Chapter Thirty Five
Contrary to public perception, the Atlas-types, Ajax-types, and other superhumanly strong and durable breakthroughs, do not pose
the greatest danger to national security. By far the gravest threat is posed by breakthroughs capable of unrestricted mobility,
able to cross national borders undetected. Shapeshifters, teleporters, force projectors, and others who can avoid detection or
interception can deliver an assassin’s bullet, a, bomb, or a weapon of mass destruction to the most secure target, and are
therefore capable of doing much more damage than even the strongest Atlas-type breakthrough.
Department of Superhuman Affairs, Threat Assessment 10.4, Summary.
* * *
I got Fisher out of his car before the police and newsies arrived. He lit up a cig and then looked himself over. His suit jacket
was thrashed, out at the shoulders so that padding stuck out, sliced by glass and ripped by the pulling I did getting him out, and
he didn’t have a speck of blood on him. His hair was mussed.
I’d seen him crushed into his backseat by a flying iron mailbox, and his hair was mussed! How could I have forgotten about the
weird moment at the Mercedes dealership? Or his not-real history?
He winked at me. “Later, kid? After we deal with what’s in front of us?”
I nodded reluctantly, listening to the approaching sirens as Shelly clumped over.
“Shouldn’t you be guarding Villain-X?” I asked.
“I’ve got a tag on him,” she said cheerfully. “If he twitches, Blackstone can get Chakra out before I double-tap him again.”
She turned to Fisher.
“Hi, I’m Galatea.”
“You’re taller.”
“I’m Galatea 2.0, with heavy combat accessories. We got tired of watching Astra get beat up. Seriously.”
“Hey!” I protested.
Fisher laughed and dropped his smoke, rubbing it out with his foot. “If you girls will excuse me, I’ve got to go and stake out
my jurisdiction.” He crossed to where a black paddywagon with DSA markings had pulled up, blue siren-lights flashing.
I blinked when the DSA agents piled out; they were all Platoons in visored helmets and body armor.
“Are you alright?” Shelly asked in a lower voice. I smiled up at her and knocked on my cuirass. “It worked like a charm, one
more thing to thank Vulcan for. Why didn’t you tell me you were up?”
“I wasn’t until maybe five minutes ago—I was still hooked into a simulator learning how to use everything. Having nearly
infinite computation-cycles helps.”
“So this is you, now?” She was seven feet of blue and white metal; with all the launcher packs, she’d need to turn sideways to
squeeze through any door.
“Plus a couple of layers, yeah.”
“Well, smile for the cameras.”
* * *
The police kept the newsies back until the paramedics had removed everyone who needed a ride to the hospital and The Harlequin
could make a statement. The Crew actually arrived right behind the emergency vehicles—another sign that things were getting bad.
Gantry, Mr. Ludlow, waved at me as he headed for the gas station with a huge widget, obviously ready to plug the leaking
underground tank.
Fisher left with Villain-X in the DSA wagon (Chakra kept him from spontaneously combusting) and Shelly-Galatea asked me for a lift
back to the Dome to save wear on her boot-jets; grips in her shoulder pieces let me fly with her the way Atlas used to carry Ajax
into a fight. Lei Zi cleared us and we caught a lot of camera-flash as we lifted off.
“So?” she asked as we gained altitude and turned east. “Did I rock?”
I sighed. “Power Chick and Awesome Girl, together again, and I can’t believe we ever used those names.”
“Yes! Cause it’s been, you know, so fun riding along to watch you get kicked by everything that came by.”
Wait, what? Hadn’t she been cheering me on?
“So now I can really mess them up for you!” she gushed.
Oh God. A grade-school flashback of a huge grin under a bloody nose nearly paralyzed me.
“Shell…” I said carefully. “This isn’t third grade and you can’t fight for me anymore. You know that, right?”
“Yup,” she laughed, cheer undiminished as we descended on the Dome. “But I’ve got your back now.”
We dropped into the load bay and the ceiling closed. I let go and she landed with bent knees, clumping over to a rack that hadn’t
been there before. Robot-waldoes cranked out and started peeling.
“Besides,” she said as launchers and boot-jets and armor pieces retracted onto the rack. “That was just my battle-
configuration.” I stared as a smaller Galatea emerged. Stepping out, she pulled off the helmet I’d thought was her head and red
hair spilled down. She laughed, green eyes sparkling, and she was Shelly in seriously form-fitting body armor. Tucking her helmet
under her arm, she grabbed my hand, still taller than me but not by much. “Didn’t I say you should trust me? Well?”
