Hench

by Natalie Zina Walschots

  “You also proved yourself in the field, which he respects.”

  I acknowledged this with the slightest movement; I still vastly preferred to work behind the walls of the compound, but had found myself in the field more than once in the last few weeks, to help coordinate the more delicate operations. It still made me nervous, but each time the weight in my chest diminished and my hands were steadier.

  Leviathan mercifully changed the subject. “How is your team working out?”

  “Exceptionally well. I would like to give Javier Khan some assistance, though. With the additional missions we’ve been able to run, the flow of data has increased significantly. While he has been handling the workload satisfactorily, I don’t want to create a situation where his accuracy declines or he burns out.”

  “Good foresight; it shall be taken care of. I’ll call upon HR to provide you with additional candidates for you to select from.”

  “Perfect.”

  He cocked his head slightly to the side, the way a predatory bird might listen for the sound of prey. “Have you been screened for superabilities?”

  The question threw me off, but I responded quickly. “Of course,” I said. “Just the standard pre- and postpubescent tests in school. My reading comprehension scores were above average and my dexterity slightly below; I had some markers, but nothing manifested.”

  There was a slight rumbling sound from the grill that shielded his mouth. “I want you more thoroughly examined—those amateurs miss a great deal in their rushing. I shall assign an abilities specialist to you.”

  “Whatever you think is for the best, Sir,” I concurred. Filling out some forms and going in for some scans weren’t terribly onerous requests, and Leviathan was known to be slightly compulsive when it came to fully gauging the capabilities of his employees. I knew they wouldn’t find anything, but I was happy to satisfy his curiosity.

  He cleared the screen on his desk with a dramatic swipe and eased himself into his chair, regarding me carefully. “I will soon call upon you for some additional missions, Anna. Not fieldwork, per se, but rather diplomacy.”

  I gave him a self-deprecating grimace. “Diplomacy isn’t really my strong suit.”

  “I think you are mistaken.” Leviathan’s sense of humor was odd, nearly alien and often misplaced entirely. “I won’t require you to act diplomatically. Rather, as our operations have grown, I have found the outward appearance of congeniality increasingly advantageous. All-out conflict with heroes is expensive and bothersome—too much of our budget is diverted to rebuilding.”

  I leaned forward a little, curious as to where he was going.

  “The way in which you handled Glassblower inspired several ideas,” he said. “You attacked when he was weakest, as Sun Tzu advises; you allowed other villains to take the direct and public credit—as well as the blame and repercussions—eschewing any form of larger ego gratification in favor of results; and you let him hang himself and bring shame down upon his name, do the bulk of our work for us.”

  “Flatterer,” I said, and finally earned the slightest metallic scrape of laughter.

  “I would like you to employ these strategies more, in lieu of direct confrontations,” he said. “And on a larger scale. To do this, I think you need to spend more time in the odious company of heroes, in order to observe and gather information about them.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “You want me to start hunting bigger game.”

  “Precisely. And to do that, we must go on safari.”

  “I’ll start packing.” I began to turn, but then paused. “I’m not expected to be nice to them, right?”

  A smile reached his strange eyes. “I expect you to be vicious.”

  IT TURNED OUT I did need to start packing almost immediately. When I left my performance review and returned to my apartment, I found that flight details for the following morning had already been forwarded to my in-box. There was a small private airstrip at the northern edge of the compound, with a few augmented commercial-class planes and helicopters, even a couple of Hyperjets for emergencies. The vast majority of Leviathan’s fleet were scattered, and stored, elsewhere.

  We were going on what was ostensibly a diplomatic mission. It had been years since the greatest supervillain the world had ever known had regularly engaged in open conflict with heroes of any caliber, aside from the occasional bit of chest puffing and death-ray-warning-shot-firing with Supercollider. There was a point at which the constant aggression was getting in the way of his other plans: amassing power and influence, wealth-building, and R&D.

