Wearing the Cape 6: Team-Ups and Crossovers

by Marion G. Harmon

  “Forget it, I’m in.” He coughed, looking almost embarrassed. “I owe crazy-girl here too many markers not to.” He tipped his head at Shelly. “Besides, if it all blows up you’ll need someone to get you out without every Chicago Sentinel and Guardian chasing you.”

  I nodded, blinking repeatedly to keep the rush of gratitude from getting obvious. I was so far from home, but tonight I had my team. “Kitsune? If you’re in, those are the terms.”

  “I live to serve.” There was nothing reserved about his smile, and now I had to fight down a flush.

  “Shelly?”

  She unrolled a screen on the breakroom table, projecting a 3D image of our target on it as we gathered around.

  I put both hands on the table. “Here all the DSA knows about the Ascendant is that a few years ago he claimed responsibility for several mass-casualty attacks. The biggest was the LO Stadium attack, where he gassed a whole interstate band and cheerleading competition and audience with a synthesized psychotropic.” I didn’t look at Brian. He’d lost his family and had his transformative breakthrough there, and had signed on with Ozma because she’d promised him justice. “All of the attacks were designed to generate trauma more than fatalities, and DSA profilers concluded the Ascendant was interested in creating more breakthroughs—all the deaths were a byproduct. He went silent before the California Quake.”

  Now I looked at Brian. “The LO Stadium attack wasn’t the Ascendant’s worst. He was responsible for boosting Temblor, the psychotic terrakinetic responsible for triggering the California Quake. Back home we know that because he told me.”

  “Well, shit.” Jamal spoke for all of them and I nodded.

  “The Ascendant is a secret breakthrough named Dr. Simon Pellegrini. He has the power to inhibit or boost the powers of other breakthroughs, and he’s fanatically delusional. He believes that breakthroughs are transcendent humans, sleepers who have been awakened. His goal is racial apotheosis.”

  “So he’s a superhuman supremacist,” Mal said.

  “Yes. Back home the DSA now believes that his two goals are to increase the number of breakthroughs and to unite us against control by sleepers. We awakened are inherently superior to sleepers, so of course we should rule.”

  “That is so messed up.”

  “You think?” Shelly quipped.

  I shot her a quelling look. “I think we all agree on that one. Until a bit over a year ago, Pellegrini was the known cult-leader of the Foundation of Awakened Theosophy. They preached superhuman supremacy, just not that explicitly. They were also an organization dedicated to using meditative imaging techniques to trigger “soft breakthroughs” and strengthen weak ones. Their success rate wasn’t much better than for normal traumatic breakthroughs, but the foundation had thousands of followers. We know now that reports of foundation-enhanced powers were because of Pellegrini’s gift, and his inner circle knew what he was really about. You know some of them—the Wreckers.”

  Mal raised his hand. “Sounds like he had a sweet thing going. Behind the scenes supervillain mastermind, all that. What happened?”

  “The Sentinels happened. We tried to capture the Wreckers when they were killing anti-breakthrough criminals in Chicago. We failed, but we exposed one of them and the police investigation revealed his link to the foundation. Pellegrini knew he couldn’t hide anymore, so he covered his trail and took the Ascendancy completely underground.”

  “But he’s still in the open, here.”

  “Yes. Shelly?”

  She touched the screen menu bar, pulling up a map of the US. It had a lot of bright dots on it. “His foundation here is even bigger than before the Pulse. Rising anti-breakthrough sentiment since has increased his following among low-level breakthroughs. He has more Awakening Centers than ever, and a lot of low to mid-level Crisis Aid and Intervention capes are registered members. Not so much for A and higher B classes.”

  I tapped the screen to bring back the blueprints. “That’s really the good news—the foundation is still in business, and that means we have an opportunity. This is the foundation’s biggest Awakening Center, and it’s just north of Chicago. They only use it a few months out of the year and the rest of the time it’s rented out for big group events, but they’ve always kept their own site maintenance staff and there was a reason for that.” I used my hands to “lift” the 3D image to expose the building’s sub-level. “I never saw this myself, but back home Blackstone briefed everyone on the DSA’s investigation of the site after the team raided it.” Everyone leaned in to see what I’d brought up.

