Young Sentinels (Wearing the Cape)

by Marion G. Harmon

  “Go.” Artemis tapped my back again as she started shooting. Bang bang bang. Bang bang bang. “Third left, stay down.” Turning myself around and crawling up the hall, I felt the hot wash of Galatea’s freaking rocket-boots on my back as she roared past to join Artemis in delivering the bang and boom. I rose to a crouch, kept moving; anyone getting past those two would to have to dig into the carpet and crawl up the hall unless he weighed as much as me — Balz certainly wasn’t getting any of his tricky spheres into play.

  Easy so far, so why was my heart racing and breath coming like I’d been punching through stone? Leaning into the wind, I and counted doors: one, two, three. I popped the door, took a step and flinched from surprise as something bounced off the side of my head with a yelped “Ouch!”

  “Astra?”

  The lights came back on and I found myself staring down into wide blue eyes. Yes! Then she grabbed me, one arm around my neck, and before I could move she pulled herself up and kissed me hard.

  I almost fell back into the hall, but managed to grab onto her as she went boneless. Somewhere in my head I heard someone laughing, smelled jasmine, and remembered what Lei Zi had said about Chakra tagging along. Laugh it up, lady.

  The girl who’d just blown my world weighed as much as a kitten and I carefully tucked her up so she curled in against me. Headed up the hall, I had to lean nearly halfway to the floor against Tsuris’ indoor hurricane as she clung like a limpet, giggling into my chest. Over the wind I could hear the banging of Artemis’ pistols behind me, deeper roars as Galatea flushed racks of tiny brilliant-missiles. Back outside and past Tsuris and Megaton — last line of discouragement for anyone who could fight Tsuris’ wind — I lowered Astra to the grass as Crash and The Harlequin came from nowhere.

  “Astra?” The Harlequin whispered, and sighed when she nodded. “This is going to hurt, honey. Sorry.” It might have taken three seconds for her to slip an inflatable brace around Astra’s arm and strap it to her chest — all Astra did was suck in her breath. She had to ask three times if Astra could hold on before the girl nodded again, then she and Crash lifted her onto Crash’s bike and the two of them disappeared in a blur of speed.

  The Harlequin broke radio silence. “Team Two, we have secured the package — go to town. Team One, withdraw.” The roof of the dining hall blew off as Galatea thoughtfully made a hole for Team Two to come in hot. The Sentinels really liked kinetic strikes: Watchman’s landing shook the building.

  Episode Four

  Chapter Twenty Seven: Astra

  Police, especially big-city police, think of themselves as the Thin Blue Line, the protectors that stand between the law-abiding and the lawless. And this is absolutely true, but the public also thinks of police as the enforcers of the will of the State — not a positive association in even the most liberal democracies. This is why, despite appointed action-review boards and civil liaisons, Crisis Aid and Intervention teams try to avoid any appearance of law enforcement — or even of uniforms. Which doesn’t mean they don’t help enforce the law.

  Dr. Alice Mendel, Superhumans and Society.

  * * *

  It really is possible to be deliriously happy, and I’m pretty sure I was laughing when Brian took me out of there. I also remember Quin almost crying when she asked me if I could hold on and they threw me on Crash’s bike so he could slowly take us out of there in hypertime. Just a couple miles down the road he dropped us into realtime in the middle of a bunch of paramedics where the police were waiting to move in, and they laid me out on a stretcher.

  Doctors poked me sometime later (one of them might have been Dr. Beth), and Chakra was there (that’s when the pain disappeared) and Blackstone asked questions (lots, over and over), and then I got to dream and spend some time in one of my favorite places: at Atlas’s cabin, in his arms watching the stars. Sometime in the night they turned into Brian’s, and that was okay, they were still wonderfully strong arms.

  Eventually, a tickling nose pulled me awake. Opening my eyes, I didn’t recognize the ceiling, but smelled that unmistakable hospital smell. Where was I? Monitoring equipment made noises by my bed — had I been hurt bad enough to hook up to alarms? I was feeling almost no pain, a huge change from yesterday.

  “Hey, little Miss Sunshine. I thought you were going to sleep all day.”

