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The first time it happened, Zoom almost panicked. Maybe he did panic, a little, but no one noticed, and he certainly wasn’t going to admit it.
The team was heading out to a celebratory pizza at Zeke’s. Vert was the last person ahead of him, but when he turned to leave, Zoom’s vision grayed out. He almost thought it was the lights in the Hub fritzing out, until his vision snagged on a distorted shadow with glowing eyes reflected in a stray tire iron.
Zoom spun on instinct, looking for the shadow speeder even as his thoughts screeched to a halt and a burst of adrenaline shot through him. Nothing. No shadow speeder, nothing out of place, even the lights were normal. He flicked a look at the tire iron—poor mirror though it was—and found just his own orangy-yellow shape. What the hell?
He looked at Vert, seemingly oblivious to the weird lights and Zoom’s sudden hyper vigilance. It hadn’t been more than a second or two, and it wouldn’t be much longer before Vert did notice something was wrong, but suddenly, Zoom wasn’t sure he wanted him to. This was Earth, not one of the battle zones, they’d just won another key and it was supposed to be safe.
“Actually, you go on ahead,” Zoom said, grimacing at how strangled his voice sounded. “I—“ he paused, blanking on a reason why he wouldn’t go to Zeke’s. Well, any reason but the real one, which sounded insane in his own head. “Zen!” He blurted out, “We were going to talk and I forgot! I’ll catch up later! Maybe!” He didn’t wait to see or hear Vert’s reaction; instead, he all but sprinted toward the living quarters.
“Sounds good, I can’t guarantee Sherman will leave you any pizza though. . .” Vert trailed off, having turned around and realized he was talking to himself. “Huh, well, I guess he had to go.” He shrugged, long since given up questioning his teammates’ idiosyncrasies.
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Zoom stared at the wall opposite his bed, gaze vacant as his mind tried to make sense of what’d just happened. He’d more than earned his name, reaching his room in record time while dodging as much of the security system as possible, and locked the door before yanking his shirt off. Nevermind everyone besides Sage was supposed to be out; he was taking absolutely no chances that anyone could barge in unannounced. Just like in the Hub vehicle bay, though, there hadn’t been anything there. He’d checked everywhere after that, thinking maybe it’d moved or spread or something. The results had been the same: human skin, same as it ever was. His hand was exactly as it was before and after the shadow contamination, and so was the rest of him.
“What the hell?” He whispered, a hysterical edge to his voice. Just that thought, running through his head, with his mind struggling to grasp what he thought he’d seen.
His eyes drifted down toward his left arm again, trying to see if there was any visible indication of shadows. He clenched his hand, then flexed it, rotating his arm and wrist, watching the motions and searching for anything.
“It looks normal and, I mean, I feel normal?” Zoom said, mentally questioning himself. He frowned, concentrating on his feelings and trying to notice if his subconscious summoned had any strange thoughts or feelings. Maybe a homicidal urge to go full zombie on his teammates. Nothing. Though now he kinda felt like an idiot.
“Maybe. . .” He trailed off, “I have no idea.” Without further cause for alarm, the panic was wearing off, and his body was starting to react to the cool air, goosebumps appearing along his arms. He huffed, grabbing his shirt and shrugging back into it. “When in doubt, ask someone smarter.” Zoom stood up and headed toward the door, trying to figure out how to ask Sage in a way that wasn’t immediately suspicious. No clear avenue presented itself, “This is going to suck so hard.” He groaned. The memory of his shadowed reflection flashed before his eyes again, “But not as much as that.” Setting his shoulders, he left his room, the door slowly drifting open behind him.
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“The diagnostic scan is returning no abnormalities or indications of illness.” Sage reported, “I believe you’d call that a clean bill of health. Yes?” Sage queried, pleased at the opportunity to use her new human vernacular in pronouncing Zoom’s health.
“Oh, that’s good, I guess,” Zoom said weakly, trying to muster enthusiasm. “Maybe it was something I ate.”
“That is unlikely. If it was recent enough to trouble you, my scan would have detected any trace contaminants or physical affliction.” Sage assured him, blithely oblivious to Zoom’s lackluster reaction to his good health.
“Just one of those human quirks, heh.” Zoom cringed. “You know what, I feel so much better, I’m just going to go –” He motioned over his shoulder, scrambling for a reason, “practice Muay Thai. It’s meditative! He slid off the table, faux casually heading for the door. “Or I can meditate, that’s also good!” He said, slipping out of the med bay and making for the above-ground hanger.
Sage stared at the doors after they closed behind Zoom. “That was. . . odd. Perhaps there was something my scan missed.” She turned back to the scan results, running a practiced eye over them. “Hmmm, nothing out of the ordinary. How peculiar.”
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Zoom exhaled slowly, sinking a bit farther into the stretch, trying to will away some of the tension. He didn’t trust his own knowledge of multiverse madness, but he trusted Sage’s, and she hadn’t found anything. And Rawkus—for all that Zoom liked him, he wasn’t sure trust was the right word—also indicated the Shadow Zone only had effects within its boundaries.
He shifted into the next position in sequence, his frustration bleeding into the smooth motion and turning it abrupt. A muscle twinged in protest. It just didn’t make sense! He scowled at the floor, irritation a poor shield against the worry. What if something’s really wrong? For a split second, Zoom remembered how it felt when the shadows had been taking over, fighting with himself, and Vert unaware of the traitor beside him.
The grind of steel wheels on concrete and grit interrupted Zoom’s spiraling thoughts, a tell-tale sign of the hangar door being opened. He turned to look; if the team was back, he needed to find some semblance of normality, or probably start beating up a punching bag.
