Wearing the Cape 6: Team-Ups and Crossovers

by Marion G. Harmon

  “Relax.” The woman gave her an easy smile. “I could eat you up, but this is just diagnostics.” A glowing holographic net of connected circles and lines laced with lettering Hope couldn’t read filled the air between them. Dabbler’s fingers danced over the changing pattern.

  Maxima watched, arms folded, as Dabbler switched from simple circles to more complex and densely lettered forms. “Well?”

  “Patience, hot-stuff,” Dabbler smirked, cocking an eyebrow at her leader. “It’s always best to take your time, don’t you think?” She smiled wider at Maxima’s glower, turning back to her work. Despite the uncertainty of her situation, Hope was fascinated. A civilian contractor? She could give Chakra lessons in workplace inappropriateness—was that what Halo had meant about introducing them?

  The woman chuckled at whatever she saw. “Hmmm. You are a fascinating thing. Halo, you may be onto something.”

  “See? See? Tell them, Dabbler!”

  “So?” Maxima cocked an eyebrow, watching Hope over the rim of her dark shades.

  “It’s a little complicated. First,” she waved at Hope. “She’s not a super.”

  “I beg to disagree,” Maxima said.

  “Yeah!” Sydney protested. “She’s wicked strong!”

  “And that’s so cute. She’s not a super, Max. She’s got powers, but…whatever it is that flips your switch and makes all you guys so yummy and strong, she hasn’t got it. Even better, she reads like any normal human being—I’m getting nothing off her, not physical, mental, magical, nothing explaining her powers. Just based on what I see, I’d say she didn’t have any. And you don’t seem surprised.”

  Hope started—that last had been directed at her. “I’m not, really. Back home that’s pretty normal for breakthroughs. We’ve got no power-gene or detectable common source. The only way anyone can detect our powers is when we use them.”

  “Well it’s fascinating. Now I don’t know about TV Land, but you’re as real as anybody is. And your tick is off.”

  “My what?”

  “I’ve got no hu— English word for it.” Dabbler spread her hands and the light-board went away. “Your quantum-signature? That’s not what it is, but it’s as close as I can get. The universe we see is just a hyper-dimensional substrate of a much bigger thing. It’s not as simple as the parallel worlds Sydney is talking about, but you can spot a visitation from another substrate because its tick won’t match the local tick. So you’re definitely not from around here. Immigrating?”

  Not in a million years. “I’m just trying to get home. I ran out of juice here.”

  “So you’re wandering. Well, maybe I can help with that. But I’d need to tinker.”

  “Hmm.” Maxima considered the situation for a moment, her eyes traveling between Hope and Dabbler.

  Hope tried to maintain a pleasant but hopeful expression. “I appreciate whatever you can do for me—and while I’m here, if there’s any way I can help out…” The Arc-SWAT leader shrugged, looking more thoughtful and less scowly. Obviously Dabbler’s “Not from around here” was good enough for her—which didn’t mean Hope wasn’t a problem.

  “There are going to be liability issues with that,” she said finally. “At least until we can read you in on our specifics of super-powered law enforcement.”

  Hope nodded hard. “Of course ma’am—I’m good at rules. If nothing else, I could pay my way flying payloads for NASA.”

  Sydney perked up like someone had lit a light-bulb over her head, but before she could jump in one of the others, a tall and seriously buff woman standing behind her gave her shoulder a playful dig.

  “Wicked strong?” This woman’s thick Bostonian accent did not match her dark skin, copper-red hair, and sharp facial features. Her family roots were clearly Latin American—an impression strengthened by a trio of feathers woven into her long, side cut hair. Just shy of Maxima’s towering height, she was muscled like a decathlete-in-training. “You’re finally stahting to tahk like a civilized person!”

  “Well I learned from the best you peaky blinder—” Sydney comically tried to match her accent, laughed. “Nope, that was cockney.” She shook her head, blinked and brightened even more. “Oh, Astra, this is Varia! She’s Aztec, and a fan of the Red Sox, but don’t hold that against her…” She paused. “The… sports thing, not the Aztec thing, because… I mean, don’t hold the Aztec thing against her at all, obviously…” Sydney wound down. “Sports burn! Am I right?”

