“Which doesn’t mean we can be seen as turtling up, everyone.” I gathered everyone’s attention. “Quin has prepared a set of activities, including interviews, to maintain our media-presence and make things look as much like business as normal as possible. Quin?”
She fielded my handoff nicely, and I tried to keep my head in the meeting—or at least look attentive, my mind a Dome-level away.
* * *
“Saint Michael, defender of man, stand with us in the day of battle. Saint Jude, giver of hope, be with us in our desperate hour. Saint Christopher, bearer of burdens, be with us when we fall.”
God wouldn’t mind me saying a Catholic prayer for a Shinto kami, even if the Pope might.
The monitors by Kitsune’s bed beeped and chirped in lulling, monotone rhythm. I’d done most of my team-leader work from a chair by his bed last night, and even, in quiet tones, had a long talk with Jacky before she went out. Jacky was still an animated corpse, not the living breathing daywalker Future-Me knew, and at least that I was going to fix.
After that I’d dreamed, sleeping where I sat, a dream with tones of fear and a need to fight that bordered on nightmarish. There’d been Kitsune as Yoshi, cautious, comforting, but urging a decision—the decision I knew explained our elopement and all this. It was the first dream in a long time that I couldn’t remember with crystal clarity when I woke up and I almost cried in frustration as it slipped away.
Everything was wrong, and I didn’t know how to make it right. “I know why you have to go solo,” I told Kitsune, slouching back in my chair. “But we have so much to talk about when you wake up. If we’re still here. If the game goes past that kind of a win.”
“Game?” Lei Zi asked from the infirmary doors. She stepped in and let them close. Turning back, I realized Dr. Beth had retreated to his office for now, leaving us alone.
I shrugged and told her my theory that someone had to be messing with me. With us.
“Well, if it benefits the rest of us then I don’t mind,” she decided, taking another chair. “Hard on you, though. Why didn’t you tell me about Johnny Cho?”
“Because it was need-to-know? Seriously, Johnny Cho’s plan here is the same as the Ascendant’s, and since Kitsune was already after him and there’s a local leak. Blackstone taught me that the worst kept secrets are ones where you tell someone you don’t have to ‘Now keep this a secret, but—’”
That got a short laugh. “I’d wondered if it was because I’m Chinese.”
It took me a minute to realize what she meant, and I sucked in a breath. “No! Just, really, just no.”
“Are you sure? My parents were party members. I grew up in Beijing and would have inherited their place in the party myself. There’s a reason my Army postings were all to the Middle East and not any of the Chinese states.”
“Yeah, where you’d have been targeted as a traitor! My gosh, you’d have been, what, number one on One Land’s hit-list anywhere in Asia? You took the oath of citizenship, not to mention an officer’s oath. Blackstone vetted you. Don’t you know why?”
She blinked, as close to nonplussed as I’d ever seen her. “I’d assumed for my experience and power.”
“And because you’re Chinese.” I nearly rolled my eyes. “Everything we do has a public-relations angle to it. Just ask Quin about the reasons she gave for the Sentinels signing me on.”
“So I’m a token.”
“No. You’re a symbol. When people see you they see someone who’s American by choice. Someone who’s adopted us because of who we are. Sure, we gave your family a safe-haven. You didn’t need to repay the debt this way.”
“I did, really.”
I shrugged. “So your choice was the same as mine. Duty.”
She was back to being unreadable. “We’ve talked a few times over the years, haven’t we?”
“Yeah . . . Sorry. I know lots more about you than you do about me. You told me about the whole symbol thing yourself.”
“But you sound angry about it. Why?”
I sighed and pulled off my mask, rubbed my tired eyes. If it wasn’t my fellow leader’s place to ask, whose was it?
“I didn’t see or understand a lot of this, the first time around, okay? I was preoccupied. And eighteen. The worst thing about it is everyone’s right, at least a little bit. Humanity First is right—there really are breakthroughs conspiring to burn it all down and take over what’s left. And the Ascendancy’s right—a lot of non-powered people want breakthroughs dead. Or interned or low-jacked.”