“Ah, Zoom! You’re the very person I was hoping to find!” Backlit against the desert’s glare, Zoom couldn’t see who it was, but he’d know that voice anywhere.
”What do you want, Stanford?” He tried to stifle a wince.Subtle, Zoom. If that’s the best you can do, maybe someone else should be the scout, like Stanford. Or a peacock.
”Is that any way to treat your favorite teammate?” Stanford cried, his voice echoing off the cavernous metal and concrete space and grating on Zoom’s already strained nerves. “And to think, I came all this way with some of Zeke’s finest, freshest, mouth-wateringly delicious, ‘za!” With an exaggerated flourish, Stanford presented a to-go box to Zoom, waggling it back and forth teasingly.
“Really.” He drawled, expression incredulous, “You came all the way back here, alone, for absolutely no other reason.” He wasn’t sure what, exactly, Stanford wanted, but Zoom was sure there was something.
Stanford held up the hand not holding the pizza, adopting a too-serious demeanor. “Swear, I came back for absolutely no other reason but delivering pizza to an absent comrade-in-arms. . . And maybe to ask one tiny, itty-bitty, little favor.” He pouted, clearly trying to look irresistible.
Zoom eyed him and the pizza, torn between the privacy of the hanger and the significant distraction Stanford would no doubt provide. “. . .What do you want?”
”Barely anything,” Stanford said, “just your time and expertise.” He flailed his hand with the pizza box toward Zoom. “Teach me what you’re doing. I might not be in your super secret brotherhood, but that’s no reason to give up altogether!”
Stanford’s words reverberated throughout the hangar before dying away and leaving the two in stifling stillness; Zoom mulled over the idea, on the brink of shooting him down. He remembered, then, Sage’s clean diagnosis and blurted, “Sure.” Mentally scrambling, he tried to play cool, adding “but don’t say you didn’t know what you were signing up for.”
At the dumbstruck disbelief on Stanford’s face, Zoom felt just a bit better. Hopefully, his eyes really were just playing tricks on him, in which case, it was time to get back to business as usual. Messing with Stanford was good—reasonably harmless—fun, and definitely qualified as ‘business as usual’. He shifted, then, rising to his feet and bouncing a bit, muscles protesting leaving the extended pose he’d been holding. “Why don’t you put that,” he motioned at the grease-stained box and surely battered pizza within, “in the fridge and meet me outside the doors.” Zoom smiled, and Stanford felt a hint of foreboding crawl up his spine. “I think we’ll start with laps.”
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The second time it happened ranks up there with the dumbest but most terrifying events in Zoom’s life. Not a list Zoom wanted to add to, but he’s realized this reallyisn’t his day.
He’s pretty sure it started fine; the halls had been quiet when he’d collected one of the ice zone keys from the vault under Sage’s vigilant gaze. They’d been equally hushed as he’d made his way to the Chopper and A.J. and the GearSlammer. Despite the lack of natural light in the base, Zoom had still appreciated the tranquility that seemed to accompany early morning; even A.J.'s exuberance had been tempered.
”Mornin’ Zoom!” A.J. called, noticing the doors slide open as their sensors picked up Zoom’s approach. “Ready to hit the slopes?” He thumped GearSlammer, “Me and this beast are itching to make tracks!”
Zoom brandished the battle key, a faint light emanating from it, “You know it!” He crowed, feeling A.J.’s enthusiasm catching despite his dislike of cold weather. “This zone won’t know what hit it!”
“Then let’s get going!” A.J. popped open his driver’s side door and swung himself up into his seat, easy athleticism turning the sequence into one fluid motion. “Last one there has to clean the garage when we get back!” He called, already starting GearSlammer rolling out.
Dread for the gritty slush that would undoubtedly be all over their vehicles, garage, ramps, and people shot through Zoom, sending him lunging for the Chopper. “Oh no you don’t,” he muttered, peeling down the ramp from his parking bay, “I still have the battle key.”
Zoom sped toward the exit, the doors already open and bright desert sunlight flooding in, still early enough to have an edge of softness. The Chopper went airborne for a few seconds as he cleared the doors, his stomach going weightless with it before he touched down without missing a beat, visor automatically adjusting for the increased brightness. Protected by his suit and helmet, Zoom couldn’t feel the arid heat already starting to shimmer in the air, and there wasn’t any loose fabric for the wind to ruffle and pull, but he felt the phantom sensations all the same, ingrained by years of memory.
Over the rushing wind and the Chopper’s whine, Zoom heard the powerful growl of GearSlammer as it cleared the base, the earth shuddering under the impact of its landing after a heartbeat of airtime. Anticipation and excitement hummed through him, and Zoom felt almost intoxicated with the freedom and energy he could feel tingling throughout his fingers, no trace of the recent tranquility left.
“Damn, you and the Chopper sure can move! Hell of an acceleration you two’ve got!” A.J. said through the comm link, admiration clear, over loud in the confines of Zoom’s helmet. “Don’t forget, though,” he said, anticipatory confidence seeping into his voice, “we’re headed to my tundra.
Zoom winced, his high dampened briefly by the reminder of their destination. “Alright alright, cold is a bit of a problem.” He heard A.J.’s suppressed laugh clear as if they were in the same room, “Okay, kind of a big problem. But I’d like to see how you deal with turning into a human popsicle!” Zoom protested.
“When this is all over, come back to the Yukon with me; I’ll show you a whole new meaning to ‘cold’!” A.J. boasted, “Besides, are you saying you’d rather drive something besides the Chopper?” He questioned, a sly, knowing look on his face and creeping into his voice.
Zoom grimaced, mentally flicking through the other vehicles on the team. “No way. I’ll stick with the Chopper, thanks.”
