The disappointment in his voice made her want to squirm. Carrie didn’t know how to answer without delving into her very personal problems to do with him; in specific, her problem with his lack of interest in her.
Tightening her arms across her chest, she shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m just saying . . . you know . . . you don’t have to serve out the rest of your probation period with me. That’s all.”
Oversight studied her. “Foresight, do you have a problem with Steelhand? Is there something we should know, since you’re his mentor?”
“What? No!” she quickly protested. Lies were firmly and officially discouraged among League members. As Steelhand’s team mentor during his settling-in period, if her team supervisor asked her for an evaluation, she had to give an honest one. “Officially, as his mentor, I’m saying that he’s smart, he’s competent, he’s good at the job and he’s ethical as well as efficient. Overall, he’s a great asset to the team. I’m just saying . . . that . . . you know . . . he’s good enough. He could be paired with someone else ... so why not pair him with someone else?”
From the way the others stared at her, she didn’t think they were buying it.
“Foresight, did you foresee something?” the green-masked Hindsight asked her.
“Or is it ... a personality conflict?” Farshot/Valerie asked. It didn’t help that the corner of her mouth curled up below the edge of her mask. It wasn’t a big smirk, but it was definitely a smirk. Valerie knew damned well that Carrie was interested in Steelhand . . . and that he hadn’t shown the slightest interest in return.
“It is not a personality conflict,” Carrie stated crisply, losing her temper at the other woman. “Not with his personality. If anything, I’m tired of your constant innuendos, your monopolizations of his time and energy and attention outside of actual fieldwork. I don’t even get any time during briefings and debriefings to discuss cases with him - you’re always there! You know what? You want him? Have him. Then maybe we can all get on with our work without further wasted time or effort.
“Just remember to do it where I don’t have to see or hear it. And use protection — you’ll have to retire if you get pregnant,” she added tartly. “Normally your fieldwork is excellent, Farshot. I’d appreciate it if you stopped acting like a cat on heat!”
Shocked silence greeted her words. Carrie could feel her skin heating from forehead to chin. Farshot looked almost as red as her costume.
Oversight tightened his mouth for a moment, then let out a heavy breath. “Foresight, kindly leave your personal speculations out of the office environment. Please turn your attention to the future, the immediate future. Let’s get started. What activities of importance will happen in the next twelve hours?”
Embarrassed, she set aside her feelings quickly and got to work. She unfocused her eyes, turning her attention inwards, then outwards again, in that strange mental flip that accessed her powers. She probed at the future. “Eastside ... I see ... a red gas pipe and valve wheel. Nothing about it seems to be important, but one of us will encounter it within an hour or so. After that . . . flashes of light . . . through a dirty set of windows . . . factory windows. Somewhere in the industrial centre. Workers . . . uh, 12th and . . . Olive Street? Oliver? Oldive? I’m not getting an impression of anything violent in the next five hours, just that you’ll want to do some surveillance on the workers in the factory. And something about the gas valve.”
“Maybe it’s a potential gas leak?” Bomber offered.
Carrie turned her attention to the next sector. “Riverside . . . I see violence. Someone getting beaten up badly. Nearsight. . . you’re there. You’re watching.”
“Can she interfere?” Oversight asked her. “Stop it somehow?”
Her ability to foresee alternate pathways took a lot of energy. Straining against the future, she examined that possibility. “No . . . No, it would ruin her current undercover work. The person . . . Pier 17, around ten thirty, eleven at night, I think. They’re going to toss him off the dock. He’s a citizen; he’s hurt, he’s weighted and he’ll drown. But if Backhand saves him ... he might turn and talk, maybe even stand witness against the syndicate.”
“Probability?” Oversight asked.
Carrie shook her head. “I’d say . . . maybe 40 per cent. Can’t guarantee anything; that’s further ahead than I can foresee.”
“We know. Nearsight,” Oversight addressed the yellow-clothed female next to him, “if you can bring yourself to do a little participating in roughing up this fellow: curse him, kick him, whatever — nothing too harmful - it might strengthen your cover. Right, Foresight?”
Carrie nodded in confirmation. “It’ll help, at least a little bit.”
Oversight nodded to Carrie. “Do you see anything else?”
She shook her head, eyes still unfocused. The moment she turned her attention to the other side of town, however, she was struck by an immediate vision. Steelhand was planning on getting into a fight with her.
Grimacing, she shook it off, blinked and refocused her attention again, looking further ahead. Just because she could foresee the future didn’t always make it a good idea to probe too deeply. At the moment, she really didn’t want to sort through the argument she’d soon be having with her partner, not when she was still working.
“Uh ... I see a random mugging ... a stand-by call from the Fire Department that comes to nothing . . . Baseball game - we show up in the third inning, stay ‘til the end of the fourth ...”
“Who’s up at the end of the fourth? I got a bet going with Stonewall from morning shift on the Batters beating the Novas tonight,” Backhand joked.
Bomber reached over and whacked him on the back of the head. “You know she won’t tell us. Now why didn’t you let me in on this bet, huh?”
“Because you still owe me twenty bucks from the last one you lost?”
“Gentlemen ... let the lady continue. What about after you leave the game?” their boss asked.
Carrie drifted into the future. She could see herself and Steelhand leaving the game. As with all her visions, she experienced a feeling of being both inside herself and seeing herself from the outside. She almost never got flashes of what her future self was thinking. This was no exception; all she could feel was how tense both she and her partner seemed.
“Steelhand and I get on our hover bikes, we ride off . . . we ... get hit by some sort of ... powder bomb?” Blinking, Carrie tried to focus on the details. The perpetrators were elusive. She shook her head. “Too many variables to foresee who did it. Just two figures. But we’re dusted in some sort of powder.”