My co-leader sat back, contemplating me. “Are you having an existential crisis?”
“No. I know who the bad guys are. Most breakthroughs just want to live free and safe. Most non-powered citizens don’t want to put us in camps.”
She smiled. A smile for her, anyway. “Have you thought that perhaps the ones who fear us are afraid because, in their hearts, they know they’d do what they’re afraid of if they were us?”
I unwound that sentence in my head. “I don’t think they’re that self-aware. And yes Kitsune, I know you’re awake and aware. Oh my gosh, you’re the only one I know who would wake up from being shot and fake sleep just to eavesdrop on a conversation that doesn’t concern you.”
Lei Zi tried very, very hard not to laugh as Kitsune opened his eyes. She laughed with her lips and her crinkling eyes, but to give her credit she kept it quiet. “I’ll leave you alone to debrief her, then.”
I watched her go, shook my head, and got Kitsune a cup of water. “Don’t—” I shut up as he pulled the breathing tube out of his nose and the IV from his arm and then changed to Rei with a shiver and gasp of pain.
“ . . . Dr. Beth’s going to be really put out that he didn’t see that.”
“I’ll make it—” She cleared her throat, accepted the water. “I’ll make it up to him. Why am I here?”
“And not in a hospital surrounded by people who don’t know you shed on the bed? Because I asked why Nemesis triggered months early and against a different target.” I giggled at her stare. “What? You’re not the only one who can think twisty thoughts. Blackstone and Jacky trained me.” I took her hand where it lay atop the sheets and gently squeezed. The knot inside me unwound a little. “So, how could you be Shokwave?”
“I knew him.”
“You knew the drummer. He wasn’t powered, and you don’t copy powers anyway.”
“A Merlin-Type I know gave me a pair of gloves that allowed me to broadcast my chi for the Shokwave effect.”
“Then it’s a good thing we have your stuff.” I moved over to carefully sit on the edge of the bed. “If you try and get up I’ll stop you.”
She went for the suggestive smile. “I enjoy sharing a bed with you.”
I couldn’t stop my blush but I ignored it. “I’m laughing. This my laughing face. And that brings up my next question.”
“So this really is a debriefing?” She sighed.
“Yes. Did you learn anything? And why aren’t you Yoshi? Why Rei?”
“No, I didn’t. And because you don’t remember everything, yet. Yoshi wants things that aren’t fair to you right now.”
That broke my focus. “Huh? And Rei?”
“Rei’s straight.” Her familiar grin widened. “Not that she’s not affectionate.”
And darn it, I’d lost again; I could feel the hot flush rising. I let go of her hand. “I’ll tell Fisher to look at who might have got to Nemesis. What do you need?”
She sighed again, smile fading. “The wound’s gone, but I’m still weak. It’s a kami thing. So I just need rest. Close to you.” And she changed again, curling up, shrinking into herself until a white seven-tailed fox lay in the bed, breathing hard and watching me.
“Dr. Beth should— Oh for the love of Pete. C’mon.” Carefully picking Kitsune up, like I would a sick Graymalkin, I carried her off to my rooms.
Chapter Twenty Four
“So Astra might not be who we thought she was. So what? She’s never claimed
a specific age—only that she’d reached her legal majority. Rereading official statements, nobody ever explicitely claimed her breakthrough even happened in the Ashland Overpass Bombing; they just introduced her as a ‘newly discovered breakthrough.’ And if she really is much older and more experienced than we thought, what better way to protect her private identity, as a cape?
“Which doesn’t mean Astra’s inauthentic. You can’t do the things we know she’s done, been through what she has, and not mean it. All of it. So go watch Sentinels if you want the fluffy appearance; I’ll take the Astra who fought at Whittier Base and who’s leading the team now.”
Terry Reinhold, Citywatch.
* * *
“Astra! Why didn’t you tell us of your experience?”
“Astra! Do you have any comment on the situation with Botswana?”
“Astra! How long did you really know Atlas?”
