by Drew Hayes
“I wasn’t certain. I just said it seemed unlikely that he’d choose to spend time at such an unremarkable venue,” Aether corrected. She didn’t rise from her seat, but she did give Owen a polite nod and gentle smile.
There were two more open chairs sitting at the long table that stretched across the makeshift stage, one far larger than the others and made of reinforced material, clearly set up with Titan’s renowned size in mind. Counting Gale and Aether, that made for a panel of four: a healthy size given the intimate setting and small room. In just the three Heroes present, there was also a large amount of power and career diversity. Gale was the leader of a team that had been passed down for decades, and a powerful elemental manipulator to boot. Aether could speak about running a team with unusual power sets, as Transcendental Justice was an effective, if unorthodox, composition of Heroes. Owen himself had the experience to talk about what it was to be a strongman, to run a team, to fall from the public’s grace, and to work as a Hero Liaison. The only area they’d need help to cover in order to answer all the questions these kids might have was Subtlety.
“I do not, for the life of me, know how you lot put up with arriving early to these things. Time is too precious to be pissed away on waiting around.”
Owen did a half-turn, already knowing who he would find. Sure enough, standing there in the sort of simple, unremarkable costume that was the fashion with many Subtlety Heroes, stood Jeremiah. It looked strange on him, and it took Owen a minute to realize that this was the first time he’d ever seen Jeremiah in full gear, out in the field. Every other time they’d met he’d been behind the scenes, not out in public. Having finally seen him in costume, Owen could easily say that the other version suited him far better.
There was little doubt Jeremiah agreed as he tugged at his mask and collar, clearly uncomfortable in the elaborate get up. That didn’t stop him from greeting Gale and Aether before finally making his way through the room and arriving in front of Owen.
“Ready to dole out the pearls of wisdom from years of accolades and fuck ups?”
“As ready as I can be when I have no idea what the kids are going to ask me. Haven’t exactly done one of these in a while, and I’ve been out of the field for a long time,” Owen admitted.
“Please, the questions out of the newbies’ mouths never change. They’ll ask about how whether to pick a team or create one, what it was like to fight some criminal that we don’t remember but they studied meticulously, and if we have any tips for not dying. Same stuff we asked about when we were doing internships.” Jeremiah paused, glancing toward the front door where soon a dozen or so young Heroes would come streaming in. “Just try and make them feel at ease. Nothing we say in these things is likely to make much of a difference in the field, but we can at least give them some hope and confidence. That’s what they really came out for.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Owen could hear the bustling of moving feet, a clear indicator that the door had just been opened. “Glad you were able to come out as well. All of you, really. I can’t remember the last time I saw one of these with three different team leaders on it.”
“You’re the one to thank for that,” Jeremiah replied, heading toward his seat. “We were approached about filling out the empty slots after so many others turned it down. Or did you think it was coincidence that the only people willing to sit on a panel with you, to be publicly associated with such a polarizing figure, were the ones who had personally worked with you before?”
Owen stared at the drably-costumed man as he walked away, then took his own reinforced seat. It was nice to walk slow, keeping his chin up and trying to be strong, but he also couldn’t forget how most of the Hero world still viewed him: nothing but a scandal and a fuck up.
He tried to keep that thought out of his head as the first costumed body entered the room and made a beeline for the front row.
81.
“Today, we’re here to talk to you about what comes next. While you had ample time to go over the Hero occupation and our world during the time you spent at your respective HCPs, by now you’ve all gotten at least a few months of real world experience under your belt. As such, the questions and concerns that you have now are likely different from a student’s, who had only theoretically delved into what it means to be a Hero.” Gale’s voice rang through the small building easily, keeping every back straight and ear attentive. Owen had to admit: whatever bad blood had passed them between since he arrived, there was no question that the woman could command a room.
