Chapter Twenty Five
Civilization is not an inevitable good or a natural state; it is enabling good over evil, imposing justice over nature, and it
must be always defended.
Professor Charles Gibbons, The New Heroic Age.
* * *
Low clouds rolled in around Chicago’s towers, crowning their upper lights with halos, and the night breeze carried blossoms into
the city canyons. We landed on The Fortress’ red carpet, waved to the cheering line, and Marcus—a C Class Ajax type, former
supervillain and now The Fortress’ most popular bouncer—passed us through the rope and into the club.
Once inside, I realized I should have paid more attention to the line outside; tonight was obviously Girl’s Costume Night—the
popular monthly event where girls only got in if they wore a costume good enough to pass the bouncers’ inspection. I looked
around and my heart sank.
They obviously hadn’t held the contest yet.
“Girls!” Safire bore down on us, and I winced. The Fortress’ event hostess always dressed in a purple-pink flame motif; tonight
she wore a fringe of leather microskirt and matching bustier with a satin cape that barely reached her waist. Her over-the-knee
boots and token domino mask matched the rest of it, a club costume version of her one-piece field outfit.
“Safire,” Chakra replied, hiding a smile. She might have been showing nearly as much skin as Safire, but Chakra had taste.
Chakra changed her costume more often than I did—always around a Hindu theme—and tonight she wore red, a midriff-baring satin
choli and full belted skirts that brushed the tops of her boots. A hooded scarf added mystery and made her a contrasting match for
Artemis’ black leather catsuit and hood. Quin wore a black and white, diamond-checkered bodystocking and domino mask,
accessorized by a frilly cravat and snappy tricorner hat for the evening. Whenever we all went out together I might as well have
switched the chameleon-setting on; I was the invisible one in the group. Tonight I was the invisible one in the room.
And Safire made even Chakra look anorexic with her Junoesque curves. She flashed a smile at our group, then focused on me.
“Astra! I love your new look! Turn for me!” I did and she clapped her hands. “Wonderful!” she enthused, forcing a laugh out of
me.
“This is going to be great,” she bubbled. “We haven’t announced the categories yet, so we can model after you girls tonight.
Classic, sexy, spooky, and fun!” All the while she shepherded us through the crowd to our table. Our table. The one blazoned with
the Sentinels ‘S.’ In gold. She left us there to whirl away back into the crowd.
“Looking good tonight,” Quin yelled over the band, scanning the dance-floor. Tonight Sakura Wind, a Japanese hero-pop band I
hadn’t heard before, provided the noise. There were so many packaged hero-pop idols coming out of Japan that new groups had to
have serious talent, and the lead singer moved with his own chorus of glowing angel-girls.
“Costume Night always raises the game,” Chakra said. She gave our server her order and kept looking. A smile spread across her
face. “And someone’s taking notes.” Following her pointing finger, we spotted Andrew across the room. He sat alone at a table,
notebook in hand and drink at his elbow.
Quin laughed, giving us a wink. “Send my drink over there,” she said and dove back into the crowd. Watching her push her way
through the throng, Chakra smiled. I seconded her; Quin needed the downtime; our current public-image problem was mostly her
headache, and she worked hard at it.
Over dinner Quin had reminded me about Jamal. In her opinion a new sidekick was just what we needed, but now she was stuck trying
to find a situation for the poor kid. He could have easily gotten away from his tormentors instead of sticking around to beat the
crap out of them once his speed emerged, so he’d been charged with “aggravated self-defense.” He had no family, and the juvie-
court judge had agreed to remand him into the Sentinels’ custody only so long as we could find a new foster-situation acceptable
to the court—but with Rush now divorced, not a single Sentinel qualified and she’d asked if my mom could come up with something.
Otherwise, it was off to the Academy.
I actually had an idea, but I’d have to see first.
Our drinks arrived and I sipped my virgin cooler. Artemis nibbled a tiny tapa, scanning the crowd for her own drink, and her eyes
locked onto Hector, an East Side Guardian and one of her occasional “dates.” She whispered an apology before disappearing, which
wasn’t good; now that she was famous she didn’t hunt at The Fortress much. I hoped she’d be discreet.
“They’ll be back before the judging,” Chakra said. Looking over my shoulder, she smiled and stood up herself. “Have fun,” she
whispered before heading for the bar. Huh?
“May I join you?” a masculine voice said. “Your friend approves.” I spun around.
