Brockton's Celestial Forge

by Lord Roustabout

The Celestial Forge is the greatest combination of crafting powers in Jumpchain, meaning it is the greatest combination of crafting abilities in all of fiction. In Brockton Bay a forgotten side character's trigger event ends with him linked to the Celestial Forge rather than his intended shard. His expanding collection of tinker abilities drag him into the city's cape conflicts.

35. 29 Presentation - Addendum Emily

29 Presentation

I had to slip around through the back rooms of the gym while Garment made her appearance. I regretted missing her debut, but I wasn't going to risk associating myself more than I had to. I was lucky that this building had been built in the primordial era where it was necessary to include excessive maintenance rooms, storage for things nobody used anymore, and the occasional strange room with a drain or heavy ventilation that no one could guess the original purpose of any more. Most of it was currently being used as miscellaneous storage, but the network of unused spaces gave me a back route around the main area of the gym.

Not a quick route. To my disappointment I missed Garment's entrance to the gym proper. I was able to tell the exact moment it happened based on the gasps that echoed through the building followed shortly by building applause. I picked up my pace as I worked through the back rooms, managing to emerge from a side door just as Garment was approaching the Protectorate capes.

The entire scene was flickering with the constant flashes from professional and amateur photographers. In addition the Television crew was set up in a place that just so happened to have a perfect vantage point of Garment's entrance and walk towards the improvised assembly area that had been set aside for the meeting.

I had entered into the main gym behind a crowd of visitors, so I didn't have the best view of Garment as she approached Dauntless and Miss Militia. I'd done everything I could in terms of nudging sightlines into position, adjusting lighting, and trying to frame things as well as possible, but this was a gym, not a theater. We didn't exactly have a stage set up, so I was still trying to watch everything while peering over the heads of shorter members of the crowd.

Actually, the lack of official framing had its own appeal. Despite the inability of everyone in the crowd to have a perfect view the interaction came across as a lot more personal than the way you usually saw these capes. It looked less like a staged publicity event and more like a candid moment between heroes.

A lot of that was helped by Garment. She had a natural grace to her movements and seemed comfortable in pretty much any situation. I wonder if that was an aspect of her literal fashion sense. An outfit would look out of place if you were acting inappropriately while wearing it. While there was always a certain element to her that was unmistakably 'Garment' she did tend to automatically adjust her mannerism based on her current situation and wardrobe. The way she behaved while posing in motorcycle leathers on the boardwalk was completely distinct from the austere elegance when in her masterwork gown. Or the gentle formality with which she carried herself in her current evening dress.

She approached the group of heroes and greeted each one in turn, each moment seemed framed for the specific character of the hero in question, and drawn out just long enough to allow photos without seeming obvious about it. She was demure with Dauntless, formal with Miss Militia, bold with Shadow Stalker, and attentive with Flechette.

It made sense considering the Ward was her point of contact in all this. Garment greeted her like a friend, and even fussed with the girl's cape slightly. On closer inspection, or as close to it as I could get from behind a crowd of tourists, I could recognize the signs of Garment's work on the item, though it blended with the girl's style so well it was hard to recognize as a recent addition.

The cape clasped at the shoulders and was just long enough to sweep dramatically as Flechette moved without being bulky enough to get in the way during more acrobatic maneuvers. It started the deep purple of her body suit and faded in a gradient to the brighter color of the costume's highlights. As the cloak extended it got more and more transparent to the point where it seemed to fade into nothing rather than definitively end.

Once the introductions were out of the way the attention shifted over to the crowd and reporters. Dauntless was the one to step forward and speak up. The acoustics of the gym weren't designed for public speaking, but he had a voice that carried and was clearly used to speaking to crowds, though there was also the sense that he was projecting for the benefit of the news crew.

"On behalf of the Protectorate East North East I would like to extend our appreciation to Garment for her brave actions in protecting the people of this community." Between his glowing equipment and natural presence he easily commanded the attention of the room. "During a dark time for this city Garment took it upon herself to step up and do what she could to help those around her. What's more, through her actions she was able to apprehend twenty-six assailants, and did so without inflicting any serious injury. This is the pinnacle of what heroes strive to accomplish, and an achievement that any member of the protectorate would be proud of."

I was kind of impressed that he didn't pivot directly into a recruitment pitch and try to leverage the crowd pressure to extract a commitment. Though from the way Miss Militia glanced at him I was willing to bet he had either gone off script or didn't finish his talking points. It didn't really matter, because as soon as he finished speaking Garment began gesturing in response, somehow conveying gratitude, humility, and pride through a few cycles of body language.

It also served to signal the conclusion of the formal introduction period. Whatever portion of the speech had been left out was forgotten as Dauntless moved to thank Doug for his work in providing a safe haven and community support.

It was really incredible seeing Dauntless interact with the public. Miss Militia might have been a fixture in the city for years but Dauntless was clearly regarded as a hometown boy. Outside of people like Triumph who came up through the Wards there weren't a lot of natives present in the ranks of the Protectorate. Dauntless was the exception, and the fact that everyone knew he was on track to become something big meant there was a real sense of pride in the hero.

It was rare to see, but when he let his guard down and softened the official posture he could have been anyone you'd see hanging out in a sports bar or find browsing the Market. The odd candid comment where he used local slang or referenced some event that would have been unknown to a transfer cape really endeared him to the public. It was kind of crazy that he was so popular even when Brockton had one of the best tinker heroes out there as it's team leader.

I watched as Dauntless shifted to speak with Mrs. Gartenberg. He wasn't projecting like he did with the initial announcement, but judging from both his and the woman's face the exchange was going fairly well. I took a moment to parse through my passenger's feelings about Dauntless. While almost everything was positive there was this non-specific sense of dread. I couldn't place it on anything, but there was a concern about something happening.

That wasn't exactly an unfamiliar sentiment. Dauntless was a cape who would grow constantly more powerful. Nobody knew if there would ever be diminishing returns or if he would hit some limit, but if he kept on track with what had been seen so far then he would be Triumvirate level within a few years. The concern that something would happen before then wasn't unusual. It was a quiet dread experienced by every Dauntless fan.

There were a million ways a cape career could be cut short. Unexpected powers, run-ins with S-class threats, or just bad luck. He could stumble across something in his civilian life or get caught in one of the many types of Bakuda's bombs that don't care about defenses or durability. The entire city was hoping under their breath that he'd be able to hold out long enough to make a difference.

Come to think of it, I understood that feeling pretty well at this point.

There was a shift in the attention of the crowd that drew my eyes back to Garment and Miss Militia. Garment had completed the primary purpose of this meeting, the excuse that meant it was worth dealing with all this insanity and veiled recruitment attempts. She was handing over her dress as evidence.

The dress was sealed in a large plastic bag and had been secreted inside Garment's purse. The compression was so efficient that I had to assume one of the duplicates had helped her with it, as it came out perfectly draped rather than as a creased and wrinkled bundle.

The appearance of the dress triggered another round of photographs as Garment suspended it for all to see. In the light of the gym, perhaps because of the comparatively normal setting, the damage to the dress was chilling. During her night of hero work Garment's dress had picked up numerous slashes, stabs, rips, and even a few bullet holes. Seeing them all displayed at once was a harrowing image, both of the danger she had faced and of how little it had impacted her.

She was standing whole and defiant holding an item of clothing that had endured enough attacks to kill someone a dozen times over. Even in its damaged state the red dress was stunning, though it paled next to the color shifting evening wear that I had helped her make earlier in the day. The combined effect showed both what she had endured and how far her skill had advanced. Well, I guess that was our skill, but the people in attendance didn't know that.

Garment shifted the stress she was holding on the fabric of her dress and the structural coloration shifted through a few different hues before settling on a more vibrant reproduction of the damaged dress. That triggered a round of applause from the public, probably both for the symbol and because the crowd would eat up any display of parahuman power.

As Garment preened for the crowd, I felt the Celestial Forge connect to a mote from the Quality constellation called Ambrosial Artificer. This power was connected with Bling of War, Fingers of Silver, and Savvy Sultan, having the same feel and character. Its actual purpose was significantly more interesting.

This wasn't a power that improved the level of technology I could make, the speed I could make it, or even its quality. It did something no other power had done. It simplified designs.

Using this power I could take any of my designs, from the most basic to the most intricate, and remove all unnecessary complexity. It provided efficiency in a completely new way, not by just boosting performance but by streamlining complexity. Not only did it let me strip out any unnecessary part or system, but by doing so I could improve the operation of the critical systems.

And once again everything I had made was obsolete. Everything from my motoroid to omni-tool to the machines in my workshop were clogged with unnecessary additions, detrimental design methodologies, and parts that were actively impeding performance. At least the revised designs would be easier to implement and construct, so the necessary wave of upgrades wouldn't be that onerous.

Just the fact that this power would allow simpler designs would be huge. A lot of precision and complexity in manufacturing could be avoided, creating a knock-on effect of reduced construction time and lower material requirements. I was already assembling and amending blueprints in my mind with the benefit of the new ability.

The benefits to aeronautics were particularly profound. Reduced weight meant less thrust and lift was necessary, which meant those systems could be scaled down. That reduced the thrust and lift requirements even further, which affected the related systems and so on. Cascading benefits through the entire design multiplying the impact of the ability.

I shifted away from my thoughts of revising every design I had ever compiled to check on the meeting. Garment's dress had been handed over to a PRT trooper who was bagging it as evidence and preparing to depart, though I noted in a way that let the camera crew and public get a good look at the action. I hoped it would actually help in prosecution efforts. I had heard of the mess that vigilantes could make of things. Capes were really better suited for interceding in conflict than for effective police work.

Whatever official portion of the event had been arranged seemed to have passed. Given that this was a meeting to hand over evidence that had been blown into a publicity event and recruitment pitch it wasn't really surprising that the itinerary of official events was a little anemic. Fortunately, the capes in attendance had enough experience with these kinds of things to basically go on autopilot.

The first step was direct meetings with the press. Miss Militia, Dauntless, and Garment worked their way through the assembled reporters while some unspoken signal sent Shadow Stalker and Flechette off to interact with the crowd. It was a lesson in public relations training as they basically fell into routine, producing pens for autographs seemingly out of nowhere and moving around the edge of the crowds.

There was a slight shifting as people tried to bunch up towards the capes, but Doug moved in with some of the heavier gym members. The good thing about guys that size was they didn't even need to get rough. People took one look and decided they deserved their personal space. It was a talent I couldn't manage even with my new build.

