by Drew Hayes
“Haywood Gibson was involved in an unfortunate car accident that has left him unable to fulfill the duties of a cluster leader. As a willing parent, I was tapped to take his place, at least until a suitable substitute can be found.”
Her dark eyes roamed over him. There weren’t many people who knew Ivan, not really. Janet was an exception. Former wife, mother to his children, she’d spent more time with him than even Wade had during their early villain days. That was another reason Ivan preferred contact over the phone. She was too good at reading him.
“I knew that guy was up to something. It was about her being a meta, right?”
Weighing his options, Ivan decided that this was not the time for subterfuge. “Mr. Gibson seemed to have some preconceptions about metas being around human children. I was planning to use my contacts and go around him. Then he decided to speak about Beth directly. Plans changed.”
A smile. Brief and quick, but for a moment, Ivan saw the old Janet, the dangerous woman too smart and bored for her own good, peeking out as a twinkle in her eyes. “Those kids are going to face a lot of hell growing up as the children of Fornax. Beth even more, now that she’s got powers. For all the complications having you as their dad adds on, I’m glad you’re here to watch over them.”
It was a pleasant note to end things on. Unfortunately, they hadn’t actually reached the end of their conversation. There was still another point to raise.
“There’s one more thing you should know. All clusters have a male and female leader—a policy meant to accommodate the kids in case they want to discuss embarrassing or private matters. I won’t be leading these meetings alone. The one who put me in this position is going to be there, keeping watch on both me and the children.”
Whatever good cheer had found its way to Janet’s face drained off. Her thumb was pressing so hard against the glass it was turning the skin white, not that she appeared to notice. “Really? That’s the story? She’s there to keep an eye on you, in case you decide to, what, kill a room full of kids? Even in your worst days, Fornax never hurt a child, and she of all people knows that’s still true.”
“She’s putting Fornax in a room full of minors; no one else would agree to that without Lodestar being present,” Ivan pointed out.
“Fornax isn’t the problem!” Janet slapped the table, and for a moment, her old fire was no mere twinkle of the eye. “God damn it, Ivan. You’re single, so I don’t give a shit if you two want to play these cute little games, but I wish you hadn’t just jammed our daughter into the middle of it.”
Silence fell as Ivan quietly weighed his options. “If you feel that strongly that it will be bad for Beth, I can see if there’s another way. Perhaps a different cape she’d trust to take the spot at my side.”
“You should do that. I should make you do that.”
Janet closed her eyes, breathing deeply, before releasing the death-grip on her glass. “Except, I can’t,” she continued at last. “Because no matter how I feel about all of this, the attack on their school showed me that our kids can be targets, despite every assurance you offered through the years. If Beth can spend a few hours every week endearing herself to the world’s greatest superhero, I have to let her. She might need that alliance one day, when the world finds out what her dad’s old job really was. And if someone attacks her again, she’ll be high on Lodestar’s priority list. This is bullshit, I’m laying that out up front, but the kids come first.”
“Always.” Ivan didn’t hesitate, nor did Janet question the response. As a couple, they’d been fair, at best, and as exes, they were even worse; yet on this point, they were absolutely united. For all the faults and issues they had between them, Ivan knew that Janet always acted with their children’s best interests at heart, and vice versa. It was the common ground that had allowed them to manage custody.
Janet continued to look at Ivan, studying his every change in expression. “Just... don’t let her do what she does. Don’t let her get in Beth’s head. Please don’t let her steer our girl toward that life.”
That promise was not one that Ivan could make, though he wanted to dearly. He could no more stop Helen from inspiring people toward goodness than he could outmatch Lodestar. They were forces beyond him, past his realm of halting. Nevertheless, Ivan would give his all. Janet was spot on: the last thing they wanted for either of their kids was for them to fall into the world of cowls and masks. Beth being a meta would be hurdle enough for her; if she started into Ivan’s world, there might be no way back.
“With everything I have, I will try.”
Chapter 19
Monday found Tori returning to her mundane routine, with the added spice of now knowing everything she did was in the proximity of a team of capes specifically there to keep an eye on her. Saturday had gone well enough; they’d exchanged pleasantries and played board games for an hour or so before finally excusing themselves. It felt like the New Science Sentries had enjoyed the visit, once everyone had recovered from the shock of accidentally outing themselves, so hopefully, they weren’t suspicious of their new neighbors.
Just to be safe, Sunday had been an extremely mundane affair. She, Beverly, and Chloe went out for lunch, caught up on work, and watched some old movies; things she imagined people without secret meta-lives did frequently. Truth be told, it had been a nice day off, and Tori found herself more refreshed as a new week began than when she spent ninety percent of the weekend hunched over in a lab. Maybe there was something to the idea of taking weekends as actual breaks.
By the time she made it to work, Tori was almost thankful to see Vendallia. Boring as it was, here, she was one more cog in the machine. No one paid her particularly special attention, nor did she have to take great pain to appear normal. Simply being here every day and doing the work made her own case for normalcy. People with better options didn’t often stick around in positions like Tori’s.
