Spilling Guts

Part 66 - Coward

Will walked into the BT lab covered in tickertape, glitter, and a face that could melt polystyrene.

"Is it your birthday?" asked Louis.

"No. Beni and Reese just declared war." Will dropped a doughnut box on a clear part of the counter, not minding how the box clinked a cooling cup of tea.

"By covering you in glitter?"

"No. By calling me Billy."

This wasn't the same anger Will had shown Rachel and Cetz last Friday. That had been righteous anger, indignant, frustrated, in need of justice. This anger was a lesser variety; one born from deep set annoyance finally pushed over the edge. The kind that could spawn petty revenge.

At least it's not aimed at me, thought Louis.

Will shifted his shoulders and hair like a dog about to shake off bathwater.

"Ah ah ah!" Rachel jogged over with a handheld vacuum. The nozzle sucked at his clothes and did a gentle pass of his hair. "You are not shedding that in here! I don't need tiny bits of plastic in these wires. It took me all week to set up."

Despite lingering animosity to Rachel, and probably Cetz, Will let her manhandle him. Either he had forgiven her in some way, or the more recent slight from Beni and Reese took precedence. Rachel spent five minutes vacuuming up every trace of celebratory teasing from Will's clothes and the floor. Will put up with it, seeming to cool down with every pass of the vacuum.

Would this be a good time for Louis to apologize?

"Hey, Will?"

"What?"

Say it. Say it. Say it.

"Can we talk after this?"

Coward.

I'm not stalling, I'm arranging a proper moment when he's less angry and we don't have Rachel hanging over us. At least Cetz isn't here.

You could just say "sorry for being an ass" while you're inside him. Wasn't that the plan?

Maybe. We'll see how it is when I'm in there. If not, then I've established a talk for later. Plus, he'll be easier to talk to when he's had tea.

Will, unaware of Louis' mental aerobics, shrugged, bits of glittery detritus drifting from his limbs. "Sure."

Louis focused on the new punching gloves he and Rachel had designed last week. They looked like slim, flat-blunted teardrops that fit over the hand and forearm, kept in place with a handle on the inside to grip, and Velcro straps that tightened on the outside. The outer material was black synthetic leather over a cushion of latex foam that felt bouncy on the outside. At the fist end, the cushion was thinner over a metal fiber plate connected to the inside handle and the supports along the arm.

Despite the bulk, the glove was lightweight, the heaviest thing being the handle.

Once de-glittered, Will stripped off his jacket and sat at Rachel's bidding. She did the same examination and once-over she had given Louis. Weight, blood pressure, temperature. She had frowned at Will's blood pressure, but it must not have been bad enough because she continued. Will seemed wary at each step, now more aware of what Rachel used that information for.

"Okay, let's go over how this will work," said Rachel, handing over the SkySprechts. The essence of the test was simple, though it took Rachel most of the week to calibrate and arrange.

Rachel stepped into the BT chamber, leaving the door open. Will followed, looking from the door. Louis looked on from further back.

"While the cameras are rolling and the BT is scanning, each of you will punch the plate with the modified glove." Rachel handed the second glove to Will. "Six times each at least. That will give us a control for comparison. If you need to warm up with your punches and hit more than six, go ahead."

Rachel flicked her finger against the pressure plate -ting!- and the little screen atop it displayed a number for five seconds before going blank. The display droned, a synthetic female voice. "Eight newtons."

"Once you both had your turn..." Rachel gestured to a rolling table just short enough to slide under the pressure plate by a centimeter. "Louis will shrink with one of the gloves and do six punches against the plate. And then..."

Rachel then held up a small container. Cherry flavored lubricant. "Will, you send Louis down the hatch. Five minutes to settle, and then you take the second glove and do another six punches against the plate. Once all the data is in, we get Louis out, and then I can call Dr. Harrison an ass. Any questions?"

"Can I also call Harrison an ass?" said Louis.

"As long as it's not to his face or in front of Tzarkoff," said Rachel, stepping out of the BT chamber. "Will, do you have any questions?"

"No. It seems simple enough." Will slid his hand into the long glove, the sleeve of his gray Henley bunching above it. He sighted along the top. "Kinda feel like Mega Man wearing this. Does it have a blast mode?"

"Only if you are willing to type in the patent for one," said Rachel.

"Never mind then."