  “Yeah Sydney, wicked burn.” Varia shook her head, laughing.

  “But! Astra, you’ve got to shake Varia’s hand! I mean—” She tried hard to look innocent. “Don’t give her the clamps, just hold her hand. Oh, and take off your glove.”

  “Okaaay, and that will do what?” Hope started working the fingers on her right glove.

  “That’s what we’re going to find out. I’ve got a five on… armor!” Sydney dug into one of her pockets, pulled out a bill.

  “No!” Maxima said flatly. We’re not doing that in here. Not after the telekinesis vs force beam argument.”

  “C’mon, pleeeeease?” Sydney made puppy-eyes at her boss. “It’s hardly ever that dramatic.”

  Hope lowered her hand, wondering if she was being punked. “Should I be worried?”

  Varia shook her copper-maned head. “Nah, if anything, you’ll be the safest of us.” But she stepped back. “We’ll have to try it later, definitely if you’re hanging around awhile.”

  All-business and apparently satisfied that Hope wasn’t any kind of immediate threat, Maxima let Arianna herd them all back out of the Green Room and to the stage. Hope got the impression that this wasn’t their first rodeo; with the team less than a year old, she wondered how many comic cons and sci-fi conventions they’d barnstormed to get this unique demographic of American society behind them.

  And now they were back on-mission. Which didn’t mean that the Arc-SWAT heroes ignored her; when the rest of the team took the stage behind Maxima and Arianna, one of them—the uniformed goth-girl—attached herself to Hope. “So, do you guys do these things?”

  “Hmm?” Hope listened to Arianna’s pitch with half an ear. She was good, and everything she said confirmed what she’d read online—minus the conspiracy-theorists and worriers who declined to join the Arc-SWAT mania.

  “PR events? I’ve caught your show; I like the superhero-procedural stuff—it’s like Law and Order: The Tights-Division—but I don’t see you doing a lot of media work.”

  Hope pulled her attention from the stage. “We do a bit. Enough that I’ve learned about studio makeup and the special smile-and-wave.” A sudden, crushing weight of homesickness stopped her breath. She shook it off. She was going to get home, darn it. She was.

  “Hey, you okay?” The goth-girl gave her a look, obviously wondering if she was about to become a problem. Hope fished for a new subject.

  “And what do you do?”

  “Me? I’m a duplicative-combinatory teleporter. I’ve got five of me sharing one mind and occasionally one body with the strength of five.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Okay?” The girl blinked. “No questions?”

  “Nope. I’ve got stranger friends. Five yous, one mind, and you combine for extra umph. Got it. So then you’re with me since the other yous will be able to tell the rest if I do something off? Are you up on stage now, too?”

  The girl barked a laugh, held out her hand. “Harem. And yeah, I’m the white-haired one in the glasses.”

  They shook hands solemnly, Hope repressing a triumphant smile. Score one for Laconic Acceptance of Weird Shit, to use Jacky’s name for the important social skill. It was almost as important as Not Commenting on Crimes Against Fashion, needed for meeting a lot of capes; at least Arc-SWAT didn’t require her to use that skill.

  Hope opened her mouth to ask another question when Harem stopped her and pointed at the stage.

  “Let’s just enjoy the view for a moment,” she said, watching the presentation with sparkling
eyes.

  Hope turned and looked up at the only male member of the team who had made it to the convention today. A muscular and ruggedly handsome Asian American, he stepped up beside the podium to a crescendo of mostly female squeals from the audience. It didn’t hurt that he had ditched his jacket and was wearing just a tight fitted black t-shirt. Hope had shaken his hand earlier, but spent the rest of the time trying not to stare at him. He wasn’t supernaturally attractive (Hope had met her share of those), but he was definitely easy on the eyes.

  And his pants seemed awfully snug for combat fatigues.

  “That’s Super Hiro. Great angle to watch from, isn’t it?” Harem sighed as Hope flushed, tearing her eyes away.

