Special Talent Transfer Plan

"These are the new safety clauses."

When Soft Serve reached the end, she suddenly pointed to a line. "What does this mean?"

Sing Sing leaned over.

"Oh, that."

The line read:

If products generated by special abilities are edible, they may be sold or used for disaster relief or to support workers at construction sites. Production subsidies must be calculated separately.

Soft Serve blinked.

"Making ice cream counts as production?"

"Of course it does." Sing Sing nodded solemnly. "That isn't ordinary ice cream. It's low-temperature, ready-to-eat energy supplies."

"In hot weather, it can reduce the risk of heatstroke among frontline workers."

"In disaster areas, it can comfort children. At remote construction sites, it can greatly improve employee happiness."

"But..."

She said quietly, "That stuff comes out of my hands. Won't people find it disgusting?"

Sing Sing frowned. "Why would they?"

"Because I'm a Mutant."

"Then do you eat dough kneaded by a chef's hands?"

Soft Serve's eyes widened.

"Do you eat vegetables picked by a farmer's hands?"

"Do you live in buildings made with bricks carried by workers' hands?"

"You make ice cream with your ability. It's clean, pollution-free, and has no additives. If Americans don't appreciate it, that's their loss."

Sing Sing pressed the pen into her hand.

"Comrade Soft Serve, don't stick the garbage labels other people give you on your own forehead."

Soft Serve held the pen, her eyes suddenly reddening.

The moment Sing Sing saw her eyes turn red, he panicked again.

"Hey, hey, hey, no crying! I'm warning you, a female comrade's tears will seriously affect how efficiently I get these contracts signed."

"If you start crying and my hand shakes, what if I write 'maternity subsidy' instead of 'production subsidy'? When Director Wang asks why the ice cream production line is on maternity leave, how am I supposed to explain?"

Soft Serve burst out laughing as tears fell. She hurriedly wiped them away with her sleeve.

"I'll sign."

She lowered her head and wrote her name on the crumpled note.

Sing Sing glanced down. "Amy? Good name. From now on, you're Comrade Amy."

Soft Serve sniffled. "Not Soft Serve?"

"We definitely can't put Soft Serve on your work ID."

Sing Sing thought for a moment. "But if a construction site cafeteria opens a cold drinks counter, we could put up a sign: Amy's Cold Drinks Supply Point. Sounds official."

Lorna watched the scene, her gaze gradually softening.

She said nothing, only reaching for the pen on the table.

Sing Sing's eyes lit up.

"Comrade Lorna, you've finally come around?"

Lorna looked down at the contract and snorted. "Cut it out. I'm just checking whether you added any weird clauses."

"How could I? I'm a respectable man."

Lorna's eyes fell on a line.

"'No building with steel blocks unless required for work'?"

Sing Sing coughed. "A preventive clause."

"'No operating green trains without approval'?"

"Workplace safety."

"'No tearing down the doors and windows of the work unit's dormitory because of emotional issues'?"

"That one's important. Dormitory doors are expensive."

Lorna looked up at him.

Sing Sing hurriedly added, "If someone bullies you, damage to doors and windows is a separate matter."

Lorna stared at him for a few seconds, then finally signed her name on the paper.

Lorna Dane.

As the pen moved across the paper, she was suddenly struck by a sense of absurdity.

She had been registered many times before, and every registration had meant being classified, monitored, and detained.

This was the first time she had signed of her own free will.

Not a number, not a specimen, but Lorna Dane.

"Good, that's two."

Riptide silently held out his hand.

"Pen."

Sing Sing handed it over. "Your position is a little special."

"How so?"

"Your preliminary assignment is emergency wind power support officer, forest fire cyclone isolation consultant, temporary tunnel ventilation expert, and auxiliary cooling equipment for construction sites in summer."

Riptide's hand stopped.

"Auxiliary equipment?"

"Don't be so sensitive. There are high-end kinds of equipment too." Sing Sing reassured him. "At least you're an import-substitution model."

"I only have one question."

"Go ahead."

"Can my brother really get treatment?"

Sing Sing looked at him.

