Wearing the Cape 4: Small Town Heroes

by Marion G. Harmon

  “So, do you want to hear about Powerteam now?”

  I turned on the water and stepped in, yelling over the heavenly waterfall-spray of five showerheads. “How are they even real?”

  I could hear her snickering.

  “Their reality show format is built on tryouts and training. Crisis Aid and Intervention Certification is the official reward for those who make the team, but it’s really an excuse for vicious competition in the selection phase and soap opera drama in their headquarters-slash-communal residence. They’re a parody of a real team, but they don’t have to answer to a city or county that pays their bills so they can get away with it.”

  I lathered my hair, trying to wrap my mind around what that had to be like; just thinking about the awful social dynamics made me slightly queasy. It had to be like getting out of bed and jumping into a ripe cesspool every day.

  “Okay, so how did they end up here? In Cairo I mean.”

  “They have to do something besides train and scripted bickering. Usually they pursue specifically vetted General Warrants, but they also handle emergency relief. They’re not bad at it. Last night…”

  She trailed off, but I knew that tone.

  “Shell? Who did you hack?”

  “Just their studio files after the fight. They were hardly protected at all.”

  I bent my head to rinse so I wouldn’t have to say anything.

  “Spinner’s been team leader for two years and they’re forcing him to move on,” she said through the spray. “The studio broadly scripted an argument built on whatever excuse the team could find, and he was supposed to get in a fight with Slamazon and maybe Kindrake. It would be a ‘character turning’ inflexion point for him, he’d realize he was out of control, resign, go off to China to gaze at his navel and discover himself, maybe come back in a year or two to join a real CAI team or an older reality team. He didn’t want to go, but the producers are ready to just terminate his contract if he doesn’t follow the script.”

  “The fight was planned?”

  “Improvised with guidelines.”

  “That’s just—” I couldn’t think of a word bad enough, at least not one I could say. I finished up fast and grabbed the towel Shell handed to me. Blackstone’s decision to pull us out this morning, fuzzy before, now made horrible sense.

  “What’s the rush?” Shell asked as I toweled my hair hard, looking for clothes.

  “Does Blackstone know what you know about the script?”

  “No…”

  “Tell him. Tell him now.”

  Chapter Three

  Rules of Engagement in a Civilian Environment: avoid an encounter-with-force if at all possible, use only powers that can be applied without collateral damage, use all powers that can be applied without collateral damage, do not escalate, stop any escalation, and neutralize civilian risks as quickly as possible.

  Chicago Sentinels Training Manual.

  * * *

  I finally settled on a fresh costume minus the mask, pulling the bodysuit on over damp skin. Boots, gloves… Somewhere along the line I’d started treating my costume (whatever my Andrew-imposed style this month) like a uniform; going anywhere “official” in the Dome without it was unthinkably improper even if the mask wasn’t necessary anymore.

  Shell watched me scramble, more and more worried. “Okay, he knows now. What’s the big deal?”

  Hopping on one foot, I realized my stupidity and floated to pull my boots on like an astronaut.

  “Oh I don’t know, Shell! If they staged it and it went bad, do you think they’re waiting for us to call them on it? Don’t you think they’ve got to be—drat!” I popped the seams of my supposedly indestructible left boot like most girls rip a stocking and tossed it for a replacement. “—spinning it already?” Boots on, I grabbed up my gloves and ran.

  Laconic Bob—Mal’s name for him and it had stuck—nodded in passing as we blew through the downstairs lobby. Shell had probably told Blackstone I was coming when she dumped the news on him; he didn’t seem at all surprised to see me when I came through his open office door. Legal Eagle looked up smiling, and my heart sank.

  Not that I didn’t like Tommy Brannigan, Esquire. He was cute, funny, and he’d kept me out of court over the infamous Paulina Street Noodle Incident (which had not been my fault). His breakthrough story had inspired Shelly to jump to her death five years ago, but I’d never held that against him and he would never, ever, know.

  But I only ever saw him when legal badness loomed.