“Of course! Which is why this is a brilliant idea! People can acclimate to just about anything; we just have to get you more used to the cold.”
”See, I hear what you’re saying, but I’m really pretty sure this isn’t going to work.” Zoom shrugged as well as he could while driving the Chopper, “but what the hell, worth a shot. Beats vacuuming the common areas, I guess.”
Realizing that they’d reached the storm shock zone, A.J. loaded the battle key and opened the storm shock. He called, “Last chance to back out little dude, you sure?” Ahead of him, he could see the Chopper already entering the portal, and in lieu of an answer, Zoom popped a wheelie, taking off with a burst of speed at the end and vanished from view. “Cheeky bugger.” He gave GearSlammer more gas, leaning into the pull of the storm shock, eerie blue light replacing the desert’s unrelenting glare, “let’s go have some fun.”
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Launching out of the storm shock, A.J. brought GearSlammer to an easy stop next to where Zoom had stopped the Chopper, admiring the GearSlammer’s faultless traction and suitability to the terrain. He peered through the windshield, confident Zoom had already begun scanning for potential hostiles—besides the battle zone itself—but figured an additional set of eyes with different expertise might be helpful.
Looking out over the gelid battle zone, A.J. felt a thrill course through him, almost overshadowing his nostalgia for home. The alien purple sunlight reflecting off the keen-edged outgrowths of ice, coldly beautiful, but A.J. could too easily envision the dire consequences of colliding with them. Everything was eerily still aside from the scudding ice particles driven by the wind; inside the GearSlammer, he felt like a world apart, though his memory filled in the maddening cold and sting of blown ice shards he was missing.
Zoom’s voice crackled over the coms, the quality slightly degraded by what A.J. guessed was electromagnetic interference from the unusual sun, possibly the ice and wind too. “Remind me again how freezing solid now is supposed to help me notfreeze in the future?” Despite the plaintive note leaking into his voice, A.J. noted Zoom still sounded hyped.
”Not much that exciting.” A.J. admitted, “See the sights, avoid any heretofore undiscovered locals, maybe check out a cool glacier or ice field if we find any.” He said, shrugging despite the GearSlammer’s cab hiding him from view.
A.J. hummed pensively, then added, “I know you’re a tough little dude, but the goal right now isn’t to push your tolerance to the limit; we’re just getting an idea of how long you can comfortably—and safely—function in these conditions. Obviously, weather and activity affect that, but we’re just getting an idea of your baseline. After that, we can work on repeated exposure and acclimating over time, but that’s not the name of the game today.” He took a moment, dropping his characteristic levity and steeling his voice, “I mean it, Zoom, nothing reckless and don’t push it; I will know.” He finished, his warning lingering between them; the gravity of A.J.’s impromptu speech discouraged any flippant response.
“Well, the timer’s been running since the Chopper and I touched down, what do you say we start cruising around?” Zoom queried, then tacked on, “Slow and easy, we can even stick to the ‘sunny’ places,” he motioned to the comparatively bright field around them, “in the name of consistency.”
In answer, the familiar rumble of the GearSlammer started up, reverberating oddly in Zoom’s ears as it echoed off the ice and in the confines of his helmet. “Tell you what, you take the right of this ice sheet and I’ll take the left.” A.J. said, then continued without waiting for his response, “If anything happens, it looks thin enough the GearSlammer and I could probably just bust through it.” Although A.J. was pretty well hidden by the glare of the cab’s windows and Zoom’s lower position, Zoom assumed he was talking about the opaque spire of ice in front of them. Both sides were well-lit from the violet sunlight, but Zoom felt an ominous chill–independent of the landscape–crawling up his spine.
It’s one measly wall of ice. Like hell am I chickening out of this. Some scout that’d be.
“Whatever you say, big guy.” Zoom tossed him a thumbs up and took off before A.J. could reply, faux flippancy chafing like sandpaper as he shoved down his unease.
A few minutes later, basking in the cool light and with the GearSlammer’s distorted form clearly visible one fragile ice wall away, Zoom felt his earlier agitation dissipating. He could even admit–if only in the privacy of his own head–that the wintery battle zone wasn’t half bad with no enemies or wind chill. Confident in his security, Zoom was letting his gaze roam across the icy walls and ground. Not exactly a lot of sites to see here. He adjusted his course slightly as the ice separating him from A.J. grew thicker, his route angling off toward the right as it narrowed and funneled him and the Chopper away.
Maybe the cold was getting to Zoom more than he thought, maybe the surreal atmosphere had corrupted his sense of self-preservation, or maybe it was just the repetition wearing him down. Whatever the case, though, when the shadow speeder appeared in the ice, Zoom barely reacted. The first flighty flicker in his periphery evoked nothing more than idle disinterest before the implications began to register.
“Huh. That’s. . . unexpected.” Zoom mused, resisting the urge to panic, clinging to the tenuous detachment to instead look at the speeder head-on. He met the speeder’s glowing yellow eyes, the color at odds with the malice radiating from the shadow.
I thought it would’ve looked more like me. Zoom thought, sweeping his eyes over the reflection, distantly noting A.J.’s voice coming through their comlink. But it just looks like the others. Weird.
A niggling voice in Zoom’s head said he should look away or answer A.J.’s increasingly desperate sounding questions; he kept looking at the speeder, though, trying to find some indication of individuality to it, even the numbness and chill sinking into his limbs seemed unimportant.
What does this mean? That this could’ve been me? That it still could be?.
A sudden instinct broke through Zoom’s stupor, and he jerked his head up. He had just enough time to catch a glimpse of distorted fire-engine red through the ice next to him before the wall exploded. The ice shattered, a coruscant storm of lethal shards spraying indiscriminately.