“…what?” Like I had any idea what to say.
She laughed again, showing perfect teeth. “Muscle-mimickers and skin wrap, just like Rush’s hand. Vulcan never bothered for
Galatea 1.0 because her lack of emotion just made it so creepy, but under this exo-skeleton armor I’ve got a gynoid frame that’s
just me, looking like the day I…” She dropped the smile. “Got terminally stupid. That’s part of what took so long, making all
the synthetic muscles and nerves interface right with my new brain.” She squeezed, and it was her hand, not a robot’s. I lost it
and threw my arms around her.
“Hey!” she protested. “Don’t break the chassis! My new bones are tough, but not that tough.”
“Don’t care,” I whispered. “Vulcan can fix you up. Oh my God, you’re… back. Really back. I’ve missed you so much.”
“Stupid, I’m just not a ghost in your head, anymore.” She touched my face with a gloved hand, thumb stroking my wet cheeks.
“Together again.”
*****
Introductions weren’t necessary; everybody already knew Shelly as my Dispatch wingman, and as a “quadriplegic shut-in.” Now
they simply assumed she was Galatea’s new “remote-pilot”; only Jacky and Blackstone and now Vulcan knew the truth, and Shell
could keep the pretense up easily enough. As she explained it, she was effectively a quantum-mirrored dual brain again—like she’
d unknowingly been before she died the first time. Her dominant brain was now inside Galatea, but her secondary brain—like a
subconscious she could consciously access—remained in the 22nd Century CPU of the Teatime Anarchist’s secret system. So she
could continue as before, minus the neural link we’d shared (the links on her side connected her two brains now).
Small price to pay; inside I was bubbling over, shouting Hey! This is Shelly! You’ve heard me yelling at her lots, but you’ve
never met! Isn’t she awesome? Jacky smiled when she saw us together.
As the rest of the team pulled back to the Dome we remained on watch; Blackstone ordered the upstairs closed to the public, and we
stayed in costume at Defensive Condition Two—which meant full lockdown and an open armory. Even Willis was in body armor, which
was truly bizarre.
Fisher showed up as Afternoon Watch changed over into Evening Watch, and disappeared with Blackstone and Lei Zi for an hour. When
they came out I had a new assignment.
* * *
“You know this is deeply weird, right?” I asked rhetorically.
“As Shelly—I mean Galatea—would say, duh,” Artemis said. She scanned the streets below from the top of an apartment high-rise
while I slowly flew the grid around her position. I’d changed back into my latest unarmored costume because of its chameleon-
cloth, and against the dark night I ghosted along as invisible as the breeze.
I’d flown patrol hundreds of times, but not from down at rooftop level, and not at night. The whole reason for flying patrol was
so people could see me; otherwise I’d just wait in the Dome for Dispatch to send me where I was needed. Even so, flying above
Chicago day after day had made it my city, somehow, and looking down and seeing damage like the cleared skeleton of Navy Pier or
the wreckage of this morning’s fight bothered me. By night, even with my enhanced vision, down here at rooftop level and in the
shadows it was a different world.
Of course, Artemis was right at home.
I finished the grid and sighed, landing beside her on the roof. We’d been at it for two hours, and I almost regretted telling
Fisher about my second dream.
He was probably right to decide the burning hounds in my dream were the burned-up bodies dropping dead on Chicago streets, and
that they had been trying to hunt down Kitsune for the Wicked Witch (why I was having “visions” of Kitsune, instead of our
resident psychic Chackra, was a whole other question). He’d also talked Blackstone around to the view that Villain-X had been
demonically hopped up and sent after him instead of me (stopping that kind of thing was the whole point of Dr. Cornelius’ wards,
after all). Fisher smiled when he told us that—like it was a good thing Hecate was hunting detectives now. First Kitsune, now
Fisher; I was getting tired of standing next to targets.
But now he, Blackstone, and Lei Zi had something big planned, something that would go a lot better if we could nail down Hecate’s
base before it kicked off. So they’d sent Artemis and me to do a grid-search of the area the three bodies had been found in,
hoping that my lingering sensitivity to magic would lead us back to her hideout; according to Dr. Cornelius, her kind of magic
required an extensively prepared ritual space that I’d “see” if I got close enough, at least if it was active. Probably a
really spooky house or something.
