Another trail of Internet links led him to what had been labeled a ‘gang shoot-out’ in Seattle a few weeks ago. One resourceful journalist had connected Mascot’s detainment by the Covenant to several dead gang members as well as to the smoldering remains of a mysterious robotic weapon that had disappeared before the public hysteria that followed. If Andrey’s gut could be trusted, it had Data’s signature all over it.
Mascot had a run-in with Gentleman long before I did.
He remembered the night the girl had transitioned. The UNEOA had dispatched him to assess Christina’s emotional state and determine whether she might pose a threat to society. He found her on the dark Seattle shoreline, cowering in a cavernous rock outcrop. He remembered his empathetic feelings toward the teen, but he was called to South Africa to deal with Monsoon’s power surge before he got the chance to talk to her.
Did you know we almost met that day, Christina? he wondered, smiling at her picture on the screen.
A few clicks later, Andrey looked at a picture that had been printed on the front page of Seattle’s largest daily newspaper the morning after Mascot’s transition. It showed her in a pair of jogging pants and a gray hoodie with the hood covering most of her chin-length brown hair. She glowered at the camera, her almond-shaped eyes narrowed to thin slits.
Angry at herself and the world, he guessed. But mostly at herself.
Boy, did he know that feeling.
He was about to close out of the Internet browser to check the girl’s file in the candy box when a blinking pop-up banner caught his attention. It showed a small icon of Mascot’s bear helmet alongside a television camera. Cheerful green letters appeared beside the icon, inviting him to check out EvoLife’s live stream of the ongoing Wardens interview. A glance at the computer clock revealed it was half past twelve local time in San Francisco. The live stream was scheduled to start thirty minutes ago. He hoped he hadn’t missed it.
One click on the banner took him to ANBE’s homepage. The top headline informed him the live interview was ongoing, with a small integrated video to prove it. Another click loaded the live feed, and a moment later Andrey watched a full-screen view of three Wardens sitting on a couch while the host, a round-faced thirty-something man, asked them questions about the attacks in New York.
For two minutes, Andrey watched Christina answer questions before her challenge, directed at the nearest camera, turned his curiosity to concern. An uneasy feeling settled in his gut.
She’s charging blind again, he realized. This time her target was Gentleman, and the stakes were far higher. What was she thinking, goading the world’s most notorious villain like that? He toyed with the idea of sending her a text message to warn her, but his own media appearances taught him that all phones were turned off during an interview. The text would never reach her while the show was still ongoing.
He watched the remaining ten minutes of the live stream, his fingers drumming against the helmet on his desk. When the host said his goodbyes, Andrey invested a few minutes to watch the video one more time before instructing Iris to dial Christina’s number.
The answer came after nine rings. “Hello?” a girl’s voice answered, speaking over a young man’s chuckles in the background.
“Mascot?” he asked.
“Yes, speaking. Who’s this?” The four words were sufficient to match the voice to the one who left the message on his answering machine.
“Radiant. You wanted to talk to me?”
The male teen’s chuckles cut off. During the stunned silence that followed, Andrey heard Christina gasp in what he assumed was surprise. There were muffled words, too quiet for him to understand, before she was back on the line. “Okay. What can I do for you?”
You don’t remember? He faltered. You’re the one who called me.
His confusion lasted only for the second it took him to realize what she was doing. She was testing him like Rune had tested him.
Smart girl. Gentleman was known as a convincing voice imitator.
“You left me a message asking me to call you back, remember?” he said.
“Oh, yeah.” Her voice eased a fraction. “Hi, Radiant.”
“Listen, Christina, we need to talk. I watched the show.”
“Oh. And?”
“You underestimate who you’re dealing with. Gentleman will go after the people you love before he comes for you.” He half expected her to argue the point, but she remained silent.
When she didn’t answer, he went on. “Listen, I’m worried, and we need to discuss it. Can you talk now?” Another brief pause was filled by muffled whispers. Andrey took advantage of the break in their conversation to open the Warden-related files in the candy box. He had skimmed the first paragraph when Christina’s reply came through the computer speakers.
“What are you worried about?”
She’s cautious, he noted with relief. If the Wardens are smart about it, perhaps they can undo what they started without anyone getting hurt.
“It’s complicated,” he said. “I’d like to meet you and your teammates as soon as possible, but we’ll need to take precautions. I don’t want to drag you into anymore trouble.”
She whispered hushed words to her companions before responding. “I thought you dropped off the face of the earth when you didn’t show in New York.”
Andrey flexed his fingers absently, the events of the past days still simmering inside him. He didn’t want to go there. What he wanted was to watch out for these inexperienced, overconfident teenagers who had no idea how to deal with villains. Or what it meant to be a hero.
“Look, I only wanted to warn you. You’re in the big leagues now, and people can get hurt. I want to help you any way I can.”
He heard another whisper coming from a different girl in the background. He couldn’t make out the words, but her tone was hostile.
Christina sounded defensive now. “You don’t have to treat us with kid gloves because we’re teenagers. I mean, I’m a Guardian. I’ve proven myself.”