Zoom threw himself backward, dragging the Chopper with him in a faint hope it would help block some of the freezing shrapnel. Even as the world dissolved into a maelstrom of flashing light and glacial hues, he found his eyes searching for the shadows and lantern-yellow glow of the speeder’s wicked grin.
The myriad lights and blurring colors were the last things Zoom could make out as he fell, and amidst the chaos, he thought he felt stinging cuts before a jarring, full-body impact, and everything faded to black.
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Zoom cracked open an eye, mindful of the harsh, inescapable light that had awoken him. Half-blinded as he was, he couldn’t be entirely sure where he was, but he had a guess.
“Rise and shine, Zippy.”
Oh, she soooo does not sound happy.
Zoom pried his eyes a little further apart and set up carefully, mindful of the clumsy, floaty feeling in his head and limbs. The world felt like it wasn’t quite anchored, but nothing else, so he looked around for Agura. There, leaning against the left wall, he spotted her, arms crossed and radiating tension.
“Now that you’re back in the land of the living, consider: next time you want to be a bonehead, do it on your own time.” She advised, quirking an eyebrow as she gave him a challenging look.
Huh? My own time?
Agura must’ve read the confusion in Zoom’s silence because she continued. “A.J.? ‘Getting a cold tolerance baseline’?” She questioned, uncrossing her arms to add air quotes and pushing off the wall, beginning to pace in front of the bed. “Sound familiar?”
Like a half-forgotten dream, Zoom began to remember bantering with A.J. this morning and their discussion in the frozen battle zone, but thinking further sent a dull spike of pain through his head. He winced. I’m so dead.
“Oh, so you didn’t completely fry your brain after all.” Agura observed, “So maybe you remember scaring A.J. half to death, nearly getting yourself killed, and getting the Chopper damn near totaled.” Zoom stayed silent. He didn’t remember all of that, although it sounded plausible, but he also didn’t think Agura was looking for a response.
“Seriously, Zoom, what the hell were you doing?” Agura whirled around, stalking toward the bed before coming to a stop beside it, veritably looming despite her lack of height. “I can’t decide if you’re just not taking this seriously and were trying to show off or ‘be tough’ or something, or if you’re just that bad at basic self-preservation,” she scoffed, “whatever you were trying to accomplish, congratulations! You spectacularly screwed the pooch. She jabbed a finger toward him as she finished, her frustrated words reverberating through Zoom’s aching head.
As Agura had been speaking, the events of the frozen battle zone had returned in full, and he almost protested, then caught himself. I wasn’t–it wasn’t like that. . .
Something of his swallowed protests must’ve shown, because Agura challenged him, gesturing as if to say the floor was his. Zoom dropped his head, focusing on the starched white sheet covering his lap, running his fingers back and forth over it. “Is A.J. okay?
“Physically? He’s fine.” Agura answered, emotion reined in and voice pointedly flat. “The GearSlammer can actually take hits without issue. Mentally? Well, he’s a little concerned he almost killed a teammate, but not much we can do about that.” Her voice turned rough toward the end, and Zoom winced.
“It was that bad?”
Agura gave him a grudging look, “Technically, no.” She held up a finger, “But, it wasn’t good! You were talking to thin air, repeatedly didn’t answer A.J., and basically got a smorgasboard of injuries between the ice, cold, and the Chopper.”
Zoom lifted his head and stared at Agura, caught somewhere between guilt and incredulity. “Smorgasboard?”
Agura flushed, “Look what you’ve done, I can’t even use a normal word.” She flustered, “We’re all just lucky we have a sci-fi med bay, otherwise, you’d be recovering for weeks.”
“I really am sorry; I didn’t mean to . . .” He trailed off, waving one bandaged arm helplessly, trying to cover everything that had gone wrong.
Moving forward, Agura sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, sighing. “I know Zoom, and A.J. knows, and probably everyone knows.” She caught his eyes then, the intensity in her expression freezing him in place. “But Zoom, regardless of what you intended to happen, your actions have consequences. I know that’s cliche, and I've had this talk a few times before, but you have to think about these things and pay attention; you can’t just keep assuming things will work out. One of these days they won’t.”
Zoom wanted to protest, the words piling up and sticking in his throat and his eyes felt damning wet. He wanted to explain, deny that it wasn’t what she was thinking, but trying to explain what was happening, when he didn’t even know if it was real or not, felt like the worst option. He blinked, and blinked again, trying to will away the tears that threatened to fall, swallowing back the words clogging his throat.
“I won’t say I’m not mad, or that you aren’t still in trouble, but this time, everything did turn out okay.” Agura picked up one of his hands, squeezing it reassuringly, “We learn from this, yeah? Make sure that it doesn’t happen again.” She got up, dropping his hand as she stood; Zoom felt his chest clench at the loss. “This conversation isn’t over, but you look like you need some time. Think about what I said, ‘kay?”
Zoom nodded, watching as Agura gave him one last weighted look, the details obscured by a veil of barely restrained tears.
Alone in the medbay, Zoom tried to focus on his breathing, slipping into the familiar rhythm he’d used while meditating with the Order. The loneliness and sterility of the medbay was a stark contrast to the flurry and turmoil in his head, and the deliberate ordering of his breathing.
Zoom longed for Agura to come back, or for anyone else to show up, even if he dreaded what they might say; anything to dispel the parallels between the medbay and the ice battle zone and distract him from his thoughts. No other visitors disturbed the artificial tranquility, though, and eventually, without even realizing it, Zoom dozed off into troubled dreams.