  I knew that voice. Carefully turning my head, I couldn’t keep the grin off my face. Yup, Jacky sat in a chair by the window where she could see the whole room. Not quite as pale as she used to be, but she’d still put kids off of Disney princesses for life.

  “I disappear for a day and they drag you back?”

  She smiled. Well, a smile for her (hey, I can see them even if nobody else does). “Blackstone asked for off-the-books help but I could have done that from the Gulf. I came back to get in on the ass-kicking.”

  “Really? Did you get to shoot anybody?”

  “Only a little. Mostly skeet-shooting and they bugged out before the heavy artillery arrived. Hardly worth the trip, so I’m going to stick around for a bit, do some hunting.”

  “Great. Don’t scare the new kids.” Who was I kidding? God knew how much I’d missed Jacky.

  “Awww, are we all done bonding?” Shelly bounced into the room followed by the Bees, making me blink and look around again. This had to be a hospital, because Annabeth had bought out the gift-shop for the cloud of Get well soon! balloons floating behind her. Was I in the same building as Toby?

  Julie laughed, Annabeth cried, Megan snarked at Jacky, and everything was right for a while, until my brain began working again and I started asking questions.

  The good news was Toby was doing better; the professionally pessimistic doctors were expecting him to make a complete recovery, though he probably never would remember that night. I wasn’t in the same hospital; they’d brought me into Northwestern Memorial, isolated and under serious guard. X-rays had shown no broken bones or concussion, and experts in fight trauma had confirmed stuff I’d guessed at: severe impact and wrenching, pinched nerves, but I’d be fine with time and careful exercise.

  That was the only good news. Last night’s raid had been aimed at extracting me first, so they hadn’t netted any more Wreckers despite giving it a strong try once I was out of there (nobody had said so, but I could reconstruct the op).

  Dr. Beth didn’t see any sign of my powers returning yet. Pellegrini had said they would come back — and now that I had time to think, ambivalent didn’t begin to describe how I felt about that — but Beth didn’t know if they’d creep back or come back in a rush (which explained why I had half a dozen sensors on me — he wanted to know the exact moment it happened). Shelly solemnly informed me that Dr. Beth had researchers at Detroit Supermax monitoring Mr. Ludlow to see if it worked the same in the other direction, but Eric wasn’t getting weaker yet either.

  And the city was going crazy. Protesters picketing The Crew. Protesters picketing Shankman. A morning riot outside the Dome between Humanity First protesters and a few hundred of my fans (someone in the CPD leaked the story of my injury and rescue last night). Goon vs. supervillain violence, supervillain vs. goon megaviolence, and a serious exodus of Chicagoans who could get out of town for a while, straining the airlines still serving the city and sparking, oh yeah, more fighting at bus terminals and even gas stations. Only Atlas-types like Watchman and Safire were keeping the freeways from turning into parking lots, the Chicago Police Department was getting pushed to the wall, and every Guardian team in the city was out in the streets, despite what Blackstone thought of using superheroes for normal law-and-order stuff.

  And the DSA was no closer to finding the Green Man.

  Then everyone was gone, even Jacky and Shell (who left a new earbug so she was as close as a whisper). I caught sight of Seven and Variforce in the room beyond before the door closed, keeping out the world.

  I wiggled around a bit; strange beds always have an uncomfortable spot. The ceiling looked really interesting — I could count the little ref
racting squares in it if I got bored — but I didn’t expect to be alone for long; I might have answered questions last night, but Blackstone was sure to arrive at any moment to debrief me within an inch of my life.

  Since I could walk, they had to let me out soon, right? I closed my eyes. Smiling made my face hurt, from a hit that shouldn’t have left even a bruise after twenty-four hours. I’d seen extreme sports-injuries before, and even with Chakra’s wonderful magic I knew recovery was going to take a while. Until my breakthrough powers came back, at least.

  And I wanted them back; listening to Jacky and Shell explain what had happened while I was gone, what was happening right now, I’d said goodbye to eating lunch in the student commons with Julie and Annabeth and Megan. So now the thought that Pellegrini might have been lying made me swallow rising panic. What if I wasn’t Astra anymore? If anyone walked in now I could blame my wet eyes and sniffling on pain.