I was about to check if they needed my help with anything when I heard someone call my name. I turned to find the technician holding a dismounted camera and coil of cable.

"We're moving in for closer shots and the direct interviews. Are we good for power connections up there?" The man had a beleaguered look and stubble spreading past the bounds of what I assumed was normally a well-groomed beard. Given the action in the city the past few days I'm guessing he'd been burning the candle at both ends. He was untalkative about anything beyond the job at hand and I still didn't have his name.

"Yep. I double checked all the connections." Actually, I had completely replaced them. It turns out my impossible repair skill is more than enough to run fabricated cable through walls without attracting attention. I even managed to keep all the connections and support equipment human standard.

Damn it. Less pejorative of a thought, but still counts. That's a quarter.

I looked over at the far side of the gym and considered sight lines and framing. "Probably best to use the connections on the east wall. Will that work?"

He considered things. "It'll limit the angles we can work with…" I know. That's the point. "But it shouldn't be a problem. Hey, would probably end up giving it a more natural feel."

"Really?" I inquired in my best attempt at honest curiosity.

He gave a tired nod. "Yeah, shot composition is a big thing. Don't have time to explain it to you, but you'll see when we get to broadcast."

That innocent bit of deception plus a little nudging as I helped carry cables and set things up ensured the interview space was as well framed as I could manage. It showed the best of the gym and the enthusiasm of the crowd without overly focusing on the setup or other reporters.

It was also the closest I'd been able to get to the capes since Garment had arrived. Miss Militia and Dauntless were in full press mode, giving what sounded like canned non-answers to serious questions about the city. Miss Militia was clearly better than Dauntless at faking sincerity during interviews.

"The Protectorate is working tirelessly to address those and other issues from Saturday night's attacks."

"I cannot speak to that matter. The Director will be addressing those points at this evening's press conference."

"While the blackout is not a Protectorate matter, NHEC has stated that more than ninety percent of connections have been restored and the remaining outages should be addressed by the end of the week."

"Details regarding those efforts will be shortly forthcoming."

"That is an ongoing matter that is still being classified. However, we are asking that anyone who has contact with Apeiron to come forward for evaluation."

It really drove home what a mess the city had become. And also drove home how carefully the Protectorate coached their capes. They kept cycling through the same answers repeatedly, possibly to prevent any one news outlet from scooping the others with a particular quote or soundbite.

Meanwhile Garment's questions were both more softball and presented a real challenge for reporters. She was able to convey a lot through expressive movements, but there was a real barrier to transcribing that. When really pressed she would dig out her phone and type a single word, assisted by autocomplete. Given that it killed the pacing whichever reporter pushed for the detail was usually subjected to the stink eye from the rest of the group.

Miss Militia fiddled with her weapon while dealing with one of the more aggressive reporters and I was able to watch as it broke into its green-black energy form before reforming once more. It was barely an action with her focus entirely on the reporter but it was enough to grab my attention once again.

I had barely thought about Enchanting's ability to copy magical effects since I first got the power. I was still pushing the limits of elemental effects and didn't exactly have a ready source of enchanted weapons to study. But there was one right in front of me. Sitting there, burning with power and just waiting to be explored. I wanted to get my hands on it so badly, just take it apart and figure out its secrets.

I pulled back before I could get caught up in things again. Even so the technician has a slight smirk on his face and I could feel myself flush slightly. Instead of responding I busied myself helping set up the equipment, then fell back into the crowd as the producer started arranging video interviews.

Looking over the scene it was clear most of this was going to get cut. Unless anything significant was revealed it was probably going to become one of those end-of-broadcast feel good stories. They might stretch it to a full segment on a morning show or something, but with the city still recovering there were bigger concerns.

That is, unless Garment signed up for the Protectorate. I doubted she would. Her lack of interest in the offer was clear, but I couldn't discount them potentially making some enticing offer.

What would happen if Garment did join? I really doubted that she would betray me in any way, but there was a serious conflict of interest at play. The thought of her under the authority of Director Piggot didn't sit right, but there wasn't much to be done. Garment was her own person. If she decided to go that route, I guess I would support her.

"Heavy thoughts?"

I turned to see Vince had approached me while I was contemplating things. I shrugged in return. "Not really."

"You sure?" He smiled. "Nothing about a certain cape with an air of authority who fills out fatigues rather well?"

I followed his gaze and saw Miss Militia standing next to Garment as the television reporter led the interview. Well, he was being good natured about it, but I was probably never going to live that initial misconception down.

Instead I decided to change the subject. "How are we managing things? I mean in general?"

Vince gave me a look that suggested he had more Miss Militia based teasing to come, but decided to shelf that particular topic for the moment.

"A hell of a lot better than I thought that we would." He sighed. "To be honest this is the last thing I thought I'd ever have to do at this place." He gestured around us. "I mean, look at all this. It's like we're some kind of celebrity hotspot."

"Well, capes?"

"Yeah." Vince conceded. "It's just, cape stuff is supposed to be like Boardwalk and Downtown." He paused at that. "At least the hero side of it." He clarified.

I kind of got his meaning. "You think Garment's going to stick around?" I watched his reaction. "You're worried about it?"

Vince took a breath. "Not exactly worried, just… I don't know. She showed up for one night and we have all of this. I know it will be great for the gym and hell, the neighborhood has probably never done better, but where is this going to end up?" He shook his head. "It's stupid to think about this kind of thing when the city's just been blown up, but this story's getting out. People are going to keep coming around." He looked at me. "You're from the burbs, right?"

I nodded. "Captain's Hill."

"Right, well, the Docks are a bit different."

"Yeah, I've noticed." I quipped.

He sighed. "Not like that. Or not just like that. Okay, that dividing line between the Docks and Downtown? It's basically a jump rope. Every year or so someone tries to buy out a chunk of the Docks and turn it into condos or bistros or whatever. Sometimes it takes, sometimes it fails, but it's always hell for people living there. Deeper in the Docks it's not usually a problem, but I've heard there's a company that's been buying up properties, like more than the usual land grab. I'm just worried about this place."

I had the sense Vince might have had some personal experience with one of those jump rope areas, but it didn't seem like a good time to ask about it.

"What do you think's going to happen?"

He shrugged. "Probably nothing. It's not like she's living in the Gym. Parian set up her studio without any big changes but she wasn't…" He dropped off as he looked at Garment, then cleared his throat. "Look, I'm not trying to diminish anything she did. I was here from the start on Saturday, I saw the people she sent in and I'm behind her one hundred percent. I'm just worried about how the city will react."

I didn't really know how to respond to that, and thankfully Vince got called away shortly after. There were a lot more complicated interconnections in Brockton than I anticipated. Cape shows up in an area and people visiting the city will want to see her. That happens, then you get businesses popping up for the foot traffic. Tourists to this city skewed to the higher end, so it was more likely money would be flowing to any new businesses that catered to them than places already in the area. The area becomes more profitable and people try to raise rents or buy out residents.

I understood Vince's concerns, though it might be a bit early for them. Still, spending a morning drowning in tourists who wouldn't have stepped foot in a place like this if their lives depended on it had a way of bringing those kinds of thoughts to the surface. There was certainly less derision towards the gym and staff then there had been when I got here, but that kind of thing left an impression. Tourists weren't well regarded in the Docks and the prospect of having them as a mainstay was understandably concerning.

I was considering the situation when the Celestial Forge connected with a mote from the Toolkits constellation. Hangar. The power gave me an aircraft hangar bay. Not a huge hangar, just large enough for a fighter jet. But that led to the more significant part of the power.

Before I could fully appreciate the new ability I stumbled briefly as someone collided into me. Between my enhanced strength and larger size I was fine, but the same couldn't be said for the girl who was splayed out across the gym floor with a stunned look on her face.

I crouched down towards the Asian teenager. She was small, even for her age and demographic and the collision has sent her flying. She was looking around the gym in amazement and I was briefly concerned she may have hit her head.

"Miss?" I asked. "Are you alright?" It might have been a callous concern, but I was wearing a gym badge and this girl was one of the better dressed visitors. I really didn't want to open the place up for a lawsuit.

Fortunately, she seemed to rally quickly and began looking around her. I quickly spotted the item she had dropped and picked it up. She relaxed as I handed her the autographed action figure, still in its original packaging.

'2008 limited edition variant figure, tied in with the launch of Bolt, the Flechette branded energy drink. Current buy-it-now eBay listing mint-in-box at $325.00, unsigned'

I thanked the copy of Survey running on my omni-tool watch and made sure to use excessive care while handing over the item. Unprompted, Survey also confirmed the lack of any cranial mines, which was reassuring and something I wished I didn't need to worry about from every member of Brockton Bay's Asian community.

"Thanks." The girl breathed. She was still a little unfocused, but judging from how she was acting I got the feeling that was just her personality rather than the effect of some head injury. "It seems this is just not my day."

"Uh, I'm really sorry about that."

"No bother." She climbed back to her feet while placing deliberate care around the action figure. "It's not that it isn't wonderful, it's just unexpected, though I guess that's a kind of wonderful."

I gave her a questioning look as I stood up as well, but her attention was already back on the heroes. At my full height I towered over her to an almost comedic degree. It really made me feel like an ass for zoning out over my new power and stumbling into her, but between the crowd and how far beneath my sight line she was it probably would have happened even if I wasn't distracted.

The girl took a deep breath as she gazed around the room. Miss Militia and Dauntless were mingling with the crowd while Flechette and Shadow Stalker had joined Garment with the Television crew. The strict area division had relaxed a bit to allow intermingling, easier with the adult capes on the floor. There was even a level of engagement with the gym members, like with Jackson explaining something about Garment's tapestry to a pair of college age girls.

The Asian girl's eyes weren't really focusing on anything as she took in the scene, and it made me more than a little concerned. "Are you okay? Can I get you some water?"

She looked like she might refuse until she spotted the folding table stacked with water bottles that had been segregated from the rest of the crowds in an empty spot between the reporters and the rest of the people at the event. I led her away from the crowds and got her a bottle of water. She sipped it while still cradling her action figure.

"It's incredible, really." I nodded along with the Asian girl's statement. Between her appearance and manner it was hard to get a read on her. She could have been anywhere from mid-teens to early twenties. I watched her smile in a slightly unsettling way. "It almost looks natural."

I blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

She gestured around us. "All of this. It lines up so perfectly that you can't see the moving parts. Dressed up to look spontaneous rather than scripted."

I wasn't sure how to respond to that. "Well, this is a publicity event. Someone had to plan these things."

