Step 5.1
I hate school.
"Come on, spill it."
The teachers offered me no relief. None of them did. She might not be Emma, but it seems popular girls always manage to get away with things. Like pestering the new girl for things she obviously didn't want to talk about.
"There's nothing to spill," I insisted.
Victoria Dallon—because suffering, thy name is Taylor—didn't let up. She floated above her chair, in a sitting position but not really sitting, and kept pressing.
"No reason to be so shy," she said. "Come on. What do you do for fun?"
Why? Why me? "I don't have fun."
I glanced at the clock, which ticked far too slowly for my taste.
Victoria shrugged. "Everyone has fun. Sheesh. You're really going for the brooding enigma bit, aren't you?"
Deny. Deny. Deny.
"There's still nothing to tell," I said. "I go to school and then I go home."
"What about friends?"
"I don't have friends."
Vicky frowned. "Wait…like, really? What about Charlotte?"
"We…" Crap.
"They moved two of you here. Clarendon is closer to the Docks than Arcadia. If they wanted to split the load till the school is fixed and they have new staff, you'd both be there, but instead you're here. And it's just you two."
It didn't help that more than a few people kept glancing back at us. I tried to keep myself focused, working through the lab assignment step by step. Child's play. I mean, vanilla ice cream? Is that even really a chemistry project? And this was a biology class anyway!
"You know Vicky, this will go faster if you helped."
On my other side, the useful lab partner–also known as Chris–actually did something productive. Namely crushing the salt into a fine powder with a mortar like we lived in ye olden times.
"It would go faster if you helped," Vicky said. "Don't tell me you aren't curious too." She pointed her hands at me. "New girl! Maybe she doesn't have a boyfriend!"
My face blustered. Why? Why is this my life?
Chris frowned. "It's the middle of class, Vicky."
"Then don't kill my buzz! Girls gotta gossip!"
And oh, how much I needed that. Great plan, Taylor. Tell the PRT about Sophia to save their hides, get transferred to Arcadia. The Wards go there. They won't notice the obvious coincidence. The whole lot probably already figured out who you are, and you don't have a clue.
Good thinking.
What I wouldn't give for some neo-Nazis to focus on.
"You can ask all you want," I said. "I just…do my own thing."
Victoria scowled. "You're a rotten liar, Tay."
"I'm not lying. And my name is Taylor."
"And this is one percent of our grade," Chris said.
"Oh no," Victoria grumbled. "One percent. The difference between an A, and a slightly lower A."
"Or the difference between a B and an A. Don't you have an eighty-nine in this class?"
Victoria frowned, and Chris offered her a deadpan stare.
"Fine," she mumbled.
Chris deserved a kiss for that. Unfortunately for him, I didn't intend to make a fool of myself. Call it a life mission. As for Victoria, I wished she'd stop trying so hard. She didn't seem malicious, but even an idiot could tell I either didn't know anything or didn't want to talk about it.
In retrospect, I should have flunked some of those test questions. Why didn't I think of that? Can't get a perfect score if the answers are wrong. No perfect score, no AP classes. No AP classes, no Victoria Dallon. I'd be spared the interrogation and extra homework. Showing up so late in the year, I didn't even get any college credit for the course.
Complete waste of time.
Should have just called the preganglionic nerve a postganglionic fiber. Stupid power teaching me anatomy as I read the test question.
At least with Victoria actually helping, we finished the work right before the bell rang.
"That's all for today," the teacher said. "You all enjoy this little project? Good. Nice little unwind before testing starts next week. Have a good weekend. And you can keep the ice cream."
Joy. At least it was Friday. Friday meant weekend. Weekend meant getting some real work done, like preparing to reveal to everyone Newtype had a new recruit. And soon I'd have nothing but unbridled Newtype time.
"Wait, we're not being graded?" Victoria asked.
"Apparently not," Chris said.
Victorian leaned over the table, glaring past me and snarling, "You tricked me!"
Chris held one of our baggies toward her. "Have some ice cream."
One more week. Five more days.
One more week. Five more days.
One more week. Five more days.
So I kept telling myself as I made my half-baked escape.
"Tell me," Vicky said as she floated behind me in the hall.
"There's nothing to tell."
"Please?"
"I don't know what you want from me."