“Now, we are not here to contradict your mentors; they are, of course, the best font of wisdom any of you has access to. But, that said, no Hero has experienced every aspect of this life personally. We may have different answers regarding different specialties or career paths than your mentors did. Please ask anything you like, though I do recommend you keep all inquiries respectful. Regardless of what our individual pasts may be, we are all up here because we have wisdom to share.” Speech done, Gale took her own seat and motioned to the event worker who was standing down near the front of the audience with a clipboard.
The woman hurried forward so fast she nearly fell over, scanning down her clipboard and calling out a name. A young woman wearing a bright uniform that seemed to span the entire color spectrum rose from her seat near the back and walked briskly to the front as the worker ticked the name off the list. Ordinarily, this was where the enterprising Hero would have been given a microphone, but in such a small space, utilizing audio equipment was a waste of money.
“Hi there. I’m Lorikeet. Korman Graduate and second year intern. My question was for Aether. Are there many teams out there like Transcendental Justice, or did you found yours because there was no other fit for you?”
Given Lorikeet’s odd name and stranger costume, Owen had a hunch that the question was more personal than academic. While many Supers fell into easily classifiable categories where they could be lumped together, the fact that no two were ever completely alike could lead to some strange powers. Lorikeet was either very smart or very strong; she’d have never made it out of the HCP without one of those traits. That didn’t necessarily mean her power would easily fit into an existing team’s dynamic, though.
As Aether talked about founding her team cooperatively with the rest of her group, being chosen as leader by a vote she had no hand in, Owen’s thoughts drifted back to the founding of the Gentle Hammers. Unlike those with odd powers, any of the Hammers could have easily been worked in to any other team’s arsenal; there was never a shortage of need for those who could lift trucks and shrug off bullets. Still, they’d decided to band together anyway, opting to go out and try and run things their way rather than being relegated to the role of mindless muscle, a stereotype thrust on strongmen since the earliest days of Hero work.
The sound of applause jerked Owen out of his stupor, and he realized that Aether had finished her response. He joined in the clapping, better late than never, as Lorikeet headed back to her seat and a young man wearing a black and gold color scheme stepped forward. There was something a bit archaic about the design woven into his costume, though Owen didn’t have the historical sense to place where it was from. When the man reached the front, he scanned the panel, eyes narrowing a touch when he saw Titan, then continuing on until he was staring Jeremiah dead on.
“My name is Hop-Frog, and yes, it’s after the Poe story. First year intern, graduated from West Private University. My question is for Jeremiah. As a fellow Subtlety Hero and a proud gay man, did you find the Hero world a welcoming place once you were out of your intern years?”
“Hell no,” Jeremiah replied immediately. “And it started long before I got out of my internship. But if I’m being honest here, the Subtlety thing has been far more a roadblock for me than being gay. Lots of Hero teams out there understand what it is we do and bring to the table, so they’ll let us join up, but it’s always with that attitude. ‘Letting us,’ like we’re being done a favor by getting the chance
to come on board and help save lives while keeping our team safe. I’m not going to paint with a wide brush and say every team is this way; in fact, I know firsthand that the Subtlety Hero on Transcendental Justice considers herself a valued member of the group. That said, it’s still the way of thinking in a lot of the older, more established teams. Your options are either to put up with it, find a group that treats you right, or start your own damn team. In case you couldn’t tell, I opted for the latter.”
Hop-Frog started to head back to his seat, but Jeremiah held up a hand to stop him. “Now, as for how being gay has impacted my career, I won’t sugarcoat that either. There have been times when I could have signed on to teams with clout and prestige, and all I would have had to do is put up with some other member who had very firm thoughts about people’s sexuality. Luckily, I had enough pull to tell them to go fuck themselves, but that’s not the case for everyone. And this has gotten much better as time passed and the older opinions died out. Were I trying to make it as an openly gay Hero even a few decades back, it probably would have been a whole different story. Back then, even admitting a simple truth about yourself cost people their entire life’s work. It forced a lot of good people to live lies, all so they could keep doing what they loved: keeping innocent people safe.”
