Villains Inc. (Wearing the Cape)

Chapter Twenty Three


“Light is both a particle and a wave. All futures are both contingent and destined. It’s temporal physics as Zen.”

The Teatime Anarchist



* * *



Even with everything that was happening, the fact that my BFF was now a gynoid robot was still kind of a big deal. Lei Zi kept us

for an action review, but I grabbed Galatea-Shelly as we left the Assembly Room, prying her away from Vulcan’s side.

“Isn’t Crash a cute one?” she asked.

I closed my eyes. “Shelly, you—dammit, Shell!”

“Hey! First, he’s only a year older than I am, and, second, I’m not staying this way.”

“That’s right,” Vulcan said, following us. “Shelly as she is now is a ‘proof of concept.’ When your friend introduced

herself to me and suggested this, I didn’t know if 22nd Century tech could interface with the polymorphic neural net that Galatea

used.”

I turned on him. “Used?”

He grimaced. “I’m beginning to think that even with my poly-neural system, a true AI isn’t achievable. It does well enough

around the lab, so when I get Shelly’s new body built I’ll return this one to autonomous function and keep it as a lab

assistant.”

I ground my teeth, but held it in. “And then what?”

Shelly laughed. “And then to everyone else I’ll be Teen Galatea.”

“Shell—”

“Um,” Vulcan cleared his throat, finally getting a clue. “I’ll just be down in the lab. You girls go ahead and talk.”

Watching him go, I tried to swallow my dislike. Shelly watched me, which felt utterly weird since she did it from two feet up.

Vulcan had built Galatea tall and leggy.

Artemis touched my arm and leaned in. “Let’s take this downstairs,” she suggested softly, trying not to laugh, turning us

towards the elevators. When we got to my rooms, Shelly started on her list before we’d closed to door.

“First, I really—”

“Shell, stop.” I turned and hugged her. “I get it, and I’m sorry. So, how’s this going to work?”

“Really? You’re okay?”

I forced a smile. “You just surprised me, is all.”

“Great!” She spun around. “Vulcan’s auto-molding a younger body from my old sketches—remember the Robotica character I

designed?”

I groaned and she giggled happily; the sketch had looked like a Japanese anime robot: cute, big-eyes, but with visible seams and

machine joints.

“Thing is,” she said, suddenly serious, “I’ll have to transfer myself into Teen Galatea. I’ll be able to keep up my Dispatch

links, but not the part of me dedicated to our neural link. So when I’m the new me, I won’t be able to be with you, know what I

mean?”

So, not a copy: a real move. Somehow I kept my smile.

“You won’t be Shelly the Teenage Ghost? So no more one-sided tickle fights. I can live with that—you’re still my wingman.”

She threw her arms around me and I held on. A brain transplant. What could possibly go wrong? I tried not to think about it, and

caught Artemis watching me carefully.

* * *



Dr. Beth re-examined my aching ribs before he released me back into the wild. The other CAIs could have covered for us but, more

than ever, Blackstone considered it important that patrols continue and right now that was just me. The news crews got plenty of

footage of me taking off on my evening flight; dusk-patrol, Atlas called it.

But once night settled in, I broke procedure and went home.

Shelly had slipped me some info earlier about my new costume: it held up so well because Andrew made it out of a polymorphic-

molecule weave spun up by Vulcan at Blackstone’s suggestion. The stuff was almost as tough as I was, but more importantly, Vulcan

gave it chameleon-suit capability; even the mask had been coated to change, and if I wrapped my cape around my head, the heavy

silver snaps on the bodysuit were the only parts that didn’t blend right into the environment with the click of a hidden tab. I

had mixed feelings about it; Vulcan gave me the wiggins, but we owed him more and more.

With all the old-world streetlamps and huge oak trees, our Oak Park neighborhood was as dark as I could want. Switching on the

chameleon setting, I came in high and dropped hard into the shadowed back yard.

“Hope, what are you doing?” Shelly whispered in my ear as I hit the grass.

I swallowed around the hard block in my throat. “Breaking Def-1. Not one word, Shell.”

A hurt silence, then “Both Platoons are still on duty. One’s in the garage watching the property and internals, the other is

down the street monitoring the neighborhood. They caught you coming in, but I cleared you with them.”

I winced. “Shelly, I’m sorry—”

“S’okay, really. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I—yeah. Goodnight.” I switched the earbug to vibrate, sighing. Great, Hope—way to treat your best friend.

Floating up, I switched off the security on my bedroom window and climbed over the sill. College Bear watched me from the bed,

obviously surprised to see me. Peeling off my gloves, I dropped my boots beside the bed, unsnapped my cape, and set my mask on the

bedside table. Much as I wanted to strip down and throw my whole Astra costume into the back of my wardrobe where I couldn’t see

it, I didn’t. Damn Def-1.

Curling up, I wiggled a bit—still uncomfortable with the new uniform—and held onto College Bear. The collar of his letterman’s

jacket scraped my cheek as I closed my eyes. He didn’t complain, but a few minutes later the hallway floor creaked and heavy

knuckles rapped on my bedroom door.

“Sweetheart?” Dad asked through the door. “Can I come in?”

I sat up and wiped my eyes. “Sure.”

He opened the door, turning the light on, and I blinked. He wore sweats and, sitting on the edge of the bed, he smiled at College

Bear. “I think I can do better than a stuffed animal,” he said. “C’mere.” Opening his arms, he changed. The heavy oak bed

protested as he transformed into the tough, living steel of Iron Jack.

My breath caught. “Oh, Daddy…” He wrapped his arms around me and I held on tight and closed my eyes and didn’t think. Humming

quietly into my hair, he rocked me slowly until I sighed and relaxed.

“Better?” he asked, and I nodded.

“So,” I giggled wetly. “Who tipped you?”

“To quote a red-headed juvenile delinquent, ‘well, duh.’ She keeps us in the loop—she called us about the Dome attack before

it even hit the news, to let us know you and Jacky were alright.”

“I’ll bet she didn’t tell you that today I choked someone and threatened to squeeze till they passed out, or that I wanted to

kill a man.”

“No, she left those bits out.”

“Dad? Was I wrong?”

He knew I wasn’t asking about today, and his arms tightened for a moment.

“No sweetheart, you weren’t wrong. But if you’ll listen to your old father’s advice—” I snorted, giggling, and he chuckled.

“Anyone who says with age comes wisdom is full of it, but experience does give you perspective. I think you knew what you were

going to have to give up, but you didn’t understand. Not just college with your friends, but peace, and safety, and even

childhood. You never had it easy, and you’ve had to finish growing up fast.”

I sniffed. “I’m so scared,” I whispered to his shoulder. “Not for me—well, except occasionally. For everyone else.”

“Hah.” Dad chuckled drily. “I wish you would be more scared for yourself. I can’t tell you how often you’ve scared the life

out of your mother and me. Do you want to talk about it?” I nodded again, moving around to rest my head on his broad shoulder,

and told him everything as he held me. Blackstone, Dr. Cornelius and the demon and what came of it. Mr. Shankman’s media attacks.

Everything.

He sighed when I finished. “Ah, the glamorous life of a superhero.” I laughed again and he gave me a last squeeze. “Your mother

is downstairs heating up every leftover in the fridge. Are you going to come down?”

I nodded and he kissed my forehead. “Good. I think we can make it a game night.”

Marion G. Harmon's books