"Hi, Vicky."
"Hi, Ames." They waved as they passed. "See you after your hospital shift." Victoria stayed right behind me. She didn't stop for a moment. "Everyone's already figured it out, you might as well spill."
"There's nothing to figure out," I said. And that better be a damn lie.
"Come on. It's 2011, no one cares about girl-on-girl anymore!"
I froze. Girl-on-girl—Wait with Charlotte?
Ignore and delete. Just ignore and delete—Wait, is that what she meant by 'maybe she doesn't have a boyfriend?'
I opened my locker and dropped my books inside. Talk about a place I didn't find happy. At least it looked clean, and oh look a latch on the inside. Arcadia's lockers were prank proof, as if I needed the reminder of the disparity in Brockton.
"Hey, Taylor."
And now this is happening.
I closed my locker and turned to face Dean Stansfield. "Hi, Dean. Is something wrong?"
"No. Just making sure everything's good. I've seen you around, but didn't have much time to ask. Business at home and stuff."
"And what are you doing here?" Victoria crossed her arms over her chest and leaned forward. "Trying to recruit the new girl already, Stansfield?"
Dean smiled and rubbed the back of his head. "I'm Taylor's senior advisor. Ms. Badgiruel asked me."
"A likely story," the blonde sneered.
"Nice to see the two of you getting along," I mumbled, glancing between Victoria's piercing glare and Dean's earnest response.
Somehow the fact Glory Girl hounded me most of the week seemed…utterly mundane. You'd think a big celebrity like Victoria Dallon might have a throng of followers and hangers on. Emma got those, and she just did amateur modeling.
Certainly, Victoria was popular.
Her lunch table practically overflowed with people trying to talk to her and Panacea. And to be fair, she didn't compare to Emma at all. Emma liked hurting people now. Victoria? Nosey and preppy to the extreme but I never saw her pick on anyone. In fact she flew over to some kid and gave him a light tap on the back of the head for coming onto a girl who clearly did not appreciate his presence.
But no one gawked at her like I expected. Unmasked cape, easily the city's biggest celebrity alongside her sister, and people treated her presence as nothing exciting. Side effect of being around her for years I guess. Live with a celebrity K to Twelve, and her presence isn't something you gawk at anymore?
Is it just because I'm a hero that I felt that way? Is it the hero part of me that finds everything so out of place? As Newtype, I didn't stand on the outside of the world of capes. Hell, I practically threw the door open and shouted at everyone to pay attention.
Maybe the part that left me feeling so "out" is that no one paid any attention to me.?
Within Arcadia, Taylor Hebert is no one. She's invisible. Most people just called her New Girl.
And I loved it when Victoria wasn't trying to rope me into things.
I slung my backpack over my shoulder, took one more glance at the bizarre duel between Dean Stansfield and Victoria Dallon.
"Well. I hope you two work this out. I have to go."
"Wait!" Victoria turned on me. "I'm not done yet."
"Too bad," I said. "I have places to be."
"Call me if you need anything," Dean offered.
"Oh no she can call me!" Victoria counter-offered.
"I'm just trying to be friendly."
"Sure you are."
"Not everything is political, Vicky."
"Ms. Dallon to you mister!"
"Why is it always like this?"
"Because your face!"
They argued like a cliché teen romance couple…which was just a weird imagine shit get it out stop no don't think about it.
At least they didn't try to follow me. Part of me feared Victoria flying me down and forcing a scrap of paper with her phone number into my hand.
Charlotte sat on one of the benches in front of the school swinging her legs and looking off in the distance.
"Hey," I said.
Charlotte turned to me and smiled. "Hi, Taylor. Did you…"
"Yeah. Today at six," I said.
"Me too."
I nodded. "I'll see you there I guess."
She nodded back. "Yeah."
I turned and walked over to the bus stop. No Dinah today. She'd decided to go do something with her cousin. I didn't pry. It worked out for me. I'd pushed Dinah a bit the past few days with questions and she probably needed some unwinding time.
And I needed time to…deal with…her…
I opened the garage door after a brief bus ride and—
"You'll have to do better than that!"
"Tactical retreat, tactical retreat!"
I sighed and walked in.
"Oh no you don't!"
