Dreadnought

by April Daniels

  “You like it?” asks Doc.

  “Yeah. Yeah, it’s cool. But…”

  “The colors, I know.” The suit doesn’t have any markings or emblems, and the grays aren’t solid but mottled with a kind of soft-focus camouflage pattern. “It’s what we mean by throwaway colors. They’ll make you basically invisible in the night sky, and it signals to other capes that you’re not looking for a fight.”

  “What if someone decides they want a fight anyhow?”

  “Don’t give it to them,” she says firmly. “Run here. They won’t follow you inside the tower. You’re always welcome here, Danny, okay?”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “Cool.” She turns and spits her nicotine gum into another little trashcan, pops a replacement in her mouth. Those things are supposed to last for longer than that, right? “Now, let’s go get you introduced to the team proper.”

  “Ah. Okay. Right.” A flare of giddy nervousness lights up my chest. I’m going to meet the entire Legion Pacifica. Like, tonight.

  Chapter Six

  The briefing room is surreal because it’s exactly how I imagined it would be. The elevators here are mundane, and the hallways are normal, but then you turn the corner, and past some sliding doors there’s a fifteen-foot-high holographic projection of the Earth, with glowing dotted lines tracking the orbital trajectories of at least five space stations and color-coded markers for important surface contacts. Off to the side, near a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over New Port’s skyline, there’s a conference table with smaller projections floating above it. All the chairs are softly lit by unobtrusive spotlights, and the table is gleaming glossy wood with holographic haptic sensor interfaces embedded in it at each seat.

  Standing near the table is the most oddly dressed group of people you’re ever likely to meet, the holy-crap-no-kidding Legion Pacifica. These people are so famous I recognize them by their silhouettes. Valkyrja is chatting with Magma, an enormous slab of muscle in the shape of a man, with his dark brown skin and bushy black beard, and his eyes glowing visibly even from over here. He normally fights wearing a kind of circus strongman getup, but in here he’s content to wear a suit with his shirt collar unbuttoned and no tie. There’s Graywytch; her dark robe’s hood is up and she’s facing away from me, but she’s instantly recognizable by the raven that’s always on her shoulder. She’s standing apart with Carapace, their heads tilted toward each other in quiet conversation. Chlorophyll is half man, half plant, and wearing a tight T-shirt over his lithe green chest. He’s reading a paperback book, which is such a normal thing to do that it’s weird.

  The glass doors slide shut behind Doc Impossible and me, and then we have a good half-minute walk across the briefing room to get to the conference table. A half minute is a long time to get self-conscious about wearing a friggin’ glorified wetsuit indoors. Please, please, please tell me this cowl covers enough of my cheeks to hide the blushing.

  “Yep, she’s got superpowers all right,” says Doc Impossible by way of greeting as we arrive. “I told you the physical was a boring idea.”

  “We needed to know what happened,” says Carapace, stepping away from Graywytch. “In any case, we’d like to hear your report formally.”

  “We’d also like to meet the young lady,” says Magma in a surprisingly rich and urbane voice. In most of the video I’ve seen of him he’s roaring like fire and brimstone and smacking blackcapes into the ground.

  “Sure,” says Doc Impossible. She gestures for me to step forward, and I do, feeling like I’m someone else watching from the far distance. In the elevator, Doc Impossible asked me how I wanted to be introduced like it was no big deal. She’s good like that. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce Danielle Tozer, carrier of the mantle.”

  “Daniel Tozer,” says Graywytch. She’s looking at me like I’m an interloper. Her face is pale, heavy black eyeshadow standing out against almost white skin. Her dark hair hangs lank against her forehead. The raven on her shoulder tilts its head sideways and eyeballs me.

  “Myra, can you at least try to be pleasant?” says Doc Impossible.

  “You can call me Danny, if it’s easier,” I say, almost on reflex. Crap. Why did I say that? Impossible was standing up for me and it felt good to hear someone use my girl name, my real name, and then I just—ugh. I am such an idiot.

  That all passes through my head between one heartbeat and the next.

