Wearing the Cape 6: Team-Ups and Crossovers

by Marion G. Harmon

  I swallowed and nodded, staying in my chair. “Yes, please.”

  Once I’d thought him the evil minion of the Director, head of the DSA. Now I knew he was just the Director’s main fixer, the man sent to Get Things Done, good or bad. He looked at me with hands on hips, head cocked and eyes hidden behind shades, and when he nodded to Agent Grace she closed the door to leave us alone.

  We’d be recorded, of course.

  “We meet again, Miss Corrigan. How many times is it, now?”

  “This makes it three times, in person.”

  He nodded. “Interesting. Our first was in the Dome? After the Freakshow Riot?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the second?”

  I swallowed hard and played my first card. “You took me to Littleton to meet an interesting snake.”

  He looked up at the ceiling. “Stop all recording. Clear and seal the observation room, and flip the lights when you’re done.” He took off his shades and waited. Maybe a couple of minutes went by, and then the lights flickered. He pulled out the second chair, and sat.

  “Miss Corrigan, given the nature of this cell, we are now as private as two people can possibly be. Tell me about the snake.”

  “The Ouroboros Group. Do you know who they worked for?”

  “Do you?”

  “The real Teatime Anarchist.

  “And now they work for us. Likewise, in your reality?”

  Letting out my breath, I nodded; I hadn’t been sure of anything that might have happened here, after I’d died. I remembered that John—Atlas—had left a message and video files for Blackstone, but…

  “Miss Corrigan. We could waste a great deal of time playing do you know. You have proven that you are not a delusional breakthrough—there is no way that a mere Astra copy could know about something that highly classified that you never experienced here.”

  I blinked. I hadn’t even thought of that.

  “So let’s move to the next big question. You believe that you are Astra, from another reality?”

  “Yes. And I think that this reality was the same, until I died at Whittier Base here. It might have diverged earlier than that, but not enough that the Whittier Base Attack didn’t happen.”

  “What kinds of divergences have you noticed since arriving?”

  I bit back a laugh. “The Pulse, and everything after.”

  He looked at me for a long silent moment. “You stopped the Pulse, in your reality?”

  “I was part of the Omega op. And I had help.”

  “I see.” Sitting back, he rubbed his brow. He looked tired. “For want of a nail, indeed. What do you want?” Why did you come here? Why are your recruiting supervillains?

  Sitting on my shivering excitement, I played my second card. “I want complete freedom of movement until I leave. I can give you The Ascendant, next best thing to gift-wrapped, if you’ll let me—”

  “No.”

  Just that: No. No bargaining.

  “Why?”

  “Because we are on the edge of the abyss and skating very carefully past it. Because since the Pulse we have managed, with the Ouroboros Group, one psychohistorian Verne, and a quintet of variously-gifted precogs, to push ourselves back towards hope for the Good Future that you undoubtedly know about. A couple of days ago, something happened that put two of the quintet into comas. The other three are still uselessly incoherent. And now here you are—an incursion from outside of history, a piece of a road not taken. We don’t know for certain, but the smart peoples’ consensus is until you’re gone and no longer an outside agent of change we’re flying blind.”

  I slumped back, stunned.

  “So, can you return home on your own?”

  “I— I know how to leave.”

  “Can you do it from here?”

  “No.” There was no way I was calling Shelly to have my stuff delivered.

  “Then I will see about putting together a detail that will escort you to wherever you need to go to accomplish that and only that. Until then, you will remain here. Do we understand each other?”

  I nodded weakly.

  “Good. Will you promise not to say anything of what we have spoken of? If you can promise me that, there are a few people who wish to speak with you. The detail will be ready tomorrow, and until then you can decide how much you want to tell us about the Ascendant and what other intelligence you can leave with us.”

  “Yes. I promise.”

  “Good.” Veritas stood, donning his shades with a thin smile. “And Miss Corrigan? It is…heartening, to see that somewhere you are well.” He touched the panel by the door and the lights flickered again. “Open up.” The bolts in the door thunked, unsealing it to swing open. Agent Grace signed him out, and they were gone.

