Chapter 9

Well, we had passed the first anniversary of the change, and I decided I finally needed a fucking break. Harry was now my partner in the studio, and I set up a training program with Di for the three weeks I was going to be gone. And my dad and Sharon both said they were looking forward to my visit. So I loaded up my newest version of my trike, and now it was really nice.

They said it would take longer to work out how to add an electric motor, but some of the other suggestions they had done. Like lowers, to help keep my legs dry in the rain. It had a heel-toe shifter and crash bars, with highway pegs so I could extend my legs and give them a break. And the new radio had an Auxiliary Input, so the XM radio was going to come in handy.

And the towing hitch. That was not a problem, but Kirk looked surprised when I asked if I could hire him and Sean as designers. They asked what for, and I smiled.

“Remember, I was a grunt for years. Even after I got busted up, I liked going camping sometimes. I can’t even really do that now, I would have to haul a large Air Assault tent and still sleep on the ground. And if I take a trip, sleeping may be a problem. What do I do, rent a room and crawl in and sleep on the floor? No, I will pay you guys to design for me a camping trailer I can tow behind the bike. It does not need much. A bed big enough for me to sleep in, a toilet, fridge and burner for cooking, an outside shower so I can wash up. I have a feeling otherwise any trips will really suck.”

Well, they promised to do that, and promptly ignored me. Thanks to the new guy that was working as our support for Control, he pushed it all through as a Control project. I was told to come down one day the month before my trip, and Kirk looked so proud when he pointed me to it. It looked like a small Airstream, with big double doors. I opened it up, and it was workable. A toilet big enough for me, a bed which was small but at least would be like a cot to me. Everything. He even showed me the system they had installed for the feet. There were 6 of them, three outriggers on each side. They would lower, so my weight was resting on them and not the suspension.

I asked how much, and they said nothing. “You are right, and this is the kind of things we are supposed to provide you.”

“This is a toy, I don’t need it.”

“Wrong. Remember, you are a Paladin and on duty at all times. What if we have to evacuate, where will you live? What if we send you somewhere, it would take a military cargo plane to fly you anywhere. And once again, where will you stay? This actually was needed, we just did not know it yet. And as before, this is a prototype. But remember, your bike is now in the hands of over 30 Paladins and mutants that have similar problems with size. And this will be the same.”

I swore and left, and went upstairs to chew out the other guilty party. I think the building shook as I walked down the hallway, and pounded on Doug’s door.

He saw me and grinned, and I asked him what in the fuck he thought he was doing, and that he had no right to make the government pay for a toy so I could go camping.

And as with Kirk, he said it was indeed needed. And I was a bit surprised when a few minutes later Miss Smith and Dr. Tran showed up and told me the same thing. “Actually, you came up with some good points when you asked for that, Clint. We have indeed had problems accommodating people like you or Doughboy when you went on the road. We are actually going to eventually have at least one of these at every Control headquarters, for just such a need. And additional ones, that can be bought or rented as needed. The decision for you to keep yours is because it is a prototype. I think you will get some good use out of it, and your suggestions are always good, and functional. And this is just a good thing to have. And there is nothing preventing us from using it as a command post even for us regular-sized people.”

And, I saw he had a point. I apologized for how I was acting, and Doug smiled. “Dude, I get it. You don’t like to have others doing things for you. But remember, that is part of my job. To help take care of you and any of your needs. If you know you need it, or not. I know you were planning on seeing your family in California, this just resolves that issue now.”

So I grinned as I hooked up the trailer, and after a quick chat with Harry and Jenny, I fired her up and hit the highway. It was a lazy 5 days to get there, and I had a few people to see on the trip also.

On the day before I got to California, I stopped in Arizona and paid my respects to First Sergeant Fletcher. He had helped me in my first year and always gave me good advice. But it was a fucking shame that he had a stroke two years after he retired. I drank a toast by killing half a bottle of bourbon at his grave, then moved on. Thankful that I had a high alcohol tolerance. But it also sucked, because as far as I knew it was impossible for me to get drunk now.

The first hitch was after crossing into California and pulling into that station at the border where they ask if you have any plants or fruit. The gal in the booth looked at me like I was crazy, but nodded when I said I had none and waved me on.

Right to where I saw the California Highway Patrol officer with his lights on, and waving me to pull in ahead of him. Shit. He came over and asked me for the usual license, registration, and insurance. He looked puzzled at my Paladin ID, but at least he knew what it was. He then went over the registration and told me that California has a mandatory helmet law.

“Yes Officer, but hold on, let me get something out of the back.” I opened the trunk, grabbed the notebook, and found the page I wanted. I pulled out a copy and handed it to him. “As you can see, this is from the Federal Government, and gives me specific exemptions, as there are no helmets made that could ever fit me. The same way I am exempt from requirements for wearing shoes, a jacket, and the size of the engine as it exceeds what is allowed in most states.”

He looked over it, and then went to his car to get on the radio. And 10 minutes later, a car pulled up with a Captain in it. He looked at me, then called over the Chippie that had pulled me over. “OK, so you know, if you see a Paladin ever again like The Sensei here, just wave at them and let them go. This only applies to Paladins, and not Mutants. Paladins are a special class, as you saw in that letter you said he handed you. Mister Sensei, can I see it, please? I am simply curious.”