Yikes, he was yummy. If Shelly’d still been on our neural link I’d have been hearing happy commentary and suggestions.
“Konichiwa,” he said, nodding politely with a confident smile. I blinked, grabbed onto my social training, and smiled back.
“Konichiwa. Sit, please. Are you with the band?”
His smile widened. “Their manager,” he said, taking Artemis’ chair. “Do you like them?”
“Hero-pop isn’t my thing,” I replied honestly, “but they don’t suck.” To my surprise he didn’t instantly hand me his card.
Instead he held out his hand.
“Yoshi Miyamoto. It is an honor to meet you.”
“It is very nice of you to say so.” We shook hands and his smile reached his almond eyes.
“I am quite sincere,” he pressed, and I felt my cheeks warming.
“I believe you. Aren’t you a little young to be a manager?”
He studied me, still smiling, and my flush got hotter. His narrow face was almost feminine, but with no softness, and I guessed
his age at twenty to twenty five. He could have been an idol himself.
“To be truthful,” he admitted wryly, “I’m older than I look. Now I’ve admitted a truth, tell me one of your own. What is a
beautiful word?”
Okay… “Daffodil.”
“Why?”
“Just saying it makes me want to laugh. It’s happy. And daffodils are beautiful—like tears of golden sunlight.”
“Yes. Tears of Amaterasu. ” He sipped his drink, looking at me like I was the most fascinating thing in the world.
“A thing of beauty,” he said softly, “is a joy forever. Its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness, but
still will keep a bower quiet for us, and a sleep full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.”
“What?” The flush had gone so deep my hair should have lit on fire.
“Keats.” He looked away.
And where did that come from? Quick, new subject.
He provided one. “Can you tell me what is going on tonight?”
I looked at the dance-floor, unutterably thankful for the out. “It’s Girl’s Costume Night, so most of the superheroes here
tonight aren’t real capes. You’d call it cosplay?”
“I don’t see any impersonators.”
“Some fans do like to dress up as their favorite superhero,” I said, wondering if I’d been complimented or hit on. Either way,
it had been the most poetic pickup line I’d ever heard. “But only original costumes can enter the contest.”
He frowned. “It is different in Japan. Most otaku purchase pre-made costumes and play their favorite kensei or mech-warrior or
magical girl. There the prize would go to the closest match.”
I decided to take it as a compliment. “You should be grateful; you’re going to see some pretty scary stuff tonight.”
“And the woman who brought you to your table? She directs the event?”
“Safire hosts a couple of nights a month—she’s very popular.”
“She is…colorful.”
“She makes your eyes hurt.” I said, rolling mine. “But don’t let her fool you, Mr. Miyamoto. Sure, sometimes her events have
all the class of a wet t-shirt contest, but she’s a B Class Atlas-type, a West Side Guardian, and a crackerjack EMT—if you need
someone to peel you out of a car and get you to the hospital alive, she’s your girl. Her save-stats are amazing, and believe me
her fans keep track. And…” I sipped my drink. “She has a big heart.”
And like Chakra, she’d broadened my horizons considerably. Often in ways that left me vaguely horrified.
My defense of Safire earned me another careful look and I turned to watch the dance-floor, wondering if my encounter with Charming
had left me more aware of men. I hadn’t been, since John, but Yoshi’s eyes raised goose-bumps on my skin.
I heard him sigh, and we talked about the Japanese hero-idol scene until the rest of the girls returned. Quin brought Andrew with
her. Artemis didn’t bring her snack, but I spotted Hector across the room chatting up a…pink ferret?...as if nothing had
happened. I introduced Yoshi around; again, he failed to hand out his business card. Hmm.
Sakura Wind ended its final number with a thundering riff and bowed to generous applause and whistles. A fangirl in the audience
threw a bright bit of wadded cloth at the stage and the lead singer caught it with a laugh (it couldn’t be what I thought it
was). Then Safire took the stage, to more whistles and applause, and began explaining the rules. But I wasn’t listening. The
mystery that was Yoshi made my mind wander, and now a guy in the audience caught my attention. He wore a fancy trench-coat that
must have been hot, and a spandex skull-mask that stretched right down to his collar. He wasn’t watching Safire either, and as I
watched, his infared signature brightened visibly. He was scared, or excited, and working himself up to something.
“Guys…” I said. And that was as far as I got before he spun around, reached into his coat to cross-draw two autopistols, and
started shooting.