Upon arrival, she found Ivan waiting for her at the door. Tori lifted an eyebrow, unsure if something was up, but Ivan merely handed her a brown paper bag with the top folded over and stapled together. “Good morning. I trust you’re feeling rested from your time away.”
“Oh yeah, a week dodging cameras was my perfect idea of a vacation.” Tori pressed along the bag, feeling the soft contents inside give way. “Is this a welcome back gift?”
“If you want to think of it like that. It’s your uniform for tonight. I procured it from the specialty tailor you use; I know how some synthetic fibers can give you a rash.” Ivan didn’t tend to be the type to make jokes, so Tori was half-certain he’d chosen that cover story because it explained why half the shit she wore was custom tailored and not because it was inherently embarrassing. She wasn’t going to object, since it still netted her clothes from the special material that could be shifted into fire. While Tori was capable of making the material herself, she didn’t have nearly the sewing or fashion skills Doctor Mechaniacal had access to, meaning the provided versions were of optimal quality.
Yanking off the staples, Tori peered inside. She had to root around a little, but the outfit quickly took shape. Not very different from what she remembered Starscout assistants wearing when she was a kid. Tan shirt and pants—maybe shorts; it was hard to gauge length in a bag—along with a turquoise ascot. She’d brought sneakers from home, which would round out the ensemble. There were also hats, if she recalled correctly, though those were for actual outdoor activities.
“Hang on... if I have to wear this, does that mean...”
“We will all be dressed appropriately tonight,” Ivan said, answering the question preemptively. “Myself, you, and our other cluster leader. While she’s an old contact of mine, you wouldn’t have met her yet. She is unaffiliated with Vendallia or its major partners. Do try to keep that in mind, and use discretion as appropriate.”
There were doubtlessly more subtle ways to tell Tori the other person wasn’t a secret villain, but these weren’t the sorts of messages Ivan left to chance. “Got it. B
e on my best behavior, and no talking about confidential company work off the clock. I won’t even bust out my inventions or technology talk. Do I get to know the name of this mystery helper before we arrive, or is that supposed to be a surprise?”
“Helen.” Ivan looked briefly away, glancing down the street to where the morning sun was beaming down on cars and commuters coming from the east. “Her name is Helen.”
She watched as they scampered about, looking down from the balcony much like Apollo had when examining the same group. Newer members of the AHC were kept in the same part of the base for many reasons. Bonding, comradery, safety, training—it was easier to consolidate people of roughly the same skill level, which was to say, amateurs. That was how all rookies were treated when they came in: assume they knew nothing and drill the fundamentals. Every now and then, a street-level cape would bristle at having to prove themselves, but since Lodestar had yet to meet a single person who didn’t benefit from retraining the basics, the policy remained in place.
Except that it had been months since the last confluence. A lot of the so-called rookies had been logging hours nearly nonstop, taking every patrol and shift they were offered. No doubt some of that came from the desire to prove they weren’t aligned with Apollo or any of the others who’d illegally set up the guild of villains, yet she knew there was more.
They’d all seen a flash of the old world. Before guilds and peace, before the AHC, when everything was chaotic and dangerous. People liked to look back on the older days with a patina of wistfulness coloring their impressions. Not her. She could still remember the times at the end of the League of Heroes, when Professor Quantum had all but checked out entirely. Things were near a boiling point back when she was a street-level cape herself, a period of her life few people even knew about. To the world, Lodestar had burst onto the scene in a sudden blaze. The public hadn’t seen her before that moment, when she was just one more set of fists on the sidewalks trying to help. They had no idea about the years spent working in anonymity, before she ascended to her role as one of the world’s most famous protectors.
That was the trouble with metas, humans—all living things, really: they changed. People grew up, grew stronger, grew better. It was natural and inevitable. Unfortunately, that also meant she now had a whole group of rookies that were no longer truly on the same level lumped together. It was time to start graduating some of the units up to harder jobs, take the stress off the over-worked capes. Since the guild’s outing, low-level crimes had increased constantly. It wasn’t that Ivan’s people had been actively stopping that many operations; more that fear of them had forced the bulk of criminals to be careful. Without that fear and need for caution, crooks were getting bolder. Sooner or later, they’d make a true push, and the AHC had to be ready when that day came.
Powerful as Lodestar was, she was still only a single superhero. It was a hard truth she’d accepted decades prior: not even she could save everyone. The world was too big, too full for her to have a prayer of managing that. That was why capes worked together, why the Alliance of Heroic Champions had been founded: to share the burden of keeping the world safe. To have capable allies always at the ready. To teach the next generation how to use their abilities, and then entrust them with the future.
Finally, Lodestar looked right, to where Quorum was patiently waiting. “I’m guessing whatever files Apollo had on them are already largely out of date, though I’d still like to look them over. But even after being left on their own while we were getting everything sorted, they’ve all been improving. I checked the logs last night. Some of these teams are doing near constant field patrol. No telling how that experience will show itself.”