Lafter held the Tieren model in her hands, a tiny little bazooka pointed at Orange, who held some kind of jet fighter. They both stared at me. I stared at them.
"Pew," Lafter whispered.
A little red ball shot out of the bazooka and hit Orange in the face.
And Orange went woo-woo-woo-woo-womp-womp.
I stared harder. "Was that…Pacman?"
"In our defense," Lafter said. "You left your action figures out."
From one problem blonde to another.
"They're models," I said.
Lafter smiled. "I'm bored?"
"You could have stayed at the abbey if you didn't want to be bored."
Lafter set the Tieren down and spun around in my spare chair.
Nothing else seemed out of place.
The Haros worked on their tasks, and O Gundam knelt on the floor right behind the van. Purple and Pink worked together to swap out the tires. They'd been in bad shape when I bought the old wreck, and all my driving didn't do them any favors. Green calibrated a few machines, while Navy and Red did their usual packaging for my eBay business.
"Sister Margret stuck her neck out enough for me," she mumbled. "Besides. It'll rile up the old codgers. They're always complaining how the sisters are subjecting the church to politics." And not helping didn't? "Now that I'm out and about in costume, I don't want anyone busting the place up. Better if I go my own way."
And into my workshop. Until I found somewhere for her to live anyway.
I pulled my own chair up and sat in front of my workstation. A big stack of error messages greeted me, and I got started on checking all the problems.
sys.t/ she wasn't joking
sys.t/ are you able to keep up with all this?
sys.v/ it is not a problem
I did a quick check on Veda's processors just in case.
"You really can't control it?" I asked.
"Not a bit," she repeated. "Why?"
"There's a whole bunch of things out of alignment throughout the workshop. StarGazer is keeping up with it but keeping you here long term probably won't be the best idea."
Lafter stuck her lips out. "Oh. Sorry?"
"It's alright. It's minor stuff, but there are things here that are best not even minorly messed with."
"It's worse when I'm doing something." She grinnned "You won't believe some of the stuff I've seen. Balls flying down stairs just in time for douche bag dads to step on them. Little toy cars rolling across the floor just in time for douche bag dads to step on them. The leg of a chair snapping just in time to drop me on the floor before getting pummeled by douche bag dads who step on the broken piece and slip and fall."
I glanced over my shoulder. "Is it always the dad?"
Lafter shrugged. "I don't know. They do say men are pigs or something, right?"
I had heard that. Seemed a little mean spirited though. Dad might not be perfect, but he never hit me. Hell, Emma might benefit from getting slapped a bit and lets not go there.
I refocused on my screens, watching as Veda fixed every little error second by second as it popped up.
"Luck powers." I scoffed. "No such thing as luck."
"Not in my experience," Lafter replied.
"And it acts up most when you're in danger. Like it's protecting you." Like it's alive…The same as Winslow.
I couldn't be sure of exactly how her power worked, but however it did it toyed with everything around it. Truthfully a point zero-zero-zero-one variance didn't amount to much in any of my equipment. It's just barely large enough to notice it, and frequent enough across all my tools and machines that it couldn't be chalked up to coincidence. No reason to take chances though.
Veda's processors got hit with it too, but only the ones I'd rigged out of game consoles. Her quantum processors, of which I'd now built three, seemed completely unaffected. So, however Lafter's power worked, it only messed with standard physics. Didn't touch the quantum stuff.
Needless to say, I started to see the value in PRT power testing.
Lafter could easily be a walking disaster for a lot of people without ever intending to be. Living in the abbey for so many years hid her from anyone who might notice all the coincidences. Which I didn't want to think about.
Triggering was bad enough for me.
Lafter lost her entire family, and Behemoth burned her home to the ground in the 2007 Frankfurt attack.
Compared to that my problem with bullies seemed trivial.
"Probably best not to keep me here anyway," she said. "Wouldn't want anyone to notice me coming and going for food and clothes."
I nodded. "I'm working on something." I pulled up my map of the city and pointed. "Here."
Lafter rolled her chair forward and leaned in. "What is it?"
"An abandoned industrial park. I'm going to buy it and build a factory."
"A factory for kick ass robots."
"For the Haros."
"So…kick ass robots?"