She looked at my amateurish gym badge, then up at my face with a patronizing expression. "See, not even you notice it. That's what makes this impressive." Her eyes took on a dreamy expression. Okay, dreamier than usual, and she lifted her hands into the air.

There was a slight pause where she remained silent with her eyes slightly unfocused. I found myself wondering if I should leave, or if that would count as some kind of liability thing for the gym. I was ninety percent sure this behavior wasn't injury related, but there was still something unsettling about it.

After a few moments she started to move her hands in vague gestures. "It's not just one piece that people are working around. There's harmony here. Layers of it. Some directing force that's bringing everything together into a full melody."

I was feeling incredibly awkward and exposed just standing there. It felt like I was intruding on a conversation that was also being directed solely at me. In my desperate attempt to find anything to say I finally recognized the movements of her hands.

"Um, you play the violin?"

There was a slight smile from the girl, but from the look in her eyes I could tell it had a lot of weight to it. I had the feeling I had intruded on something with that question, but as she glanced at me her eyes softened.

"I used to. Was really good at it. Almost played at Julliard once." She smiled a bit wider. "You play as well?"

The question was said with such utter confidence that I had a stunned moment of wondering where that had come from. Then I realized my left hand had slipped into the familiar form of basic fingering that had been drilled in by hours of practice. I quickly snapped it into a fist and the girl's smile widened a bit.

"Years ago." She looked at me expectantly and I found myself wondering how I had gotten into this discussion. Oh yeah, I keep zoning out when I get new powers and it had finally bitten me in the ass. I sighed internally before continuing. "I wasn't good at it. Honestly I'm kind of tone deaf."

"But you stuck with it?" This girl was either towards the older side of my original estimate or was exceptionally self-assured for a teenager. She had this kind of casual confidence towards everything and everyone around her that would have been impressive if it wasn't also seriously unnerving.

"I just learned the songs mechanically. You know, sequences of fingering." It meant I could muddle through as long as everything was perfectly set up in the first place. One thing out of tune and everything fell apart.

The idea seemed to intrigue her. "So just rhythm and motion without any deeper connection? Must have been hard."

I was being condescended to by someone more than a foot shorter than me. Then again this was a girl who had, or nearly had auditioned at Julliard talking to someone who couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. From her perspective it was probably more than justified.

I did my best to shrug off the entire situation, trying to ignore the weight of years it had brought up. "You know how it is with kids and music lessons. My mom always thought it was just a matter of not practicing enough. Stuck with it for years longer than I probably should have."

I tried to play off the statement with as much humor as possible, but the girl's reaction was complicated. She seemed to shift through sadness, anger, vindication, and regret within a handful of seconds. The look was so manic that I was briefly afraid of what she might do, but she seemed to calm herself and looked up at me with a perplexing expression.

"I understand." She left things at that and turned back towards the room. I kept looking around for any possible allies, but consistently came up short. As much as I wanted to hand over this situation everyone I could see was either busy or too far away to help.

"It really is beautifully coordinated." I looked down at the girl as her eyes darted from one element of the gym to another. "I wonder who's doing it?"

I smiled slightly. "I'm pretty sure the Protectorate doesn't have a party planner thinker on staff."

My tone was jovial, but didn't seem to register with the girl. "Not yet at least." She looked over to the television crew.

"What do you mean?" I followed her gaze to where Garment and Flechette were giving an interview. Television seemed a much better medium for dealing with Garment and she'd been pretty much glued to the camera since the print and website reporters had given up.

"It might be her. Playing the strings, puppeting all of this." The girl's gaze was unusually intense. She seemed really sold on the idea that there was some kind of force directing people at this event and I didn't like the way she was attributing that theory to Garment.

"Isn't she just like fashion and clothing control? I don't think she has some secret influence power."

"Yes, and people didn't think she was a tinker either, so I guess anything's possible."

That statement jarred me out of my previous concerns and into a whole new batch of them. "Wait, tinker? Who said she's a tinker?"

The girl looked up at me with an expression that suggested she didn't have a particularly high regard for my intelligence. "That dress?"

Almost on cue Garment's dress shifted to a pattern of purple shades that complimented Flechette's costume, much to the excitement of the news team.

"Okay, but tinker? There are color changing fabrics, right?" Watching the subtle rainbow shifts as Flechette rested a hand on the shoulder of the dress that statement felt a bit weak.

"Not like that. I'm not saying she's another Dragon, but that's definitely tinker tech."

"I don't know. Can case 53s or whatevers even be tinkers?" It was more a question to try to throw off this connection, but I legitimately didn't know.

"Oh, sure. You've got Trainwreck in this city alone, and probably about a half dozen others."

She sounded so sure of herself that it would have been easy to take her statement on faith, but I had never heard anything about Trainwreck being a case 53. Connecting with Survey for confirmation I found nothing about it in official statements or the Wiki page. It was a popular theory on forums and image boards with a few people claiming to have seen him out of his armor, though no two reports matched up perfectly.

I looked down at the girl and my earlier suspicions fell into place. Cape geek. Well, probably a higher class of cape geek, but still the same principle. They type who showed up at public events with expensive merchandise and crazy theories about hidden powers. Pretty much walking cases of confirmation biases. It did a lot to explain that unnerving intensity that she applied to everything.

"Also didn't expect her to hit it off so well with Flechette." There was an almost predatory gleam in the girl's eyes. "Don't you think they make a cute couple?"

Ah, right. Cape shipping. The bane of my existence, and something that was apparently applied to every parahuman in the public eye. "I thought she had a thing with Clockblocker?"

My attempt to divert attention did not land well, though it was apparently at least amusing. The girl actually broke into a fit of giggles at the suggestion. "Oh, that picture, right? Totally ridiculous. I swear, people will believe anything."

That was a little rich coming from someone who seemed to be informed by internet image boards. "But you think there's something here?"

"Obviously. Just look at them."

I turned and watched the exchanges between Garment and Flechette while they gave their interview. I had never been great at reading these kinds of things, and may have actually gotten worse since the mess with Sabah. It was easier to just remove myself from the possibility of that kind of fuck up than risk it all over again.

There was also the issue of trying to discern romantic interest between girls from one of those unusually close and touchy friendships. The idea to pair up Flechette and Garment seemed like either wishful thinking or projection, but I took a close look and tried to piece things together.

Flechette was glancing towards Garment fairly often, and seemed pretty comfortable in proximity. There were rare moments of contact between them that seemed to be well received, and Flechette's body language was relaxed even with Garment inside her personal space. I suppose I could see what the girl was talking about.

From Garment I couldn't really pick up anything that suggested reciprocation. I mean, Garment was being friendly and attentive, particularly towards the cape she had made. But that was just how Garment behaved. In fact, it was a good deal less intense than what I dealt with from her on a regular basis. Compared to that level, this was just Garment acknowledging someone's presence.

The girl was looking at me expectantly so I slowly nodded my head. "I guess I can see it."

She made an amused sound in response that still somehow came across as condescending. "I guess." She spoke the words with a sarcastic tone while grinning at me. Then she downed the last of her water and tossed the bottle into a nearby trash can without looking.

"Hey, are you sure you're alright?" It felt like I should get some kind of statement before wrapping this up. I didn't really know how liability laws worked, but in a world where slipping on a mopped floor was lawsuit bait, I didn't want to take any chances.

"Oh, I'm great. In fact, I think I'll head out. Not much I can do here." She looked towards Flechette and Garment again. "Can't say it went the way I expected, but it was certainly… enlightening."

She gave me another of those slightly disturbing smiles, then started towards the door. On the way she innocently passed Mrs. Gartenberg's table of pastries. As she walked by there was a split second where the woman turned to check on something in the gym. With the speed of a snake the girl's hand darted out and snatched a momentarily unguarded desert from the spread all without breaking her stride.

I gaped at the casual display of coordination from someone who had blindly stumbled into me and ended up sprawled on the floor. Mrs. Gartenberg returned her attention just in time to see my reaction and follow my gaze, which was also exactly when the girl turned back and gave me a conspiratorial grin, all while perfectly concealing her stolen pastry. The old woman slowly turned back to me with a knowing expression and a very sly smirk on her face. I felt my cheeks heat up, which only made the woman smile wider.

Well, I had gotten out of that without any fuss being kicked up, which was something of a victory. I also had a rather extended conversation without giving my name or knowing the name of the person I was talking to, so apparently all that experience in retail work was coming to the forefront.

There had been something seriously odd about that girl, but from what I'd seen of the cape fan community that might just be par for the course. Taking a closer look at the crowd I could pick out over a dozen people who immediately came across as more oddball than that Asian girl.

The entire event had interrupted my review of my latest power. With what looked like a decent chance for a break I smiled and went over what had come along with the Hanger.

Firstly, I had a fighter jet. That was, I had a complete fiat backed fighter jet in its own automated hangar able to automatically refuel and resupply it. It wasn't a cutting-edge fighter, but it was still an F-18 Hornet. The jet may have been six years older than I was but it was still a beautiful machine and it was all mine.

Oh, and I had flight training now. Not exactly Top Gun level, but I could get the bird in the air and put it down safely. Fleet was going to be thrilled about this. A new plane and instant flight experience. Okay, I couldn't exactly launch a forty-foot-wide jet out of a standard garage, but I could figure out something.

In addition to a few other odds and ends like a flight suit and basic weapon systems I got two additional minor powers. The first was oddly both incredibly useful and totally pointless. I could, somehow, pick up enemy broadcasts with my radio. Like, bypassing all encryptions, signal jamming, and even communication technologies. I had no control over when they would show up and it would be just as likely to be someone complaining about the lunch menu as announcing attack plans, but it was there. Totally arbitrary, but incredibly useful if it lined up right.

The second power was more directly applicable. Every plane I piloted could hold an excessive amount of missiles. My Hornet with its eleven hardpoints could carry 150 missiles. So could any other plane I flew. It didn't matter if it was an ultralight or a 747. The missile payload would be increased to 150. Though that was only when I was flying, and I still had to supply the missiles, either from my own construction or from the resupply abilities of my hangar. What happened to the extra missiles if someone else piloted the plane? Who knows?

I was ruminating on yet another impossible aspect of my power when I saw Doug make his way over from the nest of reporters. He gave Mrs. Gartenberg a polite nod before turning to me.

"Think we've gotten most of the official part of this out of the way." He turned towards the cluster of reporters who were starting to disperse. "They said something about getting crowd reactions and establishing shots for the TV crew. Can you give them a hand with that?"

