Chapter Nineteen
Machiavelli once said that it’s better to be feared than loved—which makes me want to go back in time and give him a good
kicking whenever somebody quotes him. It’s much easier for someone with bad intentions to manipulate people who are afraid of
you.
Astra, Notes From a Life.
* * *
Most of the team had crowded into the Common Room, and not around the game-room side. Someone had turned on the big-screen TV to
Chicago Nightly News. “After the events of the last two days, questions are being asked,” Carl Schumberg reported as they showed
clips of Dr. Millibrand’s burning house and the blown-up dealership. Someone had gotten hold of the car-place’s security tapes,
and had spliced together a deceptive sequence of the robot and dragon attack; watching it, you really couldn’t tell that the
murder had happened separately.
The commentators made it sound like the missing Dr. Millibrand was another victim, and made no mention that Mr. Gerrold was
anything but a random victim too. After interviewing several bystanders—who had nothing to add besides stuff blew up and we were
scared—Carl opened a split-screen dialogue with Mal Shankman.
“It’s what I’ve been saying all along,” Shankman pontificated. “Our superheroes are out of control, they think they can throw
down anywhere, go to town without any regard for who gets hurt, who loses their homes or livelihood! They’ve got to be made to
understand that their actions have consequences!”
“But the CAI teams work closely with the city police and emergency services, Mr. Shankman—”
“They hide behind the law! And the police, whose job is to protect us, don’t know who half of them are! What have they got to
hide? And look who we hold up as paragons! Men and women who hide behind masks, who don’t think moral decency applies do them.
Look at Burnout! Look at Atlas!”
“But—”
And so it went, Shankman ranting right over Carl. Quin finally turned the sound off, giving us blessed silence.
“Well, he’s a piece of work,” Seven said mildly.
Quin grimaced. “News conference tomorrow, and our own website is putting up what details we can release to the public, but
Shankman’s getting most of the sound-bites because of his election campaign.”
“So how do we fight back?” Rush asked.
“We don’t,” Lei Zi said. “The public record is clear—people just aren’t in the mood to pay attention to it. Meanwhile, you
don’t talk to the press. Al and Quin are on that; we just need to do our job to our usual professional standard.”
Blackstone seconded her. “When the Ring attacked Whittier Base, many people blamed the US government’s international policies.
Now we’ve got the beginnings of a supervillain war, and if there’s collateral damage then people will be blaming us for not
being able to stop it before it started, or simply for being the target. But we will finish this, and eventually most people will
cool down and start thinking again.”
“And meanwhile that ojete rides us into office,” Riptide snarled.
Seven shrugged. “Politics.” I wished I could be as uncaring. A final scene showed the crowd of regular protestors shouting for
the Domestic Security Act; already someone had pasted Mr. Gerrold’s face on some of waving placards, with How many more? printed
below it. They looked professionally done. At least his widow hadn’t been one of the interviewees. Not yet at least. Oh God, did
she know what he’d been doing, what he was? I hadn’t thought about his family at all, and I guiltily resolved to ask Fisher if
they could give her a good story.
Our circle broke up. Seven and Riptide going back to their pool game, but Artemis caught my eye and we headed for the dining room.
She wanted some face time so she could razz me over my new costume, plus Willis had promised her an omelet worth killing for and
she insisted on sharing it before I went out on dusk-patrol.
* * *
With Shelly around, nobody needs an alarm clock. She woke me singing “I am the very model of a quantum-set intelligence! I‘ve
information personal—oh, you’re awake!”
I threw Superpooh through her. “I'm so going to kick your quantum-ass!”
She stuck out her tongue. “Like you can. This isn’t a good time, but Dane just texted you.”
“What? Why?”
“He wants to meet up. Lots of SOS’s.”
I wanted to scream. And how was I supposed to do that, at Def-1? Then I laughed. “Text back. Say ‘Meet at noon, Sentinels’
Museum.’”
“But—”
“He deserves to know, Shell. Everybody else seems to. So, why the wakeup call?”
Her grin got wider. “Fisher’s clean. I’ve run his accounts six ways from Sunday, strip-mined his epad, broken down every case
file, the man is clean clean sparkly clean. Fact, he hardly spends a dime except on smokes and whiskey, and has built up so much
paid leave time his union hates him. Nothing has any connection to his casework—he has the most amazing closing record, it’s
like he pulls leads out of his butt.”
