Leon looked at the neatly assembled red plastic blocks and nodded with satisfaction.
“Nicely done, John.
See, when you don’t smash it and instead take it slow according to the rules, the result isn’t bad at all, right?”
John looked down at the cube in his hands, then looked at Leon, and gave a firm grunt of agreement.
It was the first time he’d finished something through restraint rather than violence.
The feeling was a little unfamiliar, but it didn’t seem half bad.
“All right, the first stage of the patience trial is complete.
Wait here a bit.
I’ll go get your lunch and cash in that prize I promised you while I’m at it.”
Leon stood up, brushed the creases off his pant legs, and swiped open the airlock door on his way out.
By noon, the corridors of the underground base had a bit more warmth to them than usual.
The smell of all kinds of food drifted out from the vents, and researchers in lab coats and security staff in uniform headed in twos and threes toward the cafeteria in Section B.
Leon didn’t go straight to the meal counter.
Instead, he turned into the logistics supply distribution room off to the side.
Since heavyset Bob was still in the medical room nursing those broken fingers of his, supply management was temporarily being covered by a young guy named Jimmy.
When Leon pushed the door open and walked in, Jimmy had both legs propped up high on the desk, a pair of black headphones with thick foam padding over his head.
A brick-sized Sony Walkman was clipped to his belt, and he was jiggling his leg wildly to the beat in his ears, not even noticing someone had come in.
On the wall of the supply room hung a poster for Top Gun, which had come out not long ago last year and was already worn fuzzy at the edges from handling.
Tom Cruise on the poster wore his aviator shades, grinning ear to ear.
Leon walked over and rapped twice on Jimmy’s desk.
The young guy jumped, hurriedly dropped his legs, and pulled off the headphones.
As the headphones left his ears, a burst of lively synthesizer drumbeats and Michael Jackson’s signature voice leaked out.
“Hey, Officer Leon.” Jimmy fumbled to hit the stop button on the Walkman.
“Sorry, didn’t hear you come in.
What do you need today?
Coffee beans or new petri dishes?”
“Neither.” Leon leaned on the counter and pointed at the Walkman on Jimmy’s belt.
“Find me one of those.
Doesn’t need to be high-end, just has to make sound, and ideally a few tapes to go with it.”
“For the little blond kid?
Officer Leon, your teaching methods are pretty trendy.
The higher-ups have a rule, you know.
Aside from certain classical music and the conditioning recordings, he’s not allowed to listen to any random junk.”
“I’m his supervisor.
Anything goes wrong, it’s on me.
You just find it.” Leon dug two packs of Marlboros out of his pocket, hard to come by out there, and slid them across the counter.
“And don’t fob me off with that dry symphony stuff.
Get me something the young people out there are actually listening to right now.”
Jimmy’s eyes lit up.
He swept the cigarettes into a drawer and turned to start rummaging through the messy pile of cardboard boxes behind him.
“Lucky for you, during last week’s big cleanup we dug an old machine out of the storage room that the last supervisor left behind.
The casing’s got a chip of paint knocked off, but the motor still works fine.”
As he talked, Jimmy fished out a silver-gray metal box and grabbed a handful of colorful plastic tape cases to set on the counter.
“The tapes are all from my personal collection.
There’s Madonna, there’s Queen, and a few of the current pop-rock hits.
Out there you’d have to wait in line to buy these chart-toppers.”
“Thanks.” Leon swept the Walkman and the tapes together into the wide pocket of his lab coat.
Leaving the supply room, Leon went to the cafeteria to pick up today’s lunch.
Two thick American double beef burgers, paired with thick-cut fries fresh out of the fryer and still sizzling with grease, plus two big cups of Coca-Cola loaded with ice.
It was the most common kind of fast food on American streets, but for John, who spent all year in the sterile room, it absolutely counted as a feast.
Carrying the tray back to the sterile room, the moment the airlock opened, the sweet, cloying smell of the soda and the scent of the fried patties drifted inside.
John was sitting obediently on the cushion, and at the sight of the food in Leon’s hands, he couldn’t help but swallow.
“We’re having burgers today.
This is also the favorite thing of ordinary people out there.” Leon set the tray on the floor, sat down cross-legged, and picked up a burger to take a big bite.
John copied him, cupping both hands around the burger that was a size bigger than his face and biting down hard.
The little boy’s eyes squeezed shut with pleasure as he ate, his two feet swinging happily against the floor.
“Leon, do the ordinary people out there get to eat something this good every day?” John asked, his words muffled.
“As long as they work hard and don’t do bad things, they can afford it.” Leon took a big sip of his iced Coke and burped.
“That’s also why heroes have to protect ordinary people, because everybody just wants to eat a burger in peace.”
John nodded earnestly, filing the simple words away in his heart.
Once they’d nearly finished eating, Leon wiped his hands and pulled the paint-chipped Walkman and the two tapes out of his lab coat.
“Here, take a look at today’s prize.”
John set down the half burger in his hand and leaned over, curious.
He’d seen the complicated electronic instruments in the lab, and he’d seen the tablet Leon brought in, but a machine this square, one you had to stuff a plastic shell into, was new to him.
“What’s this?”
“It’s called a Walkman.” Leon picked up a tape and flicked at the black strip inside with his finger.
“The world out there doesn’t have superpowers like yours, but ordinary people have their own kind of cleverness too.
They put sound into these little boxes, and as long as you press the button, you can hear it wherever you go.”
Leon clicked the tape into the slot, closed the lid, then settled the black foam-padded headphones onto John’s head.
The headphones were a bit big for a six-year-old, and Leon patiently adjusted the length of the headband for him.
“Ready?
This is your very first personal concert.”
Leon reached out a finger and pressed down hard on the physical play button with the triangle symbol on it.
With a faint click of the gears turning inside the machine, the tape began to roll.
After a few seconds of electrical hiss, the hard-hitting stomp-stomp-clap and handclaps of Queen’s famous “We Will Rock You” came straight through the somewhat old headphone cord and slammed into John’s ears.
This was nothing like the classical music piped over the lab’s broadcast system to soothe his mood, so smooth and slow it put you to sleep.
This was sound full of power, restless and agitated, charged with intense human emotion.
John’s body went stiff all at once.
His blue eyes shot wide, and he looked at Leon, a little at a loss.
“Don’t tense up.
Just feel the rhythm.” Leon smiled and pointed at his feet.
“This is what the grown-ups out there use to pass the time.”
The powerful beat echoed through the sterile room, and though Leon couldn’t hear the sound in the headphones, he could see John’s expression shift from the initial shock into a kind of fresh, curious focus.
Slowly, the little boy began unconsciously nodding his head along to that stomp-stomp-clap rhythm.