  Which left me regretting my breakfast and wondering if I should have refused to speak to anyone. Because I knew who wanted to see me. I don’t know if I can do this.

  The next one through the door, just before lunch, wasn’t who I’d expected. I should have. Agent Grace gave me a sympathetic smile before stepping out to leave me alone with Lie Zi. The tall, athletically fit electrokinetic field leader of the Sentinels (and team leader now that Blackstone was gone?) looked me over before pointing to the table. We sat.

  This Lei Zi wore a bodysuit with more armor elements to it than my Lei Zi’s did, and her hair was cut so short it barely touched her neck, but she was still Lei Zi and she studied me coolly. “You are a Sentinel?”

  I nodded.

  “Then report.”

  And I did: my survival at Whittier Base and every team action taken after the attack, the post-attack lineup, the formation of the Young Sentinels, everything not classified (like Shelly and Littleton and the whole Japan thing) right up to the bad result of my mission to trap Red Jack. I didn’t tell her anything about The Ascendancy, but even with that omission it took a while. Another guard brought us lunch.

  She raised an eyebrow when she heard that in my reality both Crash and Grendel were Sentinels, and silently considered it all when I finished.

  “So two nights ago, when you arrived, why didn’t you come to the Dome?”

  I winced, partly from her look—Why didn’t you report?—but mostly from the memory. “I saw the memorial.”

  “I see.” And Lei Zi did; she might act like an almost emotionless commander sometimes, but she was good at seeing what was in front of her and acknowledging it. “And after? I assume that, given the current situation, you dropped underground? I won’t ask if that was you with the carjack gang yesterday, but it was a good job.”

  “And I don’t know what you’re talking about, but thanks.” A lie she understood and let pass. I straightened up, tried to look only politely curious. “Why did you come after me, last night?”

  “We didn’t. We came after an unknown A Class Atlas-Type. And we wouldn’t have, except that after disappearing with only a parting gift for the police, twice, you popped up again. Apparently to recruit a villain crew.”

  “You have eyes at Dante’s? How did you know it was— Oh.”

  It was obvious how they knew. I’d screwed up. I’d shown too much in Dante’s when I put Billy into the wall; only an Atlas-Type could have done what I did.

  Sure Ajaxes were strong enough to do what I’d done, but Billy had to have massed maybe three hundred pounds—while I, as Mom liked to say, weighed as much as a goose. Physics meant that no matter how strong I was, a slip of a girl like me couldn’t move a pile of bricks like him unless I had either leverage or a lot of force behind my swing—and force meant momentum, which required mass and velocity. Less mass required more velocity, and even leaning into it my small fist would have needed to be traveling fast as a bullet for my little weight to have pushed him more than a step or two, forget about into the wall.

  No, for me to do what I’d done required the extra push that Atlases came with—the invisible push that allowed us to fly by will alone. What I’d really done by leaning in was fly behind my fist withou
t going anywhere or taking my feet off the floor, and that was what had given me the force put Billy into the wall.

  I almost put my head on the table; so much for staying covert. Atlas-Types were lots rarer that Ajaxes, and since Billy was a B Class Ajax, what I’d done to him told anyone with an experienced eye all they’d needed to know about me. For anybody looking at both incidents, the probability that I was also the mystery-girl who’d raced a missile over Chicago was pretty close to certainty.

  The corner of Lei Zi’s mouth twitched when I didn’t speak. “Yes, oh. And you were very impressive both times. Drawing out that Paladin team is a gift we owed you for.”

  “So you put me low on your priority list until I made you take notice by recruiting.”

  “Yes. Will you tell me what you hoped to do?” That couldn’t be done by us? Biting my lip, I shook my head.

  “I see. Veritas informs me that you are a federal matter now, and will be departing shortly. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Don’t let Dad see me. Biting my lower lip I almost drew blood with my teeth, I but shook my head again.

