On that cheerful note the meeting broke up, but Chakra intercepted Artemis and me on our way out. Blackstone wanted to see us.
* * *
We found him resting in one of the infirmary beds, out of his tux for the first time since I'd met him, face pale beneath the bandages swathing his head. Chakra took his hand.
"Dear ladies," he greeted us. "How good of you to come visit an old man."
His eyes crinkled at the corners.
"Do not fear for disturbing my rest. Chakra and Dr. Beth are keeping me awake for awhile in any case." He tapped his bandage. "Precaution, you know."
Then he sobered. "And now to business."
"Artemis." He waved her forward. "You doubtless have reservations, and perhaps wonder if Astra outed you. Not a bit. When not working my magic I am the intelligence specialist of the team, and I have been aware of you from police reports and other sources for some time. I kept an eye on her research when several of the queries she made through the Dome's network raised red flags. Following the breadcrumbs she inadvertently left, I was able to pull together the story of your origin. May I say, my dear, that I am very sorry for your losses."
He stopped to give her a chance to comment, and went on when she didn't.
"I am certain you think it intolerably rude of me. Please consider, part of our purpose is to protect those not empowered as we are from abuse by our kind. It is both a good deed and good sense to do so, and I must candidly say that your methods do not bear the closest scrutiny. The police ignore you only because you terrorize the right people, and your tactics, while sometimes harsh, have stopped short of murder."
"It is time to come in from the cold, however. Indeed, you have no choice, and here we owe you an apology."
"Why?" Artemis asked, her voice chill.
"Because you were seen by dozens tonight, and people are dead. None by your hand, of course, but you left holes in a few deserving fellows this evening. Which means the police must take notice, and they despise mysteries forced to their official attention. And here I must pause and thank you for my life; I am in your debt. We must do what we can. It is probable that the DSA will become involved as well."
The Department of Superhuman Affairs. She almost misted away on the spot.
"As to what happens next, I believe that the police do not need to know too much. We have the resources to help you create a new life for yourself, if you wish, and I would like to offer you a job.
She started to speak and he shook his head, wincing.
"At least consider it. Despite Chakra's help, I am getting too old for fieldwork. Tonight I was a hindrance, not an asset. My best uses are strategic now, but this will leave a hole in our field lineup. You did very good work tonight, and I think you may also have a talent for my line of work. After all you certainly did a good job staying out of sight for many years."
He frowned.
"Indeed, I would ask you in any case; I believe the game has changed tonight. We will need all the help that we can get."
* * *
It's no fun when you drop the ball. If we hadn't gotten Chakra's premonition of the rampage and had simply flown out and done our best once it kicked off, all would have been well image-wise. But we'd seen it coming and still failed to shut it down at the start. The media was not kind. The riot had killed three—a Somali taxi driver and his fare—and injured lots more, and it was our fault. The fact that the plan should have worked, and we still stopped half of the rioters cold, got us no credit.
Like the rest of the audience, Dane and the Bees recovered with complete memories of the riot but no idea why they had done any of it beyond wanting to smash the world. Other than bruises and scratches, none of them were badly hurt—thank you God—but Julie stopped talking to me for awhile and Annabeth cried a lot. Memories of clubbing an unlucky pedestrian, Megan told me. And loving it.
I knew all about shame, and the need to blame someone else.
But as bad as the media reaction got, the legal outcome was so much worse.
The Brotherhood and Sanguinary Boys' lawyers immediately moved for a dismissal of all charges on grounds of mind control. They pointed out that the supervillains and minions arrested were no more culpable than the fans who took part in the rampage, and asserted that the Clocktower Fight the other gang members had been arrested for was an equally manipulated event, a "peace conference" pushed out of control. In their motion they claimed that the same unknown enemy had controlled both events, with the intent of destroying both supervillain gangs.
And the DA's office agreed!
In their defense, I could understand why. Under the circumstances, state prosecutors would have found it impossible to get convictions. The media already called the unknown villain Psijack, and local analysts speculated endlessly on his motive for trying to take down the Brothers and Sanguinaries. Political pundits used the riot to ramp up their call to absorb the Sentinels and CAI teams into the Chicago Police Department, despite the fact that we'd been the first-responders.
So both supervillain gangs were back on the streets, though a few of their minions had to cop to weapons charges. Atlas looked half-ready to just kill them all and be done with it. Chakra started teaching us mental exercises that would, hopefully, allow us to notice if our own minds were being psychically tampered with. Blackstone got out of bed and buried himself in research and investigations. And Kayle's DSA boys came to town.
The Kayle Conspiracy is the flavor-of-the-decade for all serious conspiracy theorists. Believers point out that, though not a particularly adroit politician before the Event, during his term and a half as the President John Kayle couldn't seem to put a political foot wrong. Pundits nicknamed him President Infallible. And Touches Clouds, the successor he nominated and shepherded through a successful election campaign, appointed him the Director of the Department of Superhuman Affairs—a Black Box agency for most conspiracy geeks. They call him The Director, and consider him Washington's secret puppet-master and the source of all evil.