  “The foundation’s secret Ascendancy operations are large enough that communications security is a huge issue; even before discovery they coordinated through the dark net, and they kept their own central secret server for it. They kept it here.” Another gesture centered the blueprint on one basement room and I expanded it. “It’s physically secured, and it’s one big burnbox, a room-sized version of the kind of box embassies and criminals use to completely destroy documents, computer drives, and physical evidence. It’s basically a concrete bunker rigged with thermite to cook everything in it into a useless pile of slag.”

  I looked up. “The room isn’t secret. It’s a maintenance room and the hub of the building’s landline network. The foundation’s server is there, with what my DSA guessed was their ‘dark server.’ Cypher confirmed that at least their legit server exists here, too, and based on power usage she’s close to one hundred percent certain that the other is there too.”

  Brian smiled toothily. “They haven’t burned and run, yet.”

  “No. If we can get in, physical access will allow Cypher to bypass their cybersecurity and make a ghost copy of the dark server drives. So we do it completely quiet, copy the drives, and Cypher can crack it all for everything the DSA needs to get warrants and take down the whole Ascendancy. Even if we don’t manage to stay completely quiet, if we copy the drives then the DSA will have what it needs to dig them out of their holes when they go underground. That’s the mission.”

  “And that’s what you want, too,” Mal concluded. “The stuff they burned where you’re from.”

  “That’s right. It may be enough to roll them up completely, back there. And they’ll never see it coming.”

  From there it became a matter of details, mostly Shelly explaining what Cypher and Galatea could do to defeat the foundation’s security (she was keeping the two firmly separate—I was pretty sure that even Blindspot didn’t know they were one and the same). She confirmed that, as of now, the Awakening Center was empty except for its four-man resident “maintenance staff.” Of course we didn’t have time to do real recon and investigation to confirm that they were who employee records said they were.

  I was assuming they were all boosted low-level breakthroughs.

  And all of this felt so strange. This was my team—most of it—and they were together for the first time and didn’t know me at all. We should be in the Assembly Room at the Dome. I should have Lei Zi on one side of me and Blackstone on the other. Instead I was in the middle of a dimly lit garage, surrounded by half a dozen taxi cabs in various states of work, taking command point on a mission that really needed days more planning and every possible backup.

  After the second round of questions over best approaches, I made myself step back in. “Alright, everyone. We’ve got three stages to this job. Penetration of the center’s security layers, duplication of the drives, and extraction. We’ll equip in two hours and review each of our roles, then go. If we can achieve the first stage without undue risk of discovery, then the second stage is a go. If the first stage proves too risky, we cut out; we can’t let the Ascendancy know that they’re vulnerable from this direction until the ghost-drives are in our hands. After that it’s best if they still don’t know, but either way the DSA will be able to use the information in those drives to hunt them down. Any questions?”

  There weren’t any, and as everyone broke up I was able to pull Shelly aside.

  �
��What?”

  “Two questions,” I said quietly. “First, are you sure, if we get you into the room, you can shut down its hellfire function? Second, I’m not that computer literate but I know that the things can do a lot to mess themselves up. Can you keep the system from wiping its drives or whatever, if we don’t manage to stay completely quiet?”

  “Maybe, and yes.”

  “That’s not reassuring.”

  “Hey, all computers call me God but some are too simple and secure for me to mess with without lots of work. Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

  “Okay.” I sighed. “And equipping the team?”

  “Got that, too—in about forty-five minutes we’re getting a trunk load of gear, a bunch of it fresh off of Vulcan’s forges. We’ll be ready.”

  “But?” I studied her. There was something she wasn’t telling me.

  “You’re gone when the job is done, right?”

  I hitched a breath, swallowed around the sudden knot made of wishes and guilt and impossible choices I’d managed to push off by thinking about everything else. “Yeah. I wish— I can’t stay, you know that.”

