Cards on the table

  Alphonse’s innovations were amazing. After a couple of days, Barry learned to appreciate it. For instance, the bed on which he was restricted, day and night, could create that little extension on the left side, another kind of sun chair on which he was able to slide and, once there, a flat surface that would fold gently, a humming sound filling his ears, into three parts: torso, butt, legs. It would nicely turn into a wheelchair on which he sat and drove around thanks to a controller, and which even had warming ass cushions, as Alphonse had added that small but significant detail.

  A week after the Team brought Barry back to the station, Eugenie White called every day to assess Alphonse’s readiness as a nurse and, reassured each time by whomever was answering the telephone, she must have deemed the old man a skilled enough caretaker, and then she had totally bailed. George –Robortor— was a bit shocked, especially after the involvement that Eugenie White had had in the retrieval process, but Barry seemed to take it well, to understand her. “Where the hell is your friend Eugenie White?” he asked Barry one morning.

  “She has a job, some things” Barry replied

  His moods seemed to depend on the day and the part of the day, merry and bright at sunrise, more sullen at sundown. If no one was looking, it was easy to catch Barry staring absent-mindedly and at nothing in particular, opening and shutting the fingers of his right hand, as if he tried to accelerate the healing process of his forearm. He was a bit mummified on those instances, “you should move, Masquevert, or you’ll have to defrost” Alphonse said repeatedly. Overall, something known reappeared in their particular lives, his, a man half human half robot able to breech into all corners of all systems by the force of his mind, and the lives of the others, Marlene, Hobbes, Darlene, Ivan. Even Alphonse slid smoothly into the rhythm, tackling his endless to-do lists with some newly restored energy, alternating with his moments of care for Barry.

  George had texted Eugenie in the morning, hey girl, the message said, just saying, DINNER.

  You mean SUPPER she replied

  He was not sure she would attend. Some train lines were still out of order in the center of the city and he knew that she had recently parted with her car to invest further into her motor home. Darlene could pick Eugenie up with the chopper, but she would never accept to step into that thing. The sky was the less dangerous road to travel at the moment. Pockets of mrai moumous could be found under a rock, in the sewers, in discarded refrigerator boxes, in the darkest rooms of some hangars, roaring aimlessly, reacting to a sudden flash of light or animated conversations of humans stepping into the wrong spot at the wrong time. They had lost their mother ship, destroyed by Uberwoman.

  The way Uberwoman had plunged into the rotating spaceship from nowhere had resembled the way a peregrine falcon flattens its wings on the sides of its body before slashing through the air. The impact alone had obliterated the middle of the craft and then, scrambling, the aliens had tried to flee but, following the blow, they had had to face the rest of the Team. Victory was good, it felt good, George thought. He had a new suit, as well as Hobbes, able to distribute some mini cannon balls into enemy territory at the flip of a switch. It felt good to be praised again by the media after being ridiculed for disappearing on their Moon mission for an entire year.

  Before, during and presently, after that, he had gone on three dates Mustafa. George texted him next. He felt like there was something special about that man. First of all, he knew about George’s secret identity, since he had been the one present during the accident that had turned him into Robortor and assisted Alphonse and Hobbes into saving his life as George. He was a visionary manipulator of code and technology, he saw invisible things beyond screens and interfaces and even beyond hard metals. In that way, one could say that they had known each other quite intimately for a long time, but George would have never dared asking Mustafa out.

  And then, Mustafa had gifted him a face mask, some months before, to cover the robotic half of his cheek and chin, and explained to him that this way, maybe they could and grab a bite together in public. It was a strange object to introduce him to, a simple facemask made of light fabric, two elastics for the ears and nothing fancier, contrasting with the usual bleeping and buzzing paraphernalia that Mustafa manipulated on a daily basis. George had never thought about that before.

  George was very familiar with the concept of dating from before his transformation and, back when he had followed that human tradition, he had deemed it quite dull and hypocritical. Getting in people’s pants, that’s what George was into, no matter their intellectual quotient or the agreeableness of their personalities but, with Mustafa, there was some magic in the air. All of a sudden, he loved to date! Possibly because he was wearing a disguise, dissimulating his true form in plain sight, no one batting an eye at their couple at the restaurant, at the movie theater, but also because Mustafa was an excellent dater. George wondered how someone could be such a nerd and able to solve such complex engineering problems in life while being so romantic and fun to be around.

  With Mustafa, he discovered that he enjoyed those silly things, sitting down in a cosy place, paying attention to the decoration, letting the music in the background carry the atmosphere. He enjoyed being face to face with that very handsome man, sharing a plate, tasting what he had ordered, pretending to know something about the smell and components of his glass of wine, watching Mustafa chew. And those other highlights that he was hungry for, a little joke here and there, their hands brushing against each other, or the way Mustafa was always pointing his fork at him when he talked about something that made him excited.