I nodded. "No problem." Glancing over I saw Miss Militia and Dauntless heading towards the office with Garment in tow.

Doug noticed my expression and filled me in. "They asked to use one of the back rooms for a bit. Probably official cape business stuff."

"Think they're going to ask her to join the Protectorate?" I kept my voice as level as possible.

Doug shrugged. "Probably? Way I hear it, they'll offer to anyone with powers and not too much baggage. She's more than proven herself, so I can't see them passing up the chance."

"Think she'll sign up?" I doubted it, but I still wanted to hear his opinion.

Doug looked contemplative. "Honestly, no clue. I mean, she's great but I can't get a read on her. Seemed more like she was happy about being here than seeing the Protectorate out in force." He shrugged again. "Guess we'll find out soon enough. Can you give the camera guy a hand? You've really been a help with the cabling and everything."

"Sure, no problem." I had been more than a help. This place had gotten an entire new electrical system thanks to me. It was buried and at least looked like it had been there for a while, so if someone became aware of it the main concern would probably be 'When was this installed and do we owe money for it?'.

Still, the tired technician was grateful for my help, even if it was just moving cables and assuring him the outlets were stable. It also meant I was able to steer the perspectives of the camera shots again.

Was that what the girl was talking about? I had nudged things to go a bit smoother, but she was acting like there was some kind of parahuman force at play. It would have been a joke if she hadn't decided to attribute it to Garment. Still, if people were assuming that Garment was able to pull together a social event with superhuman grace, was it that bad of an outcome?

Well, only if they ran with it to some disastrous conclusions, but luckily I seemed to be the only one that practice applied to.

Speaking of Garment, I got a signal from the copy of Survey running on her phone. She had taken the device out during her meeting as a typing aid and it was providing me audio and partial video coverage of the meeting. The camera view from the table was a bit difficult to parse, but with Survey's help I could put together an acceptable image of Garment, Dauntless, and Miss Militia.

It felt slightly intrusive on the two capes, and would have been seriously intrusive on Garment if she hadn't asked Survey to set this up. Well, actually she had typed my name discreetly into the phone and made an approving gesture when Survey outlined the planned connection, so it worked out to the same. It also saved me from trying to get the story out of Garment after the fact.

Though splitting my attention between the cabling and the meeting caused me to notice an immediate drop in quality. That would be the effect of losing Do One Thing At A Time. I hadn't even noticed that it was running continuously through all of this. It had probably helped in a thousand tiny ways, but I didn't pick up on it until I tried to split my focus. Interesting, and something I'd need to be aware of in the future.

In the meantime I continued to work while monitoring Garment's meeting.

The three of them were around a table in the back office, a room I hadn't seen before my rewiring blitz earlier in the day. Miss Militia and Dauntless were sitting across from Garment with the phone on the table in front of her. The Alchemy constellation missed a connection as Dauntless started speaking.

"Garment, I want to thank you again, both for your efforts the other night and for meeting us here. It means a lot, to the city, to the Protectorate, and to the community."

I couldn't see all the details of Garment's response gestures, but it came off as an accepting acknowledgement. Dauntless leaned in and I could see his smile in the camera, but it was Miss Militia who spoke next.

"You have made quite an impression, even on the national stage. Have you given any thought to what you would like to do next?"

Garment made some dismissive gestures, then shifted towards her bag. There were a few moments of activity while something was worked on, then an object floated across the table to Miss Militia.

It was a silk flower, a rose to be exact, but the petals were alternating red and white except for one that was blue with a pattern of white stars. Miss Militia stopped moving as it approached her, and I noticed the silk band on the bottom of the flower.

"Oh, uh, yes. It's lovely." She seemed to be considering whether it would be appropriate to put on the American flag rose corsage that Garment had made her in less than a minute. Whatever momentum she was trying to build with her question had been thoroughly gutted.

Fortunately, Dauntless was there to cut in. "Would I be right to assume you're saying you'd like to make clothes? Items like that? And it is lovely."

Miss Militia shot Dauntless a look while Garment gestured her assent.

"You should know that the Protectorate can provide support for capes in many areas. It's an organization dedicated to supporting capes and helping them integrate to society, not a military organization."

I split my focus between listening to the technician and considering Dauntless's point. It may have some validity outside Brockton Bay, but things were not that good here. I had no doubt that any cape who signed on would be expected to hold the line, even if their power was centered around something harmless like making marshmallow treats. Garment had proven combat abilities. There was no way they would keep her off the street.

Garment seemed to be demonstrating the same level of reluctance I was feeling. Upon seeing her response Miss Militia put down the silk flower and spoke up.

"There are other options available beyond full membership. The MIRIS initiative is specifically designed to support Protectorate affiliated Rogues in their operations. If you are determined to focus on your craftwork and technology it would be a good fit for you."

I frowned, which briefly put off the technician as he had just been asking about the south wall's wiring situation. I backtracked through the conversation I'd been half ignoring and worked to assure him of the integrity of Vietnam-era electrical outlets. While I tried to correct my mistake I directed Survey on a web search.

The results arrived shortly, all while Miss Militia was explaining details of the program. She was painting a very rosy picture of the initiative that was all technically true, but Survey confirmed what I half remembered reading about the subject.

MIRIS was, to put it kindly, a dumpster fire. Good intentions to begin with, but when branches had to choose between being able to afford small business loans and legal support for their Rogues or covering the cost of better equipment for their Heroes the decision always ran the same way.

It was a big picture program designed to support a new class of cape and create change on a broad scale. Without strong support from the top or regulations protecting its funding the program had been whittled down to almost nothing. Every available allocation was diverted or creatively assigned and resources were thoroughly deprioritized.

It kind of made sense, in a horrible way. People like Garment and even Parian were exceptions when it came to Rogues. A lot of the time it was a cape with totally inappropriate powers trying to branch out into non-hero work. Either there was nothing that could be done with their powers or they were too effective and NEPEA-5 started taking effect.

For Garment, signing up would mean a pile of restrictions, no meaningful support, and possible entanglement in the current conflict. Fortunately, Garment didn't seem that enthusiastic about the matter, regardless of how Miss Militia presented their case.

"Please understand, new capes attempting to operate as Rogues are highly vulnerable, particularly ones with technical skills like yours." Garment brushed her off and gestured to herself. "Yes, I understand that physical threats don't mean much to you." There was a hint of envy in her voice when she spoke. I think just how much they wanted this recruitment was leaking through. "But there's security of your assets, associates, and business interests. The Protectorate can help with all of that."

Once again, Garment didn't seem that interested and Miss Militia was concealing her frustration at the situation. I suddenly remembered that she was now acting leader of the Protectorate. That meant the buck stopped with her on this. What's more, she had the added problem of not even being able to refute Garment's concerns thanks to the inherently vague way they were being conveyed. 'Speaking to a wall' was probably a good way of putting it.

"I know this is sudden, and we're sorry to spring these details on you at once, but it's important that these things get addressed as soon as possible." Dauntless leaned forward, speaking in support of Miss Militia. The 'two on one' setup could easily have been overwhelming, but Garment seemed totally unmoved by that kind of intimidation.

Garment seemed to concede that specific point, but made no further moves. There was a sigh from Miss Militia that she immediately seemed to regret. I could see that things were wearing on the Protectorate a lot more than they had let on. This was beyond their usual sugar coating and into taping up the cracks in a dam. I didn't really like the idea that Garment was being used as part of that kind of strategy, but I could at least understand where they were coming from.

Miss Militia shifted some papers aside towards Garment. "If it's all right I'll leave these with you. This paperwork covers the terms of both full and affiliate membership in the Protectorate, as well as the support that could be provided as a Rogue."

Garment took the paperwork with good grace, but still didn't seem that excited about it. Dauntless leaned forward and produced another set of papers.

"Even if you choose to go in a different direction from Protectorate affiliation, we would appreciate it if you could register with the Protectorate. Particularly as an… atypical cape," Garment seemed almost proud of that reference. "These will allow you to operate legally in your cape, or I suppose that would be your primary identity. It will allow you to open a bank account, file for business licenses, and legally engage in contracts. If you'd like we can help you fill them out, or arrange for…"

There was no question about it as Garment eagerly picked up the forms and started working through them. Miss Militia's mood picked up considerably as Dauntless shifted around the table to help her with the paperwork. The camera's view was distorted as Garment picked up the phone and started typing out responses to specific questions.

I shifted most of my attention back to the gym, only keeping a metaphorical eye out for anything underhanded. I wasn't that concerned as, aside from overselling MIRIS they had been mostly straightforward with their pitches.

Things inside the gym proper were slowly winding down. The cluster of reporters had been dropping out as they milked the crowd reactions dry. The TV crew seemed to be of the opinion that they'd gotten as much as they were likely to, and were just hanging around to capture the departure of the capes. The rest of the guests seemed to have followed that other girl's example and decided there wasn't much they could do here. Once you got your autograph, your selfie, and saw the big presentation there wasn't much else.

Well, I think there were still some people with an outside hope that Garment would be announced as a new member of the Protectorate, but the consensus seemed to be that even if she signed up on the spot, they'd probably hold the announcement for an event they had more control of.

With the TV crew fully settled I had to find something else to occupy me. There was still the question of how I was going to get Garment out of here. The gym was quieter, but that was compared to the absolute maelstrom I had arrived at, and there were still a lot of people and a lot of cameras floating around.

My best bet would probably be the same as before. Get her out of sight and open the workshop. Let everyone else worry about how she snuck out. If people were running with things like 'Garment has secret party coordination powers' then they might as well have fun imagining mystery mover/stranger powers as well.

Then I would have to deal with that truck for Drew Rogers. The only problem would be getting enough privacy to cover the effects of my powers. With a repair I could avoid most of those aesthetic powers, but it would still automatically clean itself when I fixed it. That meant I needed to sink enough time into it to cover the cleaning and repair time.

I checked on the crowd again. It was less hectic than before, and Flechette and Shadow Stalker were still keeping them occupied. Shadow Stalker kept eyeing the ring and boxing equipment, her body language giving the distinct sense she'd rather be beating the crap out of someone or something. Part of that impression was due to my passenger's seriously negative reaction to her, but a lot was blatantly obvious from how she carried herself. As soon as she was no longer under direct supervision and out of camera her mood shifted drastically. I'd never seen a hero with so obvious a chip on her shoulder.