And his evil minion was pissing me off.
* * *
"Ms. Astra," Veritas said, looming over me, "I've read the team report, and I'm asking you again, how did Artemis become involved that night?"
Veritas, a walking lie-detector, had an annoyingly calm voice that sometimes changed intensity but never pitch. He could even hear taped lies or lies told over the phone. His power was cosmic; he could read lies. I wondered if he spent idle moments highlighting campaign speeches. He conducted the interviews in the room where Dr. Mendel psychoanalyzed me and Lieutenant Dahmer tried to recruit me.
"Perhaps I should remind you" he continued, head cocked, hands on hips, "the Federal Government has no legal jurisdiction in this case. My sole purpose here is to learn whether or not I should recommend that the local authorities look into specific aspects of last week's events."
He was right—the DSA often involved itself in local superhuman-on-normal crimes, but only to ascertain if the superhuman in question was fairly represented, or, more often, if the local authorities needed help in their inquiries. That would change if the bill federalizing all superhuman crimes passed.
"We were together when the call came in," I said. "It sounded like we could use the help."
"And Atlas agreed to allow a known vigilante into a mission? He usually runs a tighter ship."
"It worked out, and she wasn't the only help we got that night."
"Yes, but the other help was a certified CAI member. Artemis was the help who put bullets in seven people, four of them 'normals.'"
I didn't say anything.
"Ms. Astra, did Atlas give her any instructions before the riot began?"
Don't lie, he can taste it.
To prove it he'd started the interview with "What color is your underwear?" And called me on it me when I fibbed. The jerk.
"He said if she encountered any villains or armed minions mixed with the costumed fans she should shoot to wound."
"And is that all?"
"Yes. And if she'd wanted them dead they would have been."
"Of that I have no doubt. Thank you."
The others got the same treatment of course. Normally serene Chakra came out of her interview looking ready to chew glass and spit nails. Our own lawyers were asking most of the same questions, preparing for the civil lawsuits they predicted were about to fall on us.
The good news was Artemis said yes, and the team accepted her on Blackstone's recommendation. The one thing Atlas insisted on was a change of sidearms; as Ajax had said, superheroes don't use guns, so he found her some ahead-of-the-art electrolaser pistols, elasers. Like tasers they stunned with electricity, but they used low-powered lasers to ionize a path for the current instead of wires. Very Star Trek.
We immediately moved her into the Dome, panda poster and all (much more secure during the day), and started the process of quietly but legally bringing her back from the dead and giving her a new public identity. Veritas surprised me by helping. He provided the CPD with the recording of his interrogation session with her—in which he carefully went over her account of her parent's deaths, making it clear she hadn't conspired in their murder (a valid question since she'd essentially been in hiding the whole time). The CPD accepted Veritas' affirmation of her account, freeing her of any cloud of suspicion.
So now she joined my sessions in the practice range, popping away with her new elasers while I mastered the use of my holdouts. My ability to bury a throwing disk in the wall impressed her (I was still working on restraint). We dealt with the fallout of the Freakzone Riot as best we could, and help came from an unexpected source: Mom. The media storm still building, the invitations arrived the week after the riot. So we all went to the ball.
PART FIVE
Chapter Twenty Six
The Faith Corrigan Foundation's annual Christmas Ball has a special treat in store for us this year. While celebrated heroes have been on the guest list many times in the past, this year the Sentinels are the guests of honor. In the face of public and media criticism of their handling of the Freakshow Riot, the mistress of our festivities has thrown her support behind our city's chief protectors. And since the team has not one but two new young members, their presence brings more excitement and glamour to what is already destined to be a brilliant night.
Let's hope our hearts can stand it.
Terry Reinhold, City Watch
* * *
The Christmas Ball is always held in the second week of December in the grand ballroom at the Drake Hotel, the landmark hotel at the top of Miracle Mile. Companies and organizations donate large sums in order to have their Christmas trees line the front of the hotel, and even larger sums for the available spots inside. The best caterers provide food and drink at cost and service gratis—simply to be named on the program insures their business for the next year. Any state or city politician with a campaign coming up sells his soul beforehand to be on the guest list (I don't think Mom makes them sign in blood). Any CEO, Hollywood star, or sports figure who calls Chicago his native city makes the annual pilgrimage. It's a pretty big deal.
We arrived at the red carpet in our own ways. Atlas and I flew in together while Blackstone, Nimbus, and Rush simply "appeared" beside us. The others pulled up in a limo as we all assembled at the head of the carpet. Chicago finally saw its first snow, and tonight it fell thickly, making brilliant halos around the old ironwork street lamps. A group of Dickensian carolers held station at the door. Artemis looked stiff.