  Lei Zi stood. “Very well. It was interesting to meet you, and I wish you well with your departure.” Don’t stay in my town.

  I wouldn’t. Not for long, anyway. We shook hands with military precision, and once the door closed behind her I collapsed into my chair.

  Well, that wasn’t too bad. Who was I kidding? It was going to get a lot worse.

  The day passed, dinner came, and I’d almost decided that Dad wasn’t going to come visit, when he did. Agent Grace actually had the decency to ask if I was okay with seeing him, and I didn’t say no.

  Which didn’t help me prepare at all for when Iron Jack stepped into my cell.

  It was a good thing that Dad was ironed up; I managed one shaky smile and calm breath before I launched myself at him hard enough to bounce us both off the closed door. I almost took us down, and he would have had an easier time keeping his feet if he hadn’t wrapped both arms tight around me as I clung to his neck and did my absolute best not to fly apart into a zillion pieces.

  He held me, a warm iron statue, while I shivered and gulped air, only setting my feet back on the floor when I finally made myself let go.

  Inhaling with a long sloppy sniff, I wiped my eyes. “I’m sorry. I just— I’m sorry.”

  He pulled me into another hug, kissed the top of my head, and held me at arm’s length.

  “You look good.”

  I choked on a laugh; I had to be a red-nosed mess now. “I broke my promise.”

  Dad frowned. “Promise?”

  “Not to die. I did, I mean, here.”

  That stunningly obvious confession bought me another hug, and Dad sat us down on the bed to tuck me against his shoulder. “Well I’m glad you didn’t, there. How long have you been gone?”

  I blinked. “Gone?”

  “From home. From where you’re supposed to be.”

  I had to totally shift gears. Velveteen’s world, seeing Faith, the fairy world, my adventures under the Blue Moon, San Francisco, the others, here… “Um, a couple of weeks?”

  “Can you get back?”

  “Yes.” I nodded against his shoulder. “I think so. Sant— I have a—a thing that lets me jump. I thought it might take me straight home, but now I’m beginning to wonder if it’s going to take me all twelve. This is number seven.”

  “Seven, huh?” He chuckled. “I’m glad we were on your travel itinerary. Mind telling me where you’ve been?”

  I could not tell my dad that I’d meet Santa Clause and was jumping realities with the help of a magic snow globe. But I could tell him about pirate adventures under the Blue Moon. I told him about Velveteen, the detective and her writer, and Oberon and Titania (editing that story a little). And I told him all about Faith.

  We just held each other after that, my head tucked in, Dad rubbing my arm and shoulder the way he used to when I’d had a bad day or a bad dream.

  Finally he sighed. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For letting me know that both my girls are alright, somewhere.” He straightened. “I watched your debriefing with Lei Zi this morning, spoke to Veritas. I know you need to go, tomorrow.”

  I brought my head up, pushed away. “But—”

  “You need to go home. I’m sure your mother and I are going crazy, there. Whatever you’re trying to do, here, it’s not worth the risk. Here is our responsibility, not yours.”

  “But—” Good grief, I was ten again. I closed my mouth. “I won’t risk not leaving. I promise.”

  “Good.” He kissed my hair again. “Now, do you think you can see your mother? She’s waiting back at processing.”

  Dad promised to come back tomorrow and be part of my escort detail, and I wondered what he’d think of Shelly if they met; I intended to use an available cell to call her number, arrange a drop for my bag so that she wouldn’t have to expose herself at all. Mom announced that she was coming, too. She’d handled our reunion with fragile aplomb, and I’d wanted to tell her so much—like about Shelly, who’d be alone again once I left—but couldn’t because Cypher was a supervillain and every word would be parsed by DSA analysts somewhere.

  Long after they were gone, I stared at the ceiling of my fancy cell and mentally listed all the things I absolutely needed to pass along before I turned the globe. At minimum, if I couldn’t go after him myself then I was passing everything I knew about the Ascendant to Shelly; she could at least see that he was captured here—and might be able to leverage the information for things like legal immunity for her past crimes.