I laughed and handed it to him, asking him to just call me Clint. “See, this is indeed allowing him to pretty much say fuck-all to any of our laws he wants. Within reason, of course. Moving violation, you can pull them over. Helmets, shoes, things like that, just let them go. I am very sorry this happened to you, and if you want I will get you a form so you can make a formal complaint.”

“Captain, I am not mad at all. He was professional and respectful. I think it just confused him is all. I imagine that not many 8-foot tall gorilla men on motorcycles come through here.”

“Well, not without a helmet at least,” the one that stopped me said, and we all laughed at that.

“Yea, I’m from Sacramento originally, I know all about the kinds of people out here.” I shook their hands, and we all wished each other a great day as I got back on the freeway. It was getting dark when I made it to LA, so I pulled into a campground at the County Fairgrounds and stopped for the night.

And it was another 7 hours after I got up the next morning that I pulled in front of my dad’s new house. He and Sharon were both glad to see me and surprised at my new appearance. “Damn, I’ve seen the photos, and you on the news of course. But to actually see you like this, it’s hard to believe, son.”

“Yea, I keep telling myself the same thing. But I take the good with the bad and just keep doing what I do. And I am helping a lot of people, my training program is largely being repeated across the country.”

We talked for a bit as I unhooked the trailer, and asked where I could put it. Dad pointed to the open driveway, then just laughed as I picked up the tongue and moved it into place. “Damn, you are strong as hell to be able to do that!” I chuckled and said I could bench press almost half a ton. “But here is the thing, no matter what I do, I can’t increase it. I have done 30-mile runs and repeated it and it is almost the same every time. It’s like these muscles, they are made great, but I can’t really improve them. It’s weird. I can improve my coordination, I can now use most regular-sized devices, so long as my fingers can hit the individual controls and not several buttons at once. I can throw more accurately, but not any farther than I could a year ago.”

“That is kind of strange. Like a robot in a way. You have limits already built-in, and you can improve the programming, but not the physical abilities themselves.”

I quickly grabbed my tablet and dictated that into my notes. “Dad, that’s amazing, I never thought of it in that way. Oh, I know I am not a robot, but this is going to give something for the ones with big heads at Control something to think about. Our limits set at creation, the most we can do is improve how we use them.”

We all went to the back, and I talked with Sharon as my dad grilled some steaks. She said they had made up the spare room for me, and I laughed. “Thanks, honestly, thanks. But I think I’m gonna just sleep in the trailer. You probably don’t have a room big enough for me, or a bed. And I can sleep on the floor, but why? I have a bed there, and it is made for this body.”

We talked late into the night, and I was amazed when I saw dad drinking apple juice. When he went to the bathroom later, Sharon said he had not had a drink since the phone call I had been injured. “He had been sober for 3 years before that, so I don’t blame him for going on a bender that night. Or the two nights after that. But when you got to Germany and they said you were stable, he stopped and has not touched it since.”

Sharon asked me about my habits, knowing that both of my parents had been alcoholics or addicts. “Sharon, actually that is a problem I never had. Oh, I drank on occasion, but never a lot. Not touched drugs since I was still running the streets. I got myself off of narcotics even before the doctors said it was a good idea, and not touched them since. And now? Hell, I could not get drunk, even if I wanted to.”

“Really?” my dad asked.

“Oh, yea. You see here the obvious mutations. Size, hair, strength, things like that. But there are other ones, more subtle. Remember that first big fight we had, with that gut that could destroy things with his screams? Well, we lost somebody on that mission. And on the way home, I bought a 1.5-liter bottle of vodka. Had a few drinks, realized I felt nothing. Had a few more, nothing. Finally, I just drank it all down, not a damned thing. My record was once when I drank an entire case, 9 liters of vodka in 20 minutes. A buddy is a cop, I even blew in his breathalyzer, 0.00. My body seems to just ignore alcohol. I still drink on occasion for the taste, but it might as well be water as far as this body is concerned.”

“Well, count that as a blessing then. At least that is one good thing about all of this.”

“Oh, I am not sad it happened. Yea, it cost me Kelly. But I got a body even better than I had before. And now I can help people, without having to kill somebody.”

“Did that bother you, when you did it?”

“Naw, it was something that had to be done. But I am happier now that I do not have to. Oh, if it comes up I will, but it was never something I looked forward to. If the guy was there in my sights and he was a bad guy, I took him down. And it was his decision to be the bad guy, I just took care of him. But in Special Forces, we tried hard to work with locals, in the hopes they do not go bad.”

The next morning I got up, and after breakfast said I was going on into town. Dad lived south of town now, in a more rural area surrounded by farms. And once I crossed into Stockton, I smiled. I drove to our old house, and parked the trike, and walked around. I got more than a few funny looks, but I was used to that by now. I was in jeans and a shirt, I had at least now found a tailor that could make me decent approximations of regular clothing. But I still did not wear shoes.

I was near the college when I stopped and walked to the Calaveras River. I sat on the ground watching it and the people walking along the bike path. I had been to many a party and rumble along that river. I was lost in thought and memories when I heard somebody call out softly “Clint? That you?”

I turned and looked, and had to think for a moment before I smiled. “Francesca Santos! Yea, it’s me. How you doing?”