I smiled. "I guess. It'll give people in the Docks clean jobs, and I can start making everything I do against the gangs matter. There's an apartment complex across the street. It's still owned, but pretty run down. I'm thinking of buying that too. Renovate the building, turn it into employee housing. I'd need a land lord or something. Someone to keep an eye on the place."
"And a cape near your factory if anyone comes knocking?"
"Yes," I said. "Not that you have to do that. You can live wherever you want, but this would be convenient with what I'm already doing."
"That's fine," she replied. "Plus, you'd be able to pay me through whatever company you set up for all that, right? That way you don't risk exposing yourself too much having me around."
And I frowned. "Yeah."
It might not be fair, but I still judged her a bit. Just a wee bit.
Everyone needed money. Put a roof over their head, clothes on their back, and food on the table. Being paid for being a hero didn't quite sit well with me, though. I didn't ask for money to be a hero, I made money and used it to be one. Lafter didn't have a family, and she'd abandoned the one home left to keep the sisters safe. She needed to live somehow.
"Don't be so pouty," Lafter jested. "You're the one who wants to save the world. I'll settle for a nice comfy bed, a night on the town when I need one, and a lightsaber."
Oh right.
"That should be done actually."
I got up and walked around the room to one of the fabricators. I pulled Lafter's new costume out. It looked like mine and Dinah's, but black and gray with lines of pink. Her request. It also came with a short jacket with a few pockets, gloves, and a belt.
"Here." I held it out to her. "Make sure it fits and I…"—She just started stripping right there—"fix it up."
Probably should get used to that. Lafter didn't strike me as shy with her body. I turned to the other fabricator and retrieved the parts it spent the day putting together.
"Green. Go get one of the spare sabers."
"Okay okay."
I set the pieces on a table and assembled the mask. Lenses with micro-projectors, a transmitter and receiver connected to Veda's network, and of course protection for as much of Lafter's face as I'd been able to wrangle. She didn't want to wear a helmet or full-face mask, and she wanted her hair to be free. If I were a PR flunk, I'd accept that as giving the three public faces of my nascent team distinct looks while still adhering to commonality in our costumes, but I didn't think Lafter's power made her skull bulletproof.
The final product protected her forehead, nose, cheeks, and temples. Best I could do with what she asked for.
Lafter pulled the suit up her torso and zipped it shut.
"How's it fit?"
"Pretty good. A little tight around the chest area."
"That's normal. Needs to be tight so bullets bounce off without causing the material itself to snap back."
She pulled on the gloves, and I handed her the mask.
"How do I look?" she asked.
I looked her up and down one last time. "Like you walked out of a very pixie goth version of Tron."
"Perfect!"
Green brought one of my spare sabers over and I made a few adjustments to update it. "If Dinah asks why you get one and she doesn't, it's because you're old enough that any missing limbs are your responsibility."
"Yeah, yeah, give me the lightsaber!"
"Beam saber, beam saber," Green chirped.
"Lucas has a copyright," I explained.
Lafter blinked. "Does he have a lightsaber?"
"Nope."
"That's dumb."
"I know."
I handed her the cylinder and gave a few quick instructions. "This turns it on, and that slider there adjusts the beam's length. The pommel is a switch. Right will start cutting through things, including people. Left will just bruise and burn."
"Got it," she said.
She turned it on, and spent a few seconds adjusting and messing with the controls. Thankfully, she didn't start trying to do any flips or anything. Despite her childish attitude and joking personality, she seemed to know when to not play around with things, which helped with my insecurity a lot.
Bringing Lafter in was a big step, especially taking my mask off in front of her. I felt so scared she'd turn me down, and I would've showed my face for nothing. Dinah's visions of the talk said that my being earnest would help the most, and that seemed the most earnest thing to do. If Lafter teamed up with us she'd find out our names anyway. We'd have to trust her.
Still, the fears and the paranoia remained. It all felt a little forced, but I wanted to force it. I'd never reach my goals alone.
If I didn't step out there and try to trust someone now, then when?
Honestly, my track record on that front was okay so far. Mrs. Knott and Charlotte both kept what they knew about me secret. Ramius turned out to be exactly the kind of person everyone in the PRT should be. Even Dad, for all his worrying, did his best to support me.
So, I'll put myself out there and trust someone, paranoia and Emma Barnes be damned.