  (I also suspected, though I never would have said so in his presence, that the ordinary violence of supervillainy had come to bore Leviathan. As much fun as the extraordinary weapons were to dream up, the consequences of being seen firing them were often more irritating than they were worth. He’d reached the point where it was far more convenient to hire some middling villain to take the credit, and the fall, and just place those munitions in the hands of another and set the wheels in motion. The pieces continued to fall into place, the blame landed elsewhere, and his empire continued to thrive. He took even greater pleasure in every small success, every tech acquisition or covert operation deployed successfully, because he counted each as a failure on the part of Supercollider to stop him.)

  So, every once in a while, he did something that really distressed the heroic community: he set up a meeting and spoke reasonably to them. Few things made heroes more panicked than a civil conversation with the supervillain, which I suspected rather delighted him. The fact that he’d decided to give me a new opportunity to fuck with some heroes under the guise of friendly relations was just a bonus.

  And, once I thought about it, was a pretty exceptional outcome to my first major performance review.

  All of us on the mission were to gather on the airstrip early—the light was still dawn gray, and dew gathered on the scrubby grass that bordered the long, paved concrete runway. The air was so cool it felt bright and icy in my lungs when I inhaled deeply. I was nervous and so I was early, the first to arrive.

  Our pilot was once a kick, then known as Gloom, who had natural low-light vision and a spatial awareness that rivaled that of a bat. The hero he’d been aligned with—the Gorgon—had treated him poorly, though, and after a fight with some villains that went particularly sour for him, he’d crossed the line. He was a composite now, having willingly undergone significant cybernetic upgrades under Leviathan’s employ. His eyes, ears, and hands had all been replaced with complex machinery.

  He was going over flight plans on his tablet, and as much as I was loath to interrupt him, I felt a kinship with someone who’d also found themselves on the wrong end of a hero’s arrogance. I let myself hover and, soon enough, he glanced up, recognizing me.

  “You’re Anna, yeah?”

  “That’s me.” I smiled and leaned on my cane a little self-consciously. “Forgive me if this is rude, but I don’t know what to call you now.”

  “Not at all! I’m going by Vesper.” He seemed pleased I would ask instead of bumblingly calling him by his old hero name.

  “The bell or the bat?”

  He grinned. “Bat; you’re as smart as Leviathan has said.”

  I do not blush prettily, but go bright red and blotchy to the roots of my hair. I felt the heat rise in my face and became flustered.

  “Is this reprobate bothering you?” That was Keller’s growl. He and Molly strode across the airstrip together. Keller was built like an aging linebacker, one that could no doubt still play, making Molly’s wiry frame and ridiculously long legs even more pronounced in contrast.

  “I was being cordial to my newest passenger.” Vesper sniffed.

  “He was being a perfect gentleman,” I said, glaring at Keller, letting my expression indicate I didn’t think he could possibly understand what such a term meant. I was still extremely irritated he’d maneuvered me onto the field, no matter how well it had gone or how accommodating he’d been since. Keller was
completely impervious to my death glare.

  I’d need to work on that.

  A pair of representatives from R&D soon joined us: physics prodigy Rosalind Fife, who was terrifyingly young and profoundly neuro-atypical, and nanotech expert Ben Lao. Leviathan arrived last, of course, the soles of his boots giving off the oddest sound upon the asphalt—not hollow like rubber or a metallic clang, but an oddly smooth click. A single bodyguard, Ludmilla Illyushkin, accompanied him; she didn’t speak a great deal of English yet, but then, he didn’t require her to. She had lovely, old-fashioned manners that reminded me of a knight, but I was also uncomfortably aware that she looked at everyone and immediately calculated the quickest ways to kill or incapacitate them. Keller positively adored her.

  “Morning, Sir. Systems nominal; we’re ready to take off on your say-so.”

  Leviathan nodded and gestured for us to board.

  As I walked by, Vesper whispered, “He’s not a morning person,” and I almost choked.

