then, but they dressed up like it was Halloween. He remembers the brief fight, and his dad being handcuffed and blindfolded. He threw himself at the old man, crying, trying to shield him with his body from these strange people.
The police were there, the real police, and one of the cartoon cops handed him over to a man in a black suit. The pattern of his tie fascinated Leonard, and he never looked the cop in the eye that day. The conversation was boring anyway. Questions about Judson, questions about himself, confirmation of his vital information, a discussion about foster families. The cops always called it a "discussion" when they were really telling you what they were going to do to you.
The Pucketts were too worried to take him back, the man said. Their safety had to be taken into consideration. And the Gnome knew where they lived. Leonard would have to be placed with someone else. But he knew that.
"Is daddy going to jail?" he asked finally. The cop with the interesting tie said he was. "Why can't I live there?" he asked. The cop said that would be silly, that was no place for a boy to grow up. "Well... he's just gonna come find me again," he pointed out, and the cop was silent.
Leonard - they always called him Leonard - was in the kitchen, alone. The door blew off its hinges. Standing in the doorway, holding a smoking weapon, was his father Judson. Past him an oblong slab was parked at the curb. The Gnome's escape vehicle.
"Come on, kid, we're leaving." The old man grabbed Leonard by the collar and hauled him away from the kitchen and through the living room, past the handful of half-unwrapped toys the Pucketts had bought for him, past the photos of Mr. and Mrs. Puckett and their dead son. They'd have to find a different replacement boy now, Leonard thought sadly.
Leonard was tossed into the passenger side, while Judson climbed into the driver's seat and started up the car. Any ordinary person would have been shocked by the unfamiliarity. The whine of electrics and the fully computerized panel wouldn't be present in regular vehicles for decades. To Leonard, the comfortable house and family were the unfamiliar element. In a way, this felt more normal. In a way, he was grateful.
He remembers asking questions that felt banal at the time. "Why aren't there sirens, daddy?" his six-year-old self said. Judson, driving, laughed at that. "Cops were too slow, and your dad was too smart, kid."
He remembers the two weeks he spent with Judson Snow. He remembers getting anything he wanted - all McDonald's hamburgers, all the time - and finding that he didn't much like the taste. He remembers asking about mommy. That was a new idea to him, a mother figure. He remembers Judson laughing in a way that wasn't funny at all.
He remembers the hotel room door being blown away, and thinking, "dad's here." Only his dad was in the room already, and it was a team of superheroes. Like Saturday morning cartoons, only serious. They acted like cops back then, but they dressed up like it was Halloween. He remembers the brief fight, and his dad being handcuffed and blindfolded. He threw himself at the old man, crying, trying to shield him with his body from these strange people.
The police were there, the real police, and one of the cartoon cops handed him over to a man in a black suit. The pattern of his tie fascinated Leonard, and he never looked the cop in the eye that day. The conversation was boring anyway. Questions about Judson, questions about himself, confirmation of his vital information, a discussion about foster families. The cops always called it a "discussion" when they were really telling you what they were going to do to you.
The Pucketts were too worried to take him back, the man said. Their safety had to be taken into consideration. And the Gnome knew where they lived. Leonard would have to be placed with someone else. But he knew that.
"Is daddy going to jail?" he asked finally. The cop with the interesting tie said he was. "Why can't I live there?" he asked. The cop said that would be silly, that was no place for a boy to grow up. "Well... he's just gonna come find me again," he pointed out, and the cop was silent.
Issue 3 epilogue - Link leaves the museum
The museum incident is under control. Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, and Bob stayed behind, assisting repairs informally. Tomorrow, Ilium will probably bid on doing the official repairs. In the passenger seat of Otto's vehicle mode, Link drains the anti-shearing fluid from his helmet and unseals it. Buckle up, he thinks to himself, and sure enough...
"What were you thinking?" demands Pneuma - now in her human shape as Aria Newman - from the driver's seat. "A black zone of unknown force and you just step into it? You could have been hurt, or worse. Mr. Snow, you should really take better care of yourself."
"You can call me Leo, you know," the inventor replies with a tired smile. "You've known me your entire life."
"Until I forgive you, you're Mr. Snow," Pneuma answers testily. "Maybe it will remind you that you should have grown up by now." She turns the steering wheel a bit too sharply, causing Leo to almost bump his head on the tinted window. He tunes out the rest of the complaints, but a faint smile plays across his lips. During the whole tirade, not once does Pneuma complain that he brought her into danger with him. She went where he did, without question or hesitation.
The car pulls into a hidden entrance adjacent to a sleepy scrapyard and recycling company. Ilium Construction Inc. owns the entire lot and stores some of its machinery here, but only Link and his robots know about the hidden workshop buried yards underneath. Otto cruises down the concealed ramp to the workshop and pulls to a stop in the garage.
