Not Your Villain (Sidekick Squad #2)(16)
Bells takes the handlebars and follows Rebecca out the door; a group of people in matching League uniforms follows. They must be testing equipment too; they’re carrying an awful lot of boxes.
The motorcycle is heavy. Bells nearly loses his grip, and it almost topples over, but he catches himself in time. Someone laughs behind him, and he stiffens. He scoots to the side, catches the first technician’s eye, and jerks his head for them to pass, but they don’t. They linger, all watching Bells.
A paneled door opens at Rebecca’s gesture, and afternoon light streams in, so bright Bells is disoriented. He stands his ground, though, and holds on tight to his new motorcycle. The hot air shimmers above the paved track. The wind kicks up dust in swirling vortices. Beyond the track Bells can see bright blue sky and red and gold mountains rising in the distance. They’re in one of the most densely populated cities in the Collective, but looking toward the desert, it’s easy to believe they’re alone and there’s nothing but the sun and the sand and Bells’ heart racing faster than the wind.
Rebecca zips through the operating instructions with her lightning-quick speech, and Bells barely catches every other word.
“That’s it!” Rebecca puts her hands on her hips and beams at him. “Hop right on! And flip the—”
Bells throws his leg over the side, wobbles, catches his balance. He concentrates, trying to remember: hand print on the dash panel, flick to the right, and—the engine comes to life with a rumbling purr.
“Great! Any questions?”
“Wait, how fast does this thing go—” Bells trails off when the team of technicians unpack their gear and clusters around him with cameras and lights and reflectors and boom mikes and what? No one said anything about filming this.
“Ah, a speedster, huh? Let’s just say I packed this baby with enough firepower to go from zero to lose your breath in three seconds flat.” Rebecca winks at him.
An image of a comic book cover flashes in his head—himself, drawn in sheepish detail, sitting on a bus: The Amazing Chameleon arrives at the scene of chaos via the Andover Metro!
Rebecca gestures at the camera. “This is Chameleon test with cycle. Ready. One, t—”
Bells flicks his hand at the sensor, and the motorcycle roars with power, flying onto the track. His heart skips as the road races in front of him. This is nothing like a car: the air on his face, the smell of the dirt in the air, the feel of the machine under him.
Bells spots the track veering dangerously close to the edge of a cliff and he panics. He jerks the handlebars. With the sharp angle, the motorcycle skids out from under him, which pitches Bells forward toward the pavement.
It seems as though he’s moving in slow motion, but he’s going ridiculously fast, and this is is awful. No, no! He’ll hit the ground and he thinks of the ground, hard and unforgiving—
Bells reaches inward and pulls at his power; he doesn’t know what he’s doing, doesn’t know if shifting will help, but reacts on instinct first.
He skids, bracing for the sound of fabric ripping and skin and flesh being pulverized, but none of that happens. He hears a far-off crash, metal splintering into pieces, and then he smells smoke and burnt rubber.
Bells coughs. At least he avoided the cliff.
He sits up carefully and takes stock of himself. He doesn’t feel hurt. Maybe a bit bruised, but he doesn’t seem to be bleeding. For a second, his hands look like the cracked-gray concrete, but he looks again and they’re just his familiar dark skin.
Bells spots his reflection in the twisted metal of a hubcap and curses; he’s back to himself. He concentrates to shift back to Barry before Rebecca and the lab techs reach him, but his power seems slower than usual. Oh no, is he running low? That’s strange—usually running his disguise shift doesn’t take much out of him, but the fire is burning low, as if he’s been using his power all day.
He must have done something different, but he doesn’t have time to think about it.
“Barry! Barry, are you okay?”
“Yup, I’m fine. Thrown clear of the crash.”
Rebecca nods, making notes on her DED. “Great. I think we can go faster, yes?”
Bells takes a deep breath. “I think we can work up to that.”
“That’s the spirit!”
It takes five more practice runs and two more ruined prototypes before Bells is comfortable doing a complete loop around the track on his own and then picking up the speed at Rebecca’s urging.
Bells’ heart is still racing when he goes back inside for his meeting with Harris. Walking into the research center makes him queasy; he can’t put a finger on why, but something about the cold metal and the dark hallways and the doorways labeled with project codes makes him hyper-aware of how Harris has strongly encouraged him every year to participate in the League’s Power Development research program. He’s politely declined every year, partly because his parents don’t approve and partly because it would mean time away from his friends.
“Chameleon,” Harris says, smiling at him. His eyes remain cold, and Bells feels a prickle at the back of his neck. “Please sit.”
Bells sits down in Harris’ office. It’s devoid of personal effects—no holos of Harris’ family or friends, nothing on the walls, nothing to show Harris has any interests outside the League.
“I’ve always found you very capable, even though you haven’t taken advantage of the research we do here at Power Development.” Harris smiles again, and this time he reaches across his desk to pat Bells on the shoulder.