I didn’t react to the absurd and prurient questions, didn’t look at Quin—the attending media would sense fear. Terry (the traitor) didn’t raise his hand with a sensible question. To be fair, he didn’t know the signal Future Me’d worked out with him after my first Young Sentinels media briefing.
Quin had decided to use the open foundation of the still under-construction Atlas Memorial to stage the afternoon event. She’d chosen the site because of what we shared it with; the growing impromptu memorial.
Just like after the Whittier Base Attack, Chicagoans had braved the February weather to stand vigil and leave their tokens. Over the past couple of days the memorial site had filled up with flowers, candles, and pictures of the twenty-seven civilians slain in the Dome Attack. Blackstone’s shrine was only one of many, something I was sure he appreciated—he might have been a showman but he never hogged the spotlight. We’d only moved enough of the stuff to make room for the mics and platform.
The press-conference location met Lei Zi’s approval, too. Tactically the place was wide open and perfect for fast-evacuation (CPD and DSA units inconspicuously but thoroughly occupied all approaches). With the memorial shrines and the Dome as a backdrop, Quin also hoped the media would focus on the serious aspects of the past week as we tried to sell me.
Yeah . . .
“Astra! Was this a cover for a long-term relationship with Atlas?”
I held up both hands.
“Stop! First, I will take questions one at a time from journalists polite enough to raise a hand. Second, I will not answer questions that were already answered by my statement today or the media drop you all received. I will not comment on the situation in Botswana—I don’t know anything about it you don’t. Next, there in front.”
The journalist who’s press pass was for a national news agency said “Astra, there are rumors of a record nobody knows about. That explains your experience, but not how the Sentinels can accept you now, with only months of experience with them.”
I nodded. “I can see where that might look odd, however it isn’t true that I haven’t had longer experience with them. I have worked with several of the current Sentinels, again, in situations I can’t talk about. I’ve also led teams put together for specific situations, exercises they’re also aware of.”
I gave everyone and the cameras a carefully calibrated smile. “Next question, there, second row.”
“So then, Astra, how old are you and why did you let parts of the media give you such a hard time about your age?”
I let the smile widen a bit. “Let them? Really. Since I was never going to show my driver’s license, leaving it at I’m a legal adult was the only way to leave it. How many people would have believed me if I’d claimed to be old enough to drink? And no, I’m still not going to give you my age. Next question, over behind . . .”
Despite the light dusting of snow starting to fall, nobody seemed inclined to call it a day when Quin politely called an end to the questions ten minutes later. She joked with the journalists but firmly ended the media event. “Review your copy of Astra’s statement, everyone, and then focus on what’s really important here. There are still victims of the attack in the hospital, and families of the wounded and dead who need our attention. A memorial service for all who fell will be held in Millennial Park in three days, and we, and the city, need to prepare. Thank you for your time.”
Light-headed, I waited until we’d stepped away from the mics and turned back towards the Dome to mutter “Well, that went well.”
Never, ever assume a mic in front of you is dead. Quin’s first public-relations lesson.
“Believe it or not, it did.” Quin looked back quickly at the dispersing crowd. “No veiled accusations of slackness or incompetence made as questions. Some of that will come later, from the usual critics. They’ll ask how an attack could penetrate the Dome in the first place, or why we keep parts of it open to the public at all. If we didn’t have the public spaces, they’d accuse us of ‘hiding from the public that employs us.’”
“Wow, bitter much?” Shell piped up.
My BFF had obviously shared that through Quin’s earbud, because she smiled. “Just experienced with the more agenda-driven members of our fine media. They’re not all like that.”
“Well, good.” I nudged the taller woman, careful of her costume ruffles. “Since I’d hate to think you felt that way about Terry . . .”
She stopped dead in her tracks. “What about Terry? What do you know?”
Blinking, I realized the game was totally unfair. “Nothing except he keeps asking you to off-the-record drinks. Honestly, Andrew—”
Shell materialized beside us. “Hope, Fisher called. You need to put your Superhuman Crimes Liaison hat on.”
