Worlds War One

xxi [Quest]

Quest Ramírez had been small for his age. He'd been a victim of bullying from kindergarten through middle school until he'd started bulking up and giving the impression he might be the kind of kid who'd hit back. But for ten years previous, he had been pushed, shoved, wedgied, noogied, robbed, and ridiculed. His name had done him no favors. Being Hispanic hadn't helped, either. Having two dads really hadn't helped.

He'd learned how to deal with bullies because they recurred with the regularity of moon phases. Quest had called them "goon phases." As predictable as a lunar cycle, the bullies seemed to strike in intervals. He'd come to expect the attacks and had simply endured them, maybe like a woman knows her monthly cycle and simply deals with the inevitability. The goon phases had merely been another annoying part of growing up, like zits and P.E.

No one had prepared Quest to handle a bully harassing his dads. It had happened when he was eleven, at a Chick-fil-A. A large man had insulted his dad, and his other dad had stood up, then someone had pushed someone, and one of them threw a punch. Dad had gone down. The adult goon had uttered some ugly names. He'd walked away, muttering words that Quest considered profanity. One of the Chick-fil-A workers had asked Dad if he wanted to call the cops. Dad, nursing a black eye, had shaken his head no.

Quest had asked him later—"Why didn't you tell the police, Dad? Why would you let him get away with that?"

"Punishment never changes a shuttered opinion, Quest. Enlightenment doesn't come from being caged. If anything is going to free a man's mind, it isn't from pushing back but by letting go."

"He should have to pay for what he did," Quest had grumbled.

"We all pay in our own ways," Dad had replied. "But we can get value from another man's shortcomings, Quest. By learning to be better. In trying to strive to accept things that are beyond our understanding."

Now, Quest was striving. Hard. Trying to accept a Wider World that featured Ghosts and the undead. Killer birdmen. Wormholes that connected places miles apart and bridged across dimensions. He tried to accept the Way Things Really Were, even if he felt like so far he'd barely scratched the surface of all the weird and wonderful facets of this expanded scope of reality.

The Ghost and the Princess sat nearer the front of the starcraft. The soldiers gathered in the rear—Callie and Quest took the very back seats, Fox and Ji in front of them, Drill and the lieutenant third row from the tail end. Lieutenant Robinson stood as they achieved cruising altitude and addressed the four Misfits.

"Does everyone have their head screwed on tight?" Lieutenant Robinson checked.

They replied, "Yes, sir!" in unison.

"Do we all have our feet on the ground?"

They all answered "Yes, sir!" again.

Quest studied Drill. He wasn't sure about the big sergeant as Drill tapped his massive foot against the floor in nervous tympani. Hands like vices tortured the armrests. The sergeant's gaze had a faraway glint like his thoughts were floating free, untethered by anything concrete. Quest didn't trust the soldier to have his back. The big man couldn't handle all these things he couldn't understand.

"Drill, can you check with the pilot about weather conditions on the ground when we arrive at Yokota Air Base?" Lieutenant Robinson requested.

It was a concrete task that didn't involve undead enemies or a Flock of freaky Humans. Drill stood like a robot responding to a remote command and made his way to the front of the starcraft. When he was out of earshot, Lieutenant Robinson addressed the rest of her soldiers.

"There's going to be more of the same in Tokyo," she warned. "Are you all ready for another round of the impossible?"

"Are we going to be stealing more sacred stuff from a cuckoo cult?" Quest asked.

Lieutenant Robinson shrugged. "Maybe. We have an objective. We need to get to Johnny Rotten and his army and assess the situation. Engage the enemy. End the threat."

"We're ready," Fox said, nodding toward Drill checking in with Saanvi and Autumn. "But is he?"

"Drill Sergeant Cabello is my responsibility," Lieutenant Robinson answered. "He's the strongest soldier I know."

"Even steel can snap under the right conditions, sir," Quest said. "He's not handling the Way Things Really Are."

"Are you 'handling it,' Private?"

Quest considered the question. He'd had enough practice revising the definition of 'normal' in his life. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm dancing with it, trying to move with the motions of this thing, looking for new patterns, learning new steps. Feeling the beat of the music I'd never heard before. But I'm trying, sir. And Sarge is sitting it out."

"You need me, Private?" Lieutenant Robinson asked.

"Sir?"

"Do you need me to lead this mission? Or are you greenies comfortable going forth on your own?"

Quest couldn't imagine how the mission into the Cathedral of the Key had gone if they hadn't been following Badia Robinson. Now they were headed to Tokyo to find someplace called the Lost City.

"I think I speak for all of us when I say we don't want to go in without you."

Fox nodded. Callie, too.

"Private Ramírez is right," Ji agreed. "We need you."

"And I need him," Lieutenant Robinson said, pointing back the way Drill had disappeared. "Drill Sergeant Cabello goes where I go. I don't go unless he goes. I'm the battleship, and he's the anchor. I won't set sail without my anchor. Are we clear?"

The way she looked at Quest and the Misfits left no room for debate or doubt. Like a wife devoted to her husband, Badia Robinson wouldn't set foot in the Lost City without Drill. He would either be her saving grace or her Achilles heel. An anchor. Quest hoped he wouldn't drag them all down.

It wasn't an order. The answer wasn't "Yes, sir!" It had been a question. They nodded. She nodded. Understood.

Lieutenant Robinson went toward the front to check on Drill.

"Think something is going on between those two?" Ji asked. "Seem tighter than an old married couple."

"A bond forged in war can be as intimate as any forged in love," Callie said.

"I never took you for a poet," Fox said.

"The boys back home said I was too pretty to be a poet. But I proved them wrong. I even know words that rhyme with 'cream puff and 'mama's boy.'"

"Noted," Fox replied, holding up his hands in surrender.

"They've been through something together. Something terrible and beautiful. And it made the lieutenant trust him with everything," Quest said. "Even our lives."