  “Well yeah, but you are, sort of.” She’d been steering us to the breakroom and now she stopped at the door, pushed me the last couple of feet, and shut the door on me. What?

  “Hi,” the tiny blonde who appeared by the fridge said with a worried smile. “Don’t freak out, okay?”

  She—I—wore our original skirted Astra costume, minus the completely unnecessary mask and I instantly knew what had happened. It didn’t help at all. There are moments for which words just don’t cut it, like describing a nuclear explosion as “hot and loud” but I finally understood how Shelly must have felt when, shoved back into a live body by me and Ozma’s Wishing Pill, she found herself saying hello to…herself.

  “…hi,” I managed. “When did you wake up?”

  “Yesterday? But I’ve been in an accelerated environment for two weeks. Shelly’s had me staying with Mistress Jenia. The Western Warden?”

  “In her virtual cloudhome?”

  I—she—nodded. “Yeah. I’m ‘experiencing’ myself and reality through an interface that lets me perceive everything as physical analogues so it’s all not too much of a shock. Still trying to wrap my mind around it, you know?”

  I finally found one of the steel chairs still in the room, dropped into it. “So you’re me, until I died? Whittier Base was two weeks ago, for you?” I’d been nearly a walking zombie then, and it hadn’t been because of my physical injuries. My heart ached in sympathy when she nodded again. “Are you—are you okay? And why did Shelly wait till now?”

  She actually laughed. “Hey, the bioseed that the Teatime Anarchist had us swallow didn’t just grow a beacon and cyber-quantum link. But you know that now, right? It grew a neural net capable of supporting a—just like Shelly, I had a quantum mirror copy of my brain up and running when I died. But she says that Twenty-Second Century biocybernetic ethics are backed by unbreakable protocols.”

  I choked on the thought that the Teatime Anarchist had had any ethics—the guy had never told the entire truth any time I’d met him.

  “I know, right?” She rolled her eyes. “Shelly gave the Teatime Anarchist permission, but he didn’t have time to go back and get mine after I died so I stayed dormant, asleep without my own authorized wakeup call. Shelly’s been looking for another time-traveler ever since to—”

  “—go back and get permission.” And again I just knew what had happened. “She asked me if I’d have let TA copy me—”

  “—and you said yes!” She struck a dramatic pose. “Ta-daaa!”

  From there it got interesting; talking with myself was…weird. This me, younger Hope, was still dealing with Whittier Base, but at least she didn’t have the added mess of killing Volt with one gory punch to try and bleach from her brain. She also didn’t know what had happened to the Teatime Anarchist, here. (Shelly had sealed it, but I was willing to bet that it had involved direct action.) So we looked the same—a no-brainer since I wasn’t aging anymore and the only injury that had stuck in three years was my chi-torn shoulder and that was invisible—but younger me acted tentative, hesitant. Had that been me, two years ago? Or had actually dying changed me—her—already?

  “This is weird, right?” We both spoke in stereo and then broke into laughter. “Jinx!”

  She wiped her eyes. “And you said your Shellys are like this? Siamese twins, joined at the brain?”

  “Worse. They merge through their link when they get really focused. What are we going to do about Mom and Dad? About everybody?”

  “Take care of them.”

  Okay, that was totally me. I couldn’t help the grin and when she saw it she fell into giggles. I waited it out, stood when she finished.

  “I’ve got to get back out there. Leadership stuff to do.”

  She rolled her bright blue eyes. “I know. And, we’re awesome. You’re awesome—really Awesome Girl. I just, I couldn’t let you leave without knowing that I’ve got your back. That everything will be alright, here. And tonight I’ll be watching. With popcorn.” She vanished with a spirit-hands wave.

  Wow. I opened the breakroom door to find Shelly “guarding” the other side.

  “All done?” She gave me a quick once-over. “Need anything?”

  What I needed was two weeks of my own to get over having my world changed again. I settled for a mock glare. “All done. You know you could have said. Something like ‘Well, you know TA quantum-thingied your brain, too.’”

