Butler Boy - Chapter 13

Algernon sighed. “I'm just saying, squirt, that if Mom or Dad had been the one to find you? You'd be in pretty deep crap right now.”

I sighed as I rubbed my head while I leaned against the table, Mom and Dad vigorously discussing a subject – legally distinct from arguing about it – in the other room. In particular, they were going over the last few questions that Lois was going to be allowed to ask during her interview, which was a point of contention on some specific subjects. Dad was wary of going too deep into detail about the legal aspects that weren't finalized yet and Mom didn't want a reporter's probing to open up any emotional wounds regarding the incident.

Both valid, not necessarily mutually-exclusive, but since I wanted to give the interview I had to talk about something and either saw the other's topic as the lesser one to sacrifice.

No raised voices or anything like that, just strong opinions about what was best for the family.

“I know, I know... and thanks for covering for me,” I stated again, knowing he didn't like to make even the slightest tactical omissions about the truth.

“Don't mention it,” Algie stated, but then gave me a pointed elbow as we reclined on the sofa together. “But, and remember this, I'm totally going to rat you out if you keep passing out in the middle of the woods like that. You fall over the wrong way, Arden, and you take a stick to the gut or the neck.”

I opened my mouth to reply that I had a power for that, but... thought better of it at the last second. I knew that wasn't the real issue, anyway, and intentionally missing the point like that would just encourage Algie to believe that I wasn't mature enough to handle this shit – largely – on my own, as I had been.

“I'll be more careful,” I promised him instead, nodding solemnly. “It's really only the huge skill downloads that get me like that. Probably caused by an inflammation of gray matter due to the influx of memories. That would explain why activating my recovery power lessens the pain, but doesn't dampen the increased neural load. Next time I get a minor skill, I'll need to test a healing spell and see if that alleviates what's most likely a phantom sensation caused by-”

Algernon put me in a headlock.

“Hey, ass!” I hissed, automatically fighting him.

“You know, I didn't want to believe it-” Algie dodged one of my playfully-clumsy counterattacks, chuckling. “-but you really do have a medical degree shoved in that head of yours now, don't you? You're like, the mega-nerd to end all nerds... and that's coming from a guy who drives a Delorean.”

“Jeez,” I grunted, finally throwing him off. “And it's not a medical degree. It's literally fucking dozens. Like, I can do brain surgery, I can diagnose stomach cancer, I can do triage, I know pharmacology, how to read x-rays and MRI results, I know dietician stuff and sports medicine, and so much more. That's why I passed out, I didn't just have a decade of academic and practical knowledge shoved into my head. I had... I don't know – a few centuries?”

Algie blinked in shock, leaning back as I rubbed at my tired eyes.

“Damn,” he muttered, reaching up to scratch at the shitty 'beard' he was trying to grow. Charitably, one could call it a work in progress. “Damn. That's... I don't even know what that is.”

“I'm basically the most qualified medical professional on the planet... short of some crazy super-doctor that's stayed out of the spotlight or something,” I muttered with a too-casual shrug. I felt something at the revelation of what I'd acquired through complete luck, but I hadn't had time to fully unpack the mass of feelings yet.

“Man... and I was worried about that stealth stuff that I know,” Algernon replied, snorting. “But I guess since you aren't going to be competing against regular doctors for points or whatever, it's not as big of a deal that way.”

I frowned. “What do you mean? Is the stealth stuff... causing problems with your football thing?”

Algernon grimaced and waggled a hand. “I mean, not really... it's, well... if anything it's made me better at it. I see ambushes-ugh, counter-plays coming easier, now. I know how to dip and weave to avoid people coming at me, how to break line of sight and have this weird feeling when someone's on my tail without even looking.”

“Huh, cool,” I nodded, seeing how that would work. “I don't really... see the problem, though?”

Algie snorted, “Yeah, I guess the super doctor wouldn't.”