"Try not to be the Ghost of Christmas Future," I whispered, leaning in. She smothered a laugh and glared at me, but relaxed. Sort of.
Cameras flashed as we walked the carpet and climbed the steps to the lobby. Every Christmas Mom turned most of the Drake's event spaces, the Grand Ballroom, the Walton Room, the French Room, and the Gold Coast room, into a winter court where the glitterbugs of Chicago could flock to glitter for each other and the privileged public. I'd always loved watching them, and now I laughed.
I was a glitterbug. We all were.
Atlas looked down at me with a raised eyebrow. I just smiled and shook my head and then we were through the ballroom doors and being announced.
We were dressed to impress. The Harlequin wore one of Andrew's special creations, an ice-blue and white confection. She looked very Regency Christmas in breeches and knee socks and big buckled shoes, a festive waistcoat under a tightly tailored jacket, lace at her wrists and a cravat at her throat with a blue domino mask to match. Chakra dazzled in a crimson silk and gold-thread sari over a green midriff-baring choli. Atlas had stuck with his traditional uniform but at least it was a new and shiny one. Blackstone dressed in his usual elegant black tux and opera cape, a sprig of holly in his lapel. Ajax was bareheaded in a stylized version of his armor, and Rush wore a new red jumpsuit.
Andrew had sewn Artemis a night-black silk and velvet version of her costume, and I'd come in a formal creation he'd designed for me. A sapphire-blue one-piece made out of velvet, with a high neck and long arms over a tiny skirt and matching white silk cape, it reminded me of a figure skater's costume. But as festively dressed as we all were, Atlas had us earbugged and at action stations.
If Psijack wanted another crowd to control for maximum effect, this could be it.
"Introducing the Sentinels!" Every head in the fantastically decorated chamber turned.
"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the Sentinels!" The announcer took us in order of seniority. "Atlas! Blackstone! Ajax! Rush! Nimbus! Chakra! The Harlequin! Astra! And Artemis!" He could have been a drill sergeant, but at least he didn't sound like a ringmaster. And now, in the center ring, the amazing... no.
No cameras flashed—the media didn't get beyond the carpet. With some exceptions. I grinned, seeing Terry Reinhold in the crowd. Then we were being introduced to our hostess. Tall and elegant, Mom sparkled beautifully, but my fingers itched to adjust Dad's bow tie. Tracy joined Rush, and Blackstone found his daughter and son-in-law. We made introductions all around, and then Mom began working her magic. She led us off in ones or twos to "see someone you have to meet," pairing each of us conversationally with somebody important.
Her social intelligence was impeccable; Ajax and Nimbus stayed together, as did Chakra and Blackstone, while Atlas, Rush, and The Harlequin soloed. She teamed me with Artemis with a silently mouthed stick together for me. Like I had to be told.
Artemis and I found ourselves in a group that among others included Judge Thomas Halder, Alderman Alexander Stelmach, and Mrs. Lori. Thanks Mom.
Judge Halder was a very tall and thin African-American with a salt-and-pepper beard. Alderman Stelmach didn't reach his heights but certainly beat him in mass. Neither looked particularly pleased to see us, so I fired the opening shot.
"Judge, alderman, it's an honor to meet you both."
Judge Halder frowned. "Likewise," he said gravely. "I am especially pleased to meet your newest member." He nodded to Artemis. "Although," he continued in his careful, measured tones, "I am curious to know how a vigilante received city approval to join the team."
I smiled sweetly.
"I'm sure you know how it works, your honor. Blackstone wanted her skill-set." I smile at Artemis. "And she has promised to be good. With our city liaison reviewing every after-action report you can be sure that both of us will be." (And wasn't that a fun activity I'd never imagined when picturing the life of a superhero.)
"I understand that my 'rules of engagement' have changed, your honor," Artemis said more seriously. "But most of what I did could be called private investigation work, anyway."
"Most?" He swirled his eggnog. "Young lady, I will have you know that I take a rotation on the committee that reads those reports. I shall take even greater interest in them in the future. Our streets must be kept safe, but the law must be preserved."
But now humor twinkled in the judge's eye and Artemis caught it.
"I will keep that in mind, your honor."
He smiled. "See that you do."
<
br /> "That's all very well," Alderman Stelmach cut in. "But what about really doing your jobs? We certainly pay you enough for it."
I blinked at the direct cut, which earned another frown from the judge. Before I could think of a reply Mrs. Lori stepped in.
"And to what dereliction would you be referring, Brian?" she inquired pleasantly.
Thank you, Mrs. Lori.
"The Freakzone Riot, of course!" he barked. But now I was ready.
"Alderman, may I take your hand?"
He seemed leery at that, but could hardly back down. I took his large, warm hand in mine and made sure I had a firm but gentle grip.
Wearing the Cape Page 17