Quin tweaked my cape. “Go on, play with the detective, tell me about Andrew later.” I went, lifting off. Shell virtual-flagged an old apartment building south of the Loop as soon as I climbed high enough to see.
“What’s going on?”
“They found Nemesis’ secret lair.”
“His what?”
“You’ll see.”
* * *
Always in favor of the Peter Pan entrance, Shell highlighted a fire-escape window as I descended. Knocking on the window, I managed to step inside without being too awkward about it.
“Wow.”
Fisher looked up from the notebook in his hand. “Kid, you really need to expand your vocabulary. Didn’t they give you one on your super-secret spy adventures?”
“I’ll stick with wow for this.” It really was a lair. City maps covered one wall, the armory covered the others, and the rest of the room was dominated by a work table and an open space for working out. Nemesis had enough assault weapons to start a small war. There were racks of pistols, bins of magazines and even grenades. Crime scene people bustled about opening drawers and boxing it all.
None of this had been found in his apartment the first time around with Future Me. They’d found some extra guns, some Humanity First literature that hinted he’d started dialing in on breakthroughs as the threat, but nothing like this. “This isn’t Nemesis’ apartment.”
“Nope,” Fisher agreed. “This is his secret lair. After you suggested that Nemesis might not have been acting alone, the team dug into his credit history, movements, social-media. We found out about this place only because his phone records turned up the building super’s number. We showed him a picture and he brought us up here. Nemesis rented it under a different identity. You going to tell me how you knew there was more to him?”
“Uh-oh . . .” Shell whispered. I squirmed inside and gave him a smile of apology.
“I really can’t, sorry.” Looking for a distraction, I focused on the map wall. “Do you know what these maps are about?” They were mostly the south side of the city. Lots of colored pins, no pattern I could see.
“Gang activity. Drugs, hangouts, associated businesses.” He held up the notebook. “It looks like he was planning a war against the gangs.”
“Nothing about breakthroughs in there?”
“Not even a s
cribble. So, what can you tell me?”
“He was a weapon. Someone we’re looking for pointed him at one of ours.”
“You knew about him?”
“Blackstone had him on his list, but didn’t know anything about this.” I waved at the maps. Had all this still been here later, in my own “history”? I found it hard to believe Future-Fisher wouldn’ have found this second location; did we miss it, or did Nemesis dismantle it himself as his obsession shifted?
“Mm hm. Am I going to get to talk to ‘Shokwave?’” He took the cig out of his mouth. “Because all this shadow-world stuff plays great in the theater, but real civilians are dying out here. Whoever’s pulling the strings, I want him.”
I sighed. “I know. Have you found any—” I heard the click and rising whine from the cabinets and dove for the officer opening the drawer. “Bomb! Everyone out now!” The bang hit my ears with the wet blast, and then everyone was coughing.
“What— What was that?” Fisher wheezed. The officer who’d opened the box sat stunned on the floor.
“Aerosol bomb! Nobody breathe! Out! Now!” I smelled almonds. “Shell, cyanide compound—get Sifu and whatever we need!”
“Oh God, oh God, okay, right, cyanide aerosol, okay, he’s coming—get everyone exposed to the blast to strip and shower now. Skin, hair, clothes are contaminated. Sifu’s coming!”
When I relayed Shell’s instructions, throwing open the window, Fisher didn’t pause a second. “Franklin, Jesse, knock next door and across the hall! Nobody answers, knock the doors down! Everyone, you will strip, you will shower! Move, move, move!” He led the way while Shell babbled in my head.
“Hope you too! It won’t kill you, but it will make you vomit spectacularly!”
“You have got to be kidding me!” I followed the uniform I’d tried to grab and the next minutes were an insane Keystone Cops rush. In the middle of which human nature asserted itself as everyone sorted themselves by biology. I followed two other ladies and Officer Linda Jesse into one of the empty apartments. I stepped into the shower last, scrubbing fast with the shampoo and soap I found, and accepting a towel as each of us cycled through twice—first a fast once-over, then more thorough. Barely into our second cycle-through, a pair of oxygen masks appeared in a super-speed blur along with a box of kits.
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