His speech over, Jeremiah lowered his hand and let the intern hustle back to his seat. The worker called another up another Hero, who scrambled down the aisle. Up on stage, Owen looked down to Jeremiah, who made no effort to meet his eyes. Though Titan hadn’t been mentioned once in the discussion, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind what Jeremiah had been really talking about. It was a kind, unexpected show of unity.
And a nice reminder to Owen that not everyone wearing a mask thought the worst of him.
82.
After the panel wrapped, there was a quick flurry of goodbyes as the others had to hurry off to their teams or next events. Unlike Owen, they were still immersed in the life, and that meant downtime was a rare commodity. It was an aspect of being a full-time Hero he remembered fondly, yet wasn’t particularly burning to recapture. Perhaps it was age, or more likely the perspective that came with living through the years, but Owen was content to spend a portion of his time outside the field. At least, so long as he had his team to spend it with.
He flipped through his schedule to see what was next on the agenda. Lunch with Hexcellent wouldn’t be for another hour, unless she managed to slip out early, which seemed like at least a fifty percent shot. After that he just had some minor personal appearance work until things wound down. Galvanize hadn’t been lying; the first day really was set up to be light and let everyone get comfortable. Lacking anything pressing, Owen decided to make good on his word and go check on Bubble Bubble. The guards Mordent had paid for were no doubt top notch, but that wasn’t really why he needed to be there. Owen was meant to be a comforting presence for her more than a deterrent for someone with a lot of lip and little wit.
Weaving his way through the myriad of tents and booths that were still springing up like weeds, it took Owen a good fifteen minutes to find Bubble Bubble’s booth. Once he did, however, there was no mistaking it for any other. The fact that she was standing in front of it certainly helped, but not as much as the half-dozen reporters holding cameras and swarming around her. She was inexpressive, face well-controlled as she talked to a handsome man wearing clothes that probably cost more than Owen’s first car.
Whatever they were saying was lost as Owen moved closer. The other reporters caught sight of the massive man’s approach and hurried over; Bubble Bubble and her debate partner were half-dragged along with them. Cameras were raised and small microphones thrust upward as they tried to surround him.
“Titan! Any comment on Corbin Calhoun’s claims that your teammate has fabricated her telling of the events?”
“Do you know Bubble Bubble to be a habitual liar, or is this her first time?”
“Have you seen her use powers to manipulate other men?”
Owen nearly took a step back, bowled over by the wave of questions and accusations, especially since it was the first time he could remember that they weren’t all barbs aimed at him. To his great surprise, he wished they were. At least he was used to this sort of scrutiny; he’d far rather handle it than let it fall on Bubble Bubble’s shoulders. His eyes swept the small crowd once more, and this time they locked on the handsome man with the wide, clearly artificial smile. This no doubt was Corbin Calhoun, the one who made so much trouble for Bubble Bubble, who had apparently shown up to ambush her and undermine her efforts at fixing her image. It was a bold move; Owen had to give him that. Ordinarily, he respected bold moves. Today, he was feeling less charitable.
“Whoa now. Getting in to ‘he said, she said’ arguments is no good for anyone,” Owen replied, raising his hands and gently parting the crowd. He stepped through them, getting between Bubble Bubble and Corbin then laying a hand on each of their shoulders. “I know Bubble Bubble to be an honest, capable young woman who has never given me any reason to doubt her.”
Corbin opened his mouth, and Owen squeezed ever-so-slightly, using all the self-control he had to keep from snapping this man’s bones beneath his fingers. “But I also want to take this chance to pay my respects to Mr. Calhoun, who is showing the Hero community so much faith and respect with his recent accusations.”
“Excuse me, he’s what?” Bubble Bubble snapped, whipping her head up to stare at Owen, who merely smiled knowingly at her before returning his gaze to Corbin.