  Once we were in the air, the small plane rattled contentedly through minor turbulence. Leviathan took a few sips of black coffee so dark it looked viscous. He sat with his eyes closed through this process, the filter that covered his mouth gently coming around the edge of his metal travel mug as delicately as the mandibles of a crab.

  After several moments, he was able to keep his eyes open steadily, and became more receptive to anyone interacting with him, and a short meeting commenced. He referred to us all as “advisers”—which flattered me greatly—who would represent him at gatherings and provide support during key meetings. On this particular excursion, part of the team (Molly, Ros, and Lao) would be on their own, participating in “goodwill” technology exchanges. I’d be with Keller, Ludmilla, and Leviathan. We’d be meeting with the heroes first, as they preferred to operate during business hours, whereas villains still preferred to do business at night, as cheesy and cliché as the affectation was.

  “We’ll be meeting with the Ocean Four,” Leviathan explained. “Riptide was injured badly last year and Abyssal is becoming increasingly nervous now that her brood of little barnacles are beginning to exhibit powers and might one day join the family team.” He paused and drank. “They should be amiable to a ceasing of public hostilities with us and our allies.”

  “Abyssal is late in her first trimester of a new pregnancy,” I said, and then paused for a second, unsure if my addition was appropriate. But Leviathan was looking at me steadily, interested, so I pressed forward. “I would think that might also be an impetus for their desire for peace.”

  “Dealing with her will be your priority,” Leviathan said to me, and I nodded.

  “And the black capes?” Keller inquired.

  “Kronos and Hyperion.” This was interesting; they were a big deal, former drug lords who had moved from narcotics to medical enhancement. They were quickly becoming one of the primary sources for cheap, under-the-table physical upgrades for thugs and aspiring villains without powers.

  “Odd that they’d be willing to deal with us,” Keller said. “By all reports, they have their market locked down.”

  “One of their doctors botched several procedures in a row—badly,” Leviathan explained. “It seems he gained an unpleasant addiction that affected his ability to hold a scalpel. He was . . . dealt with and the errors covered up, but they are down a surgeon and demand is as high as ever.”

  “They want one of ours,” Molly guessed.

  Leviathan raised a finger. “And some of our tech. They are behind us, in terms of technical innovation, but as blunt and graceless as their methods are, there is always much to be learned from battlefield medicine. We may give them a few meager scraps, if it’s advantageous.”

  The meeting wound down and I settled into my seat, peering out the window. The sun above the clouds was spectacularly bright, and the condensation on the outside of the window had long ago turned to ice. As I listened to the reassuring rattle and deep hum of the engine, I began to work the project, figuring in my head where I could get a prosthetic stomach once we landed. My expense reports were already notorious, and I expected Finance was going to lose their minds about this one. I also had no doubt it would be approved.

  Thanks to some expert Googling and an exceptional courier, I was able to attend the meeting with the Ocean Four looking like I was about six or seven months along. When I walked into the meeting room—a circular chamber in the Ocean Four’s base lit by a calm blue light, and dominated by an enormous tropical fish tank—I affected a slight waddle. I’d briefed everyone on my plan, but at the sight of me in maternity wear, Molly had to surreptitiously kick Keller in the shin to help him regain control of his face.

  The meeting was, for the most part, unexceptional. The heroes were fully decked out in their costumes and did a great deal of blustering and posturing, especially Riptide, Undertow, and the Current. Abyssal was much quieter, though, and I followed her lead, volunteering the occasional illuminating point but, for the most part, appearing content to hang back.

  During a break, I immediately got up and went to the washroom, hedging a bet, and sure enough, while I was in the stall, Abyssal walked in. I timed my exit so that we were washing our hands at the same moment. She caught my eye in the mirror and smiled.

  “How far along are you?” Her voice was quiet and kind.

  “Oh, I still have a couple of months to go.” I smiled back, putting a hand to my lower back and stretching.

  “That’s very exciting.”

  “It’s my first; I’m pretty anxious.”

  “I remember that feeling.” She paused for a moment, considering. “This’ll be my third.”