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As a rule of thumb, Zoom didn’t frequent Tezz’s lair workshop. The first and only time he’d shown up while Tezz was working, Tezz had bodily stopped him three steps over the threshold and pushed him back out the door. Blunt to a fault, he’d told Zoom, “It’s not personal, but I will not be killed because you couldn’t keep from touching the wrong thing.” Which felt kinda personal to Zoom, but not necessarily incorrect, so he’d stayed away since.
This time, though, he tried not to give Tezz the opportunity to eject him. Zoom didn’t normally feel the need to sneak through the base, but lately, it seemed like every room and interaction was infected with words unspoken, uncomfortable in a way it hadn’t been even when they were first learning how to live together. It reminded Zoom of his last days with the Order–before he’d run–and in a desperate bid to escape, he’d sought out a place he’d never been welcome anyway; in some perverse way, the familiar hostility was easier than the omnipresent reminder of what he’d lost.
Tezz’s security systems were extensive, and Zoom doubted he’d evaded all of them, but he’d also place bets that Tezz himself hadn’t noticed him, and as long as he didn’t do anything, he was probably in the clear.
Which brought him to his haunt of the week, the mostly unused, top shelf of an industry shelving unit. The metal was far from the most comfortable places to stake out, but Zoom appreciated the vantage it gave him; he got a front row, almost unobstructed view of whatever Tezz felt like working on or tinkering with.
“Mmmm, I didn’t immediately evict you because I wanted to see what you were doing.” Aw crud, is he talking to me? Despite the fact it would mean he was busted and in need of a new hideaway, Zoom hoped Tezz was talking to him; otherwise, that’d be two of the team going nuts. Not good. “Not answering will not fool me or my sensors. welp, guess that answers that question.
“Just watchin’,” Zoom held his hands up, holding himself up in a cobra pose as he demonstrated the lack of touching he was doing. “Thought I’d drop by and see the new digs now that you’re all moved and settled in. Love the look, very electropunk. Ninja friendly too.”
Tezz turned around, craning his neck to level a flat glare at Zoom, seemingly unaffected by his guileless smile. Internally, Zoom winced, impressed but apprehensive about Tezz’s apparent ability to look down on him despite being several feet lower.
“I find it difficult to imagine anyone could believe that.” Tezz turned back toward his workstation, carelessly waving a dismissive hand. “As long as you refrain from touching anything besides your current perch, though, I shall allow you to remain.” He paused, motioning at Zoom with the pen he’d picked up, “And don’t be too noisy, or you can go right back to haunting the common areas!” Satisfied, Tezz turned back to his papers, scratching out a few more marks where he’d left off.
The two lapsed back into semi-companionable silence, the humming and buzzing of machinery a steady drone in the background. “So what’re you working on?”
“Schematics”. Another mark was added to the paper to be almost immediately erased, the eraser scraps swept away by rote movement.
The non-answer itched at Zoom, begging for actual clarification to put understanding to the motions. Only the looming threat of being sent back out into the rest of the Hub kept him from pressing, straining his eyes instead to try and discern anything he recognized. Unfortunately, Zoom was pretty sure Tezz wasn’t even using an alphabet he was familiar with, let alone the terminology. Still, there was a restlessness building beneath his skin, not so ignorable now that he’d been found out.
“Schematics for what?” The bright tone of his voice was glaringly at odds with the power-saving setting of the lights and frozen forms of machinery. Zoom cringed. Dammit.
“I see the concept of silence is lost on you.” Tezz sighed, a resigned slump to his shoulders. “Let me try and put this in a way you’ll comprehend.” He motioned to the paper behind him, “My shock glove was designed for use against non-human entities and matter, regardless of changing the output, it maintains the potential to inflict substantial harm to humans. Therefore, I’m attempting to create a human acceptable setting.”
“Uh, you planning on using that thing on one of us anytime soon?” Zoom asked, suddenly uncomfortably aware of the metal beneath him and his current lack of shock suit. “Also, isn’t the entire point of your glove that it, ya know, hurts?” He punctuated his question with a hand motion, miming electrocution.
“Did I say it would not still hurt?” Tezz shot back, afront clear. “No. It will still be effective, but ah. . “ he paused and Zoom could almost see Tezz searching for the words. “Well, hopefully the new setting will be accompanied by fewer potential side effects. And with you people, while ideally I wouldn’t need to shock humans, you get into the strangest situations.”
“This coming from the guy who got himself stuck on a Red Sentient outpost à la Back to the Future?”
Tezz scoffed, “The Splitwire is obviously superior to the DeLorean.”
Zoom felt a grin tugging at his cheeks, Tezz’s condescending banter lifting some of the insidious gloom that seemed to follow him these days, infecting the others when he got too close. Then the rest of Tezz’s words registered.
“Wait! What do you mean ‘fewer potential side effects’!?” Zoom pulled himself forward, expression alarmed as he balanced half over the edge of the shelving, which swayed with the abrupt shift of weight so far from its center of gravity.
Tezz leveled a matter-of-fact look at him. “Did you think getting hit with electromagnetic blasts was healthy? He asked, his voice dry.
That brought Zoom up short, alarm and concern yielding to cautious confusion. “I kinda thought it was like when you get shocked from something.” He fluttered his fingers in a way that Tezz thought was intended to denote sparks. “Like static electricity or metal in an outlet, but stronger?” He trailed off, voice dying to little more than a squeak in the face of Tezz’s flat expression. “So that’s a no.”
“If you do not count potential neurological and nerve damage, and the associated injuries and impairments that follow those things, then they are perfectly safe.” Tezz watched as Zoom registered his words, “I can see that you do consider those significant, so perhaps you will leave me to my work.” He spun his chair back to his desk and eraser-smudged blueprints, raising his voice and pointedly adding, “That way I can concentrate in peace. Without loud and colorful distractions.”