I felt a million pounds lighter; I’d hated suspecting Fisher. Whatever his secret, I had no urge to mess things up for our
favorite chain-smoking gumshoe by telling the CPD one of their senior detectives wasn’t what he seemed. Besides, they might
already know.
I stretched. Even last night’s dream didn’t bring me down, since I’d woken up with a semi-solution.
“Shell? Do you think you could dive back into the Future Files today?”
“Sure.” She dropped to the bed beside me. “What never-going-to-happen-now stuff do you want to know about?”
“I’m not sure.” I groped to put words on my thought. “Artemis says we’re fighting with an ‘intelligence disadvantage.’
Villains Inc knows all about us—after all we have our own website—but we don’t know anything about them. Well, we know about
two, but how many are there? Who are they? What can they do? What might they do?”
In my dream I’d been wandering through the darkened Dome, alone and threatened by shadowed figures I didn’t recognize. They’d
posed and leered, but I’d been afraid to attack, not knowing what they could do.
“None of this ever happened before,” Shell said doubtfully. “Or at least it didn’t become part of the public record.”
“I know. I guess what I mean is, can’t you put together a list of likely supervillains? Including bad guys who just haven’t
shown up yet but might be around now? If Villains Inc. stayed secret ‘before,’ maybe they would have shown up on their own in
the future?”
“Oh! Blackstone and Artemis are already working on a hypothetical rogue’s gallery, assigning probabilities that the Wicked Witch
has recruited them like she did Tin Man.” She laughed. “Think we’ll meet the Cowardly Lion next? I can add a list of bad guys
who might be operating now and we just don’t know it, if that’s what you want.”
Since the Teatime Anarchist had left the Future Files to me, she needed my okay to release any information in them. I put on Mom’
s serious, Foundation Boardroom Face. “Make it so,” I said. Then I shrieked as she started tickling. Tickle-fights, where your
opponent is as solid as a dream, are one-sided and completely unfair.
* * *
Unable to go to class, I called around and got the lectures copied and emailed so I could listen to them later, and tried to
distract myself with study. It didn’t work, and I finally took an unscheduled morning patrol. Southern winds still warmed the
city, and Dispatch had instructions to only call me in for major incidents until we canceled the Def-1, so I enjoyed a quiet
flight. I took a break atop the Sears Tower to enjoy the sun and dangle my feet over Whacker Drive.
I couldn’t help remembering what Atlas—John—had called it. Showing the flag. Letting people know we were up here, ready to help
them, that they didn’t have to be afraid of us. Breakthrough-made godzillas. City-shattering earthquakes. Car-flattening iron
dragons. How afraid will people get?
I landed at the Dome’s portico doors, waving back at the applause, cheers, boos, and cat-calls. “Ma’am,” one of the two
patrolman on duty said, touching his cap.
The park police had cordoned off a stretch of ground to the right of the Dome’s main doors so the permanent protestors didn’t
block the pedestrian avenues. For our part, we’d let the CPD put two officers outside in the Dome’s portico. The current
Superintendent of Police wasn’t exactly our friend, but the Dome and the Memorial were city landmarks and tourist attractions, so
the mayor made sure things stayed friendly on our front porch.
“Morning, Gabe.” I gave the officer a smile. “Are the concerned citizens restless?”
“No ma’am. Well, we’ve been issuing warnings, but it’s mostly because of tourists here for the museum and memorial. Couple
hours ago a pair of Wisconsin cheeseheads nearly threw down with some of the mouthier ones. Didn’t like the language they were
using, if we hadn’t stepped in, they’d have had the whole pack on them.”
“Thank you, you know we appreciate it.”
He smiled back. “Can’t complain. I was there for the Paulina Street incident—we like you fine where you are.”
“No.” I groaned, rolling my eyes.
“Ma’am?” He winked. “We like the uniform change, too. Lookin’ fine.”
“Rat! I blush, Gabe!” Laughing despite the heat in my cheeks, I waved to his partner beside the far column and went inside,
feeling better.