“Corbin Calhoun is a brave man, one who clearly believes in the Heroes and what they stand for. Most people would be too afraid to make such bold, viral accusations about Supers keeping their ‘secret powers’ hidden from the world. Insinuating that a woman who uses her clearly-documented abilities to help save lives is also concealing powers of mental manipulation is, to be frank, illogical and unfounded. Mr. Calhoun, however, has chosen to exercise his freedom of speech, even though doing it like this is likely to draw the ire of every one of the pro-Super organizations and syndicates out there, legal and otherwise. Mr. Calhoun is trusting in us, in the Hero system, to keep him safe from all those people, even as he slanders our very species, and I want to thank him for that. It shows that he completely trusts in the Heroes of this great country, and believes that we will be able to keep him safe.”
The blood from Corbin’s face had begun to drain halfway through Owen’s speech, and as he stared up at the seemingly genuine smile plastered on Titan’s face, his legs wobbled the slightest bit. It was only Owen’s powerful hands that kept the man from fainting outright. Titan held him up through the dizzy spell until the world famous director had partially recovered.
“Anyway, if you’ll excuse us, I just came to get my teammate for a quick briefing. Duty always calls, you know how it is.” Owen released Corbin, who was swarmed by reporters as Owen carefully led Bubble Bubble away from the booth. Her guards tried to follow, but he waved them off. She needed some space, and he aimed to give it to her.
“Titan. . . was that a threat?” Bubble Bubble glanced over her shoulder to where the small crowd of reporters had turned on the man who brought them, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe what had just happened.
“It was simply the truth. There are groups out there who take umbrage with Supers being slandered, and not all of them are the type to handle things legally. I doubt any would really have the balls to go after that high profile of a target, but you never know. He’s certainly not helping himself,” Owen explained.
“Yeah, but it still really felt like you were threatening him. I can’t point to a word you used, or anything you did, I just know if I’d been in his shoes I think I might have pissed myself.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Owen told her. “You’d have held up far better than he did. Now, let’s go duck into the private parking area, then I’ll grab Hexcellent and we’ll all go get cheese fries.”
Bubble Bubble laughed softly and p
atted Owen on the arm. “You are nothing like the Titan I first expected.”
Owen grinned, nothing like the fake smile he’d shown Corbin and the reporters, and gave her a quick side-armed hug. “That might be the nicest thing anyone on this team has said to me.”
83.
Lunch was a longer affair than Owen expected, though he really should have been prepared for such: Hexcellent had every intention of eating her way through the fair under the guise of team building. By the time she was finally done, a small stack of greasy paper plates had been collected in her hands like trophies: trophies she quickly dumped into a trash can as she hurried to her next event. Bubble Bubble, having taken the opportunity to down a funnel cake and corn dog herself, also returned to her booth once she got word the reporters had cleared out.
Owen, once again with time on his hands, took the chance to actually stroll through the event and check out some of the various attractions. He was getting accustomed to the stares and whispers, so much so that there were times he didn’t even notice them. Instead, he focused on the bevy of booths and tents spread across the landscape, gazing in wonderment at the well-organized attractions meant to wring as much money as possible for charity.
Autograph booths were by far the most popular and frequent attractions, spread carefully across the fairgrounds so that the sprawling lines didn’t cause a complete bottleneck. Just as in the morning, the vast majority of these were manned by Supers from various sports teams, mostly younger players of whom Owen was only cursorily aware.
As he walked by an area devoid of people but roped off in preparation for what would be a massive, snaking line, Owen caught sight of a very familiar name emblazoned across the banner stretched above the lone table at the end of the line. The Comet, Jade Norris, was going to be present on the final day for an autograph session. Now retired, she was still a legend in her own right, and Owen found himself flipping through his schedule to see if he had any free time that day. Maybe if he could get here early enough, he could snag the former football star’s autograph. One look at the heavily-inked block of activities made it clear that he’d be lucky to squeeze in time to piss; standing in a massive line was way out of the question. Pity. Owen had a feeling that would have been quite the thrill.