Zoom hummed, considering, before shimmying backward until he was again securely lying on the beleaguered shelving and settled down.
“I suppose this arrangement can suffice, as long as your silence holds.”
No answer or sound returned to him. Tezz resisted checking behind him or pulling up the program that tracked the entrances and exits into the room. The blueprints before seemed infinitely less engrossing than the conspicuous silence looming behind him. He glared at the desktop, hand clenching painfully tight around the pencil as he tried unsuccessfully to ignore the unnerving sensation of potentially leaving his back exposed.
Either he is there, or he is not. Move on. Nevertheless, the lack of concrete knowledge rankled him and nipped at his concentration, pulling it away from where it ought to be, and Tezz found himself straining his ears for any clues.
Nothing.
Sighing, Tezz straightened up, neck cracking with the change in position, and resigned himself to losing this particular bout with irrationality. He glanced over his shoulder, movements deliberately casual and readying an excuse, only to stop. While Zoom was, indeed, still lounging on the shelving, for all intents and purposes, he appeared to be asleep. Tezz snorted softly, shaking his head and turning away again, mind at ease.
Once the light sounds of Tezz at work started up again, Zoom’s eyes cracked open, a minute smile tugging his lips upward, hidden in the crook of his arm. Zoom one, Tezz nada. Buoyed by his success and newfound permission into Tezz’s self-proclaimed domain, Zoom let his eyes slip closed once more, leaning into the comfortable companionship and grounding pressure of the shelf.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Sherman glowered at the Chopper, even its brilliant yellow paint dimmed by the uninterrupted cloud cover strangling the sunlight. Zoom hummed, considering, by his side, also scrutinizing his ride. “It’s almost impressive.”
Eyebrows flying skyward, Sherman looked at Zoom, disbelief splashed across his face. “You have flat tires!” He thrust a hand toward the Chopper, parked with a precarious list on tires with several flat patches. “How do you even do that?! And not notice?!”
“In my defense, we were working on flying, not driving today.” Zoom pointed out, voice distracted and lacking any real defensiveness; he was still staring at the misshapen tires. “Might’ve helped if I’d realized, though.” He mused, reflecting on the inexplicable difficulty he’d had launching and landing the Chopper.
Sherman ran a hand through his hand as he sighed through his nose, reining in some of his irritation at the situation; almost everyone had noticed Zoom acting off. Unfortunately for Sherman, all the other good choices had had convincing reasons why they shouldn’t try to play Zoom Whisperer–the rest Vert had vetoed via ‘leader discretion.’
Refocusing, Sherman looked at the Chopper’s wheels again, eyeing how the wheels' rigid material had several palm-sized spots of flattened tire; fortunately, none of the deformities seemed to interfere with the wheels’ splitting and flight. The peculiar, hard but flexible material of the tires probably did contribute to a rougher ride in general and–combined with the flight focus–likely did explain why Zoom hadn’t realized the issue. He looked over at Zoom, who was no longer staring at the Chopper; instead, he seemed to be watching the marled shadows of the clouds scud across the rocky ground. Thinking, Sheman absently followed Zoom’s eyeline, the two contemplating the shifting light, the shadows seeming to jump and dance as the jumbled landscape beneath breathed life into them.
“We can load the Chopper onto the Buster to get it back to the Hub,” Sherman suggested, shaking off the odd, detached mood he’d felt creeping up on him.
“Hm?”
“So we don’t cause any further damage, we can lash the Chopper to the Buster, then you can ride in Spinner’s seat.” Sherman clarified, watching as Zoom pulled himself out of the distracted daze he’d been in. “I can’t promise nothing spawned there, though, it’s been a while since he cleaned his half.”
“Oh, yeah! Sweet!” Zoom gave Sherman a thumbs up, grin stretching almost painfully wide, eyes crinkled but missing the warmth and spark of enthusiasm that was so characteristic of him.
“Right, I’ll go put down a ramp so you can walk it up; it’d probably be better if we used the Chopper’s own cable to secure it?” Sherman asked, cocking his head in question for Zoom’s assent, already backing toward the Buster.
“Sounds good. Let me see if I can get it out without the force.” Zoom said, stepping up to the Chopper, left hand reaching for the controls.
Sherman pivoted around, jogging now, trying to figure out a strategy to get Zoom to open up on the drive back. Am I even going to have enough time? Reaching the Buster, he hoisted himself up and dropped inside, distractedly clocking the familiar sound of a cable discharging at full blast. So that’s a no on the controlled release then.
Despite the looming conversation, Sherman felt his lips quirk up briefly in amusement as he began operating the Buster’s control with practiced efficiency, tracking Zoom’s progress on the monitor screens. Observing the easy way Zoom was working on securing the Chopper, and mindful of the limited operating space, Sherman decided to let him handle it. Instead, he twisted around and scrutinized Spinner’s seat and console for any easily fixed or hidden hazards. Huh, thanks big bro Sherman thought, making a mental note to thank Spinner for finally cleaning up his half of the Buster, aside from a cup holder that shone with moisture, despite no drink in sight Ehhh, Zoom won’t notice. Probably.
Sherman was settling back into his seat, satisfied nothing was about to gain sentience on the trip back, when he heard the door open and shut. A wave of heavy, desert-hot air gusted into the Buster as Zoom slipped in and took his place.
“Chopper’s not goin’ anywhere anytime soon; you ready?”
“Just waiting on you,” Sherman replied. Then, “Seatbelt?” He prompted.
“Oh, whoops!” Zoom startled, “Forgot about that.” He said, tone sheepish over the click of the seatbelt locking home.
