Chapter 2 - The Black Flyer

"Careful careful careful!" Magdanovitch holds out his arms so we don't trample the stuff that's spread out in front of him. He is sitting on a sheet and has all kinds of small things lying there. "Saints Mags, dumb shit, " I yell, "go sit somewhere else! We almost broke our necks because of you!" Lois frowns at my words, she's not one to say things like that. Good I'm not her. Magdanovitch quickly gathers some of his things and pulls the sheet to the side so we can move away from the stairs. "Nice to see you too, menace." Somehow he always knows how to block passages with his tuff.

Mags is a MaMa, a Matter Manipulator. Some folks say that MaMas are related to magicians which is bullshit of course. He has some psychic abilities like I do, and he can make incredible gadgets because of that. I'm just someone who can put patients out while they're operated on and for that I actually need one of Mags's amplification things. It's in a pendant I wear around my neck. Not many people know that and that's how I'm going to keep that. "Bashir has not arrived yet?" Lois sometimes asks the dumbest questions. You wouldn't believe she is a well-paid secretary with one of the biggest vid-ad companies in the area. "Of course he has, " Magdanovitch snickers, "I just prefer to sit here in the cold." He looks up at her with his gnome-ish face. "Lois Lane, you ought to know better." He runs his hands through his short, white hair. "My name is Lois Linders, Mags, please do not call me Lois Lane." She starts twirling a strand of her long brown hair between her fingers. Mags grins and grabs together the rest of his stuff. "Bashir is coming." He tilts his head. "And Marco is with him."

Lois's face shows that she thinks Mags a freak because he knows things. Only moments later there are footsteps on the stairs and voices coming up ahead of the people. Marco's rough voice outsounds Bashir's gentle one. By the time Mags has his stuff collected the two others step into the corridor with its bright white light. "Hi, " is all Bashir says before he opens the door to his place. Marco says nothing. He often falls silent when he's around us. We follow Bashir inside. "Anthony comes soon, " our host informs us as he gestures to the room where his vid-wall is. "Food's where it should be, back in a moment." He disappears into one of the many rooms so we first raid his kitchen and then find our favourite spots in the view room. It pays to know our way around. Mags waves his arm over the room-control and the video wall lights up. "You can talk to it, Mags, " Lois reminds him. As if he needs reminding. He simply shrugs. I know he prefers movements and a dash of 'magic'. Bashir comes back in. He changed into something more comfortable. Bashir is an ambulance pilot for the General Clinic, one of the best. He's in charge of one of these new airlift ambulances, very nifty. He took me on a ride in it once, quite cool. Beats a monorail every day, trust me. "Caller at the door, " the computer announces as the first moments of the show appear on the wall. "If it's Anthony, let him in."

The door clicks, so it is Anthony. He comes in silently, moving quickly. He's a big guy, a soldier like the rest of his family. My eyes follow him even if I don't want them to. "Welcome to the new adventures of the Black Flyer!" the sound system announces as a man in a black suit and ditto cape flies through the room in almost perfect 3D. "A new retro show brought to you by Skylerax, the company that can place you in any of the off-world colonies." We know that this will ramble on for a while so we talk a bit during the commercial. Anthony and Marco dive into a discussion of all the super-powers that the Black Flyer at least should have, next to what we have seen of him so far. Bashir looks at me and grins, nodding at Mags. The inventor is again fumbling with one of his little instruments, poking into a gadget. Then I peek at Lois, who has her small tablet in hand and flips through some pictures. They all show Dolores. "Too bad your girl is not here, Lois, " I tease her. Quickly she presses the tab against her chest and her face goes red. "She's not my girl."

"God, Lois, why do you insist on keeping that a secret?" I say. "Half the fripping world knows you have the hots for her, and the rest will hear it on the news tomorrow!"