Leo's out of the car and into the Link Suit's support harness in a series of smooth, practiced motions. Pneuma goes about her part of the work as well, stripping him of the black allotropic armor. The pair now have business to talk about; the chance to bicker, a core part of their friendship, will happen again later.
"What do you know about those two I was helping at the museum?" asks Leo. As the Link Suit plugs into the workshop's computer system, video playback springs to life on the far wall - a slow-motion re-enactment of the entire fight.
Pneuma highlights the two other supers' faces on the wall as they appear, pausing playback. "Mercury Man and Quorum. Members of the New Sentinels. From my observation, Mercury Man is the leader or apparent leader of their team, and the most aggressive. Quorum is a lateral thinker. Acrobatics and combat training of some kind. I'll put together a dossier on them tonight."
Leo nods, and rubs his eyes. The workshop's systems are already hosing down the Link Suit, recycling the STF fluid inside, and running basic diagnostics. "When the Ilium crew get back, tell Bob I want the squad to give the suit and Otto a full going-over. You're right - of course - that we fought something outside of my experience, and a full diagnostic should uncover any lingering weirdness."
"That was really specific, Leo," Pneuma points out. "Lingering weirdness. We'll get the weirdness scanner out for that."
Leo grins. "Sorry. Anyway, I'm going home. Thanks for everything." And giving Pneuma a peck on the cheek, the young man hops into his sports car. Leo, huh? She forgave me pretty fast this time, he thinks to himself as he drives.
The house is miles away, the legacy of the Judson Snow estate, legally owned by his son Leonard. Once the garage door closes, Leo pats Otto's hood, then turns on the television sitting in the corner of the garage. Tivo's got the big car-robot's favorite shows ready, as usual. "Good work today, buddy. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yes boss!" rumbles the car, and Leo heads inside.
"What were you thinking?" demands Pneuma - now in her human shape as Aria Newman - from the driver's seat. "A black zone of unknown force and you just step into it? You could have been hurt, or worse. Mr. Snow, you should really take better care of yourself."
"You can call me Leo, you know," the inventor replies with a tired smile. "You've known me your entire life."
"Until I forgive you, you're Mr. Snow," Pneuma answers testily. "Maybe it will remind you that you should have grown up by now." She turns the steering wheel a bit too sharply, causing Leo to almost bump his head on the tinted window. He tunes out the rest of the complaints, but a faint smile plays across his lips. During the whole tirade, not once does Pneuma complain that he brought her into danger with him. She went where he did, without question or hesitation.
The car pulls into a hidden entrance adjacent to a sleepy scrapyard and recycling company. Ilium Construction Inc. owns the entire lot and stores some of its machinery here, but only Link and his robots know about the hidden workshop buried yards underneath. Otto cruises down the concealed ramp to the workshop and pulls to a stop in the garage.
Leo's out of the car and into the Link Suit's support harness in a series of smooth, practiced motions. Pneuma goes about her part of the work as well, stripping him of the black allotropic armor. The pair now have business to talk about; the chance to bicker, a core part of their friendship, will happen again later.
"What do you know about those two I was helping at the museum?" asks Leo. As the Link Suit plugs into the workshop's computer system, video playback springs to life on the far wall - a slow-motion re-enactment of the entire fight.
Pneuma highlights the two other supers' faces on the wall as they appear, pausing playback. "Mercury Man and Quorum. Members of the New Sentinels. From my observation, Mercury Man is the leader or apparent leader of their team, and the most aggressive. Quorum is a lateral thinker. Acrobatics and combat training of some kind. I'll put together a dossier on them tonight."
Leo nods, and rubs his eyes. The workshop's systems are already hosing down the Link Suit, recycling the STF fluid inside, and running basic diagnostics. "When the Ilium crew get back, tell Bob I want the squad to give the suit and Otto a full going-over. You're right - of course - that we fought something outside of my experience, and a full diagnostic should uncover any lingering weirdness."
"That was really specific, Leo," Pneuma points out. "Lingering weirdness. We'll get the weirdness scanner out for that."
Leo grins. "Sorry. Anyway, I'm going home. Thanks for everything." And giving Pneuma a peck on the cheek, the young man hops into his sports car. Leo, huh? She forgave me pretty fast this time, he thinks to himself as he drives.
The house is miles away, the legacy of the Judson Snow estate, legally owned by his son Leonard. Once the garage door closes, Leo pats Otto's hood, then turns on the television sitting in the corner of the garage. Tivo's got the big car-robot's favorite shows ready, as usual. "Good work today, buddy. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yes boss!" rumbles the car, and Leo heads inside.
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