Tunnel Rat

Chapter 212: Conversations

Chapter 212: Conversations

Milo yelled to Belinda. "Food first, it smells great." The table was set up like the tables at the event, with a white tablecloth, metal pans of food, little plates, and forks. His stomach dropped down to his toes, replaced by a hungry void. When had he eaten last? A snack when he woke up? And before that, the event. He was hungry and even a little feverish. There was an empty pan where the mani-somethings had been. He started with that, filling it with four chili dogs and a pile of tater chunks before putting cheese sauce over everything.

Food acquired, he took his pan and controller and sat next to Belinda. He ate with one hand and held the controller with the other. Everyone in the room looked at him as he shoveled food into his mouth while he and Belinda battled with giant robots in the ruins of neo-Tokyo. Belinda was using Red Ronin, a heavily armored Samurai Mech designed to fight Kaiju with its energized plasma katana. Milo chose Lego Ninja-73. What his robot lacked in armor, it made up for with cheap and easy repairs between rounds. Like all of the Lego Ninja variants, it was fast and agile, able to dodge most heavy mechs. Their problem was their lack of offensive damage when confronted with heavy armor.

Belinda charged him repeatedly, only to have Milo dodge out of the way. His mech never quit moving, even when far away from his adversary. The LN-73 bounced from foot to foot, leaping and hopping and never giving Belinda an easy target with her shoulder-mounted cannon. Each time they engaged, she swung with the blazing katana. Milo used his flame throwers to blind her and shot flaming shuriken at her. They lodged in her armor, still on fire but next to useless.

"Why are you doing that? Those stupid attacks aren't doing anything but annoy me."

Milo nodded but said nothing. Annoying her was half the reason he was doing it. He hopped to his left and rolled as her sword went over his head again. Belinda cursed as her screen started flashing red. "Out of power? How can I be out of power?"

Milo hit her again with his flame throwers and then danced away. Red Ronin took two steps, the energy sword flickered, and the mech died. Belinda looked at the diagnostics panel for her mech to assess the damage or find a fix. "Overheating?"

Milo finished his fourth chili-cheese dog and started on his fries. "We've been fighting for fifteen minutes. Red Ronin has optimal power supplies for a maximum of a half hour, but that's under ideal conditions. The plasma katana causes a heat surge each time you use it. I was adding to your heat with my 'totally ineffective weapons.' I just had to ensure you were too busy to notice and hoped it didn't rain. The heavy mechs are designed to use their armor as heat sinks, but that doesn't work when the heat hits the armor. Sub-optimal design. You'll want to shave points elsewhere and go with either a refractive coating on the armor to reflect the heat or a thermo-couple system to absorb it and turn it into power."

Belinda growled and bared her teeth. "I want a rematch, but we need to talk first."

Milo shook his head sadly. "Sorry, can't."

"And why not?"

He smiled at her. "You said we'd talk after you kicked my butt. No butt-kicking, no talk. You can have a rematch after I talk with Mama." He handed the controller to Minerva, who immediately selected Lego-Ninja 73 for her mech, with extra flame throwers. Mama had just come in the door, saw him, and waved him to come over to her.

"Let's go outside, dear. Less hectic, I can barely hear myself think."

"Come sit down by me, Milo dear, and talk to your mama."

Milo was nervous. He was worried because Mama knew that close proximity to adults caused him anxiety, and she was asking him to do that. She was up to something. Cautiously, he sat down next to her on a cracked plastic bench, the glowy tree casting shadows and shielding them from the flickering overhead lights. She took out a stack of paperwork and handed it to him.

"You need to look this over and understand it. Because I sure don't understand all of it. Once we get past page two, and it goes into all of that legalese, I'm lost, and if you and I are both signing this, one of us needs to know what it says."

Milo started to read the 42 pages of the adoption paperwork, but Mama put her hand on the first page. "More importantly, you have to not only understand what this does but also want to do it. I think it's a good idea. The kids think it's a good idea. But that doesn't count for a gnat fart if you don't think it's a good idea. Now take a look, and think about it. I'm just going to enjoy some peace and quiet."

"I don't like parts of it."

"That's fine dear. There's lots of legal bullshit in it. After all, it comes from the government. The Department of Habitat Dwellers and Itinerant Population is long on paperwork and short on promises. Tell me what parts you don't like."

Milo scratched his head. The adoption idea was getting more and more complex. At first, it seemed like a good idea. He'd have real paperwork, and be a step closer to legally existing. It made his new family happy. They were fine with how things were but wanted him to have a place to call home 'when you aren't out roaming the hab and playing video games.' But this document had a lot more to it.

"It makes you and Big Butch responsible for me. Really responsible, financially and legally, with penalties based on their judgment of how well you bring me up. They want proof of proper education, medical care, social integration, and a guarantee that you'll make sure I know and take advantage of migration and employment opportunities as defined in many publications they don't include here."

She took a deep breath. She knew how things worked but not what that paper said. "Well, the last two things mean that we'll make sure you know how to sign up for jobs with corporations hiring labor and that you may have to move to another habitat to take a job, and we won't interfere. Supposedly, everyone has an inherent right to work hard for a corporate overseer. Social integration means you get along well with others. I'm not worried about your education; you know more than the rest of us. But we are worried about your medical care. They've already set up an appointment for you to see a doctor for a full one-hour appointment to make sure you're healthy."

Milo froze. "I can't do that. I won't see a doctor."

"Nothing to be scared of. Butch and I will tag along if you want. Or we can reschedule until Big Butch can come too. You're bigger than you were last year, but you aren't growing as fast as you should. Physically at least. Mentally you scare the piss out of me sometimes." She put her arm around him. Milo pulled away and then collapsed against her. She waited patiently.