  “Pleased to meet you, Danny,” says Magma, stepping forward and offering me his hand. Mine disappears into his when we shake. “I’m Magma.”

  “I know,” I say, again on reflex. Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me? But he smiles and nods, and I feel a little better.

  Valkyrja steps forward and bows to me.

  “Uh, hi. We already met,” my mouth says before I can stop it. Someone, please. Stop me before I kill my dignity again.

  “Not formally. Well met, young champion.” Okay, I’m going to be honest: I’ve had a crush on Valkyrja since about the time I discovered boobs are a thing that exist, but this whole ye-olde-tymey talk is way clunky in everyday conversation and it’s kind of weirding me out.

  And with that, I suddenly feel okay. Because I’m not the only freak in here. I smile and bow back to Valkyrja, and she nods solemnly.

  Chlorophyll shakes my hand. His skin is cool and a little moist. “Hello. I’m Chlorophyll. It’s always nice to meet another queer with powers.” My stomach lurches. Oh yeah. I’m gay now. It’d never occurred to me. Now I’m wondering how obvious my crush on Valkyrja is. “It’s nice to see some trans representation in the community.”

  “Ah, so, uh…” I kind of trail off lamely. For some stupid reason, I’d thought Doc’s examination would be the end of it, and my transition wouldn’t be up for discussion anymore.

  “We all know,” says Graywytch, who hasn’t made a move toward introducing herself. I mean, not that she needs to, but still. “Your little ‘transition’ was caught on video.” The way she says that puts me on guard.

  “What?” I snap a look over at Doc Impossible.

  “That’s how we found you—but don’t worry,” she says. “We got to the video before anyone else did. Our copy is the only copy in the world.”

  “Can you delete it?” I ask. “That was private.”

  “It happened in public,” says Graywytch.

  “I didn’t get to choose where,” I mutter. Dad’s in my head telling me I shouldn’t be such a pussy and should speak up when I’m talking. I wish he’d shut up.

  “Uh, we’ll look into that, Danny,” says Doc Impossible with a glance at Carapace. “But for now we need it for the investigation. I promise you, the video isn’t going anywhere.”

  “Why don’t we take our seats?” says Magma, gesturing toward the conference table.

  The chairs are the really expensive kind, with a whole rack of knobs and levers on the side and soft leather covering deep, inviting cushions.

  “Dan—Danny, we need to discuss some things with you,” says Carapace after we’re all seated.

  “Okay.”

  “First, you’ll see on that tablet in front of you that there are two books we’d like you to read. One is an ethics manual for handling Dreadnought’s—uh, your new powers.” That nervousness from earlier is coming back. It’s kind of amazing how clearly it’s being transmitted, even though his voice is mechanically filtered and he’s wearing power armor. I pick up the tablet—it’s an off-brand knockoff, which is disappointing, somehow—and see two files prominently displayed on the home screen. “The other is a guide for young metahumans, which you may wish to read.”

  “Okay. You said I was going to get a provisional membership?”

  Carapace looks at Graywytch, and she leans in. “That is still in consideration.”

  “You’ll have to agree to abide by certain rules,” says Carapace. “Nothing onerous, but we’re serious about them.”

  “Okay. So what are they?”

  “First, you must
keep your powers secret as much as possible. This is to protect yourself, and the people around you.” I nod. That seems reasonable, especially after what Doc Impossible told me in the lab. He continues, “If you are going to experiment with your powers, you will do it while wearing your suit. Get into the habit of not using your powers when you’re in civilian clothes. You never know when you’re on camera. Fly only at night, with at least one hundred feet between you and the ground except for takeoffs and landings.”

  “Okay.”

  “And of course, don’t commit any crimes. Don’t harass anyone. Don’t destroy private or public property. Avoid television crews and reporters. Don’t interfere with the emergency services. Don’t accept any payments for the use of your powers. If you have serious financial need, we can cover it within reason, so don’t feel pressured to make money. This is all in that guide, along with detailed explanations should you wish to know the reasoning behind the rules. Most importantly, no caping. That means no investigations, no foiling bank robberies, no looking for trouble, all right? You don’t have the training or the experience for that, and if you rush in without thinking you might make things worse than they were before you arrived.”