  She snickered cheekily. “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “Not as fun, but you might live longer.”

  “A longer life not as fun. Our presents have arrived.” She drew my attention to five big hardshell suitcases with a sweep of her hand. Everyone except Kitsune was already gathered around them.

  “Good grief, they’re like children.”

  Mal had obviously worked with my BF before; he was laying them out and opening them for everyone’s inspection as they stood over him.

  “They’re boys with toys,” Shelly agreed happily. “Your fox wants to—he’s just too adult to admit it.” I looked and smothered a smile. Kitsune was watching the proceedings intently, only distance preserving the illusion of disinterest.

  “You know this could go really bad, right?”

  She gave me a look. “Second thoughts? Doubts?”

  “No.” I smiled fondly, but it faded. “No. I know what the boys can do. I know what you can do. It’s just—unless we have a perfect run, and what are the odds of that happening, there could be blowback. And I won’t be here for it.” I would be the only one not here for it. “I think—”

  Shelly’s eyes narrowed when I stopped. “What?”

  I had to fight hard not to start laughing. It was turning into that kind of night. “I—I just realized something, not funny, but—”

  “Spill, or I start tickling.”

  “You know how, in all the movies, the heroes always manage to find the villains for one big boss-fight scene in their secret lair? We—well, I’ll bet right now the entire Chicago DSA station and probably the entire team is trying to find me and whoever busted me out—the classic supervillain jailbreak. And—and we’re all right here!” I waved helplessly at the dim and dirty garage with its fleet of busted cars.

  Shelly looked around, snickering. “Some supervillain’s lair. There’s not even a big red button. There’s a grease pit over there we could fill with really small sharks. Or alligators. Come on, lets gear up.”

  It all looked like a delivery from Villains R Us; my only gear was a new helmet, gloves, and boots to replace the ones I’d left behind with the DSA. No new wig—at this point that piece of disguise was completely superfluous. Shelly ran through the telemetry and communication links with me to make sure I was tied into everyone else’s.

  Everyone else got team costumes. Black and white bodysuits (not skintight) and helmets, they all more or less matched my ow
n pattern but with individualized cuts and crests. We looked like a professional motorbike-racing team; the only thing we needed was team patches.

  Nope, there it was. Shell handed me a black and silver utility belt to add to my outfit; it came with sandman packs, zip cuffs, and other handy items, and its buckle sported a stylized “S”.

  “Shell, you going to tell me about this?”

  She looked up from the elaser she was checking. “Well I couldn’t make it a ‘V’ for Vulcan’s Villains, could I? We’re going after the group that fields the Wreckers and calls itself the Ascendancy—so I figure we’re the Spoilers.”

  “We sound like weirdos who sneak into supermarkets and turn off their refrigeration.”

  “All the cool names were taken. Help me with this.” She handed off the stunner to Blackout and opened the fifth and biggest case, packed with a suit of her armor. It was styled very different than her Galatea gear and in the team’s black and white. We stepped behind one of the cabs, and five minutes later she was dressed in her own skintight black bodysuit with white webbing-sheath overlayer supporting her armor and weapon racks with full riot-control loadouts. Power Chick.

  She tested her own helmet links. “You’re going to be carrying me if we need to fly—these jet-boots are only good for about ten minutes in the air. Mostly I’ll be on the ground anyway, and I’m not extracting myself—hey!”

  I set her back down and released her shoulder grips. “Good enough. I’m used to carrying Grendel into fights. Dropping him into them, really.”

  “A Grendel bomb? Sounds insane.”

  “It’s a show stopper.” Even for most breakthroughs, a dropped Grendel usually inspired a great desire to leave the area or give up before he hit you. “Okay people, equipment-check! Shell, read it off. Everyone, if you don’t know why you’ve got something, ask. If you don’t know how to use something, ask.”

  I had to show Jamal how to minister a sandman pack and Shelly demonstrated the stunner for Kitsune, but other than that everyone was good. We even did the power-walk leaving the garage. I almost hallucinated music and a slow-mo effect.