I frowned, narrowing my gaze at the shade of bitterness and irritation in that response. I took a breath and released the spark of irritation that bubbled up inside me. Getting pissed off wouldn't help right now. “I don't guess I would... not unless you explain it to me.”

Algie turned to look at me sharply, then grimaced again and looked away. “It's like... isn't this cheating?”

“Ah,” I breathed, understanding washing over me. “Okay... gimme a minute to think about what I should say?”

Algernon blinked, but nodded, “Sure. I mean, if you've got an answer, I'd love to hear it, squirt.”

I hummed again and let my thoughts spin as I considered the matter. “Okay, so... if Mom and Dad were an income bracket or two higher and wanted to get you a professional dietician, a personal fitness coach, and a home gym setup... would you call that cheating?”

Algie snorted, rolling his eyes. “That's not the same thing, Ardie.”

“It is so the same thing, Algie,” I replied, my tone deliberately childish. “Those are advantages other kids wouldn't have due to what's fundamentally a factor of luck. They were born into the right family at the right time and that gave them a competitive edge that someone without money has to work harder to overcome.”

“But it's not cheating,” my brother shook his head, seemed caught out for words for a moment, then pressed ahead. “And it's not like you can't do your own research or improvise gym equipment or whatever.”

“But it's a poor substitute for what enough money can get you,” I replied, then waved him off as he was about to reply. “But that's not really what I'm getting at. The point I'm trying to make is that cheating is when you directly or indirectly break the rules of the game – either while the game's being played or outside of the game by using steroids or illegal performance enhancers, right?”

“I feel like you're doing that thing where you lead me into a trap,” Algie admitted, his gaze narrow as he stared me down. “But, for the sake of argument, yeah.”

Part of me wanted to make the rather asinine point that there 'weren't no rule' about getting sudden skill dumps from a chaos engine ex nihilo.

But that was, as aforementioned, pretty asinine to bring up and just plain unhelpful.

Instead, I approached it from a different angle.

“Those rules are meant to create a semblance of fairness in competition,” I continued on, “but there are factors that the rules can't anticipate or even pretend to moderate. Just for instance, the rules can't control inborn talent for the sport, genetic traits responsible for muscle-building or response times, or even something as mundane as how much money your parents have and what advantages they can afford to give you.”

Conflict warred over my brother's face and he pulled an ugly look that reflected his internal disagreement. “Okay, I agree in principle, sure. But this and that are totally different things. You can't really argue that winning some kind of magical lottery is the same thing as having rich parents.”

I made a non-committal noise. “It's a matter of scope and scale, not necessarily of composition. And, if you don't believe me, tell me with a straight face that you don't think pro-athletes would start making deals with the devil if it got them special skills or whatever.”

Absently, I resolved that was probably already happening on some scale.

“Sure, enough football players get caught doing steroids or coke or meth or whatever every year that I can't disagree that they'd go after magic as a way to make them better, too,” Algie replied, holding up a hand. “But that's the thing. I don't want to be like that. I don't want to break the rules just to win. Playing fair – or at least as close to it as we can get – is what makes the game fun. Victory doesn't matter if you don't have to work for it.”

I felt myself smiling.

God, I can't believe I just heard someone give an authentic shounen sports anime speech and really mean it. Holy shit.

“And you aren't,” I smirked, catching Algie off-guard.

“But-” He started and I shook my head.

“You got one of my powers – skills – whatever, by accident, Algie.” I emphasized the circumstances as I stared him down. “And you haven't tried to bug me for another one since. Once you understood what happened, you didn't want any part of it, that makes you completely different than them.”

My brother sighed and leaned back in the sofa. “I mean, thanks for the vote of confidence, I guess? But that still doesn't do anything for the unfair advantage I already have. Unless you've got a way to take it back?”

I paused, then shook my head. “Not that I know of, but... if it really bothers you, think of it like this, okay? The whole cover story for how I got so good at art, all of a sudden? The human brain is a strange beast, Algie. And I should know, I'm a doctor.”