  “Super Hiro?”

  “I know, right?” The two girls giggled, and Hope could see the Harem up on stage trying to suppress her laughter as well. Sitting next to her, Sydney wanted in on the joke; Hope couldn’t quite hear the explanation over the noise of the crowd, but the hand gestures Harem made brought her flush back.

  “What are you telling her?” she asked, not at all sure if she wanted to know.

  “I promise it’s nothing about you wanting to spank him.” Harem said, contradicting her pantomime on stage.

  “Hey—no!” Could she get any redder?

  Maxima snapped her fingers at the pair on stage, an unmistakable “I will turn this car around” expression on her face. That stopped the laughter as Arianna retook the podium to wrap up the presentation.

  The smartly-dressed woman neatly stacked her notes, smiling at the avid crowd. “As always, if you do happen to have super powers, we will be conducting preliminary interviews to see if you’re Arc-SWAT material.”

  Maxima pushed in to commandeer the lectern. “And if your power is to manipulate butter, then get a job at Parkay!” A ripple of laughter ran through the audience as she openly scowled at the room. “And I want to remind everyone that having a neat idea for a power set and superhero name is not a power! Neither is a cool design for a costume! We don’t even wear costumes!” The laughter only climbed and Hope hid her smile behind her hand, imaging an apparently humorless Maxima fuming at a line of imaginative applicants. “I mean it! We don’t do pitches! Save that crap for publishers!” She stepped back and Arianna resumed her place at the mic as the laughter crested and died.

  “And!” The publicist shot a glare at the Arc-SWAT leader, who ignored it, before smiling widely at the settling crowd. “We will be doing handshakes with Varia as well. I would like to remind you all that it is Varia who gets the power and not you, and while you will be immune to whatever she manifests, the floor might not be. So we have moved that session out from under the sprinkler systems to the picnic field on the west side of the convention center.” More laughter and applause told Hope everyone knew the story there.

  She should have done more research at the library.

  “That said,” Arianna finished smoothly, timed perfectly to fading claps. “It is pretty cool to be able to stand next to someone made out of fire without getting burnt!”

  Hope had to admit that Archon’s PR girl knew how to rock her podium—she imagined Arianna and The Harlequin having “a productive power lunch”—but something was going on behind her as she put a cap on her speech. Hope watched Sydney nudge Varia, and when the bronzed Bostonian waved her off the girl called her fuscia orb to her hand. Hope blinked as the ball sprouted a tentacle that looked like a flexible blue glowing tube, what you’d get if you animated a neon bar sign.

  The thing was as thick as Hope’s forearm but longer, and Sydney used it to prod Varia up next to Arianna, who‘d segued into attempting to dismiss websites devoted to “what Varia’s power gestalt says about your personality.” Seeing Varia being herded toward her, she gave the crowd an “Ok I guess I will” eye roll, sparking more applause, and held out her hand. Varia took it and—

  Holy crap on a cracker.

  Hope blinked as the big Bostonian burst into pure white light, an aura of yellow flames enveloping her silhouette. She shielded her eyes—darned super-duper vision—but still saw Arianna waving her hand through the flames licking around Varia without harm.

  Sydney flew up above the stage as the audience cheered, calling another orb to her hand. This one popped a blueish shield into existence around her. “Don’t miss!” She called down playfully.

  Varia aimed her free hand at Sydney but Arianna desperately intercepted, hopping on her toes and waving her free hand in between the two of them. “Not in here! Sprinklers! You’ll melt my tablet!” She tried to twist her hand from Varia’s grip while keeping the free one interposed between the two heroines, the cheers turning to laughter as the two women danced about.

  Maxima finally barked at her rambunctious private (in what organization was a woman that powerful a private?) to fall in and Varia released Arianna’s hand, returning to her caramel colored self. It looked like the show was over.

  Hope had started to relax, when a crack like the first peal of thunder shook the hall and a brilliant flash of red struck Sydney’s shield with an air-splitting boom. Hope found herself in the air without thinking, ready to help the girl before her clearing vision showed no help was needed; unharmed by the blast, Sydney looked as confused as everyone else.