  He discovered that he liked walking back unhurriedly, to a car, instead of flying home with his integrated jet-pack, and not just walking, but promenading, taking the long way to the destination, decide to stop at a place and get ice cream, sit on a bench and watch people doing their thing, together, sometimes holding hands, sometimes not, just feeling the warmth of Mustafa’s company without having to touch him, their magnetic fields rubbing against each other and some desire emerged inside his belly, the tension building between them. Everything about dating Mustafa was making him want to date him more.

  He opted for a proper call, instead of a text and, while he listened to the ringing, his phone beeped, it was Eugenie, who was answering his message with another mention of the word supper. He would look at it later. He was feeling a bit nervous, the one human palm he possessed was sweaty, so he switched the device to his robotic hand.

  “Mustafa! Is it a bad time?”

  Mustafa laughed at the end of the line: “never for you, sweetie pie”

  “Hey, you forget that I am a manly man”

  “Yes sorry. What’s going on George? George of the Jungle. George of the Manliness. Indiana George”

  “I’ve been busy, apologies for disappearing”

  “I watch the news, don’t worry” Mustafa said, “at least I can keep track of where you are and how much ass you’re kicking”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Are you like turned on?”

  “Of course” Mustafa replied, his words trailing off as he sounded distracted, and George was guessing he was currently multitasking, working on something, sticking the phone between his shoulder and his chin, typing on some keyboard, brushing on a screen.

  “Well, it’s kind of out of the blue but I’m inviting you over for dinner with my Team and—”

  Mustafa gasped “oh no”

  “What?” George’s heart accelerated. Had he said something wrong?

  “Like meeting your family, right?”

  “You’ve already met Hobbes”

  “Which doesn’t make me jump with joy about encountering the rest of the group”

  He hadn’t seen it this way, and Hobbes would probably gag at the sound of the word family but they were all there tied up by that reality. To each other. The ones hiding their mutant identities struggled to make it in the real world, Darlene, Ivan, Barry. The others, the openly superable ones, lived isolated lives, overprotected, excessively buried in the forest or in the flank of a big rock. Family was in Hobbes’ Lab. “Hobbes is the only unpleasant one I promise” George thought about backing out of dinner too, as if was starting to feel even more nervous now that Mustafa was nervous, “or we could skip it and go see that new sushi place”

  “I really don’t like raw fish”

  “Or wherever really”

  “I actually have somewhere I want to take you”, Mustafa said, “but I can’t tell you yet”

  George and was happy to be on the phone, and not face to face with Mustafa at the moment, grinning like a child who discovers a coin under their Tooth Fairy pillow, “is it dangerous?” he asked.

  “Maybe”

  “Is it skydiving?”

  “It is skydiving”

  Silence. George appreciated those quiet moments, where Mustafa and he were thinking, hearing what had just been said, imagining, knowing that the other was on the other side of the call. Just breathing together. Sometimes, he thought he might be in love.

  “So… what do you think of this evening?” he asked again.

  “Uuugh, holy cow, I’m in! What should I wear?”

  “Your smile”

  “Very funny, George! Help me out, I want to give a good impression! Where are you now?”

  “At the station. I’m in the mechanic workshop, in the basement. We are all here, like, we will have a meeting soon or whatever”

  “Can you just give me some advice? So that I’m not a complete mess.”

  George pondered the question, not sure where to start, “hum. You won’t be the only person without superpowers. We have Alphonse here, who is Hobbes’ right hand-man, and also a lady who is a high school Geography teacher”

  “What now?”

  “Wait I think she works at a post office now” George tried to recall “let’s switch to Facetime” He put the device down against a box of tools and activated the camera. Mustafa appeared, his beautiful face, his baseball cap worn backwards, his beard thick. He was indeed doing something else at the same time, as he didn’t look directly into the camera but waved distantly, and continued messing with another task which was producing some fluorescent lights. “What are you working on?” George asked.

  “I’ll show you, habibi. You’ll love it, it’s just an interface, but I’m tweaking it just a bit”

  “Awesome. You want me to give you a virtual tour before you come over? So you are familiar with the place?”

  “George, I don’t give a fuck about Hobbes’ mansion, just give me some basic information so I can prepare myself mentally. What did you say about having a high school Geography teacher at your little dinner?”

  “Ah, that?” George scoffed, “accidentally, we got her involved because she helped one of my coworkers, I mean friends, I mean” he refrained in front of the word sibling, no. No, Barry was not George’s brother, he shook his head at his own thoughts. “At some point she was helping my friend, like you helped Hobbes help me back in the day” Was Barry his little brother? He had to think about it.

  “Interesting”

  “And now she hangs out with us.”

  “Really? And how is that going for her?”