Algernon blinked, then snorted so hard he almost folded in on himself. “Ha! Ugh, that was awful. Another one like that and I'm putting you back in the headlock.”

“Duly noted,” I nodded, then popped my neck as I – oh shit, I was a chiropractor too now, wasn't I? I shoved the intrusive thought away for the moment. “However, back to my point... you could entirely develop acquired savant syndrome from a concussion or something similar which, granted, isn't precisely the same thing, but it isn't too far off.”

“Hmm,” my brother grunted, rubbing at his chin and nodding slowly. “So what you're saying is that as long as I don't try to get more unfair advantages, having just this one is okay?”

“What I'm actually saying is that 'fairness' as a social construct is incredibly subjective and that most contests of 'skill' are actually decided by a number of predetermined factors prior to anyone ever taking the field to compete. The fact that you now have an advantage that some people would consider unfair is an arbitrary judgment on their part to make themselves feel better when, if they lost, they would find something else to blame for it rather than their own lack of skill, preparedness, or whatever...” I paused, catching my breath after getting all of that out in a rush. “But, yeah sure, if you want to think of it like that, rock on and get down with your bad self.”

Algie snorted again, more controlled this time, but still smiling. After a long moment, he sighed and nodded. “Alright, that... well, that helps, at least. It still bothers me, but... some of what you said makes sense and puts it into perspective. Thanks, Arden.”

“No problem, Algie,” I nodded back, relaxing and-

I blinked, pulling out the slip of bronze paper from my pocket.

“Huh, really?” Algernon asked, leaning over. “Did you get one earlier, after that, uh… ticket you got for a week’s worth of exercise or whatever? And just forgot to... wait, what's that say?”

I took a sharp breath through my nose as I read it off, trying desperately not to break out laughing. “Fraternal Cranial-Rectal Removal Surgery.”

Algie stared at me for a moment, his mouth silently agape.

“I mean,” I stated slowly, still trying not to laugh, “it's only a bronze? So I guess your head couldn't have been too far up your-”

“That's it,” my brother grunted, reaching over and dragging me back into the headlock. “I'll give you cranial-rectal whatever!”

“Hey, watch it!” I laughed, finally breaking down. “The surgery was a success! I might have just saved your life, bro! I am a-”

“Don't say it!” Algie groaned.

“-doctor after all!” I cackled.

“AAAAAAAAHHHH!” Algernon cried, trying desperately to drown out the nonsense coming out of my mouth.

Eventually, Mom came in and broke us up, the ruckus having grown louder than their energetic discussion at the kitchen table.

…

“So this is what you used to cut the hinges off?” Lois Sullivan asked, looking over the hunk of wires and metal, then cocked her head. “You know, I'm not even sure I actually know what a lathe is?”

“It's...” I hesitated, then nodded. “Think of it like a pottery wheel for wood, but you turn it on its side instead of keeping it upright.”

Dad blinked, squinting and opening his mouth before closing it slowly, like he wanted to disprove my assertion, but couldn't come up with a way to.

Cereal is a soup, old man!

“Huh, okay... that makes sense,” Lois muttered, actually making a note of the explanation on her pad. Which... honestly, she was lucky was I was fourteen and had a girlfriend. This woman was honestly kind of a dumpster fire, and it was adorable. “I'm kind of surprised that you still had power down there given everything else that got cut.”

I hummed thoughtfully. “Given what the vents looked like and how the water got capped, I think it might have been too much work to properly disconnect the wires down there and not create a really obvious fire hazard.”

“Oooh! Accusations of incompetence and negligence, I can work with that!” Lois grinned, making more notes.

Mom blinked rapidly, shaking her head in mild disbelief at the unprofessional behavior. At least it seemed to be sinking in why I'd agreed to this particular interview now.

Just can't kick the puppy.

“So, let's see...” Lois' eyes scanned down the page of her questions, apparently picking one at random. “Oh! How do you feel about your sudden twenty minutes of fame?”