  Hope turned to track the source of the beam. It wasn’t difficult to find, but she couldn’t believe what she saw. In the crowded hall a clear space had sprouted around a man dressed in a blue full bodysuit. Short brown hair stuck out of the top of his attached costume mask. His boots, gloves, belt, and crossed bandoliers were vibrant yellow and only the black “X” over a circular red badge where the two straps of the yellow bandolier connected broke the blue-yellow color scheme—that and the golden mono-goggles attached to the mask, shaped as a single red lens across his eyes. A glowing red lens.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  “Whoa, nice cosplay!” Sydney declared.

  Maxima looked at the much too familiar fictional character, then back at Astra with an arched eyebrow before returning her attention to the new player.

  “Attacking a federal agent is a serious offence!” She barked. “Stand down and explain yourself immediately!” Maxima didn’t use his name, as if that would validate the weirdness of a second fictional superhero appearing at the convention. She stared down Halo’s impossible attacker, giving cover as behind her her team slipped earpieces into place and unsnapped holsters. Even Arianna was going to work as she backed off the stage, phone in hand.

  Hope couldn’t fail to notice that none of them were moving like they were in the exposed sights of a shooter, which told her everything she needed to know about their confidence in their leader’s ability to intercept and take the hit.

  Impossible guy wasn’t as impressed.

  “You imposters can’t be allowed to fool these people any longer!” the man who couldn’t be who he was yelled out. “I’m here to put an end to this sham!” He pressed a button on the side of his visor and another red beam struck Maxima. The golden woman simply held her hand out as if trying to keep a bright light out of her eyes, the beam hitting it with another flash and crack of released energy and as much actual effect as a flashlight beam. Not what her attacker had been expecting; the goggles hid his eyes, but his body language told Hope that he’d been looking for a much more dramatic result.

  “If you’re who I think you are,” Maxima said in a measured tone, lowering her hand, “then you don’t want to do this with civilians present. I don’t know what you think is going on, but let’s not have some misunderstanding-based superhero crossover fight that we can easily avoid.”

  His response was to twist a dial on his visor and fire a much more powerful beam. This time the effect was more dramatic; it would have punched Hope through the wall, and the shockwave from the blast forced the crowd back further back. Some of the audience headed for toward the exits, but others just applauded, obviously thinking it was part of the show, and a good number of the ones who didn’t already
have phones out for the presentation produced them and started recording. Hope felt herself coiling. This could go bad in so many ways.

  All it did to Maxima was toss her hair around—an irresistible force meeting a determinedly immovable object—though she did have to lean into the blast to hold her position on the stage. And Hope could see her decide this wasn’t going to be resolved peacefully. “Harem!” she barked.

  Hope expected the Harem who’d been standing next to her to respond, but instead a third Harem appeared in a burst of purple energy just behind the assailant. This Harem, an athletic strawberry blonde, swung a pneumatic syringe straight at his neck and would have got him if his hand hadn’t already been up working the visor. Catching the new Harem’s wrist before she could plunge the needle home, he tossed her with a textbook Judo shoulder throw. Hope instinctively dropped hard to cover her as he turned to track his would-be assailant, but she vanished before connecting with the ground.

  Where—

  Twisting back around with impressive speed he fired a blast behind him—he’d obviously dealt with teleporters before. The beam cut empty air to strike explosively halfway up the wall, showering convention goers with drywall as Harem appeared several feet above him. She turned the momentum of his throw into a vicious axe kick that connected with top of his head and staggered him into the arms of a fourth appearing Harem. This one got her needle in where it belonged, and he slumped to the ground as the crowd began to cheer.

  Hope moved to put herself next to the fallen superhuman, but again it wasn’t necessary; the team went into what had to be a well-rehearsed processing mode. The newly arrived blonde Harem pulled off his mask while the other did the same with his gloves. One teleported away, then back again with a small kit and they began fingerprinting and photographing him. Halo floated down from her perch to land beside Hope.