"I can't guarantee an American-style miracle where one injection turns him into a superhero."

"Back home, we're better at taking things slowly."

"First stabilize him, then help him recover, then make arrangements for his life."

"If he's sick, he gets treatment. If he isn't, he works. If he's in poor health, he rests and recuperates, then transfers to another position once he's recovered. No one will force him to become a weapon."

Anton sat up. "I'll sign too."

Beside them, Slug sniffled at the computer, the sound particularly loud. "Are you done signing yet?"

Sing Sing turned around. "Why?"

Slug held up a satellite phone.

"Didn't you ask when we could leave?"

"Right! I almost forgot the important part. When's the ship leaving?"

Slug dialed a number and spoke a few sentences in Cantonese in a low voice, mixing in a couple of sentences in English.

The person on the other end was very impatient and shouted a few times.

Slug shouted back.

"Don't talk to me about risks! I'm paying you!"

"Right, four people. No, five. And a crate of... uh, special parts."

He glanced at the enhanced man's severed arm in the corner. "It's not a corpse! Don't talk nonsense! Industrial samples!"

Sing Sing nodded in satisfaction. "That's an accurate classification."

Slug argued with the person on the other end for a while longer before finally hanging up.

"It's settled."

Everyone looked at him.

"Three tomorrow morning, Pier Seventeen on the north side of Newark Harbor. A Panamanian-flagged freighter will head offshore from Vancouver to take on supplies, then take the Pacific route."

Riptide frowned. "It's not going straight to China?"

"In your dreams."

Slug rolled his eyes.

"All of you are red names right now. They're watching the airports, borders, and every official port channel. You're lucky to get on a freighter at all."

Sing Sing raised his hand. "How much?"

Slug was silent for a moment.

"Two thousand per person."

Sing Sing's vision went dark.

"How much?"

"Two thousand per person."

"That's robbery!" Sing Sing nearly jumped. "There are five of us, that's ten thousand! Ten thousand US dollars! Does this captain brush his teeth with caviar every day?"

Slug spread his hands. "That's the smuggling rate."

"What smuggling? This is a cross-border transfer of special talent."

"Then it costs even more."

"Why?"

"Because you're bringing along a patient, a wanted criminal, a prison escapee, and a girl who can produce ice cream out of thin air. They're already showing plenty of internationalist spirit by not calling the police!"

Sing Sing clutched his chest. "Even internationalist spirit shouldn't cost this much!"

Lorna said leisurely, "Didn't you just make twelve thousand two hundred selling an armored vehicle?"

"That's evacuation funding. I can't spend it recklessly."

"Isn't this an evacuation?"

"This is a forced budget adjustment."

Amy said quietly, "I still have a little money."

She rummaged through her canvas bag for a while and pulled out a handful of crumpled bills and coins.

Twenty-seven dollars and sixty-five cents in all.

She looked a little embarrassed. "That's all I have."

Sing Sing looked at the change in her palm and didn't laugh.

He reached out and pushed the money back to her.

"Keep it."

Amy stared at him.

"Why?"

"You haven't received your first paycheck yet. You can't go around without any money."

"But the fare..."

"I'll handle the fare." Sing Sing stuffed the change back into her bag and carefully zipped it shut.

"When a female comrade is away from home, she needs emergency cash on her. If you want to buy a bottle of water, you can't quench your thirst by making ice cream."

Sing Sing sat back down at the computer and began typing rapidly.

"Slug, can we bargain on the fare?"

"No."

"Can we get an invoice?"

Slug looked at him as if he were insane.

"You want an invoice from a smuggling ship?"

"I need documentation for reimbursement."

"You want a Panamanian smuggling ship to issue you an invoice made out to the 749 Bureau?"

"A receipt would do."

Slug lost it. "No!"

Sing Sing tilted his head back in anguish.

"Director Wang is going to kill me."

Lorna folded her arms. "There's someone you're afraid of?"

"What do you know?"

Sing Sing looked world-weary. "In front of their superiors and the agency finance department, even the strongest men are just pigs waiting for slaughter."