"So, what's the plan?" Lafter asked.
"I'd like to do a trial run," I explained. "You, me, and StarGazer, tonight. Make sure your powers at full tilt don't mess with my suit too much."
"What happens if they do?"
"We'll adjust strategy. If your power messes with the GN drive or the mechanics, we'll need to base our strategies around mutual support rather than direct team work. That can work just fine. We just need to know. If there isn't a big problem we have more options."
Lafter nodded and shut off the saber.
"The plan," I started, "ultimately, is to get a Gundam built for you." Lafter turned her head toward me with a surprised expression. "It makes sense. I've already tested my armor against anti-tank rifles. It works. I know your power makes you really lucky, but it can't protect you from everything. Or at least, I don't want to bank on that."
Lafter nodded. "But?"
I sighed. "Right now, I don't have the materials. I'd need to build another GN drive, and I'd like to get the Tierens and Queen Gundam up and running first. Probably move the workshop into a larger space. To accommodate."
"The factory?" Lafter asked.
I nodded.
I didn't care about the money the PRT planned to pay me…Not until I considered the good it might do in my hands. Buy the land for the factory and the apartment complex, hire some initial workers to get things started. Move my workshop into the basement or something. If I got the DWU involved, I'd even be able to explain Taylor Hebert's presence at the site without immediately announcing to the world she and Newtype were the same person.
Lafter glanced past me toward O Gundam. "Wow."
"Yeah, but if your power interferes with the tech, we'll need a different solution."
"No, I get it. It's smart. If I completely wreck your suit without meaning to, it's better to know now than later." She tossed the saber into the air. It spun end over end, and she caught it by the pommel and spun it around. "So what's the idea?"
"Hit a gambling parlor."
"Gambling parlor?"
"I've crippled the Empire for the moment. I'm worried the Merchants, or the ABB, will make a move. Of those two, Lung is a problem. I don't think I can win a head to head confrontation with him."
"Yeah, pretty sure he'd barbecue the both of us."
Both of us, huh?
"I want to put him on notice. I'd hit a brothel, but his brothels have been a problem for me. I can't burn them like drugs or money, and scattering the girls just leaves them wandering the streets. Anything could happen."
"Some of the girls will go back," Lafter frowned.
"I know. For now, we'll just hit a parlor." I turned to the screens again and pointed. "It's right here, a block over from where I want to build my factory. I don't like it being so close, so I want it gone."
"Completely clear it out then?"
"And a few other places in the immediate area," I added. Lafter nodded. "As for the brothels, could the sisters at the abbey help?"
Lafter paused. "The sisters?"
"I know their order helps wharf rats," I said. "Lots of Lung's prostitutes come from overseas and have no country to return to. I want to break in, bust up some thugs, and give the girls the choice to stay or come with us to safety."
"A choice?"
"I can't wait around and force everyone to come with me. It'll just put those who want to escape in more danger." I can't save everyone. Yet.
Lafter's lips drew in a line. "They'd help, without question. But what if Lung goes after the abbey? I left to avoid them getting hurt for anything I do."
"They wouldn't have to be at the abbey. I think they might know how to contact someone who will help."
"Who?"
"A woman named Amida Arca. I've tried contacting her myself, but I can't get past the operators at the company she works at, no matter what I say. She's helped other girls though, and the sisters have helped her. I think they can find a way to get her involved."
"I can ask," Lafter offered. "I think I've heard that name before."
"Where?" I asked.
She shrugged. "Around. Wharf rats kind of have their own underground community. We help each other. I think I remember hearing about a group coming in from Sweden to meet up with her. She was going to get them jobs in a company and papers so they can stay in the country."
Turbines probably. And speaking of papers…
"Do you have any?" I asked.
"Any what?"
"Papers."
Lafter flinched. "Well…technically…"
"It's okay. I'm not going to turn you in to INS. Germany works hard just to care for the people there right now."
Frankfurt in 2007, and Munich in 2003. Behemoth attacked them twice. Kind of a pattern I'd noticed. Behemoth hit places with large amounts of people, cultural areas or financial capitals. Places that really hurt when left irradiated.