“I'm hoping they're over, honestly,” I replied with a shrug. “Like... I appreciate that people are going to get appalled and disgusted by what happened, and they should, but I kind of hope that manifests into a larger pushback against bullying at schools and abuse in general rather than a sustained interest in what I'm going to be doing with my life moving forward.”

“So you don't like the attention?” She pressed, appearing genuinely curious. “I'd imagine most people your age would enjoy it, at least a little bit.”

I gave a dismissive grunt and shook my head. “I prefer not being recognized for something I had no control over. Being known as 'the kid who got locked in a fallout shelter,' even for a few weeks, hasn't been all that fun. If it was fame for something I actually did, then maybe...?”

I shrugged.

“That's a great tangent!” Lois grinned widely, pointing a finger at me with seemingly boundless energy. “So, talking about what you're going to be doing in the future... well, what are you aiming for in the future?”

“Now wait, that wasn't on the list-” Mom started, frowning.

“Honey, it's a softball question, leave it be,” Dad sighed, shaking his head, then turned to me. “Unless you have a problem with it, Arden?”

I shook my head, preoccupied with considering what the reporter had asked. “I guess... I'm kind of coming up with a plan? If that makes sense. I am thirteen, after all. Even if I've skipped a few years of school and I'm smarter than kids my age... I've never really applied myself all that much. I thought doing my best in school was kind of the high-point of my achievements.”

“It is very important you continue to get good grades,” Mom pointed out, and I snorted as Lois nodded with a smile on her face.

“My mom is the same way. She wants me in college instead of going straight into a career,” the tanned girl commented with a grin. “For what it's worth, I don't really know how things are going to line up, either... between the two, at least. What are you looking at right now, if it's not too much of an ask?”

“I'm thinking about inventing something that would have a really big impact on society,” I replied, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks as my parents smiled – surprised, but proud – at my declaration. “I've been reading my sister's college books and doing some research online... I think I might try my hand at artificial organs or artificial blood. Something like that.”

“I think that's a wonderful idea,” Mom smiled widely, reaching over to pull me to her side. “You could save a lot of lives with something like those inventions, Arden.”

“That's a pretty cool long-term goal, dude,” Lois grinned. “So you'll probably be going into the medical field for college?”

“His sister, Adelaide, is already in the pre-med track,” Dad nodded. “She's planning on going into nursing.”

I blinked... college? Who'd said anything about-

Oh, right.

I'd been trying to set things up a little bit so that my parents wouldn't be too shocked when I rolled out a world-shaking invention or something, but they thought I was talking about career options. Which, I couldn't really blame them. No shade on my past performance, but I really hadn't applied myself all that much. Outside of a few key subjects where I struggled anyway. Graphing never came all that naturally too me, but it was easier the second time around.

But it wasn't as though I was trying. Pre-bunker, my plan had been to live the slow life out in a personal hermitage, after all. You didn't really need all that many accolades to buy a plot of land out in the mountains and set up a hammock.

Am I... was I squandering this second chance?

I wanted to say I wasn't. Not in the face of millennial geniuses like Luthor out there. They were a lot more capable than I'd ever have been without a supernatural leg up, after all. But... that had been a trap I'd been too apathetic to avoid, these past several years.

No one should measure success by someone else's achievements.

You'd just get bitter, angry, and jealous.

So instead, I'd decided to just enjoy life. I'd taken things as they'd come, relaxed, and had a good childhood. Played with my siblings, relaxed during bright summer days, watched some cartoons... I'd deliberately avoided the implicit responsibility of 'being someone' by choosing a good – but basic – life. Not that I regretted it, but...

I'd need to live a different kind of way if I was going to be a hero.

I couldn't simply take life as it came to me anymore.

Even if I could change how I'd done things up until now, I wouldn't. Those were memories I treasured, but going forward...

“One minute,” I said suddenly, standing up from the table and running towards the stairs. A few moments later, and I was back, a handful of sketch papers in my hands. Spreading them out across the table, I ignored the startled and curious looks of my parents and the reporter. One, in particular, was something I'd done last night while unable to sleep. Dozens of medical doctorates swimming in my head, slowly meshing with my lesser – but still incredible – expertise with mechanics.