Flechette was her complete opposite in terms of mood. More than the earlier formal interactions she actually seemed to be enjoying herself. There was even the occasional laugh as she chatted with people while making circuits of the room, and that always drew Shadow Stalker's attention. Something had gotten her in pretty high spirits.

I took a rough position on the edge of the room and tried to look like I was there for a reason while I also watched the top heroes in the city fill out paperwork in the back office of the gym. Miss Militia had latched onto this small victory and was using it to make the best impression possible. They even offered to set up a bank account for her, given that proof of identity wasn't going to be a problem. That went along with identification cards, legal documentation, and even a P.O. box.

Apparently there was a list for how to handle the appearance of a Case 53. Garment wasn't exactly that, but the procedures worked out just as well.

While this was going on I watched Shadow Stalker get progressively more irritated. Her interactions with the public became terser and less frequent while her body language became more defensive. Flechette apparently picked up on this because she moved to the other Ward's side just as things were getting bad. Between the two of them they averaged out decently, but I had to wonder exactly what was putting Shadow Stalker on edge like that.

Finally Garment emerged from the back office flanked by Dauntless and Miss Militia to the cheers of the crowd. Miss Militia took a step forward alongside Garment.

"Thank you for coming. I am pleased to announce that Garment has decided to register with the Brockton Bay Protectorate as an unaffiliated cape. We look forward to continuing to work with her as a welcome presence in our city."

She shook Garment's glove to a cascade of camera flashes. I smiled slightly as I saw she had put the silk rose on her upper arm, where it added a pop of color to her costume while also being completely in line with her classic design.

I felt the Size constellation pass me by as the rest of the heroes moved up to congratulate Garment on the fact that she wasn't connected to anything. Still, she had registered. That suggested a level of cooperation and while I'm sure some people would claim it was meaningless it would probably buy the Protectorate some good press.

I would need to get a better sense of how they were handling things. I'm not sure if it was just the private setting or having to deal with someone who couldn't speak, but I'd never seen Miss Militia on edge like she'd been in the office.

Shadow Stalker was clearly glad to be leaving, but managed to restrain herself to put on a decent act of saying goodbye to Garment. Flechette parting was a lot more sincere and upon seeing it I had to seriously consider what that girl had said about them. I still wasn't seeing it from Garment, and I didn't really trust my ability to read other people, so I was kind of starting with my hands tied on this. I could say they were at least comfortable together, and it would be good for Garment to have a contact inside the Protectorate, whatever form that would take.

When they departed there was a brief shift in focus to Garment, something she completely ate up. As she started making her own rounds of greetings and autographs I became aware of Vince standing nearby grinning at me.

"So…" He drew out the word, leaving me very confused.

"So what?"

He huffed. "So, what happened with you and that Japanese chick?"

I bit back on my immediate reaction of shock. "How the hell did you even notice that?"

Vince let out a scoff. "Please. What part was supposed to be subtle? You taking her for a drink or that dreamy look you had on your face afterwards?"

When I was thinking about my new fighter jet, damn it. Apparently the obliviousness that I treasured about this place only applied during regular gym hours. That is, unless a conspicuously innocent looking old lady who was currently making a very obvious point not to look our way had anything to do with this.

"Nothing happened. I didn't even get her name."

Vince gave me a skeptical look. "Okay, you really need to step up your game. Everyone could tell there was something there."

"There was nothing there!" I protested. Vince looked doubtful. "She bumped into me and fell down. I was just making sure she was alright and that we didn't end up sued or something."

Vince gave me a flat look in response. "Let me tell you a little secret. Sometimes when girls literally throw themselves at you it's not because they're clumsy."

"Look, I really don't think that was what was going on there." That girl had seemed way too into the cape scene. Aside for a couple of moments she barely seemed to register my presence, and those always had a weird edge to them. I was basically a sounding board for her crazy cape theories that would no doubt be on PHO by the end of that day. "I couldn't even tell she was Japanese." I confessed.

Vince just shrugged. "You grow up in the right part of this city and you can pick it up. Outside the ABB you still have cultural division. Actually, inside the ABB as well. That can get kind of messy."

"Yeah, I can imagine." I looked over at Garment, who was rapidly cycling the colors of her dress as a group of tourists filmed her with camera phones. "So, how do you think this went?"

Vince shrugged. "Pretty well, I guess. Not the disaster it was looking like this morning, that's for sure."

"You still worried about that stuff from earlier?"

He let out a sigh and turned towards the wider gym. "Maybe? I don't know. I was mainly venting there. We're going to see a lot more signups, that's for sure. Some of them might stick around, but most will fade out when the shine rubs off. Probably a net positive for the gym. Don't know about things on a wider scale than that."

I nodded as he ruminated on the situation. This city was so messed up that even something that should have been a universal positive could mess up people's lives. There were dynamics here I didn't completely understand and couldn't really do anything about.

I stood with Vince and watched as the Gym slowed down and started to empty out. Garment was happy to pose for pictures or give autographs, which on closer inspection were done by sewing that symbol/label of hers into whatever she was asked to sign. However, she wasn't handing out clothing like during the chaos of Saturday or offering much to say. I saw a couple of people press her for a reply, but give up after the phone came out with its glacial typing.

The effect was that people rushed to meet her, but realized there wasn't that much to engage with. Or more specifically, they decided it wasn't worth the effort of engaging her. Even the television crew seemed to be of the same opinion and looked about ready to call it a day. I felt a little offended on Garment's behalf, but she still seemed to be enjoying herself, so I let her be.

"Wait, what's she doing?" Vince asked as Garment started brushing off tourists and maneuvering back to the staging area. Oh, she was bringing Doug and Mrs. Gartenberg over. And out came the bag.

Looks like Garment was going to make something after all.

The display drew renewed interest from the crowd and remaining reporters. Cloth and thread started to spin out of the bag and assemble themselves. Referring to it as a bag was probably sacrilege considering it was an immaculately made purse that would make any designer brand look like a shoddy knockoff by comparison. I did wonder if anyone had given thought to how much fabric would actually fit inside a purse like that and why Garment always seemed to have exactly what she needed for any given construction.

I knew she was covering her clothing generation power, drawing from the insane budget afforded to her by millions in gold. I just wondered what other people were assuming. Given this appearance had labeled her as a tinker and possibly some kind of party-centric thinker-shaker there was no telling where the speculation would go.

I put that thought out of my mind as I watched Garment's performance. And it was a performance. I understood why she didn't do this when the heroes were present. This level of showmanship would have completely shifted the tone of the meeting. They would either have to up their game, probably with gratuitous displays of power, or accept being overshadowed.

Thinking back to Miss Militia's weapon I almost wished she had showed off a little more. It was incredible to think that I could copy an ability like that, any ability like that, but I needed to at least see the power in action to start analyzing it. That was probably why I wasn't getting the same reaction from Dauntless's spear. Unless I actually saw him throw some lightning around or got my hands on the item in question there was nothing I could discern.

The crowd watched as Garment worked on items for both Doug and Mrs. Gartenberg at the same time, flawlessly splitting focus between them. For Doug sections of cloth flew out, measured themselves against his body, and were cut into the proportions for a jacket. It was completely unnecessary, but the public didn't know Garment could sense sizes and it made a good show. Doug grinned like a loon as a rather sharply cut sports coat was tailored in front of him.

For Mrs. Gartenberg it took a little while to figure out what was being done with the length of fabric and mess of incredibly fine thread. I think I put it together a fraction of a second before Mrs. Gartenberg realized what was happening. You could tell the moment of revelation by the way she went stock still, eyes widening.

Garment was making a shawl. That wasn't what got the reaction. Garment was making a lace shawl. That probably doesn't sound that impressive, but she was making hand sewn needle lace, not the machine assembles stuff you saw everywhere. That was the reason for the incredibly fine thread. You needed it for the detail work.

I don't think the public realized just what was being done in front of them. A good part of that was probably splitting focus between two projects at the same time, with Doug basically mugging for the cameras every time another part of the jacket came into place. The shawl was more of a blur of white thread slowly forming into an incredibly intricate arrangement of interlocked floral designs so detailed they were barely visible from a distance.

If not for my crafting powers I probably wouldn't have been able to follow it. This was the kind of work that actually had three dimensionality to it. It's finished form was closer to a carefully aligned arrangement of pressed flowers than a pattern of thread. This level of detail in this sewing method would have taken a master of the art untold hours over months to accomplish.

From Garment it flowed like water. By the time Doug was trying on his sports coat the shawl was completed and Mrs. Gartenberg was holding a large length of embroidered silk surrounded with a very wide band of the most detailed lacework on the planet. There was something eerie about seeing that stunned expression on the normally fiery old lady.

Luckily Doug was there to distract from any of those concerns. The coat fit him in a way I'd never seen before. Somehow it was sporty enough to fit the character of the place without losing any of the sharpness of its design. To the cheers of the crowd he posed and preened in the new jacket, looking significantly more like a boxing manager than he had a few seconds earlier.

Mrs. Gartenberg eventually held the shawl up for pictures, though with a stance so defensive that no one was willing to approach for a close up. The woman seemed conflicted by the gift, and Vince was good enough to illuminate the reason.

"Well, Garment's done it now." At my questioning glance he continued. "She's given an obligation that Mrs. Gartenberg can't bake her way out of."

Looking at things they began to fall into place. The pastry table had been rather well stocked, and Garment obviously hadn't touched it at all. Now she'd been given a lovely gift that no amount of immaculate blintzes would be able to repay.

"So she's going to have to find something else?" I ventured.

"And it's going to eat away at Mrs. Gartenberg until she figures something out."

"I don't think Garment actually wants anything in return."

"Doesn't matter. Some people are just like that. Plus, Mrs. Gartenberg is someone who gets more done with a container of pastries than Doug can pull off with an hour of yelling."

I remembered the broken truck waiting for me and nodded in acknowledgment. Before the conversation could go any further I felt a tug on my sleeve. No one was there, but I felt the tug again and saw the fabric move. Looking across the room Garment had her phone out and was slowly typing.

Survey relayed me the message without it needing to be sent.

'GO'

I gave a faint nod and excused myself to check on the wiring again. I looped around through back rooms as Garment excused herself from the main area. With the help of her phone it was easy to coordinate and direct her, allowing us to meet by an isolated supply closet.

"You did great out there. Really fantastic." I told her as I opened the workshop.

Garment made a happy gesture before pulling the paperwork out of her bag.

"I'll help you go through that later, but I need to get things sorted out here."