  Pay dirt. “Really? Congrats! You can’t tell yet.”

  Her hand crept to her stomach. “It’s very early; we’re just starting to tell people.”

  “Does it worry you?”

  “Does what?”

  I gestured toward the ceiling, letting the sweep of my hand take in the totality of their headquarters. “All of this, I suppose.”

  Her lips tightened strangely. “Of course it does.” She was deciding whether to be annoyed at me or not; her suspicious WASP vibes were off the chart. I pretended to be oblivious to her discomfort and sidled closer.

  “I don’t know if I am staying on,” I mock-confessed.

  “You’re quitting?”

  “Thinking about it. Or at least, getting out of active duty, as it were. I feel so strangely fragile now.”

  Something in her face went watery. “It gets worse.”

  I tried to look crestfallen. “Well. At least my instincts are correct.”

  “Wait till the little one arrives. Boy or girl?”

  I bet she was the sort to have a gender-reveal party. “This is embarrassing, but I don’t know. Superstition?”

  She smiled kindly. “Not at all. Having a baby is weirder than wearing a costume, somehow. You be as superstitious as you need.”

  I nodded. “I’m definitely taking a desk job after this.” We walked out of the bathroom together. “Depending on how this goes, I expect a shower invitation,” I said, and she laughed.

  I realized, taking my seat back at the table, that this was an invaluable opportunity to run a critical experiment—a kind of A/B test. Here were four heroes with close-knit relationships and comparable power levels, all doing around the same amount of damage to the world with their every foolish endeavor. If we “intervened” (if we fucked with them), we’d have the unusual chance to closely monitor all of them and see precisely how each reacted to the stress, and how it impacted their careers. Maybe they’d end up doing less damage to the world, or maybe they’d become even worse. Either way, we’d be able to get an incredible amount of useful data with one action (and, potentially, reduce the harm caused by all four heroes at once).

  To put this in motion, I had to arrange something to happen to Abyssal. Preferably her and at least one of her children. Nothing awful or permanently damaging, but something frightening enough that the
rest of her team might follow her resulting cautiousness and let it declaw them.

  I started plotting in my head, and settled on the relative advantages of a brief, nonviolent kidnapping. As soon as Abyssal was out of my sight, I typed up my recommendations to make sure her eldest child was held captive for at least a few hours sometime between now and her due date.

  WORKING FOR LEVIATHAN, every assignment and opportunity I was presented with was its own kind of test. I had to prove myself to gain extra tasks and responsibilities, and the way I handled them once they were given had an immediate effect on what would happen in the future. Leviathan liked my proposal and the oldest Ocean Four child was soon scheduled for a routine nonviolent abduction. (Most abductions were nonviolent; there was often far more to be gained from the psychodrama of when the target lost their beloved and got them back. In this case, the ransom mattered much less than the target’s trauma from the experience, and their haunted relief at a near miss.) Leviathan viewed every bit of confidence he placed in someone as a risk, and I was proving a valuable investment.

  The rest of the trip was a success on the black-cape front, with us getting a lucrative medical placement out of the deal (the tech team determined that inserting staff into Kronos and Hyperion’s operation would effectively allow us to track a large chunk of the off-the-books cybernetic modifications under their purview). After that first trip, I found myself increasingly being called upon to accompany Leviathan when he traveled to various meetings.

  In the next few weeks, I’d spent more time with my enigmatic employer than I had during the entire eleven months preceding them. I couldn’t say I was getting to know him; it was impossible to know Leviathan, any more than one could know a volcanic eruption. You could study the phenomenon, have a solid working knowledge of how it functioned, but its sheer power and destructive capabilities were no less overwhelming or beyond comprehension every time you encountered them. I became familiar with his specificities, but I never lost my sense of awe.

  I learned he found most heroes irritating. Rather than harboring any of the genuine enmity toward most of the do-gooders who plagued the villains of the world, he instead regarded them with bland distaste.