“With respect, there is a way to tell.” Quorum’s voice was as patient and near neutral as always. “It would not be the first time the Champions’ Congress has evaluated the skill of our recruits by hand. For a time, that was the only method we had. There is a case to be made for the tried and true tactics.”
The groan that escaped Lodestar’s lips almost had a weight to it. “I hate doing that. It’s not fun for them, Professor Quantum takes it way too seriously, and inevitably, somebody quits when they see the power difference. Can’t we come up with rubrics or something?”
“Apollo used a complex ranking methodology that took into account potential merchandising appeal, camera skills, and perceived loyalty to the organization. I presume that system wouldn’t be to your liking, but properly vetting and assessing them all one by one using our old metrics will take quite a while. If your concern is to make sure the ones ready to advance are being used and trained properly, then that method will waste a lot of time.”
Doing the right thing was supposed to be the easy part. Except that when you were in charge of a whole organization, it demanded balancing different versions of that “right thing” depending on who one looked at. Was it more right to slowly assess the rookies in this case, keeping them from helping people in need, or to get more capes onto the streets, even if they might not be ready to step up? It had to be done right—there was no room to give on that front, and sooner was definitely better. Quorum, to no surprise of Lodestar’s, turned out to be right.
“If it’s going to be a hands-on evaluation, let’s at least be smart about this. Tell Professor Quantum I’m doing the whole group solo. Assuming he cares enough to ask why, the excuse is that since he’s got clear bias toward the New Science Sentries, this will keep the assessments beyond reproach.”
“Do you really think he’d go easy on his team?” Quorum asked. It was the kind of question he didn’t actually need to say; he’d already found the answer before the first syllable hit his lips. These were for her, and the sake of conversation.
“Heck no. I think he’d decimate them in front of the entire AHC just to shame them into working harder. But it’s more about the image than the truth, and that’s a concept he’ll be on board with.” She looked down once more, observing the costumed figures as they darted around. “We’ll have to do it in one go. If word gets around, things’ll get muddled. Can you schedule everyone else so that I’ve got all the rookies one day on a weekend?”
From his pocket, Quorum produced a folded sheet of paper. “I’d already begun work on assessing the best options for doing so.”
“Of course you did.” A quick scan showed several schedule options, rotating their members around in different shifts to ensure the AHC was ready to respond to any serious threats. It didn’t escape her notice that Quorum’s own name appeared in a few spots, jammed in among all the others like it was nothing special. “You want to go back into the field?”
“It would be more apt to say I feel compelled to go into the field,” Quorum said. “As you noted, the people are in need. While, for a time, I best served our organization by helping to run it; such attention is no longer required. The Alliance of Heroic Champions has grown vastly in its decades. It can endure without me working behind the scenes, and there are many voices reminding me that our power comes with a duty to help. One in particular has been especially ardent.”
Quorum met Lodestar’s eyes, and suddenly, they weren’t his anymore. For a flash, a different iris appeared, just long enough to give her a wink.
In the beginning, that alone might have caused Lodestar to tear up. Now, she smiled back, thankful to have the moment at all. “That sounds nice, but this place has been big enough to run itself for a long time. Lack of support staff wasn’t the only thing keeping you in here.”
“Of course not,” Quorum agreed. “I was ‘holding down the fort,’ as the saying goes. I knew one day you’d both return. Now that there’s leadership I can trust, I’m not quite so worried about leaving the place unattended.”
Seven years. That was how long she’d been away. It felt like a drop in the bucket to her, but for the world and the AHC, it had been different. She didn’t regret the time off after the birth; Helen had always been ready to come back if the need arose. Except the world had managed to stay
out of major danger, thanks in no small part to Ivan and his guild keeping their own kind of peace. For seven years, she’d gotten to be a normal person, raising her daughter. Coming back meant there was a lot to clean up, yet Lodestar felt strangely energized.
Those years had reminded her what it was she was fighting for: all the normal people out there who wanted nothing more than to live in peace with the people they loved. Up high, looking down from the clouds, it was easy to forget that every dot on the ground was a person, with their own dreams and life connecting to untold others. Living like a normal human helped her remember why they were so worth protecting. Helen was never going to have that peaceful life; that she’d even gotten to taste it was truly a miracle. So she’d settle for protecting that peace for as many people as she could.
“Do the third schedule option,” she instructed. “And please, whatever message you give, don’t tell them they’re sparring with Lodestar. Last time, that caused three panic attacks before we even got the test running.”
Chapter 20
If Tori hadn’t known better, she might have thought they were pulling up to Ivan’s actual house. The neighborhood was boring enough to match his old one, and the home itself looked like the same kind of predesigned build. It was a little too nice, however. Stone work on the exterior, designer touches on the trim, this was the home of someone who spent more for appearances, which took Ivan instantly out of the running.
“Whose place is this?”
“Technically, Vendallia’s,” Ivan replied. “We have some rental properties in holding for when visiting staff are needed on long-term projects.”
“Or if someone guild-related needs a place to lie low away from headquarters?” Tori might still be relatively new, but she could spot a pattern that obvious.