  “Hello Astra,” Blackstone greeted me, acting for all the world as if our breathless entrance were a social call. Seeing Shell behind me, Legal Eagle blinked. He knew who she was now, but she bizarrely refused to wear a costume (her Galatea shells didn’t count) and today her lace trimmed sleeveless black t-shirt said Life: 3 in bold white.

  He shook his head. “Hey girls. Is there a fire?”

  “Don’t be a dumbass,” Shell huffed, making me wince as she dropped into a chair. I sat down with my usual cape-tuck. Blackstone looked… calm and I unpanicked a little; maybe it wasn’t as bad as I thought.

  “Thank you for having Shell pass along that piece of information, my dear,” he said, eyes twinkling as he watched Shell glare at Tommy. “It adds one piece to the puzzle, and forewarned is always forearmed.”

  “But it’s not why you pulled us out this morning.” At least it looked like there was no fire. I could live with that.

  “How could it be? No, for that you can thank Powerteam’s early morning web release of the teaser for their next episode. Quin’s excellent staff caught it this morning.”

  “Their what, now?”

  Shell rolled her eyes and Blackstone chuckled at my bewildered look. Turning his desk screen around for my benefit, he tapped a key to play the Viewtube file displayed there. Clips of the flood and Cairo, all of us in the church rec-room, the argument between Spinner and Kindrake, my entrance…

  “I started it?” The camera angle and editing made it look like I’d started arguing with Spinner, put up my hands aggressively, and Boomer had stepped in to defend his idiot leader. Punched first in self-defense? The rest of the cut footage showed our guys leaping in before the rest of Powerteam could move. How could they possibly…

  “I did not—” I closed my mouth. The look on my face must have been priceless; Legal Eagle wheezed behind his hand as he tried not to laugh.

  Blackstone didn’t laugh. “Of course not, my dear. I never would have thought it, and your mask-cam footage shows very clearly what happened up till that point. However.” He frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This hastily released preview cut isn’t provably fraudulent, only misleading. It is obviously intended to shape the story by getting out there first. And as you can see, it is succeeding.”

  The counter below the final frozen image registered over a million hits.

  “What are we doing?”

  “Following Tommy’s advice, we have spoken to Superintendent Redmond. He has agreed to launch an immediate investigation and a pair of Internal Affairs agents will arrive within the hour to interview each of you, take statements, and receive copies of all Dispatch footage from the time in question.”

  “That’s helping us?”

  Legal Eagle cleared his throat.

  “By launching a full investigation, the CPD is able to immediately subpoena all relevant recordings and testimony—and that includes all the video footage taken by Powerteam’s camera crew, too. Jurisdictionally it’s iffy, but Cairo’s bench is cooperating by issuing a mirror warrant.”

  “Oh. Oh.” The complete video record would absolutely exonerate us, and Powerteam’s producers couldn’t withhold the video—it was material evidence.

  “But won’t a full IA investigation just strengthen the impression they’re trying to make?”

  “Only short term. I’ve asked Quin to issue an immediate public statement that the Sentinels are fully and immediately indemnifying the God In Christ church for all damages
, and suing Powerteam’s production studio to recover all repair costs. The lawsuit will force them to settle or attempt to prove they are not at fault, and we will not let them off the hook with a private settlement.”

  Blackstone nodded agreement. Even Shell looked approving, and Legal Eagle wasn’t her favorite person (he kept telling her what she couldn’t do). I finally relaxed, let myself smile even though it all left me more confused. I was missing something. C’mon, Hope. Just because you’re blonde doesn’t mean you have to be one.

  “So the faster IA clears us, the faster Powerteam’s spin spins out. That can’t be all there is to it.”

  “No.” Blackstone’s smile faded and he leaned back as my stomach clenched again. “Public image be damned, this may turn into a fight over certification.”

  “Wait, what?”

  * * *

  “That’s—” Tsuris stopped short of racking up another point in one of my and Shell’s private point games (each predictable That’s (fill-in-the-blank)! protest scored a point).