She signaled her understanding and stepped through as I briefly dropped the force fields and hologram. The entryway was visible for an instant before once again being replaced by the image of a nondescript closet interior. With that I sealed the door and slipped back through the maze of utility and storage rooms to circle around to the main area of the gym just as the Celestial Forge missed a connection to the Vehicles constellation.

There was a bit of commotion in the gym that made slipping in much easier. That was probably also helped by One Thing At A Time Again. It was easy to overlook that power when it was constantly activating, but in retrospect it had made a lot of things easier for me during the day. I managed to find Jackson and asked what was happening.

"Looks like Garment slipped out." He grinned. "They're just confirming she's gone before they make the announcement. I think there were a lot of people hoping to find out more about her, where she's set up, that kind of thing."

I frowned. "I thought you weren't supposed to try that kind of thing with capes."

He just shrugged. "I guess since she's a case 53 or whatever people want to treat her like she's a public cape, the whole New Wave thing. Honestly, I'm glad she's got her privacy, and not just because that means we can finally wrap this up."

"You mean you didn't enjoy playing unpaid untrained security guard so the Protectorate can look good?"

That got a smile. "It was a blast, but I'm ready to call it a day. And watch who you're calling untrained. I've been bouncing since I was old enough to drink." He paused and cracked a smile. "I mean legally drink."

I returned the grin and let out a sigh. "Wish I could join you, but I promised Doug I'd look at a truck for him."

He nodded. "Heard about that. Really appreciate you stepping up like that."

I shrugged. "City's crazy lately. I'm just doing what I can."

"Preach. I'll catch you around."

With the confirmed departure of the final cape things properly petered out. I helped the technician one last time and was given a business card for my trouble. Apparently I made a good impression and the studio sometimes hired contractors when they were short handed for big events. Doubted it would go anywhere, especially with my complete lack of official qualifications, but it was a nice gesture.

Once the official presence was gone most of the visitors followed, but like Vince predicted more than a few grabbed application forms for membership. I doubted most of them would stick around, but it might be a short-term boost for the gym.

Mrs. Gartenberg packed her new shawl with the reverence of one handling a family heirloom, and then oversaw the distribution of the remaining pastries, a process that drew more than a fair share of the gym regulars like they were lining up for communion. I was kind of surprised when Doug approached me with some kind of tart on a napkin.

"Mrs. Gartenberg?" I asked.

"Eat it where she can see you or I'll get hell for it." He looked back at the old woman who was watching us like a hawk. I waved in thanks and made a show of demonstrating how much I enjoyed the dessert. It didn't exactly take masterful acting to pull that off. The woman knew her baking and could make a mean fruit tart. Seemingly satisfied she turned back to the queue of expectant petitioners.

"You here about the truck?"

Doug nodded. "Once again, thanks for this. I've seen the thing…" His expression wasn't encouraging. "Like I said, if you can just get a couple of weeks out of it that'll be enough."

"I'll do what I can." I assured him. "Where is it?"

"Know the place two doors down? Used to be a bakery before it shut down. They had a garage for their delivery van, and I got permission to use it for a bit. I've got it set up there with the tools I could scrounge up. We're pretty much done here, so if you've got some time now?"

I smiled. "Sure, lead the way."

Doug had put together an honest attempt at an improvised auto shop, at least for a rush job inside a failed business. The garage doors were chained and padlocked, but when he opened them I saw what he was talking about.

It was a late 1980s Ford Ranger pickup. From first glance I could tell where Doug's trepidation came from. The thing had seen better decades. Just from popping the hood I could tell there were dozens of issues that would need to be addressed before this thing would be able to handle anything even mildly strenuous.

"Well, what do you think?"

I let out a considering breath. Mostly I was considering how much time I'd need to ask for to cover the work I'd be accomplishing in a few minutes.

"I think I can help. I'll need to get a closer look. Can you leave me the keys? And check back tomorrow morning? I think I can have it running by then, hopefully."

Doug grinned and handed over the truck keys and the key for the padlock. "Really appreciate this. You don't know what this means for Drew."

I nodded and saw him out. It was a big exercise in trust, but honestly the toolbox he had provided was probably worth more than the 'truck' in question.

I had a very good plan for this. Fix the truck, seal everything, sneak out, and come back in the morning claiming I put in the hours of work it would take to get this thing running. And thanks to my insane working speed the first step was already done.

Seriously, just like that, near perfect working order. Also perfectly clean and polished. I'd have to bring in a bucket of dirty water and a rag and claim I washed it. I didn't like lying like this, but it wasn't like I could use my powers publicly. I probably spent more time making sure the garage door was wedged shut as well as chained and the side door was bolted behind me. I also got the truck under a sheet just in case someone managed to get inside, but the longer I could put that off the better.

For sneaking out I opened my Workshop, grabbed one of the invisibility potions, and just walked to my apartment. It felt both empowering and deeply silly to be using this class of ability to dance around a task as petty at this, but dealing with the guys at the gym, helping Garment make a good impression, even the little jokes about crushes and hitting on girls, it felt good. This was a human element I hadn't realized I'd missed.

I don't just mean recently. It was easy to get lost in my workshop, though that had become a much more appealing place recently. I just had a tendency to close myself off. It had been almost two years since my first breakdown, and during that time it was like nothing happened. It was so easy to fall into yourself, lose track of everything. It felt really good to be moving away from that kind of thing.

I made it back to my apartment without issue and slipped through the front door when I was sure nobody was watching. I quickly opened my workshop, activated the defenses, left my bulky jacket in the entryway and headed inside. I made a quick stop by my Alchemist's Lab to grab a duplication potion before heading to the site of my latest acquisition.

The Hanger was nestled between the Garage and the vehicle manufacturing area of my previous workshop upgrade. It was large enough for a single fighter jet with a straight run towards the vehicle entryway. A large enough door that, if open to a runway, would allow takeoff straight from the hangar.

The room was seriously advanced, with heavy robotic service arms peppering the walls and rigs and harnesses for suspending the jet. A complete refit would be possible with these systems without any input from a human. I could upgrade them further, but they were already advanced enough to handle all aspects of the jet's maintenance.

Then there was the fighter itself. I had to down my duplication potion then and there just to have someone to appreciate it with me. As my copies stepped out they looked up with the same wonder and slightly goofy smiles I had.

"We have a fighter jet."

I'm not sure which one of us said it, but we were all thinking the same thing. Sitting in the hangar was a McDonnell Douglas F/A-18 Hornet. A two-seat multirole combat jet with a top speed of Mach 1.8. Eleven missile hardpoints and a M61 Vulcan nose mounted 6-barrel rotary cannon.

It was beautiful. Even as an older fighter jet it was still a work of art. Seeing it in person brought back memories of when I was starting my engineering program and dreaming about the kind of work I'd want to do. The odd thought about maybe working on a fighter jet as an aeronautical engineer or something similar. Never actually considering the possibility of owning one.

Taking a step back from the thrill of owning a classic fighter jet I had to admit that the technology wasn't up to my standards. Frankly, even cutting-edge military hardware was caveman tech to me. I had the jet, I knew how to fly it, but it wouldn't really be useful in a cape fight, not in its current form. That meant upgrades.

I looked over at my duplicates and saw they had come to the same conclusion. The first nodded and turned back to the jet.

"I know we have to do it. It's just a shame to ruin something like this. It's like a museum piece."

"I know." The second added. "The aeronautics are still good. We can keep the profile, at least. Make sure it's still recognizable."

That made me smile, but then I sighed. "Still, probably not worth prioritizing." They nodded sadly. "We have that latest simplification power that needs to be applied pretty much everything, plus the motoroid needs work, the Laboratorium analysis needs to be looked into, and Garment needs some help with her paperwork and plans."

"You take care of Garment, we'll deal with the rest of it." The second said with a nod.

"Should check in on the A.I.s as well. Monitor development, integrate new information, schedule development expansions." The first grinned. "Plus Fleet's going to go nuts over this."

I had to admit that. I'd be surprised if that A.I. wasn't already building comprehensive models of flight dynamics and trying to anticipate the impact of any upgrades based on my current technology base. With a nod I left them to the constantly piling busy work that without their help would probably have driven me insane three times over.

I swung down through the workshop towards the textile area where I found Garment happily working with new combinations of hyper fibers. I was glad she was enjoying it, and her mood was definitely perked up since her public debut, but the tinker assumptions were a bit concerning. It made perfect sense, and honestly she probably did qualify as a low-end tinker. She certainly could do things with resistant hyper fibers that would not be possible from the general public. I just hoped it didn't end up causing her problems.

She waved when she saw me enter and rushed over with the papers she received from the Protectorate heroes, both the application forms and the copies of the documentation that was supposedly currently being filed.

"Right. Are you ready to go over those documents?" She gestured enthusiastically and gathered her things. As we walked to the office I felt the Celestial Forge miss a connection to the Magitech constellation. It was frustrating, but currently my reach was as strong as when I received Elven Enchantment. With that missed connection and my reach still growing I had a real possibility of securing a connection to one of the largest motes in the forge.

Once we arrived at the office I spread the forms out on the table and tried to make sense of them for her.

"Okay, first thing? All this stuff about MIRIS is crap. The program is pretty much completely unfunded and unsupported. Nobody puts any priority on it and anything promised to you isn't going to come through.

Garment made an understanding motion and showed me her phone. The display showed a more detailed breakdown of Survey's initial assessment of MIRIS and its various shortcomings. Garment scrolled through the text which included news articles, personal testimonials, and overall statistics on the program.

I was impressed both by Garment's initiative in pursuing the information and how well Survey had presented it. I mentally contacted the A.I. expressing my feelings on the matter.

'Acknowledged. Request assistance in integration of recently acquired development data at your convenience.'

I nodded and sent my own message. 'Development assistance to follow current task.'

There was something like a satisfied sensation from the A.I. as it faded into the background of my awareness.

I sat with Garment and picked through the rest of the documentation. I was mildly insulted by the terms of protectorate membership. The salary wasn't that bad, and might have been considered reasonable in cities where you mostly sat around or did publicity events, but in a combat heavy posting like Brockton Bay it came across as an insult. Okay, there was a merchandising percentage on top of things, but I could tell that was both highly variable and subject to how much the protectorate pushed your image.

With full membership there was also a total prohibition on side work involving your powers. If Garment joined she couldn't make or sell anything outside the Protectorate or PRT. There were some complicated provisions there, and I quickly checked her registration paperwork.

Yep. There it was. Along with her classifications as a Shaker and Breaker there it was, Tinker 1. Well, Tinker 1 (Provisional), but still Tinker.