What had emerged was a mechanical heart, a completely new design using a circular pump that fed off the body heat of the person it was implanted in. The materials it was crafted out of alone would be revolutionary, specifically engineered to resist rejection and trick the body into accepting it as a native organ.

“I-I'm thinking that I can have the design finalized in a few weeks,” I explained, pointing at the exploded view of the parts and tapping it impatiently. Now, with the benefit of a few hours of sleep and a day occupied with other things, my fresh eyes could see mistakes I'd made and areas that had room for improvement. “Or, at least enough to start constructing models and looking at stress tests under laboratory conditions. That's nowhere near animal testing, though, and I don't think anything would actually be publicly available for a few years...”

Because as awesome as having the skills was, this wasn't precisely crazy magic tinkering or super-science bullshit. I needed to go through the standard iterations of design, prototyping, testing, redesign, repetition, and then I'd need to find someone crazy enough to believe that an artificial heart built by a teenager-

-in a cave, with a box of scraps!-

-would be a great thing to stake hundreds of thousands to millions of dollars on putting through legitimate animal testing trials and peer review by medical professionals. I'd say there'd be difficulty finding someone crazy enough to have the damn thing implanted in them, but between people generally being pretty crazy and organ transplant lists being as long as they were, that might be the easiest step in the entire process.

“Arden... how long did this all take you?” Dad asked slowly, staring at the paper he was holding in disbelief.

“About... a week?” I asked, fudging things a bit. The idea of cybernetics – of building an artificial organ or something – had occurred to me while Sebas and I were bullshitting about the Cyberpunk setting and I'd realized I could do it... with a lot of work, and a lot of supplemental studying. Not impossible, but easily a half-decade's work. So it'd been on my radar, at least.

But... yesterday's gacha pull had changed everything.

“C-can I take a few pictures? Or get copies?” Lois asked tentatively, looking anxious and excited all at once. “Only the ones you agree to, of course... wow these are beautiful.”

I mean, I would hope so. I’d put a lot of work into making them aesthetically pleasing while I was thinking through the designs. The need to do both kept me from getting ahead of myself and making obvious mistakes for the first iteration of the design.

“I, umm... I suppose?” Mom asked, taking a deep breath and staring at me in shock. “Arden... why didn't you tell us you were working on something like this?”

“I... wanted to see if it would pan out, first, before getting anyone excited,” I shook my head. “And I've had a bunch of ideas, so I was kind of sorting through them on which to prioritize.”

“What else are you working on?” Mom asked, her eyebrows rising.

“Uhh... I've got a preliminary design for a recycling sorter. A good one. Then there's a cleaner engine that I'm working on, too, but that's more complicated and it's still giving me some trouble. Let's see... I had an idea for some aerial drones, but that was more of a fun side project than anything else.” I shook my head, stopping myself from babbling further. “But that's just the invention stuff. I've also got some paintings I'm working on. Those aren't ready yet, though.”

“This article is going to make my career,” Loise whispered excitedly, even as my parents traded stunned glances.

Which, as it turned out... she was right. Or, at least, the gacha thought it would be the kind of interview which substantially changed her life, given I got a gold ticket out of it. I hoped she'd make the most of it, though... it probably wouldn't be the last time I saw Lois Sullivan, with my luck.

Although… exposing what I can do like this… is the life that I’ve changed my own?

~~~

I felt like I needed a bit of chaos in my life, evidently.

Maybe it's just because Arden is fun to write and I don't have to care about getting the characters precisely correct with how much whole-cloth I'm doing, but this was pretty easy.

Or maybe it was the fact that I actually took a day off and just chilled to recharge my batteries? Might be that.

Anyway... Mind Games is looking to take the top spot again this month. I'll probably work on that over the weekend.

TGIF! Hope everyone has a good weekend!