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“When bad men combine, the good must associate; else
they will fall one by one, an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible
struggle.”
Edmund Burke, Thoughts on the Cause of Present Discontents
It was a large device.
At first, it looked like the front of a Civil War
submarine. But as Aaron walked around the giant machine, seeing it clearly
in the sparking light of the arc welders and blowtorch work that was the
only real source of illumination in the room, he could clearly make out
what it was.
The yellow and black triangle stood clearly before
him on the front of the machine.
He ran his fingers nervously through his hand.
Already half completed, he knew that the giant machine was only weeks from
being done. And that put the pressure even more intensely on him. He looked
around and started to walk amongst the workers, trying to spot the man he
had come down to find.
He came up to a small crowd of welders and tapped one
on the shoulder. The small man pulled up his MiG torch and looked up at Aaron
without removing his face-shield. “Where’s Organ?” Aaron shouted over the
deafening roar of the industrial air-vents in the room. The man turned and
pointed down towards the end of the room.
Aaron stood up and headed in that direction.
The glass door to the Kung Fu school opened up,
allowing Marilyn to lead Malcolm into the studio. Inside the small waiting
area, she stopped and turned back to Malcolm. “Pretty cool, isn’t it?” she
asked.
Malcolm looked at the waiting room, at the
almost-oriental looking pictures of dragons and phoenixes and other
commonly believed staples of Oriental culture that were nicely painted on
the whitewashed walls. He smiled as politely as he could to her. “It’s
great,” he said, hoping he sounded convincing.
“Come on,” she said, leading him through the opening
that led into the long, soft-floored studio. With the wall-length mirror on
the left, she held out her hands to the empty room. “Ta-da,” she said, her
mouth a huge grin.
“Sorry, Mar,” he said, shrugging. “I’m just…this just
isn’t me, you know?”
“I thought you liked martial arts,” she asked,
staring at him with disappointment. “This is a martial arts studio.”
“No, this is a rip-off Kung Fu studio,” Malcolm said,
his voice a whisper so he wouldn’t be easily overheard. “I think a martial
arts school should be a lot more…more…”
“How is this any different from your dojo?” she
asked, folding her hands across her body.
“Dojang,” Malcolm corrected. “A dojo’s for Japanese
schools. Tae Kwon Do’s Korean.” He looked around the school before him.
“And besides, it’s not this…this…”
“This what?” Marilyn pressed.
“Functionless,” Malcolm finally said. He looked at the
largely, empty room, considering it as a whole. “Where’re the heavy bags?
Where’re the weights and the sparring gear and the gloves and the kicking
shields and the punching mitts and the…” He stopped. “If this is your
thing, great. Glad you enjoy it.” He shook his head, looking around the
school one more time. “But I couldn’t stand anything with so little ‘feel’,
so little, I don’t know. Contact.”
Alan stared with his mouth held open wide. Morgan sat
across from him. “What the hell are you doing here?” Morgan barked, staring
at the college student.
“I…err…um…I…” Alan tried.
“Where’s Will?” Morgan demanded as they sat together
in the small diner. The fifties décor annoyed Morgan but he ignored it,
instead focusing on Alan. “Will. Where is he?” he asked again to Alan.
“Um…he’s…I…” he stuttered fearfully.
“Where. Is. Will,” Morgan asked more clearly.
“He’s…uh…he’s…”
“He’s…” Morgan said, trying to prompt Alan along in
the hopes of getting more information.
“He’s…hospital?”
“He’s at the hospital,” Morgan connected. Alan
nodded. “Is he okay? Did he get hurt?” he asked slowly.
“He…er…um…Sally.”
“His wife,” Morgan said, looking disbelievingly at
Alan. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He looked back at Alan, seeing only
the continual petrified fear that had been there since Alan had sat down
across from him. “His wife got hurt, or sick, so he took her to the
hospital,” he pressed for confirmation. “Yes? No?”
Alan nodded.
“And you’re here as the band member to tell me the
meeting’s been cancelled,” Morgan went on, finally getting everything, looking
at Alan as if he was a mural.
Alan nodded.
“Okay,” Morgan said. He bit down on some harsh words
and smiled with false civility. “Please tell Will,” Morgan said to Alan as
if he was talking to a brick wall, “I hope Sally’s okay and that I’ll get
in touch with him next week.” He collected his notepads and stood up from
the table, heading out.
Alan was still facing his Morgan’s seat, his face
covered in sweat.
Aaron came up to a small cluster of men, only one of
whom wasn’t wearing the welding security outfit. As he approached, the man
stood up, his small frame seeming to do nothing for his height. Dressed in
a nondescript blue shirt, a pen stuck in each ear, and black slacks, he
seemed to be straight out of a meaningless office cubicle.
“Organ,” Aaron said, his hands stuck in his trench
coat as he stood before the smaller man. Tiny and rail thin, Organ was
easily half as small as Aaron but he came only a few inches short on the
Clan leader. “I need to talk to you.”
“Sure,” stumbled Organ without actually stuttering.
He looked back to the guys, muttered something that they at least seemed to
understand and turned back to Aaron. “Sure,” he repeated as if he forgot he
had spoken an instant before. “Why don’t we…my office is…if you’ll just…Sure.”
Aaron gave Organ one more look and turned to head in
the direction the supervisor had indicated.
“The World Alliance is about helping people,” Marilyn
said as she stood before Brian. In the small waiting room just inside the
main door of the kung fu studio, she stood with Malcolm, the two facing the
large blonde student in question. “It’s about ending apathy and malaise in
people.”
“Wow,” Brian said, nodding his head as Marilyn spoke.
“You see,” she said, glancing back at the studio,
aware of the impending start of the class, “what we want to do is be
capable of acting as a voice for action against evil forces. Pollution,
taking advantage of those less fortunate, all of that and more. We want to
be able to stand up for people and to help them to stand up for themselves
as well.”
“Wow,” Brian repeated.
“The thing is, we can’t just let anyone in,” Malcolm
added, dividing the larger man’s attention and drawing it over to him. “So,
the questions is,” he made a motion towards Brian, “why should we let you
in?”
It took the large student a moment to realize that he
was on the spot. But he grinned suddenly. “Because I’m big,” he said,
almost as a joke. “I’m a great thug.”
Malcolm’s left side of his face twitched. Marilyn
said nothing.
“No, seriously,” Brian said, laughing. When he
smiled, he suddenly seemed far more intelligent rather than the brutish
thug he had originally come across as. “I’m a trained martial artist. And I
was a member of the National Honors Society in high school,” he explained
with pride. “I think I’m a moral person and I think that I could add a lot
to a group like this.”
Malcolm looked at Marilyn. He very subtly nodded.
“Okay,” she said with a smile to Brian. “One more
question. Have you ever done anything illegal?”
Brian blinked. “Like what?” he asked. He looked at
Malcolm but the Latino student was staring at Marilyn, also taken back by
her question.
“Like…illegal.” Marilyn repeated.
“You mean like speeding?” he asked. “If so, then
yeah. If you mean like stealing, then, well, no.”
“No,” Marilyn said clearly. “I mean ‘illegal’.”
“What are you getting at, Mar?” Malcolm asked.
She looked at
him then back at Brian. “Have you?”
Brian gave the question some serious thought but
finally he just shook his head. “No,” he decided.
“Good,” Marilyn said, suddenly smiling. “Welcome to
the World Alliance.”
She extended her hand to Brian.
Malcolm was left staring. The left side of his face
twitched again.
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