That complicated things considerably, though not in ways that were universally negative. If Garment had only been classified as a shaker, well shaker/breaker, then her ability to rapidly produce clothing would fall under NEPEA-5, especially if the fact that she could materialize it from nothing got out.

NEPEA-5 was a law designed to protect industries from being disrupted by capes. You have a cape who can manifest buildings or produce infinite amounts of steel and they could put thousands of people out of work, tank the value of a commodity, or turn hundreds of millions of dollars of investments into stranded assets. Basically, any cape who can do something too well gets slapped down with either a blanket ban or crippling restrictions.

It was supposed to be a temporary measure but never got properly amended or scaled back. There was a rumor that the Elite had started as a protest to that law, and it certainly made non-violent applications of powers more difficult.

With regards to that law being classified as a tinker, even a minor tinker, was an advantage. It did mean her outfits would need to be independently vetted, and hopefully that would just be limited to the more advanced designs, not every scarf and jacket she produced.

I had the sudden image of a PRT agent trying to explain that they needed to take that lace shawl for destructive testing. I immediately felt sorry for anyone who was stupid enough to try that.

It meant she wouldn't be able to churn out entire department stores worth of clothes, but could easily do individual designs and contract work. That probably fit Garment better than being forced to operate as a textile factory.

I was finishing laying everything out for Garment when I received a message from my duplicates.

'Finished upgrades and evaluations in the workshop. Taking 20% time to work on the jet.'

'Likewise. Also working on the jet."

Damn it, I wanted to work on the jet. I sighed and turned to Garment. "I'll have to refresh the duplicates soon and do a round of A.I. updates. Can you think on what you want to do from here?"

Garment considered the information that had been presented for her and made a positive, if uncertain, gesture. I left her in the office as I made my way back to the Alchemist's Lab.

I spent some time on the way reviewing my duplicates' plans for the jet. As much as I would have liked to take it out in its classic form it just wasn't practical. No way to get it in the air, no way to safely land it, and no way to deal with the reaction to a suddenly appearing 1980s military aircraft.

So a certain amount of upgrading was necessary to make it operationally viable. The question of internal systems was fairly contentious, but the duplicates had at least settled on a material for wings and fuselage. It was probably best to start with that since my material science seemed to become obsolete slightly less often than my mechanical designs.

Skyforged mithril formed in microgravity for perfect formation and then hyper compressed in a mass field for superior strength. It could be modularly constructed as individual portions of armor thanks to my Lego power, which would also allow it to be enchanted.

Basically enchanted. I still wasn't comfortable trying to define an item with words of power, much less singing to the Unseen. Mithril plating would be light and durable enough to handle just about anything, and there was even a clever idea regarding the use of Dust.

I could easily make the fighter space capable, but any Dust enhancements wouldn't hold outside the atmosphere. One of the duplicates had the brilliant idea of using a Dust enhancement that would only be relevant in the atmosphere.

Ice Dust, when infused into a metal, functioned as an incredible heat regulator. The supernatural aspect of the Dust banished thermal energy from the material. The effect, while it wouldn't help in space, would cool the hull in atmosphere, eliminating heating due to atmospheric friction.

Or orbital reentry.

It was a brilliant idea that could have applications for dozens of other projects. I received a final set of reports just before the duplicates' duration ended. By that point I was already in my lab downing the next potion.

The two copies stepped out and turned to face me.

"Right." The first said. "Same as before?"

I nodded. "Just save some of the jet for me?"

"No problem. Lots of other stuff to check out."

With that done I retreated to the computer throne. As expected, Fleet was diving into every available report and piece of media on fighter planes. The A.I. had also updated the profile picture it was using to show an inexpertly merged race car driver and military fighter pilot, basically two images in the same pose superimposed on top of each other. I took a second to correct it, and received a brief thanks message in response.

Survey was not kidding about needing help with data acquisition. This was the first set of data to arrive since the A.I.s had begun operating on a more advanced level, and the implications were clear. Survey had hours of complete sensor logs from both my omni-tool and Garment's phone and was trying to analyze everything. And by that I meant absolutely everything.

Just the attempts to identify every guest and staff member would have been excessive. There was also a running process to produce transcripts of all recorded dialogue and then perform deeper analysis of links, meanings, and implications.

The entire operation was going badly enough that I needed Fleet's help to divert attention away from trying to find meaning in every single expression and uttered word. Finally, the A.I. reigned in its analysis when given the assurance that the data would still be there, and could probably yield better results at a later date. I accessed the ABB information Tattletale had sent me and directed Survey towards it. Hopefully that analysis, when combined with other data sources, should help me figure out my next move while also keeping Survey occupied.

With the immediate problems taken care of I checked over the development of each A.I. and set an updated schedule for expanded parameters.

I was vaguely aware of a presence as I disconnected from the system. Both duplicates were waiting as I reentered the physical world. The first was holding a tray and spoke before I could.

"You skipped lunch. It's noticeable, and would be uncomfortable in a couple of iterations. We took care of it for your lunch meeting with Garment."

Right, I needed to get on that. And apparently my followup with Garment was going to be a lunch meeting. I thought it was a little out of character for duplicates near the end of their existences, but something about the way they smiled at each other told me there was something else going on. That was reinforced when they both turned in the opposite direction of my office.

"So…" I asked. "Where exactly are we going."

"Told you, lunch meeting."

"Right." I turned to the other duplicate. "And where is that?"

"What, and spoil the surprise?"

Well, that didn't fill me with dread. Dread that shifted to confusion as they led me up the stairs to the Skyforge. As we reached the top and the mountainous view opened around us things finally fell into place.

They had built a seating area on the edge of the Skyforge's platform. There, overlooking the sprawling mountains with their snow capped peaks and cool winds, was a comfortable set of table and chairs, one of which was occupied by Garment.

I smiled at the scene and took a seat. It really did wonders to counter the otherwise enclosed feeling of my workshop. I wasn't claustrophobic, but too much time in a confined space had a way of eating at you. This was a nice change.

The duplicates hovered nearby as the tray was set on the table. The pretentious food cover was lifted to reveal.

"A sandwich?"

Instead of replying the duplicates just stood there grinning. I looked again. It was certainly a nice sandwich. Turkey club by the looks of things. I know I didn't have bread, so that must have been baked, or more likely cheated with some kind of super science houseware. The same with the tomatoes, though I probably had just enough lunchmeat and bacon for those not to have been fabricated.

Rather than leave things to chance I checked with Survey for the Workshop logs. Yep, superscience planter and breadmaker. The breadmaker actually got its bread from… okay, space should not bend like that. Going to put that firmly out of my mind, thank you.

I gave them a questioning look and picked up the sandwich. I could immediately feel it. Elven Enchantment. They had made an elven club sandwich. It was ridiculous, but the energy channeled into the food took the basic sandwich to another level. I took a bite and flavor burst across my mouth. As I ate the food seemed to calm and restore me. It brought up peaceful thoughts and invigorated me. It was like holistic life care between two slices of bread.

The sandwich didn't last long, but my reaction clearly entertained the duplicates. I shook my head at their irreverence, but the point was made. Food was even more important now. It was actually something more than just fuel, which I guess ideally food should be always. If a sandwich was that good, I wonder how far I could push this with more complicated meals, or even the higher level of enchantment?

It seemed lunch was part of the duplicates 20% time because shortly after I ate they transferred their progress reports and vanished. Getting onto the lunch meeting part of lunch Garment pulled out some papers, including her cape registration with the protectorate.

It took a little while and some help from Survey to get her point. It didn't help that she was communicating it through concept sketches and floor plans. Eventually I put it together.

"You're sure this is what you want?" Garment gestured enthusiastically as she pointed to a sketch of the front of a building.

"Are you certain you want it around here? This kind of place would fit in better at the Boardwalk or someplace Downtown." From the way she indicated there was no question.

I looked down at the proposed storefront. Physically it wouldn't be that hard to set up, particularly if I could help her behind the scenes. With her paperwork in order financing shouldn't be that hard to obtain. Garment had proven skills and Survey had found a number of small business loan and tax credit programs in place.

I was a little worried about security, but the only people Garment had crossed were street thugs, not even gang affiliated. There might be some people who would try to take advantage of her, but that was a problem that could be dealt with. Unlike Apeiron she didn't have anyone specifically gunning for her.

The main thing was her insistence in staying in the neighborhood. With Survey's help she had identified available properties in the immediate area and even stuck with a broad art deco design in line with the time when most of the places around here were built. Apparently the area had grown on her to some extent.

Considering the type of business she was doing I would be concerned about her staying afloat, but Garment didn't exactly have a lot of overhead or living expenses. She only needed enough to keep the lights on and make rent. Rent would be a much easier prospect here than on the Boardwalk.

Of course, this was pretty much in line with Vince's concerns about changing the neighborhood. I didn't know how much difference it would make, but at the bare minimum it would be a stop on the cape tourism tours. That was something I'd have to keep an eye on. Actually, it was kind of nice to have something to worry about that didn't involve the ABB or cape politics.

"Alright. We can start looking into this tomorrow. Probably need to wait for all the documentation to get processed, but then we can get you your own place."

It was heartening to see her reaction, but it was overshadowed by the next connection to the forge. I had built up enough reach to connect to most of the largest motes in the forge and felt hope surge as the Crafting constellation approached. Then hope died when a small mote connected and consumed half of my reach. Then surged again when I saw what it was.

The power was called The Arcane Craft. It let me make magic implements. Not just the enhanced enchanting that had come from runes or elven magic. These were the tools for manipulating magic itself. It was incredibly comprehensive, covering everything from rings to staves, talismans, and even warded buildings. I could potentially push the application even further. It was another power that was based on my skill, knowledge and power, and could therefore be trained and refined.

I could even build items to channel my own power. That pool of magicka that I hadn't been able to access? I could build staves and wands to channel it into useful forms. Okay, pretty basic forms at the moment, but still a massive step forward with room for further advancement. It even applied to forces beyond magic. Anything supernatural could be channeled, directed, or enhanced.

And there was one last element of note. This power would let me use any empowered item as long as I could understand it. My mind jumped to the ones I had seen today. Miss Militia's weapon. Dauntless's Arc Lance. I could use them. Use them to their full effect. Actually, all of Dauntless's equipment would be usable with enough study. Any cape empowered item could be taken for my own.

This was a major power, almost enough to make up for missing out on the larger motes. I had to start digging into this, and dealing with every other issue and project that had sprung up. The afternoon was rapidly disappearing and I needed to get to work.