  The team meeting wasn’t going real well, but this was the junior team’s first exposure to a Certification Review—and they weren’t even fully certified yet.

  I wanted to put my head down on the table and not look up until…well until everything was normal again. Powerteam’s viral teaser had inspired WTF? texts from the Bees (and snarkier comments from Megan). Mom had texted—the teaser had been picked up by her favorite Chicago morning show. Her only comment had been LUV-U, but if she’d seen it, Dad had seen it, and they worried.

  And the thing that made me want to laugh and cry was that the teaser wasn’t the problem. It wasn’t even close.

  “Your sentiments are shared,” Blackstone agreed with Tsuris. The Internal Affairs agents had come, done their job, and gone, and with everyone’s testimony given we could finally meet to talk about it. Sitting beside him, Chakra looked as serene as always, but The Harlequin looked ready to say something stronger. The three of them faced us across the Assembly Room table, and the only one not in costume was Shell.

  “So, I don’t get it.” Crash sounded more curious than bugged, but he obviously spoke for pretty much everyone else.

  “Astra?” Blackstone raised an eyebrow at me, smiling.

  I sighed and paraphrased. “The rules of engagement in a civilian environment are: avoid a fight if possible, don’t do lots of indiscriminate damage if you can avoid it, don’t escalate, and get the civilians out of the way or if you can’t do that then shut down the fight as quickly as possible. How many of those boxes did we check off last night?”

  “They started it!” Tsuris, of course, but Grendel’s deep grunt was practically a growl. Ozma smiled, but she always smiled and sometimes that was scarier.

  “And we escalated instead of attempting to talk,” I pointed out without looking at anybody. Fortunately, Shell assured me the Dispatch recordings showed us shielding and removing the bystanders first. “We also caused some unnecessary damage.” Destroying a section of built-up levee had let some river into Cairo, even if it wasn’t nearly as bad as it would have been without our work before the fight.

  “And we ended it.” Grendel smiled, showing fangs. According to Dr. Beth, getting swallowed whole by a dragon hadn’t hurt him a bit.

  “Of course we did,” I agreed, wishing I could return the smile.

  Powerteam was fully certified while we were only provisionally, but we trained hard and the fight hadn’t even been close. And it wasn’t that Grendel didn’t get it; he just didn’t care. Not our fault, so not our problem. I wished. I turned to Shell.

  “Shell? Since the Event, how many times have CAI-certified teams fought each other?”

  “Outside of training? Zero.”

  “Seriously?” Megaton started to protest, but thought about it.

  “Yep,” Shell said. “Certified and licensed teams? Never.”

  Blackstone cleared his throat. “And there are two reasons for this. First, all professional capes are very much aware of the public relations side of their role. Public confidence and trust is everything. Superheroes fight each other all the time in the comics and movies; in real life, it is as unthinkable as seeing local police and the FBI shoot it out over the jurisdiction of an arrest. We’re all on the same side.

  “The second reason is that capes who pick fights with other capes get dropped from team rosters very quickly. It’s a question of certification and, of all things, insurance.” He smiled drily. “No municipality will hire a cape they can’t purchase liability insurance for, and no insurance company will cover a superhero who is not certified by a reputable association. No certification, no insurer. No insurance, no license to wear the cape as a professional.”

  That sank in. We’d won our fight, but a panel of strangers might decide we shouldn’t have fought it. I kept my hands folded on the table, my back straight, my face boardroom-blank.

  “So, what happens now?” Megaton asked. He hadn’t been there but the Young Sentinels was his chance to redeem himself. Or at least that was how he looked at it.

  This time I answered, trying to project optimism.

  “We certify through the American Superhero Association, the same association that certifies Guardians and Knights teams. After Internal Affairs publishes its findings, the ASA will rule on what, if anything, needs to be done about individual or team certification. Until IA is finished we’re off of field duty, even those of us certified for non-combat activities. After that, the ASA may decide to place us on probationary status, or completely clear us of fault.”