Leviathan went after infrastructure, ports and industry close to water. Actually swam into the Great Lakes to attack St. Claire Shores in Michigan last year. And the Simurgh... Well, the hope killer attacked wherever the damage caused more problems than the actual attack. Like Kurdistan, or Antalya.
Or Stockholm in the middle of a big event with most of the government all in once place.
Coordinated attacks…Intelligent.
Germany still existed, which was more than could be said of some countries. That didn't change massive amounts of infrastructure damage or undo the irradiated cities.
There'd be another attack soon. Leviathan, according to the pattern. I needed to start preparing for that. Saving Brockton Bay and fixing the problems in the world didn't mean anything if the world stopped existing.
Glancing back over my shoulder, I didn't care about the politics. If Lafter helped me clean up the city she had as much a right to live in Brockton Bay as anyone. The world was dying. No luxury for being upset about who is where, how, or why.
"It's something I'll need to find a way to deal with," I said. "Maybe Amida Arca can get you papers too."
"It is time," Veda announced.
Lafter flinched and turned. "Jesus!" Her head scanned the room, fixing on the camera in the corner by the door. "Oh."
"Apologies."
"Have you been there this whole time?"
"I am always here."
Lafter pulled into herself. "Well, that's kind of creepy."
"Is it?"
"It's okay StarGazer." I checked the clock and got up. "I have to go, but I'll be back in a few hours."
"Right," Lafter mumbled. "Hey, do I meet StarGazer tonight?"
"Probably not," I admitted. I wasn't ready for that step.
"I do not do well with people face-to-face," Veda offered. "It isn't you."
And I wanted to be absolutely sure. Veda…all other things said and done, Veda might be the greatest mark on the world Newtype would ever leave. Humanity's first sentient machine intelligence, and hopefully, someone to carry on the dream if anything ever happened to me. It took me a long time to tell Dinah, and I'd trusted Dinah almost from the beginning.
I'd tell Lafter…just not now.
"Right." Lafter pulled off her mask and sat back down. She glanced at my workstation, and then at the camera. "Do you want to play me in minesweeper?"
Veda's camera turned. "Is that not a single player game?"
"No see, first you go, and then I try to beat your time."
And maybe in the long run, Lafter would be good for Veda. Someone with a completely distinct personality from my brooding seriousness and Dinah's faux dourness. At least I think it looked faux. She'd perked up a lot compared to the desperate girl struggling to get enough sleep, or even make it through her school days.
I got up and walked out.
Time to do it.
I walked home, and Dad met me at the door. Charlotte and her parents arrived before us, and we found them in the lobby waiting.
"They overdid the colors in here," Dad noted.
"I keep telling them that," Charlotte replied. "No one listens."
I swear they were compensating.
Blue carpets. Blue seat cushions. Blue phones. Might be the light, but the marble floors seemed a little blue too. Just because blue is in the name doesn't mean everything needed to be blue. The two people at the front desk even wore blue.
It disgusted me in a way. The clean and pressed look. How it all came together so professionally. The building didn't look very new. They cleaned it up. Kept it nice. Modernized it. Who knew hate paid so well?
"You're Charlotte then?" Dad asked.
"Um. Yeah. That's me."
"We're Charlotte's parents," the woman with Charlotte said.
In comparison, I didn't see much family resemblance. Mr. Berman stood a polar opposite to Dad. A little short, barrel chested, and muscular. Mrs. Berman was Charlotte's height, but with lighter hair and very thick thighs. I guess they looked a bit alike if I squinted, but not really. Charlotte looked conventionally pretty, but her mother looked a little homey. Honestly, not sure how the genetics on that worked out.
"Danny Hebert."
"Charles Berman. My wife, Margret."
They both assessed me and Dad the same way I think, though with both of us being so tall and thin I figured we looked a lot alike even if I took more after mom.
"And you're Taylor?" Mrs. Berman asked.
"Yes."
"Thank you." She took my hand quickly. "Thank you for being Charlotte's friend."
…Fuck me.
I glanced to Charlotte. She offered an embarrassed smile, but said nothing.
"It's been so horrible," Mrs. Berman said. "All her friends vanished. The school didn't tell us what was wrong, or they said Charlotte kept causing problems with other students."
"I know." I sighed. "They did the same thing to me."
Did they know I skipped out on school for months? Would they blame me if they did?
