Spilling Guts

Part 68 - Newtons

Louis sat on the table resting just below the pressure plate, and slid off his shades. He kept his eyes closed. The panels in the BT chamber vibrated, bright and invasive, like bad music he couldn't escape. And he had to perform like a dolphin in a tank.

Being in a BT for an extended period of time should count as a boundary people shouldn't cross.

That's a weak-ass boundary.

Balcuwitz would disagree.

What would he think of you putting off apologizing to Will?

"Ready when you are," prompted Rachel.

I wish I was.

"Got it." Louis reaffixed the SkySprecht in his ear and then opened his eyes to the blaring light of the chamber.

A burning tingle, like a bad sunburn, like ants, like a sneeze that wanted to explode out of every pore. Louis let go of that shredded thread of control and let himself spin down, down, down...

And land on his back, just under three inches tall. The table, once just big enough for him to sit on, was now the size of a basketball court. He lay still, willing away the tingling under his skin with each deep breath.

Rachel's voice echoed in the BT chamber, but spoke steadily through the SkySprecht in his ear. "Status?"

"Breathing." Louis lurched to sitting. "Doing okay. The glove feels a bit lighter."

"Do you need the table adjusted or are you good?"

Louis eyed the metal edge hovering over the table like a monolith. On the lower edge of the plate, Rachel had stuck a tiny target sticker. Cute. "Nah, it's plenty low enough."

Louis walked over to the plate and lined up his glove-encased fist. His skin still prickled while in the BT chamber, no matter how far away the walls. "We ready?"

"Almost." A whirr came from the high-speed cameras as they refocused narrowing in on where he stood. The timer clacked down. "Okay. Test round three; Agent Patriarch, miniature form. Six punches. Go."

Gladly. Perhaps if he hit something hard enough it would rid his skin if the itch. The rise, the aim, and the launch forward...

Bing!

And the automated voice seemed to drip judgment and smugness. "10 newtons."

"That's it!" Louis stepped back, glaring at the screen readout before it blipped away. "Ten? Ten puny ass newtons?"

"One newton of force in a space the size of an end of a q-tip isn't puny," said Rachel over the Sprecht. "And ten is damn good. That's over two pounds of force, and you only weigh thirty grams. Keep going, you have at least five more."

"Gladly," said Louis. He had set the bar, time to raise it.

***

Watching a tiny Louis wail on a pressure plate, Will leaned over to Rachel's side of the control panel.

"Is ten actually good?"

"Very," said Rachel. She covered the microphone on the Sprecht headset. "At his size I'm impressed he's able to register on the plate."

Will nodded, tracking the blips of force on the screen range from nine to twelve. "And... what about my average?"

"Your average punch is fine," said Rachel. "You range around twenty-three hundred newtons. A trained boxer hits twenty-five hundred. Isn't Teegan the one that says it's not the force of the attack, it's where you hit?"

"True." And Will's crotch could confirm that advise. "So how did Louis hit that high?"

"He's done training under Megan and Teegan since he joined the Watch. And, it's the glove." Rachel tilted the glove in Will's hand to show the inside of it. "The weight of the bar you're holding increases mass, thus force. The extra weight gives equal advantage when punching. Like holding a roll of quarters in your fist."

"Oh." Which meant in a normal fight, he couldn't actually punch that hard. Will settled the SkySprecht in his ear.

Louis' chest deep breaths licked into Will's hearing, making the hair on the back of Will's neck stand up. He should not think of that voice, however faint, as exhilarating.

"Can I get a sip of water before the next bit?" Will whispered to Rachel.

"Just a sip." Rachel was already taking out the pressure bands that needed to go on Will's arm.

Will nodded. He took a bottle of water from the fridge in the lab and sipped, hyperaware of the chill running down his throat and pooling in his empty stomach.