  Hours after lights out, they came back on again. Blinking in the sudden light, I sat up; the digital clock told me it was one in the morning. What?

  They’d made me comfortable here, but even for sleep I’d kept my Shelly-designed costume on and now I was glad; the thing was a second skin I still wasn’t comfortable with, but psychologically it beat an institutional jumpsuit or the bathrobe. When the door unbolted, I stood. Agent Grace stepped into my cell, and I pushed my bed-fluffed hair out of my face.

  “Agent Grace?”

  “Good morning, Hope.” Dropping her epad on the table beside us, she reached up to frame my face in her hands and kissed me.

  What. The. Hell? I jerked my head back, grabbing her wrists, and that’s when I smelled her. A musky scent, like a fox. “Kitsu—”

  Her brown eyes danced as she broke my slack grip to put a hand over my mouth. “Yes, sorry but Agent Grace is romantically impulsive.” The touch of an electronic key sprang my shackles loose to roll on the floor and, retrieving her pad, she took my hand. “Checkout time.” The door closed behind us as she led me out of the cell and down the hall. Just short of the corner, between one blink of an eye and the next, I realized we weren’t alone; Kitsune passed my hand to someone I hadn’t noticed and I found myself looking at—Mal? Megaton? In jeans and a button-down, he was still the chunky but athletic geek-jock I knew.

  “I’m Blindspot, ma’am,” he said politely, hand tightening on mine. “Cypher said you’d know. Don’t let go until we’re outside.” I nodded automatically, completely at sea as the two of them took me around the corner. Kitsune—Agent Grace—walked right up to the processing station, handed her epad to the station officer to sign.

  “That was quick,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “What needed to happen with our mystery-guest at one o’clock in the morning?” His eyes never went to Brian and me for a second, not even a flicker.

  “Classified,” Kitsune returned cheekily.

  “Yeah, yeah.” He touched a button and the door behind him unlatched. “Be safe—caught a Driver Alert earlier, the Sentinels are cleaning up on a street action a couple of blocks north.”

  “I saw on the way in. Tell Amanda I said hi.”

  Mal kept us in front of Kitsune as we left processing, slid us behind her as we passed a second monitored gate and then through the outside doors as she swiped her c
ard and said goodnight to each checkpoint guard along the way. The street was empty except for a lonely cab just turning our corner, and then Rush appeared out of hypertime on his street bike. Mal dropped my hand to climb on and they disappeared before I got out a “Hey!” Kitsune took my elbow.

  “This way, darling girl,” she laughed and pulled us to the street as the approaching cab slowed and its trunk opened. Kitsune gracefully hopped in and waved an invitation. “Go go go!” Shell yelled in my head when I hesitated. I ran and flew, landing in the trunk and closing it on us as the cab sped up again. Agent Grace—Kitsune—chuckled in my ear as I scooted around trying to get comfortable, throwing and arm over me so we were spooning in the tight space.

  The cab turned a corner, and Kitsune shifted behind me. “Comfy? We’ll be in here a little while—we could play.” I nearly squeaked as she rested her hand on my stomach and puffed a breath over the sensitive skin behind my ear.

  “You said Agent Grace is—”

  “The young lady is romantically adventurous, yes.” I could hear the laughter in her voice. “When I become someone completely enough to inhabit their memories and manners, I become them a little, too. You would call it extreme character-acting.”

  “Then why are you still her? Is she alright?”

  “She’s fine, asleep at home. And I’m still Agent Grace because I want to keep her knowledge of local DSA assets and their likely response until we’re reasonably safe. She is also fun to be. Her neighbor was much less so.”

  “Oh.” Okay, so my fox-spirit had become at least two people in the process of breaking me out. But— “Why are you here? Did you talk to the team?”

  She chuckled, stirring the air and making me shiver. With her scent in my nose it didn’t matter what she sounded or felt like—in my mind’s eye, I was sharing a very intimate space with Yoshi, Kitsune’s courting form, the one he’d worn formally presented himself to me in Chicago after our Japan adventure.