"Damn principal was a viper," Mr. Berman growled. "Hear she's getting let go."
"Because of this?" Dad asked.
"Not sure. Friend of ours works for the district. Apparently the Superintendent has been pissed off all week, running around asking questions about how the school was being run."
"First that thing with that super villain," Mrs. Berman said. "And the bullying."
I flinched. "Super villain?"
"That girl. The one who hurt all those students."
My hand balled at my side. I started to speak, but I kept my lips shut tight.
I can't.
Blue Cosmos' lobby isn't the place to start lecturing Charlotte's mother.
"It's about six," Dad said.
"Yeah." Mr. Berman glanced to Charlotte, asking, "You're okay with this?"
"Yeah. It'll be okay." Charlotte glanced to me, and I shrugged. I didn't know what to tell her.
We both came here knowing the PRT planned to settle the moment Blue Cosmos started the suit. Dad knew. The PRT knew. I…didn't know exactly what Charlotte's parents knew. Maybe they only knew she wanted it over with quickly. Maybe should have asked about that. They didn't give me any odd looks, or say anything suggesting she told them about Newtype.
"Can we help you?"
The woman behind the desk waved to us. Dad and Mr. Berman shared a glance, and they both stepped forward.
"Charles Berman."
"Danny Hebert."
"Oh, of course. Mr. Copeland called you this morning, correct?"
"He did," Mr. Berman answered. "He didn't say much though. Just that he wanted to talk about my daughter's school situation."
"And I don't see why Blue Cosmos would be interested in that," Dad said.
He played up the disapproving angle pretty well. The woman behind the desk looked a little embarrassed, but she smiled.
"Sorry," she said. "I wouldn't know. Mr. Copeland simply left a note." She picked up the blue phone in front of her and started dialing. "If you'll wait a moment, I'll let him know you're here."
Dad and Mr. Berman walked back our way. The Bermans all sat down on some gaudy blue seats, but I felt better standing. Standing, and with all the doors in my field of vision. Isn't that something people with PTSD do? Eh. If anyone had a right to a little PTSD, why not me?
"You okay, kiddo?" Dad asked.
"I'm alright. Just thinking."
"About what?" Charlotte asked.
About why it took so long for Blue Cosmos to get involved.
It took longer to get a call from them than I expected. Piggot announced a "Ward's" disciplinary issue nearly two weeks ago, but Blue Cosmos didn't call any of us in until now. Is that just how long it took them to prepare? Were they suspicious? Did they know something I didn't? None of those options filled me with confidence. Maybe a side effect of Veda's help, or just my paranoia, but not knowing things made me nervous.
Not knowing things usually meant a cape around the corner I didn't prepare for. That didn't make sense here, but still.
"Nothing," I said. "Has Mrs. Knott said anything to you?"
Charlotte shook her head. "I haven't talked to her since we got transferred."
"Bless that woman," Mrs. Berman said. "Only one in that whole damned building who tried to help."
Well…she wasn't wrong.
"Do you trust these guys?" Dad asked.
"Hmm?" Mr. Berman scratched his chin. "Don't know. Never much liked rabble-rousers. But this lot only cares about cape stuff, right? Not sure what that has to do with us."
"You don't know why we're here?" I asked. What did Charlotte tell them?
"I know someone told Charlotte they were interested in her case," the man explained. "And that she doesn't want to go to court."
Charlotte and I shared a glance. She waved her hand and leaned one shoulder against her mother.
"Do you know?" the man asked.
Dad glanced to me. I shrugged.
"You'll know in a moment. I'm not sure I'm allowed to talk about it. There's laws about cape identities."
Both elder Berman's tensed, and they glanced to Charlotte. She didn't offer them any answer, and they didn't push me for one. I did see Mr. Berman turn a little red though. He and Dad might actually get along, assuming their tempers weren't mutually exclusive.
A few minutes later a door on the side of the lobby opened. A pleasant looking chubby man in a white suit looked out to us and held the door open.
"Hello. I'm Joseph Copeland."
He reminded me of Azrael. Man smiled like a snake.
Screwing the guy over might not be so bad.
"Let's go," I decided. "I want it to be over too."
Dad and I stepped forward, and the Berman's followed.