Artemis lit her e-pad to find our next grid, pale skin glowing in the backlight beneath her hooded mask.
“Five blocks south,” she said. “Residential. See you on top of the corner house.” She swirled into mist and floated up and
away. She’d been quiet all evening, making me wonder what else was going on. I dropped off the building and flew after her,
wondering if this was even a good idea. Maybe the Wicked Witch couldn’t see us, but her minions might. Then she’d send her
flying monkeys… I’d had issues with America’s Favorite Musical as a kid. Follow the yellow-brick road, my assstra.
Ten minutes and another completed grid later, I joined Artemis on top of the narrow three-story home she’d settled on.
“Nothing.” I shook my head. “We don’t even know what my sensitive range really is for this; I could feel Villain-X at maybe
thirty feet, but I didn’t feel anything back at The Fortress when Nemesis started shooting.”
“It beats waiting around for Blackstone and Lei Zi to roll out their Big Plan,” Artemis said. She had come loaded for war—
elasers in her shoulder holsters and .45 automatics on her hips.
“Maybe. So are you going to tell me what’s got you quietly wigged?”
Her lips twitched. “Wigged?”
“Since you got back from New Orleans you’ve…” I waived a hand. “You’ve been softer, less angry. A little less fiend-of-the-
nightish. But you’re not exactly here, either…and right now you’re looking totally guilted. What’s going on?”
She sighed.
“I did more down south than stake fellow bloodsuckers. I met family.” And she told me about her grams, Mama Maria Bouchard,
Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. I was trying to wrap my mind around the stunning news of my determinedly Not-A-Goth girlfriend being
voodoo royalty when she dropped her bombshell.
“So I’m going back,” she said, “as soon as we bury this witch.”
“You—” Sometimes my brain does work faster than my mouth, and it reached down and strangled can’t before the word escaped.
She heard it anyway, and smiled. “Family. And a job I don’t suck at half the time.”
“You don’t—”
“Please.” She grinned, showing teeth. “I may not be instant flambé with the twinkle of a sunbeam anymore, but most of the time
I’m as useful to the team as a D Class Ajax-type—most of our fights go down during the day. But the Big Easy… they need a sane
vamp down there to keep the nut-jobs in line, and being a daywalker who’s not religion-intolerant makes me a supervampire instead
of a wimpy superhero.”
I tried to think of something to say that wasn’t a cliché. I even understood her timing; Shelly was back, so now she could leave;
I didn’t need my big sister anymore. She couldn’t be more wrong, but…family. “Think Mama Maria will like me?” I asked, trying
on a smile.
Her grin turned feral. “She’s going to love you… what?”
I tapped my earbug, eyes on the building down the street. “Dispatch? Detective Fisher, please.”
“Astra?” Fisher asked. “Have the two of you found her?”
“I— don’t think so.” I said. “How close to our location were the bodies found?”
“You’re one block west of one location. Why?”
“Because I think we’re on the wrong end of the trail. If Hecate is driving her hounds till they die, won’t they be dropping
dead out hunting?”
I got a moment of thoughtful silence.
“Shit. Sorry, kid. And sorry for wasting your time.”
“It wasn’t a waste. How bad do you want Kitsune?”
“Truth? Not that bad right now; he’s not the one scattering bodies around. Garfield wants him, but he’s not my priority. Do you
know where he is?”
“…”
“Astra?”
I stared at the white-walled, peak-roofed building down the street; Chicago’s Midwest Buddhist Temple. Red wooden gates—tori—
were for Shinto shrines, not Buddhist temples. That much I knew, but my dream hadn’t been literal and to a Japanese shapeshifter
holy ground was holy ground, a safe place for hiding from demonic powers.
I opened my mouth, closed it. The way he stressed know flashed warnings in my head. “… it’s a stupid idea,” I said finally. “
But what I meant was, where did the victims go missing from? Where did Hecate get them?”
“Hold on, I’ll check.”
Artemis followed my line of sight while we waited, and she took a breath. I shook my head.
“Astra?” Fisher returned. “You might be on to something. No knowing with our John Doe, but for the other two, one was a
homeless guy, the other a gang member. Public nuisance and drug dealing charges put both inside a one mile radius in South Side
during the past two months. Think she just had them grabbed off the street?”
“Yeah, I do. Give us a new search grid?”
Half an hour later we’d found the Wicked Witch’s new castle.