Andrey looked at the face shot of Christina on his monitor, the one where she glowered from the Seattle Sun’s front page. She looked like a girl who was used to facing the world head-on. Despite the serious background of their conversation, he couldn’t help but smile.
“I suppose that’s true,” he admitted. “How about this. Once you’re home from the TV studio, give me a call. But don’t do anything rash until then, all right? We’ll figure everything else out together.”
More muffled speech trickled through the line before Christina responded. “How about this. We’ll call you back, but only to confirm a meeting place. Got it? There are those of us who aren’t convinced that this is the real Radiant on the line.”
“Fair enough.”
“And we choose the location,” the girl insisted.
Andrey’s smile broadened. There was something about this girl that appealed to the teenager inside himself, the kid who was still eager to set out and prove his worth. “It’s up to you,” he agreed, already deciding that he wanted her on his new team.
***
An ice cream parlor?
Andrey lowered his sunglasses to study the storefront of the Corner House Ice Cream Parlor where the cabbie dropped him off. It was late afternoon in San Francisco, and the city’s Cole Valley district bustled with activity. Everywhere except for this place, where not a single visitor was to be seen. The guest room beyond the front room, painted lime green and yellow, was completely deserted, and none of the small green tables on the tiny outdoor patio had been claimed.
We agreed to meet someplace quiet, he thought. Not someplace that’s abandoned.
He pushed his shades back, staring at his reflection in the front window. He saw a tall, athletic man in an average American outfit of blue jeans and a t-shirt with a trendy gray beanie and cheap drugstore sunglasses. All of it was an attempt to conceal his well-known appearance and blend in.
He was about to dig his phone out of his front jeans pocke
t and call Christina to double check the address when a young male voice called out behind him. “Hey, hero! You’re late.”
Andrey turned to see Peter, one of the three Wardens he was scheduled to meet. The brown-haired boy wasn’t in costume, nor were the two girls who trailed a few steps behind him.
So these are the young American heroes.
He wasn’t all that surprised by the absence of their team leader. The previous phone conversation left him with the impression that the Wardens didn’t have any intention of getting Joshua Whitfield involved, at least not until after their meeting. He already knew from Iris that the young Empath, Kid, had been removed from their team for security reasons.
He eyed the trio walking to him. Nora’s mane of long black cornrows was tied into a ponytail, spilling over the back of her red tank top and brushing the waistband of her baggy camo cargo pants. Christina, hobbling beside her on one crutch, had ditched the gray hoodie she had worn in almost every picture. Instead she wore simple white t-shirt with a Chinese symbol on the front. Her left arm was in a bright blue cast adorned with stickers and signatures, supported by a sling in a matching color.
“Hello, Wardens,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets, aware of Gentleman’s phone tucked in his back pocket and set to vibrate so it wouldn’t disrupt his meeting.
Peter flashed him a grin, but neither one of the two girls acknowledged him. Christina’s eyes flicked over his disguised appearance without revealing anything while Nora stared at him with wary dark eyes.
Christina adjusted her weight on her crutch and hopped to Peter’s side, clenching her teeth in grim determination. Andrey internally winced. I hope you get the chance to heal before the villain you summoned catches you.
He nodded at her bandaged ankle. “That looks painful. Are you sure you should be out and about?”
Christina didn’t reply. Her face was a blank wall, framed by the wisps of dark brown hair that had escaped her short ponytail.
He felt almost as uncomfortable as he felt back at Rune’s Liverpool hotel suite when Skyfire scrutinized him. “Please excuse my tardiness,” he said, looking between the three Wardens. “The traffic here is as bad as it was in New York.”
“Oh, man, tell me about it,” Peter commiserated. “I was there for like, almost a day back when the attack happened, and the gridlock was unbelievable!”
After Christina shot Peter a look, he stopped talking. “What’s with the beanie?” she asked, her eyes narrowing at the sight of Andrey’s outfit.
He glanced at his own legs. “Consider it a different kind of costume. I’ve become sort of a persona non grata, and I didn’t want to get you into trouble by drawing attention to myself.”
Peter sidled up even closer to him, not discouraged. “Cool, man. The President’s about to adjust the costume law anyway. Which will be great for us, after what happened to Qu—” He broke off there, giving Andrey a rueful look.
“After what happened to Queenie, you mean,” Andrey finished for him, glad that he could broach the subject without an overwhelming urge to smash something. The sadness would always linger, but he knew he had to keep moving forward. For her sake as much as his own.
“Yeah,” Peter echoed. “That. The hero costumes kind of make us walking targets, you know?”
“Oh, I know. So, should we head inside?” Andrey looked at the shop door before glancing at the two girls, who watched him with the same icy expressions.
Right. Perhaps I’m not as irresistible as Kathy makes me out to be.
Peter produced a small key from his shorts pocket and showed it off with pride. “I’ll open. My cousin’s married to the owner, and she agreed to lend me the key. They’re renovating this week, and haven’t officially reopened yet.”
As the teenager unlocked the door and motioned for the others to follow him inside, Andrey stayed back to hold the door open for the girls. Christina hopped over the threshold on her one good foot, flashing him a look that said, ‘I’m not a cripple, old man.’ Nora followed close behind her.