  I blinked my eyes clear. “Shell?”

  “What? Do you need anything? Are you hurting?”

  “Nope. Could you come back? There’s something we need to talk about.”

  * * *

  “You — You — I can’t — Aaagh!”

  Shell incandescently speechless was a sight to treasure and I tried hard to not laugh; it wasn’t funny. I did hold it down to painful giggles while my BFF’s mouth opened and shut.

  “I can’t believe you did that! Or even thought of it!”

  Okay, speechlessness over now. I rolled my eyes.

  “You’re kidding, right? Galatea? You’re codenamed for Pygmalion’s statue that the gods turned into a human woman for him? It’s the original Pinocchio-myth! I couldn’t find the Blue Fairy, and I wanted you to be safe! Sorry!”

  “But, Ozma? You signed on with Crazy to invade La-La Land if she’d make me a Real Girl again? And why didn’t you tell me?” Grabbing fistfuls of her synthetic red hair, she looked pretty demented herself.

  “Asks the girl who told Tommy Archer I liked him.”

  “Hey, you’d never have said anything and you melted into a puddle if he just looked at you! I’m not broken! You don’t need to fix me!”

  “And when the DSA seizes you as a threat to national security? They don’t even need an arrest warrant — they can seize you as property! Vulcan’s property!”

  “I don’t belong to Vulcan!”

  “Yes, yes you do! All except the software between your ears and that belonged to the Anarchist! And if they knew what you carry around in there they’d come and get you yesterday!”

  “Blackstone would never — ”

  “Blackstone couldn’t stop them! Shell!”

  She closed her mouth, heaved a completely unnecessary breath while I glared at her, breathing hard myself. Yelling hurt.

  “Shell,” I tried again. “You were safe while you were hiding somewhere far away in TA’s super-secret lair, a voice in my head and a ghost in cyberspace. Now...please Shell, please be more careful.”

  Her shoulders hunched, but she folded her arms and glared back. “So why are you telling me? Why don’t you just do whatever Ozma comes up with if it’s for my own good?”

  Using my good arm, I levered myself up and back into a more sitting position.

  “Because it was stupid, Shell. Because you’re Power Chick now. Robotica, anyway. The city’s coming apart out there, and I can’t do anything because I’m just Hope again.”

  Ever since the day of my breakthrough I’d told myself that, if I’d ever had a choice, if I could have just given my powers back, I’d have walked away. Not all the time; just when I was tired or scared, or wishing for more normal in my day — nothing but the whining of someone who wanted it easier — and now I was so scared I might not get it back I could hardly think straight. Really, could I have been more stupid? More self-centered and shallow?

  I picked at the blanket. It was soft, like a piece of cloud. Chakra had told me what Mal’s choice had been, and all this just drove the lesson home with a big old cosmic hammer. Yes, I can be taught.

  “I want it all back, Shell,” I whispered to the blanket, made myself look up. “And if I want it back for me, I can’t, I can’t take it all away from you, make you just Shelly again. Sorry.”

  She tried to hold the glare, gave it up with a sigh and unfolded her arms. “Dummy. I’m going with you.”

  “Um, what?”

  “If you’re going to invade a fictional fairyland, I’m coming with you.”

  “It would be all manner of shocking if you didn’t,” Ozma said from the doorway. Brian loomed behind her.

  “Private, duh, do you mind?” Shelly huffed.

  “It is private now. I have informed the door we will not be receiving.” She wore casual slacks and a loose silk tee and of course the wide, white jeweled belt that went with everything. She was going to start a new fashion trend, I could just tell. “And I petitioned Blackstone for the privilege of seeing you first. The dear man feels he is in my debt.”

  And is he? Was she going to collect him for her Army of Oz, too? Not a wizard but a magician? What, exactly, had I done?

  Grendel

  Never mix into a girl-fight, even if it looks like it’s winding down. Her serene Highness ignored Galatea’s laser glare as I did my best looming monster impression. I loom, therefore I am. Astra — Hope, and didn’t the name just freaking fit her right down to her cheerfully hopeful default expression — went from scowl to smile in the time it took her to turn her head. That left the job of carrying the chill to Galatea, and the robot-girl tried hard.