"There is no god, " Mags mutters as he keeps prodding the device in his hand. "Come off it, Lois, we know how you feel about Dolores. I think everyone but Dolores knows." I feel sorry for Lois. Dolores is not into women; she is out to hook herself a wealthy guy so Lois's fantasy will never be more than that. Suddenly I feel sorry about my stupid remark. Big mouth does it again. "Cut it out, guys. Watch." Bashir is right. The show starts. The Black Flyer is a really great show, we all agree on that. The Black Flyer is a fighter of injustice using all kinds of great powers. He can fly like Superman and is as strong as a lion (well, that's what they say). He also has this great black outfit, like old Batman. And a body to die for. Somehow Skylerax got him just right, thinking up this superhero with all kinds of traits that superheroes from the past also had. I can think of a thing or two he could do with me and he would not need any super powers for that. I am sure I'm not the only one who thinks like that, but hey, a girl can dream, right? The episode we watch is a great one. The Flyer goes after thieves that hijacked a transport with gold bars; the daughter of a big company president is on the shuttle that the villains used also and they threaten to kill her unless they get a ransom. We all know the Flyer will save the day and the girl, but it is great to see him do it. After all, we plan to do a role play game around the Black Flyer so we have to watch everything closely. Might as well love it. At the end of the show there is another long commercial of Skylerax (as there were lots of shorter ones during the show) but we ignore that. You can't shut off the ads, nor turn down the volume so we just move to another room and talk there. Marco and Anthony resume their discussion on super powers. Mags loses himself in his toys again and Bashir treats Lois and me to a glass of wine. The others want beer. I am sure that Marco has to do with Bashir having wine and beer. At least this kind. The stuff we can get is hardly worth the names wine and beer but Marco has ways to get his hands on stuff. He's a trudger, so he always says, but never explains what he's dealing in. Most of the time we don't even want to know, simply because that's healthier. "I heard you lost one today, " says Bashir. He sits down between Lois and me. "Yeah." I swallow hard. "And saints, that sucks. But Doc Holden said the guy was stabbed and shot badly, so his options were low to start with."

Bashir hesitates. I know he wants to put his arm around me, to comfort me. Heck, I know he wants me. And even though I don't want him, his arm would be good now so I sort of lean into him. I hope I don't give him the wrong signal but I am sure as hell not going to lean into Lois. Talk about wrong signals. Mags carefully lays his gadget down on the table and watches as Bashir puts an arm around my shoulders. "Cute."

The table is too damn big, I can't kick him. He knows how I feel about Bashir and then he does that. To divert attention I bring up the subject of the role play we plan. "We'll need the costume for the Flyer, " Lois nods. "Perhaps Dolores can do something for that, she knows people who make strange clothes. She wears plenty of them." That is a fact. Dolores owns the most outrageous outfits. Even Mags pays attention while we work on the basic idea for the game we intend to do. -=-=-

It's gotten far too late, most others have left already. "Are you sure you want to go home alone?" Bashir is genuinely concerned. He knows how things are in Sin Angeles, he's lived here longer than I have. "You're welcome to stay over."

"I know, thanks Bashir, but I really should get home. Stuff to do tomorrow morning and all that, you know." I give him a hug. He's a nice guy. Too bad I can't love him. I babble about the things I have to do as he walks me to the door. "Hey, at least let me know that you got home safely, " he interrupts me. I have to admit that interrupting me often is the only way to get a word in once I'm babbling. "Yeah, I'll do that. And if you're sleeping again when I call, I'll kick your butt so hard that you will fly that ambulance standing up for the next two weeks, " I threaten him. His guilty look makes me grin so I thank him for the great evening and head out, bolt down the stairs and go into the street again. I'm lucky. It stopped raining. With the stinger in my hand, hidden in a pocket, I walk home. It's not very far but the neighbourhood demands such measures. Long ago there were more monorail stations in Sin Angeles but those have been torn down by people who needed material. And they sure did not use that to build houses. More like to reinforce stolen vehicles. Along the way I see several shady figures, alone or in pairs. They don't scare me. Most people know I'm not dangerous and also not worth mugging so I get to where I live undisturbed. It's weird to call this place home, with the big ad-board over the entrance as the only sign of civilised life. Most floors in the twenty-one level building are covered with plastic foil. Most of it is even more or less intact. Only where people live holes have been cut into the stuff so we can see outside from the gallery if we want. Most street lights are dead here and the ones that work blink more than that they actually give off light. I pass the three overturned flowerpots (there used to be four) and push open the door. Its familiar creak welcomes me back. Lamps in the hall are dead again, so I take the flash light that I always have in my bag and search my way through the debris. We all stopped clearing it away because someone always put more mess there as if it's their private junk yard. Going around it is easier. Climbing up the stairs to the second floor is better than the four at Bashir's place, although the late hour still makes it hard. I'm tired. "Saints, what a stupid person, " I tell myself, panting. "Overdoing it at work, drinking too much and then this." Beneath the sleeve over my right arm is the tattoo with the pattern that usually opens my door. The problem is that my dark skin doesn't show the tattoo very clearly; wouldn't be the first time that I have to camp outside overnight. The tattoo man made it in white, but that did not stay light very long. Something inside the door hisses, and the metal hulk clicks open. I'm home.