“Yeah, I figured that. I also figured you’d seen enough of the medbay recently, so just in case anything happens, I’d rather not bring back you andthe Chopper back for repairs.” Sherman said, starting up the Buster and easing it forward, mindful of the uneven terrain and cargo.
“Yeeeaah,” Zoom drew out the word, subdued resignation coloring his words, “I’d never live that down, would I.”
Sherman frowned, taking advantage of Zoom’s position behind him and consequent inability to see his face. The words could’ve been right had the tone been different, lighter perhaps. Instead, they pricked at his consciousness, at odds with what his mind expected from Zoom.
Discomfort and anxiety swelled beneath his sternum and throbbed through the base of his skull. Dammit Vert, there’s gotta be a better choice for this. Nevertheless, Sherman exhaled and inhaled once, fortifying himself with the carefully controlled action and imagined his emotions smoothing out.
“So what’s wrong?” The words weren’t even fully out, and already Sherman was cringing. Too blunt!
No answer from the backseat, just loaded silence. Suddenly paranoid, Sherman discreetly locked the doors.
“I’m not trying to pry, or judge, but we’ve noticed you’ve been a little. . .” He stalled, searching for a diplomatic phrasing, “off? Lately?” “We’ve?!” Ohh, not good. Sherman kept his focus on the windshield, trying to project that the mundane Earth desert merited all of his attention.
Still no audible response from Zoom; Sherman eyed the speedometer and eased his foot off the gas every so much, trying to time it with a rougher patch of ground to camouflage or excuse the decrease in speed.
We’ve? Zoom asked, voice light, but with an undercurrent of something Sherman couldn’t identify. He could almost see the expression he associated with the tone. Something playful and sly, goading the other person to continue. He had a feeling this wasn’t going to be one of those times when the rest of the team had a laugh at Stanford’s one of the other’s miscalculations.
In for a penny, in for a pound. Sherman thought. Might as well keep going..
“Yes, ‘we’ve’. I think everyone’s noticed that something is bothering you and we. . .” Sherman shrugged, aiming for concerned without being overbearing. “We were worried.”
“I thought I was handling it pretty well.” Zoom defended, “and it’s just a temporary thing. Sherman could hear the hint of petulance in Zoom’s tone, but whether it was directed at them or himself, he couldn’t tell. Nevertheless, part of him exaulted in the lack of denial. Acceptance was progress, right?
“You ended up in the medbay twice.” He couldn’t help but point out.
“Well, sure. But once was completely voluntary and on my own two feet, so I don’t really think that should count.”
“Personally, I’d argue it counts more, but that’s not really the issue here.” Sherman pointed out, trying to cut off Zoom’s conversational evasions. “Whatever it is, we need to know because the stakes are way too high to be blindsided by this.” Zoom started to respond, but Sherman kept talking, “And, we want to know because it majorly sucks know you’re struggling and we can’t do anything.” Pausing for air, he finished, “Because you won’t let us.” The words lacked energy, some of the vitality lost when he’d had to breathe, but they fell unforgiving in the quiet bubble of the Buster’s interior, damning in their sincerity.
Sherman let the silence stretch, until–
“I almost hurt Vert in the Shadow Zone when I was turning into a Shadow Speeder.”
Ah Sherman opened his mouth, then closed it again, still registering the blunt admission.
“And I keep seeing Shadow Speeders. Except,” He stalled, then continued the headlong rush, words drying up at the end. “Except I think I might be seeing. . . me.”
Sherman kept staring forward, conscious of the solid feel of the steering wheel in his hands, grateful it was a straight shot home by now; he felt like the shock had welded his limbs into place, flooded his gears and kept him from processing.
The Buster trundled along, creeping over the flats unchecked by driver or terrain, oddly reminiscent of the mammoths that had surely traversed the plane far earlier.
Sherman tried to speak once more, croaking out a strained, ‘okay’ to acknowledge Zoom’s conversational bombshell.
“Sage’s scans didn’t show anything, and I mean, maybe that’s not something you can detect with Sentient tech? But it kinda seems like it would be something it detects? You know what I mean?” Zoom was rambling now, the dam that’d kept him so concerningly quiet thoroughly broken; Sherman was too stunned to do anything but weather the deluge of words.
“And it’s never been more than one at a time, and it’s only ever me, not anyone else’s reflection, or no one’s, I guess? It can be a little unclear? Also, Rawkus also said I was fine; probably everything’s just in my head, but I’m totally fine, definitely on the mend!”
“Zoom,” Sherman interrupted Zoom’s pellmell explanations and assurances, “what did you think would happen if we knew?”
“I. . . didn’t really think about that?” Zoom sounded confused, voice lilting up at the end, questioning the seeming non sequitur. “I just, no one else seemed to be overreacting like this. To anything, I mean! Not just the Shadow Speeders.” He tacked on, clarifying as though he thought Sherman might misunderstand and start poking holes in his explanation.
“Uh huh.” Sherman caved to the desire to park the Buster instead of inching forward unmonitored. Then, unbuckling, he twisted around to face Zoom, catching his gaze and doing his best to project sincerity.
“I’m glad you’re ‘on the mend’ but Zoom–and I think I speak for everyone when I say–we were more concerned about how you were, as Zoom, than whatever else you’re thinking.”
Zoom broke eye contact first, turning his head away and looking somewhere beyond the walls of the Buster. “I know that. And it sounds way worse than it was when you put it like that.” He sulked.
Sherman felt his eyebrows shoot skyward, “We’re literally locked in the parked Buster less than a hundred yards from the Hub.” He paused, mentally running through the litany of ridiculousness, “And the Chopper’s tied to the hood because you didn’t notice flat tires!”
Zoom winced, finally giving up on scrutinizing the wall for whatever he’d been looking for, answers or a way out maybe. “You’re not going to let that go, are you.”