"I won't see a doctor. They did stuff to me. If a doctor sees what I am, you'll never see me again. I'll have to hide."

She went from concerned to angry. "What did they do to you? Who did it?"

"Look at my neck. But don't touch anything."

Carefully, she moved aside the bulky hoody he liked to wear, exposing the top socket embedded into his spine, wires trailing from it. "Oh Lord, Milo, who did this to you!"

"Bad people, a long time ago. Probably when I was born? Maybe before or a little after. They did other things you can't see. It's why I'm small and not growing. If you show me to a doctor, they'll call the authorities, and you and Big Butch will go to jail. They'll blame you. And they'll try to take me somewhere. Which isn't happening."

He set the papers down. "This was a mistake. I didn't know enough. I didn't understand. This makes you responsible for me, and I'm messed up."

She hugged him tighter. "You aren't messed up. You just have some pieces missing and some extra bits added. Everybody has problems. I've got six toes on each foot, and so does Minerva. Don't worry about this. We just adopt you without the paperwork. Doesn't matter at all. You keep your secrets safe; I don't need to know them until you're ready."

Milo looked at the stack of paperwork. "I need to show that to a friend. He might have some advice."

"The same friend that helped with the contracts? Good idea. See what he thinks about some of this. But for now, I'm going to put these inside. That little girl is going to be out here soon. I see one of her people bringing her wheelchair up to the door. It wouldn't fit inside, so she had them keep it outside with them. This is the first time I've had a visitor who came with a nurse and two bodyguards. Butch and Min explained it all to me, but I still don't understand it."

She looked at Milo seriously. "But I do know a few things. That girl needs friends worse than you do, and that's saying something. You can go off for weeks and run the back alleys of the hab; she can't. She sits alone a lot of the time. She latched on to you kids like she was drowning, and you could pull her out of the pool. So think hard when she comes out to talk to you. She's trying to figure you out, so you should meet her halfway." She waved to Belinda, who was rolling across the courtyard, then returned to her house. Milo stayed seated as she rolled up. He noticed she was wearing her Claw Master gloves.

"Hi, can we talk some? Even if I didn't beat you yet? I promise I'll turn your mech into trash later."

Milo nodded. "Sure. What is it you want to talk about?"

"The gloves. I read the NDA, of course. And I've been good. Daddy and another dozen people kept asking and yelling at me to take them off. I knew I'd never get them back if Daddy got them. I finally started screaming, hit my medical alert button, and called Uncle Victor. That was enough of a fuss they backed off. But I need to know what these gloves do." She was wiggling the fingers on her left hand for emphasis.

"They give you faster reactions, you know, for the game..."

Her eyes narrowed. "Nice try. The M-1000s hurt me. When I told you that, you said, 'Different mechanism. If you already have trouble moving your hand, I can see how they wouldn't work for you—forced muscle fatigue'. So you knew how both pairs of gloves worked. I have to work hard constantly to be able to use my hands and forearms. My left is barely usable. But now it works as long as I wear my gloves."

She removed her left glove and stiffly moved her arm onto the armrest. One by one, she lifted a finger, but that was all. Milo looked from her arm to the glove, trying to figure things out. "What have they said is wrong with you?"

"Different things. CMT disease, which isn't really an answer, is too broad a category. I've had my own doctors for as long as I can remember and constant physical therapy to improve things. But no one tells me what is wrong with me."

"Physical therapy makes it better? The response, not just musculature? How do your hands feel now that you've worn the gloves for several days?"

Belinda flexed her fingers. "A little better, actually. But why?"

"You have some disconnect between your muscles, the motor nerves and the signals from your brain. Probably in the neurochemical transmitters over the last synapse. These gloves are designed to detect the impulse from your peripheral nervous system and transmit a signal to the motor neurons faster. At the same time, the micro musculature moves your hands. The glove does what your muscles try to do, and it all comes together smoothly, just a little faster."

"This is just a guess, but if physical therapy helps, your condition is always improving or degrading depending on how much you move. Because the gloves coordinate with your nerves and help you move, it's like constant therapy, teaching your nerves, receptors, and muscle cells to get along better." He stopped talking and ended, lamely, "Or, something like that...just a guess. I could ask someone at Claw Master."

Belinda put the glove back on. "I would appreciate that. I would also appreciate it if you never lied to me again."

"Lie?"

"Yes, lie. Everyone else in my life lies to me, and I'm very good at listening for it. You tried to play dumb about the gloves when you knew more. That's lying. I'm cutting you some slack because you're my navigator, and you gave me back my arms. You also helped me kick ass at the party. That was fun. I think we can be friends. But lies break apart friendships."

"Oh. Yeah, I can see that. But what if I can't talk about something? Like if it could get someone in trouble." Milo mentally included himself.

"Then say you can't talk, but don't lie. Too many people smile at me and then lie. I'd rather be alone than know people I thought were my friends are lying to me. Promise? And I won't lie to you."

Milo sat down and thought things over. Lying was part of hiding. And hiding was how he survived. But he thought about what Mama had said. And she was applying the same rule to herself.

"If I tell you anything, anything at all, you won't tell anyone else? If you promise me that, and we never lie, I can agree to that rule."

She stuck out her hand, and they shook on it. Belinda exhaled; Milo realized she was maybe more stressed than he was. They sat for a moment, saying nothing.

Then she smiled. "So, Milo? Did Claw Master get you the pod you use to play Genesis?"

Milo just sat there, still as a rock. "I...I really can't talk about that."

"Another NDA? No, don't answer." Belinda laughed, then turned her wheelchair back toward Mama's house. "That's fine. But I'm going to get pods for the rest of the gang and go exploring. You promised to go exploring with me once, so I expect you to be there. But enough secrets for one day. Let's get back. I need to figure out which robot I will use to beat you.

Milo followed her, his head reeling.