Lesser Gods by Adrian Howell

okay?”
    Silence.
    “Goodnight, Alia,” I said quietly, and left.
    Back in the living room, Terry looked impatient. “We better go quickly or we’ll be late.”
    “Can’t be late on a mission,” I said, grinning. Terry was a stickler for punctuality, having said more than once to me, “In a combat situation, if you’re going to be five seconds late, you might as well not show up at all.”
    Cindy followed us out of the penthouse and to the elevator, giving us one more hug each as we waited for the elevator car to come up.
    Terry and I got into the elevator, and I exhaled deeply when the doors finally closed.
    “Cindy’s not making it easy, is she?” laughed Terry as we rode the elevator down.
    “Neither is Alia,” I deadpanned.
    “They’ll get over it.”
    I gave her a wry smile. “You keep saying that.”
    “Well, it’s true, Adrian. Now let’s keep our minds on the mission, okay?”
    In the basement parking lot, we found a pudgy man in dark blue workmen’s coveralls. He was leaning his back against a large black van and frowning at us. He didn’t exactly fit my image of a Guardian Knight, but Terry strode up to him, saying, “Good evening, Mr. Watson. It’s been a while.”
    “Hello, Terry,” Mr. Watson replied gruffly. “Is that Adrian?”
    “Hi,” I said, walking up to him and extending my hand, but he didn’t shake it.
    Instead, he cocked his head toward the van, saying, “The gear is already stowed. Get in. Let’s go.”
    “Where’s the team?” asked Terry, glancing around the basement.
    Mr. Watson’s frown deepened. “You’re it,” he growled. “Now get in! Both of you in the back.”
    We opened the side door and sat in the middle seat, Terry by the window. I noticed a wooden crate set on the back seat and assumed that it contained whatever gear we were going to use.
    Sitting in the driver’s seat and turning the ignition, Mr. Watson muttered to himself, “Swoop’s idea of a joke to send me on a fishing trip with a bunch of damn snot-nosed brats.”
    As he drove the van up the exit ramp and pulled onto the street, Mr. Watson called back to us harshly, “Now, I’m not saying you don’t have talents, but a pair of almost entirely untested kids isn’t my idea of an assault team. Mr. Simms assigned you to me, that’s just dandy. I’ve got to work with you. But if you give me any trouble, I’ll personally guarantee that it’s the last time you work for the Knights. Do I make myself clear?!”
    “Yes, sir!” I said as crisply as I could.
    Terry snorted loudly and kicked Mr. Watson’s seat from behind. “Cut the crap, Switch! We’re the one’s keeping you alive!”
    Suddenly Mr. Watson laughed out loud. “That’s more like it! Take a leaf out of Terry’s book, Adrian. You only live so long, might as well have some fun, eh?”
    I looked at Terry, who nudged my shoulder and said, “This isn’t the damn military, Adrian.”
    “You’re Hansel, right?” said Mr. Watson, looking at me in the rearview mirror, his tone suddenly cheerful. “My sign is Switch. Before I turned psionic, I used to have a job as a railroad engineer.”
    “Wonderful,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Before I turned psionic, I used to go to middle school.”
    “Just out of curiosity, how old are you, Adrian?”
    “I’m fourteen, going on fifteen in October. Why?”
    “Because you don’t look older than twelve or so.”
    I shrugged. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”
    Terry laughed. “Don’t worry, Mr. Watson. Size is no measure of guts, and Adrian’s got a fair share. I guarantee it.”
    “Well, good, because he’s our only destroyer,” said Mr. Watson. Then he said to me, “You see, Adrian, we usually take five or six people even on a fishing trip, but Mr. Simms has everyone working overtime on... Well, I don’t know if he wants you to know about that yet, so I won’t tell you, but it’s a big project. You two are the only backup I got this round, which means Terry’s not