It wasn’t a question, but it was comfortably close to their usual rapport that Sherman still played along, “Absolutely not, but it can stay between us.”
Zoom grinned, “‘ppreciate that.”
“And, frankly, I don’t really know what to do with what you said,” Sheman waved an arm before settling for pointing backward in a bewildered jerk, “but the specifics of that can also stay between us. Or just not shared with certain people. If you want.” He wasn’t sure how well the rest of the team would take that offer, but he figured that since they elected him for this, they could deal with being kept out of the loop.
“Yes please.” Zoom breathed, the naked relief on his face all the assurance Sherman needed to know it was the right move. “Can we not tell anyone else?” He asked, before rushing to clarify, “not forever, just, temporarily?”
“You got it, Zoomers. Us and no one else; but could you try to talk to me–or anyone–instead of disappearing?”
“Deal.” He held out his hand, and playing along, Sherman grasped it.
One firm, quasi-serious handshake later, he turned back around, back twinging in a mix of relief and protest, and asked, “Now, how about we get rolling again? I seem to recall some tires that need fixing.” Taking Zoom’s exaggerated groan as assent, Sherman restarted the Buster to finish the trip home. As the warehouse sharpened under the overcast sky and the Buster rumbled comfortingly under his touch, he silently promised himself he’d be doing some very targeted research after this.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Burning the midnight oil again?”
Sherman jerked, reflexively bringing his phone close and tilting it down, nearly pressed to his chest to block as much of the screen as possible. “Vert! You’re up!”
Halfblind from the sudden lack of light and bluery-eyed from staring at his screen too long, Sherman could only guess at Vert’s expression. From his scrunched position in the corner of the common room’s couch, though, he had a sudden sympathy for field mice when they’d heard the cry of a circling hawk; he felt a certain camaraderie with them at the moment.
“So, what’s got you so interested in your phone lately?” Vert pressed, ignoring Sherman’s outburst. Sherman couldn’t help but notice he didn’t come sit down, instead, he was leaning against the nearest doorframe. Blocking the nearest exit. Sherman’s paranoia whispered.
“Nothing, just you know. Research, sciency things. Very technical. Very boring.” Sherman said, trying to bluff his way out and internally berating his incredibly suspicious knee-jerk response.
“Mmhmmm.” Vert hummed, not a single note of belief in his tone.
“You want to try that again? Maybe this time with a complete sentence, or,” He uncrossed an arm, snapping his fingers as if being struck by a brilliant epiphany, “You could throw in some science gobbledygook! Just to really sell whatever it is you’re doing–or not doing.”
Sherman swallowed, shoving down the trepidation kicking his heart into gear. He cleared his throat, wholly at a loss for any explanation besides the truth. Finally, he said, “Actually, since you don’t need to know what I’m doing, can we just, I don’t know, skip? the part where we go in circles and get on each other’s nerves and just agree that I’d tell you if you needed to know, but you don’t, so I won’t unless something changes and you need to know?”
Even though Sherman couldn’t see Vert’s reaction particularly well, he swore he could see the exact expression he was making; the kind of face that invited the other person to reconsider every decision they’d made that’d brought them to that point. Unfortunately, there weren’t any choices Sherman could–or would–change, so with a wing and a prayer, he tried the direct approach: censored honesty.
“You’re right, I’m researching something that I promised someone I wouldn’t share– but I promise you, you do not need to know. Can you take my amateur assessment of the situation and not pry? Please?” In the wake of his request, Sherman waited, superstitiously certain that any disruption would cause Vert to keep pushing the matter.
“Well, if you promised. . . someone. And your ‘amateur assessment’ is that I don’t–currently–need to know, then. . .” Vert let his words hang, and Sherman swore he could feel his nerves fraying despite the buoyant hope unfurling in his chest.
“. . I suspect I don’t have much choice but to trust you.”
Sherman sagged back against the couch, the abused cushions sinking nearly to the unyielding frame, and let his head flop onto the back. “Dude,” he groaned, “Thank you so much, but did you have to draw it out like that?”
“Nah. But if you could’ve seen your face, you would’ve done it too.” Vert said lightly, almost joking.
That was too chill. Sherman thought. Suspiciously chill, even.
It was as if Vert’d heard Sherman, and he added, “Of course, if ‘someone’ changes their mind. Or it seems to be turning into something I should know, I trust, Sherman, that you wouldn’t sit on the situation, right?”
From his sprawled position on the couch, Sherman couldn’t see anything but the shadowed abyss that masqueraded as the ceiling when the lights were on. Based on the razor edge of warning in Vert’s formerly sunny tone, though, he suspected he was probably better off staying in the dark.
“Yeah, I know, Vert,” Sherman said. The weight of their leader’s trust and his own responsibility settling on him in a way he hadn’t noticed earlier. “I care too, and I understand the stakes. I won’t push it, Vert. Promise.”
“Good,” Vert said with unmistakable finality. “Get some sleep, Sherm. Whatever you’re reading can wait till tomorrow. Or a lot later today.” He shrugged, “Whichever comes first, I guess; I’m going to bed, though, and I don’t want to find out you were up all night.” Vert pushed off the doorframe, giving an unseen half-hearted wave as he left for his own room and rest.
Slumped on the worn thin couch, Sherman sighed. He could feel his head and neck resting on the unforgiving wooden frame, and knew from brutal experience he’d regret falling asleep like this when he woke up. But the regret seemed distant compared to the muzzy drowsiness clouding over his thoughts and weighing down his body. Recognizing a struggle he would lose anyway, and heavy with exhaustion, Sherman resigned himself to defeat and slipped into sleep.