  Or they could completely decertify us. I kept smiling. “Hopefully the latter.”

  “Any questions?” Blackstone asked, pulling the focus back to him. Of course there were. That took up nearly another half-hour, and wasn’t fun at all. Tsuris stayed pissed and even Jamal looked worried. Megaton was worried and he wasn’t even subject to possible censure. Ozma remained her usual serene self and Grendel stayed quiet, but that didn’t tell me anything about what either really thought.

  The meeting ended with Quin’s admonition to not respond to queries, personal or otherwise, about the investigation. The public spin? “Superintendent Redmond has moved quickly so that the city’s confidence in the Young Sentinels can be speedily affirmed.” No mention of the ASA or certification.

  We’d beat the Green Man, and we might get taken down by a review board. How unsuperheroic was that?

  Chapter Four

  Today marks the third cycle of open elections in the US Territory of Byzantium since Congress ratified the Byzantium Convention’s territorial constitution. Across the Bosporus in East Istanbul, large demonstrations marked Voting Day as thousands of Turks marched to protest the US seizure of West Istanbul as “Constantinople,” the capital of the territory taken from Turkey in the peace settlement ending the Caliphate War. In Constantinople, territory troops stood ready with the city’s ten CAI teams to respond to Caliphate attacks, but the day ended peacefully; this year at least, the Islamic-nationalist terrorist organization has failed to make any public attempts.

  AP Archives: Byzantium Elections.

  * * *

  Grendel hit me so hard my breastplate rang and I bounced hard off the impact-wall before I could recover. But I didn’t drop Malleus and I used the bounce to come back harder. The physics were simple; wearing my armor and swinging my short-handled titanium battle maul, I massed more than twice what I did standing in my underwear and that meant twice the imparted force from the same hit. Grendel managed to move with my swing, but it still hammered him off his feet.

  But he’d expected it and tried to turn his fall into a grapple. Claws denser than steel carved my armor and almost got a purchase before my backswing caught his shoulder and pushed his fall harder. The impact-wall boomed again, third point for me.

  “Match!” Shell blew her whistle. Grendel couldn’t see her and the short referee uniform t-shirt, black kickin’ booty shorts, and baseball cap she was wearing, but he could hear he
r through his earbug Dispatch link.

  He climbed to his feet while I waited and watched him change, floating so my toes barely brushed the floor. With anybody else I’d have rushed to give him a hand up, but sparring with me always put Grendel in full fight-mode (the reason I wore the armor). He braced against the wall while his hunched posture straightened, his subcutaneous armor plates melted away, his skin smoothed out, and his claws and fangs receded.

  His eyes changed, too, from pure black to human irises circling shrinking pupils. Night-black with silver flecks. I liked his eyes.

  “Three to two,” I gasped, breathing hard. “Good match.”

  He breathed, held it, let it out—a tantric breathing technique Chakra had taught him—and pushed his dreads out of his face. They’d come out of their tail somewhere in the match.

  “Good one,” he agreed, voice steady and grin mostly fang-free. He pointed at my gouged breastplate. “You okay?”

  I fingered the deep slanting grooves and shrugged. “Vulcan won’t be happy, but it did its job.” Touching down, I joined him at the wall. When I slid down to sit, he joined me on the floor. Shell obligingly faded out; she was getting good at knowing when I wanted some one-on-one time.

  Resting Malleus beside me and leaning back, I pulled off my mask and wig to wipe at the sweat. I still felt a little light-headed; sparring all-out with Grendel was always… hard on the hindbrain. Buffed up and ready for battle, his loominess and claws and fangs always made the ancestral monkey in my head want to run screaming and throw fruit and nuts at him from a safe tree branch.

  He turned his head to look at me. In his stripped-down mode I could see traces of the Brian Lucas I’d seen in his confidential files, the upper-class black kid from St. Louis who’d rebelled with his dreads and danced like a man burning to move every moment of every day.