Bob Moore: No Hero

Chapter 8

As we walked through the doorway, Doc Arts was saying, "I don't see why we had to leave. Shouldn't we have given them a tracker or something?"

My punch hit him full on the side of his face, the resounding "crack" louder than I would have expected. I shook the pain out of my hand, which wasn't used to being utilized in that way. The doctor sprawled out on the floor of his lab, arms and legs akimbo. I was breathing hard, much harder than I should have been, given that the punch hadn't taken much exertion on my part. Back in grade school, the only other time I'd ever thrown a punch, I seemed to remember very little but red hot rage. As I looked down at the doctor, my mind was anything but blank. A thousand thoughts were screaming through my mind. More than anything, I just wanted him to stay down. If he got up, I didn't know what I'd do. It was then that the whirring reminded me that we weren't alone.

Assistant was off to my side, apparently motionless. The four-armed robot never looked more monstrous than at that moment. The metal visor device that served as its eyes didn't lend themselves to reading and, frankly, the lack of movement either to protect the doctor or to remove itself from the situation was disconcerting.

Not knowing what else to do, I said, "So, what's your move, Assistant?"

On the floor at my feet, the doctor rolled around, holding his cheek. Assistant continued its impersonation of a statue. The doctor called out and Butler appeared next to him. The hologram helped him to his feet. There were tears in the doctor's eyes and a large welt on his cheek that promised to bruise and maybe develop into a black eye. Well, as much of a black eye as he could have. He backed away, keeping the hologram at first and then his work table between us.

"You... you stay away from me!" his finger shook as he pointed at me.

"That won't be a problem, you little shit," I roared, the sound of his voice triggering my anger again. "We're done here. Don't you ever, EVER call me again."

I turned to leave.

"Wait," the doctor behind me, "what happened? What did I do?"

I just turned and glared at him. After a second, I remembered the tracker and moved toward him quickly. I grabbed him by the shoulder, using my other hand to frisk him quickly for it. He squirmed to get away but didn't have the strength to pull it off. Again, Assistant did nothing. Of course, the tracker was still in the same pocket I'd seen him drop it in the day I'd given it to him. Facing him, I wanted to say more, to say all those things I stayed up late at night thinking about, but this was just too much proximity and I spun on my heel.

I don't remember much of the drive home. All I could see was Medico's smiling face as he cheerfully told that couple that I had made their miracle birth possible. Such an idiot. As if I had anything to do with it. Would they be so thankful, so quick to offer a drink, if they knew the road to their son's birth was paved with the bodies of dead children? My dead child. And he had the gall to ask me what he'd done. What hadn't he done, was more like it.

I parked the car in my dedicated spot in the building's garage. I made my way up to my apartment with a modicum of muttering. Whenever I got really upset, I tended to talk to myself. It wasn't excessive, but when I was alone, my inner monologue tended to escape. Right then, my inner monologue was mostly curse words. I opened the door to my apartment expecting to find the waiting room outside my office empty. Instead, I found Khan at his desk seemingly waiting for me. The look on his face spoke volumes. Unfortunately, I was way too self-absorbed at that moment to read it.

"What are you still doing here?" I asked angrily, immediately regretting my tone. It wasn't his fault.

"Sorry, boss," he replied, "she's in there." He nodded toward my office.