  I open the handbook file and scroll down to the big list of rules. There’s a lot of Don’ts in it. “Okay,” I say as I flick through it.

  “Excellent,” says Magma. “Now, on a more serious topic.” He glances over at Carapace.

  Carapace is silent for a moment, and then says, “We need to talk about Dreadnought’s murder.”

  My stomach flips. Of course. It’s still not something I like to think about; the best thing that ever happened to me came out of someone else—someone important, someone almost universally loved—getting killed.

  “Right. So, uh. What do you want to know?”

  Above the table, a trio of flat holograms appears, three video screens showing grainy security cam footage of the fall of Dreadnought. The recording is jerky, the frame advancing only once or twice a second.

  “The video enlightens us not as to the method of his demise,” says Valkyrja. She says video like it’s the name of an eldritch anomaly. “His murderer, Utopia, is but a minor power, and young. We have little information on her. Nor do we know the masked girl with pistols twin.”

  “Oh, that’s Calamity,” I say. “She’s a vigilante.”

  “You know her?” asks Doc Impossible.

  “No. We only talked the one time.”

  “Start from the beginning,” says Carapace. “What were you doing behind the mall?”

  “I was, uh, painting my toenails.”

  “Oh!” says Carapace, shifting in his seat. “And this was even before your…empowerment.”

  “Well, yeah. I’ve always been a girl.” I shrug. “That’s the way I could express it.”

  Graywytch snorts, like at a bad joke. My little flicker of unease about her grows.

  Carapace clears his throat, a sound like steel wool being dragged over cast iron. “Let’s move on to when Dreadnought fell next to you.”

  “Why didn’t you run?” asks Magma. “You had no obligation to act.”

  “Because he was hurt?” I say, confused. Isn’t it obvious why I did it? But my answer seems to confirm something for Magma, and he glances over at Valkyrja. She nods slightly.

  “Did he bid you to flee?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yet you did not.”

  “Yes.” My voice seems to be getting quieter with each answer. I hope these are the right answers. I’m screwing it all up. Just like I should have known I would.

  “Why?”

  “I wanted to help him.”

  “You have a champion’s heart, Danielle Tozer,” says Valkyrja, and I try not to sag too obviously with relief. A moment later a sunny glow blooms in my chest. Valkyrja gave me a compliment. Awesome.

  “Did he say anything to you?” asks Carapace.

  “Yes. He said it was Utopia, and she had some kind of weapon. He had a hole right through his chest—”

  “We’ve seen the body,” says Carapace.

  “Right.” My cheeks get warm all over again. Of course they have. Dad’s right. I am an idiot. “Sorry.”

  More questions. We start going through that day step by step. Was I able to see anything about Utopia? Did Dreadnought have any particular last words he wanted to pass along? I tell them about hearing Dreadnought fall, about trying to move him under cover, and giving him water. As the video advances, they pause it and ask me questions about particular points. Little things, things that don’t make sense to me, like did I smell anything unusual. Then it happens. Dreadnought is hidden behind some concrete, and I am barely in view. There’s a flash of light, and then I collapse. My body glows for a moment, a much longer moment than I remember.

  “I didn’t realize it took so long,” I say.

  “That’s something that struck me as unusual,” says Doc Impossible. “Granted, we only have a single other mantle transfer on film, and a sample size of two isn’t much to go on, but your transformation took a lot longer than your predecessor’s did. I think it has something to do with how dramatic the changes were for you compared to him.”

  She starts the video again. On the holographic screen, I’m coming to, and a moment later jerk back from him in alarm. My throat clenches up watching this. Again, I am profoundly thankful to him, for this beautiful, wonderful, amazing gift he gave me.

  We get to the part in the video where Calamity makes her appearance. While I’m staring down at myself in shock, she’s creeping along the mall’s side. She’s got her pistols out and her mask up when she comes into frame. I’m sitting there, waiting for the police to show with my head in my hands, oblivious to the world. I see for the first time that when she stepped around the corner she had both of her guns pointed at my head.