Before entering the shop, Andrey scanned the busy road in both directions to be on the safe side. Years of working alongside special forces had sharpened his instinct for trouble. Right at that moment, anyone showing too much interest in the ice cream parlor would alarm him.
Satisfied that there weren’t any suspicious individuals nearby, he took off his sunglasses and stepped into the shop while letting the glass-paneled door close behind him.
The Wardens had already settled at one of the lime green tables near the back of the parlor, next to an old-fashioned jukebox and as far away from the front windows as possible. Nora slid Christina’s chair out for her, leaning her crutch against the wall before taking a seat herself. Peter chose a chair on the end and spun it around, saddling it backwards and folding his arms across the top.
Andrey pulled the fourth chair out for himself. “We should keep this short. I hope you don’t mind if I cut straight to the heart of the matter.”
“Fine by me,” Christina declared.
Peter rested his chin on his folded forearms. “Sure.”
Andrey sat, dropping heavily into his chair. “You’re playing with fire, calling Gentleman out like that.”
Christina adjusted her sling, taking her time to formulate a response. “We know. I was there when he shot half a dozen people with his freak robot.”
“What exactly do you want with him? What are you hoping to get out of this?”
“Well, to get information from him for one thing. He’s our only lead to whoever orchestrated those attacks,” Christina said. “I think he’ll talk to me without shooting me, so I may as well be the one to try. I mean, come on, somebody’s got to do something.”
I can’t argue with that, but these kids are in way over their heads.
“That’s noble of you, but I’m not sure you guys are aware of who you’re up against. Gentleman’s not stupid. He engages with the opposition when he knows he’ll come out on top. I had a run-in with him two days ago. Trust me, he knew exactly what buttons to push. I hope none of you ever end up in the same position.”
The memory of his encounter with Gentleman ignited his temper, his hand afire with a tingle of furious energy. He moved his hands beneath the table to his knees where the teenagers wouldn’t see his fingers balled into white-knuckled fists.
“Two days ago was Tuesday,” Christina pointed out. “Is that why you didn’t show at the attacks in New York? Because you were too busy getting your ‘buttons pushed’ while innocent people were terrorized?”
No, but…. Andrey shifted in his seat. He didn’t want to go there, and he didn’t like the feeling of being found out.
“Yes,” he admitted clearing his throat and hardening his tone. “While I respect and appreciate that you want to do something to help, you’re young and inexperienced. I can’t let you get involved in something like this.”
“Athena doesn’t think we’re too young and inexperienced,” Christina muttered.
She had a point. Athena wouldn’t have given the girl Andrey’s personal number if she had any doubts about the Warden’s ability.
Christina continued without giving him a chance to respond. “Besides, why didn’t you ask for help if you couldn’t handle Gentleman on your own? I mean, surely you knew I fought him before. Anyone can get my number if they try hard enough.”
Andrey didn’t know whether to be frustrated or amused by the way the teenage girl took control of the conversation.
“It was something that the speed of light couldn’t help with. Besides, it happened in Russia. You wouldn’t have been able to get there in time,” he added.
After thinking about it, he couldn’t deny that having a Guardian on hand may have changed the outcome of his run-in with Gentleman back at his brother’s apartment.
“Hey, guys,” Peter cut in. “Let’s talk about what’s next, shall we? About working together from now on?” The young man wiggled his eyebrows at the prospect, ig
noring the scowl Nora gave him from across the table.
“Let’s,” Andrey agreed. “I talked to Mr. Turner a week or two ago. He was of the opinion that in order to work with the Wardens, I needed to go through the official channels first. Athena suggested cooperation to Mr. Whitfield, but she never mentioned if your team leader gave her a definite answer.”
The Wardens exchanged glances. Peter cleared his throat while Nora inspected the retro art poster that hung on the wall beside them.
Christina frowned now, looking less comfortable than she had a moment ago. “When was that? Because Josh … died.”
Andrey was shocked for a second before remembering something he heard before about what happened to a Visionary named The Counselor. He failed to make the connection to Joshua Whitfield, leader of the American hero team. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize….”
Having terrible name memory wasn’t something a hero or anyone, for that matter, enjoyed admitting to.
“Why don’t you tell us what you know about Gentleman,” Christina suggested, reaching into her jogging pants pocket to retrieve a crumpled cigarette packet. She must have seen the look of disapproval on his face because she sank back into her seat. “Do you mind?” There was a look of watchful calculation about her.
“No,” he lied, concerned that the teenagers at the table would write him off as a narrow-minded old man. Teenagers didn’t value narrow-minded old man opinions, especially not when they were berated for smoking. He would have to endure the stench.
Christina produced a cigarette from the packet. “Okay. Thanks. You were about to tell us about Gentleman?”
“How much do you know about his powerset?” Andrey began.
“You tell us what you know first,” Nora said, speaking for the first time since they were seated.
“Well, his illusions are similar to Mirage’s, but more flexible,” he explained. “What I mean is they’re not stationary. He attaches them to moving people and objects, rendering them invisible or letting them assume the identity of his choice.”
Peter fell back into his seat. “Whoa. Scary.”
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