  It didn’t work real well against Ozma’s super-imperturbability.

  Hope’s eyes slid past Ozma to focus on me, got wider. So did her smile, and she mouthed a Thank you before looking back at the princess. Every muscle in my body twitched and started bulking up like a fight was coming. Yeah, right — like she could threaten me on a good day.

  “I am glad to find you well,” Ozma went on while I tried to figure out why the girl made me so twitchy, “and I have come bearing gifts. Brian?” I handed her the pepper tin, and she deposited it in Hope’s good hand with the kind of flourish that would look silly from anyone else.

  The girl obviously had no idea. “Thank you? I suppose you can never have enough pepper...”

  Ozma laughed. “May I?” Taking it back, she unscrewed the bottom compartment and held it out.

  Holy shit. Holy freaking shit.

  Now the little silver pill inside glowed softly, slowly pulsing dim and bright. It looked like a piece of the Moon — not a moon rock like the astronauts brought back but a piece of the Moon like you saw it on an icy clear night, sailing in its own halo.

  “Baum always went light on description,” Ozma observed.

  Gosh, do you think? After the retrieval, I’d gone back and reread the pill parts of the story; “silver pills” didn’t exactly cover it. Hope couldn’t take her eyes off it — perfectly understandable since the pretty little thing was practically singing a subliminal siren song. She swallowed.

  “What does it do?” she whispered softly. “How do you use it?”

  Ozma laughed again. “It’s a little big, so I would take it with water. It’s the last of the Wishing Pills. In the story, you had to gulp it down and then count to seven by twos and wish for what you want to have happen. Baum threw the silly riddle in to make it look harder, but it’s really that simple; the hard part is what happens next.”

  “Next?” That came out as almost a squeak.

  “Next.” The princess wasn’t laughing anymore. “The bigger the wish, the harder the test. The Wishing Pill turns by degrees into the worst pain you have ever imagined, ratcheting up until the wish is granted or until you change your wish to ‘I wish I’d never swallowed the pill!’ Wish for that, and you won’t have. The pill will be back in your hand, unswallowed.”

  Hope bit her lip, looking pale under the purple bruising. “I’ve taken things that have disagreed with me before.”

  “Never like this, I pro
mise you. You need to keep true to your wish in the face of unbearable pain. I couldn’t, not even to save myself and my friends. When it was me, I wished it out again.” She closed the tin, cutting off the calling moon-glow. “And there are limits. The wish must be for something immediate, concrete, and present. You can wish for Shelly to be human again, or for a chest full of diamonds, or for a total physical makeover, but not for peace on Earth.”

  Hope and Shelly traded a look that meant absolutely nothing to me, but I was beginning to wonder if Oz was lots darker than Ozma let on. Seriously? A torture-test to see if you were worthy of having your wish granted?

  But when you thought about it, the stories had lots of bad things happening: a king who sold his wife and kids to an evil gnome in return for immortality, a lady with a collection of heads she liked to swap to match her clothes. Hell, Ozma had been robbed of her memories, turned into a boy, and raised by an abusive witch — not exactly bedtime story stuff when you thought about the details.

  Watching the girls, Ozma nodded. “I will keep the tin in my magic cabinet. When you wish to use the Wishing Pill, simply call on me — or on Nix if I am not present — to deliver it to you.”

  * * *

  The princess got us out of there as smoothly as she got us in, barely nodding to Variforce and Seven. Variforce waved us on; Seven was too busy giving signatures to a pair of nurses who looked ready to drag him into the nearest supply closet. She followed me close as I broke a path for us to the lobby and out, and I got my usual stares and starts from the civilians, but I was really too bothered to notice.

  “So what was all that about, princess?” We had a moment while our driver, who Galatea called New Tom for some reason, pulled the van around to meet us.

  Ozma looked up, distracted. “Hmm?”

  “I get that Astra — Hope — made a deal with you, but why the big production now?” She’d practically rushed us here, stopped at the door long enough to hear the two BFs’ bonding moment (it had gotten kind of loud), timed her grand Ta-dah! entrance.