  “We looked at all the other security footage from the mall that day,” says Carapace. “She doesn’t appear in as much of it as we expected. She knows where all the blind spots are, it seems. What can you tell us about her?”

  I try to reach back to that day, but honestly, the memories are hazier than I expected. The big neon exclamation point on that part of my life is getting my new body. Everything else seems fuzzy and unimportant next to that. “Um, she’s my age, I think. Extremely athletic. She hadn’t heard of Utopia, and was surprised someone she hadn’t heard of could kill Dreadnought.”

  “Why did you leave with her?” asks Chlorophyll.

  “She said if the cops showed up they’d make me testify against Utopia. I was scared what would happen if I did that.”

  “And you believed her?” asks Graywytch.

  “She…seemed to know what she was talking about,” I mutter lamely.

  “Your credulity delayed our investigation,” says Graywytch. “This is the first we’re hearing about a new weapon.”

  “It matters not,” says Valkyrja. “A minor delay will not keep her from us.”

  “It may cost lives,” says Graywytch.

  “Danny isn’t responsible for what Utopia does,” says Doc Impossible.

  “What a friendly and convenient world you live in, Doctor.”

  “Everyone makes mistakes,” says Magma. “There’s no reason to dwell on this one.”

  “Agreed. Unless there are any more questions, let’s move on,” says Carapace. “We’re going to need to start thinking about what your supranym will be.”

  “Uh, aren’t I Dreadnought?”

  “Not yet,” Doc Impossible says at the same time as Carapace says, “No, that’s not for you.” They look at each other sharply.

  “I can’t see why she wouldn’t be, if she chose to be a cape,” says Doc Impossible.

  “I don’t think that’s appropriate,” Carapace says.

  “Why not?” says Magma. “All her predecessors took the name along with the mantle.”

  “But isn’t this…?” Carapace leans forward, hand out like he’s trying to reach some common ground. “It’s di
fferent, right?”

  “How?” asks Valkyrja, with ice like a Viking’s nightmare in her tone.

  “Well…the circumstances of his empowerment are…unusual.”

  “Her,” I say, and everyone looks at me, like they’d forgotten I was here already.

  “That’s in dispute,” says Graywytch primly. “You were raised to be a man. Your privilege blinds you, and makes you dangerous.”

  “I’m just as much a girl as you are.”

  “Oh really?” She leans forward, steeples her fingers. “Do you even know how to put in a tampon?”

  “Go to hell,” snaps Doc Impossible.

  “That’s hardly called for,” says Graywytch.

  “This is fu—” Doc Impossible stops short, glances at me, and continues. “Nonsense, and you know it.”

  Absurdly, I want to remind her I go to high school. We cuss in high school.

  “Your own medical examination proved he has a Y chromosome; he’s even got a mutant pair of testicles!” says Graywytch, tapping a screen in front of her. “How is that not male?”

  “Genetics aren’t destiny,” snaps Impossible.

  “We’re being sidetracked,” says Chlorophyll. “Whether Danny is a boy or a girl isn’t the issue. What we really need to be talking about is getting Danny ready to take Dreadnought’s place, no matter what name we settle on.”

  “We settle on? It’s her choice,” says Magma.

  “It is the way of things,” says Valkyrja, nodding.

  “There are extenuating circumstances that must be considered,” says Carapace.

  “Wait, hold on, she’s fifteen!” says Doc Impossible. “We all agreed after Blackfish died that we only accept adults. We shouldn’t even have this conversation for another three years.”

  “Sure, sure, but that’s no reason not to be making plans,” says Chlorophyll. “With the name, without the name, it doesn’t matter. We need that powerset in our deck in case we encounter a Mistress Malice–level threat. Not to mention the funding we stand to lose without him. Dreadnought could justify a budget we won’t be able to match without him.” Oh. So that’s what he wants. Thank you, Mr. Queer Solidarity.