  George paused, rewinding the steps that had led Eugenie White into their lives, the way she had had no choice but to remain attached to the Team up until recently. It had not been going that well for her, with her being desperate to separate from this action-packed existence where she didn’t belong, and Hobbes being such a dick to her, hating to love her, loving to hate her. Therefor, George chose the short version: “well, pretty good! She’s alright, she fits in” That wasn’t a lie; everyone liked Eugenie and Eugenie didn’t execrate anyone, but she really wanted out. She might even decline his text-invitation, who knew.

  “That’s peculiar. Is she a journalist?”

  “Mustafa, I’m telling you, she is just a teacher, she is nice. All the people here are nice, except for Hobbes, but you already know that and you shouldn’t care. The food will be out of this world, and there will be some serious booze.”

  Mustafa put a hand on his mouth to laugh, as if he was a shy Chinese girl, “so dress code is casual?” The light of the current project he was working on, outside the frame of the camera, illuminated his perfect teeth. In the middle of his thick beard. They didn’t flash lie crystals and they were not plasticky-looking like those of movie stars on red carpets, no, they were just very aligned and producing a warm and enticing smile.

  “More than casual. Just wear whatever, you will look good no matter what”

  He saw Mustafa’s eye granted him a glance “because you think I’m hot”

  “Yes I do!”

  “Can you just remind me who is who? So I don’t come in and act like a guy who goes on a job interview” Mustafa pushed away his workstation, circled several times on his chair to move sideways along his desk and grabbed a pen and a paper. The journal he used had a cover that read Generational Trauma.

  “Seriously? Who cares? I’ll introduce you when you arrive. Just bring a nice bottle of bubbles if you want”

  He now had all of Mustafa’s attention, and his eyes piercing through the camera, looking directly at him and nodding in inistance “no, I know that, but I want a little reminder, if you don’t mind. To you, they’re just your friends but to normal people like me, it’s like stepping into the Festival de Cannes”

  “The Festiwhat?” He didn’t let Mustafa answer, “we are normal too by the way” but he dove into it, “You have Marlene, now, be prepared” he said, “she is drop-dead gorgeous”

  “I know, I have seen her on TV. That’s why she cannot have a double life, or she would be restricted to jobs such as supermodel or super uber-model, and be in the limelight constantly”

  “Well you’d be surprised, you know. She used to deliver the newspaper on her bicycle, back in the early twenties, she also worked in a coffee factory”

  “Jesus Christ. I forgot that she cannot die”

  “It’s only useful to remember that information if you are planning to murder her”

  “But anyway” Mustafa remarked, “that was before social media”

  “Right. Marlene is so nice, though, you would think, being so perfect and so acclaimed would have gotten to her head, but no. Also, you can speak Urdu with her. Or practice your Afrikaans”

  “Seriously?” Mustafa’s pen wasn’t taking any notes on strangely titled notebook anymore. He was hanging on to George’s words, and George felt a tiny pinch of pride into his heart.

  “She does speak a fuck load of languages” And then there were Darlene and Ivan. Mustafa seemed to breathe a little better after reviewing all members of the Team. They were indeed normal enough. “There won’t be any superpowers used the whole time, you don’t have to worry about that”

  “And then Alphonse?” Mustafa asked.

  “Alphonse looks like he has a broom stuck up his ass but I’m sure he will like you. I’m going on a limp here but I am pretty sure he is homosexual like you and me”

  “Honey, I am not gay, I’m pan-sexual and you know that”

  “I mean queer”

  “And—” Mustafa’s eyes went to scan his notes, realized he had barely taken any “you haven’t told me about the Bolt. Is he nice too?”

  Ah yes, George thought, feeling a bit guilty. He had omitted Barry from his list, or, perhaps, had kept the best for the very end, “Barry’s nice, he’s super nice, actually, he’s my best mate here. But sometimes he can be a little weird.”

  Mustafa squinted his eyes, rested his head in his hand, waiting for details, “what like, is in into you?”

  “No-ho” George giggle, almost disgusted, “he’s just.. a younger guy, very impulsive, very burned headed. Remember that Caterpillar mission I told you about? Well, he got hurt there, like really hurt. He spent some time in a real hospital before we collected him back”

  “Oh my god, like what?”

  George hesitated. He was never keen on bringing up the scary angles of his job, such as, what could one day happen to him with the career path he was on, getting shot at by bazookas, aimed at with explosives, drowned by a well positioned net over a large body of water, “hm, he is fine now, but he got shot multiple times. He can move around in a wheelchair, I guess, but he still has to come a long way. Sometimes he can be pouting about it, that’s all. Otherwise, he’s very acceptable company”

  “That sounds intense”

  “Look… I understand if it is too much for you, Mustafa. I tend to forget about the change of universe one has to go through to step into my world, but I think you’ll like it”

  Mustafa nodded, his pen suspended above his paper, “so, what do I write about Barry?” he asked. And George wasn’t sure what to answer.