I left Garment to the interior design plans for her boutique, trusting Survey to keep it within the realm of what was at least physically possible and hurried towards the Alchemist's Lab. I downed another potion, exchanged glances with my duplicates, and got to work.

At their continued request I focused on things that would yield results to future copies while they handled busywork with rote tasks.

I worked on miniaturizing alchemy arrays with Gadget Master to the point where they could fit on a watch face, they ran dust combination trials.

I spent the full duration of a set of copies in the neural interface memorizing every blueprint I could access, they rebuilt manufacturing equipment.

I started studying the interactions between my various inherent energies and the tools of The Arcane Craft, they upgraded Survey's workshop drones from omni-tool prefabs to fully autonomous creations.

I practiced incorporating elemental weapons into my existing combat styles, they installed forcefield defenses at the Garage entrance.

It was a division of labor I felt bad about even with them insisting on it. Really, the fact that they had a few minutes to themselves towards the end of their duration was the only thing keeping me from feeling like a slave driver. Reported 20% projects ranged from the expected upgrades to Garment's textile machinery, to construction of a set of perfectly miniaturized F-1 race cars for Fleet to practice with, to something called a 'proper TV setup' that I was a little afraid to investigate, to a large report that began 'The good news is that I definitely won't do it again', which I was very afraid to investigate.

It might be cowardice, but I just dumped that on the next set of duplicates while I reviewed upgrade plans for my equipment. The report from those duplicates was an easier read, but still served as a serious warning about the transmutation of volatile organic chemicals using alchemy arrays.

I was in the process of practicing with a stripped down but more efficient omni-tool when I got a priority call from my duplicates. Not a data transfer or update, just a request for my immediate presence. Whatever they discovered that wanted me there in person.

I was more than a little nervous when I approached the pair of duplicates standing in the entryway. Their serious expression didn't help.

"What's going on?"

They looked at each other, then towards me. "We figured out aura."

I blinked. The potential enhancement and defense power I got the previous night? I had made some rough attempts at using it, but when it proved fruitless I put it aside as a long-term project. Well, honestly, I had put it aside until something fell into place explaining it. From the looks of my duplicates that had happened, and not in a good way.

I swallowed. "How bad?"

The second duplicate held up the scroll, that is the oddly branded collapsible cellphone, that came with the same power that granted aura. "You know how this can read aura?"

I nodded. It was set up like a video game health bar, but not even being able to activate it meant there was no chance to use it, therefore the thing just stayed full. Even examining the sensor hadn't given any insight.

"Sensor makes a lot more sense looking at it with Arcane Craft." The first offered.

I nodded. "That makes sense, but what's the problem?" It sounded like they had a major breakthrough, but not in a good way.

The second sighed. "Okay, so we were sorting through the various new arrivals. And we got to the Variable Weapon. The one we ignored because we could tell it was all mundane stuff linked with mechanics."

I gave them an uneasy look. "It's not just mechanics?"

They shook their heads. "It is, but it's more. You better see this."

The second opened a locker and pulled out what was obviously the variable weapon. The one I had ignored. Too many things to focus on, so it sat completely forgotten.

I stared at the thing. Picking it apart from a technical perspective it wasn't that impressive. A lantern shield combined with a grapple gun. It was an odd mix, and not a particularly useful one. Probably another factor in why I'd put it off.

Seeing it in person was another matter. The shield and gauntlet were matte black with ghostly gray highlights. The shield's spikes and weapon mounts were vicious, nasty things. Barbs and razors were common features. It looked at least as dangerous to the person wielding it as to anyone who found themselves on one of the many 'wrong ends' of that weapon.

"What am I looking at?" My voice wasn't that steady. There was something about that weapon that was unsettling.

The duplicates shared a look. The second slipped on the gauntlet and turned it for me to see. "I think you know. You can feel it with Arcane Craft."

I didn't want to, but he was right. The power wouldn't let me stay oblivious to it. There was a resonance with that weapon. Something about it just called to my aura. Even looking at it I could feel the energy around me, like a light from deep inside myself starting to bleed through.

What the hell was it about that weapon that connected to me? It wasn't even a weapon. It was a shield and an escape system. All it was designed for was to endure attacks and get out of the situation, with that horrible design working to keep people as far back as possible. It wasn't about fighting; it was a weapon of desperate survival for situations you couldn't do anything about.

I took a deep breath as the implications set in. "Oh."

The weight of it seemed to hit the duplicates as well. "Yeah." The first added. "'Oh' is about right."

The second adjusted the gauntlet on his arm. "Best we can tell, aura is a manifestation of something deeply personal. Like, the core of who you are. That determines how it expresses. Weapons that line up with that are easier to use with aura, and make aura easier to use."

"And that thing represents us?" I couldn't keep my voice level as I spoke.

He looked back at me. "Are you telling me it doesn't?"

I slumped. "No?" It sounded more like a desperate plea than a statement. "I mean, maybe it did, maybe back when things were bad, but I've moved on. I'm better now. We're better now. That's not us anymore."

"Less than a month ago we had the worst moment of our entire lives." I snapped my head towards the first duplicate. It almost felt like a betrayal to have that brought up. I put a lot of effort into not thinking about that, but somehow 'I' was the one turning the conversation towards the subject. "Yeah, the situation's changed since then, but have we? Or are we just ignoring things and hoping the next crisis will be an excuse to put off dealing with our problems?"

I stared at the duplicates. "I think you're only saying this because you won't be the one dealing with these things." I was getting angry, but this was just a convoluted version of being angry at myself.

"That doesn't change the point." The first said, shaking his head. "You think we hid from the internet because it was a good decision, or because we didn't have the time to check the news? Because we had other priorities? Things are getting serious. We can't let this stuff keep controlling us."

The second raised the lantern shield. "If we want to use aura, we have to accept that this is still part of us, and that means acknowledging that we still have to deal with it."

I blew out a breath between clenched teeth. "Why is that so important? Is aura even worth it?"

There was a gleam in the second duplicate's eyes and I knew that was the wrong question to ask. The Gauntlet shot out and there was a bang as the grapple embedded itself in the wall next to my head. Even as the duplicate was launching himself towards me one thought burned in my brain.

I had thought the weapon was about as edgy as possible without entering the realm of parody. Apparently, I hadn't considered the stylistic bonus that comes from using razor wire as your grapple line.

The duplicate flew towards me with the assistance of the grapple gun. I tried to shift into a fighting stance to intercept him, but with a flash of agility that shouldn't have been possible without life fiber enhancement he flipped in midair and brought the blades of the shield down on me.

The weapon was just steel, not even dust infused. It should have broken against the enchanted mithril durability of my clothes and body. Instead the edges glowed with a grayish light as they slashed hard enough to actually be felt through my reinforcement. Not enough to hurt, but the sheer unexpected power was enough to leave me stunned.

And that was all the duplicate needed. The edge of the shield caught me under the jaw and I heard the sound of a reel being pulled before I found a coil of razor wire wrapped around me. I looked into the duplicate's eyes, my own eyes, and he held the gauntlet away from us and fired the grapple.

The aura infused wire sparked as it tore across my body, leaving me a spinning and disorientated heap on the floor. Once again, the bladed cord hadn't been enough to hurt, but I could feel it through my reinforcement. For anyone else… well, the image of Aegis after his date with Taylor came to mind.

The second duplicate looked down at my sprawled form. "Point made?"

I nodded grimly as he helped me to my feet. "What kind of enhancement was that? What does aura give us?"

"Mostly speed and reflexes."

I got the meaning. "So, what we'd need to get away and stay away?"

The duplicates gave me a solemn nod. "The weapon is like training wheels for aura. At this point it's the only way to use it reliably. With it? Well, the basic level is enough to deflect bullets."

I took another look at the thing. "I do not want to take that with me." I sighed. "Any way we can modify it so it's a little less Hot Topic?"

"Think about it."

I did. I thought about taking away the spikes, changing the color, replacing the razor wire with something practical. With every change it grew more distant, more removed from myself. Even replacing a single element made the connection just wither.

"So that's it? We have to use it?" I slowly resigned myself to the situation. This had come out of nowhere when I already had so much to deal with. I didn't need this, but I did need what it could give me.

"As a hold out, at least?" The duplicates exchanged a look. "We can make some modifications, collapse it when not in use, improve the materials, that kind of thing. But aura is a big deal, bigger than we thought. It could mean life or death, and that could be someone else's life."

And that was a low blow. I could have independent superpowers, significant ones, but I needed to carry around a reminder of the darkest time of my life. Something constantly saying 'This isn't over.', always telling me there was further to go.

I let out a slow breath. "Why does it have to be so horrible?"

That got a sad look from the duplicates. "Check the locker." the second said. When he saw my confusion he clarified. "The weapon has a name."

I checked the locker door and saw the small label printed on it, weapon details and name. The name. The fucking name.

"Huh." I sighed, not sure how to react. "Figures."

One of the duplicates stepped forward. "Look, we deal with this, and it can get better. It has gotten better. It will keep getting better. Then maybe the weapon can change. And maybe we'll be able to use aura without it. But we'd need to deal with this stuff even if superpowers weren't on the line."

It was hard to argue with yourself when they were physically in the room with you. I nodded in surrender and felt like sinking into the ground.

"Hey." The second had slipped the gauntlet off his hand and was holding it carefully. "We'll handle the modifications, get this ready for the field. You go work with Fleet or something."

It was self-pity, but not in the destructive way. God it was weird to deal with this. Still, I wasn't going to turn down the offer. I headed out to tinker with the motoroid a bit. That should keep my mind off things. And the Protectorate press conference was coming up later. Maybe that would have some good news. Or maybe it would be a disaster. Either way it would keep me from dwelling on this.

Addendum Emily

Director Piggot sat in a chair that felt increasingly like a prison. When was the last time she had seen the outside of this building? Friday night? She'd been called back in on Thursday. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

Multiple monitors hummed in front of her as she desperately tried to keep ahead of every mounting setback and brewing disaster. Over the past few days the shaky foundation of the city's balance of power had begun to crumble beneath her. Disaster after disaster mounting, all linked by some incomprehensible but undeniable force.

A welcome knock at her door announced one of the few rays of positivity in this entire mess.

"Enter." She called out. The doors opened and Miss Militia strode in. During times like this every person in the city was envious of her ability to function without sleep, but the combined strain of the situation and the pressure of leadership was evident on the cape. That didn't impact her professionalism as she approached, though the pop of color from the silk flower on her upper arm did add a certain levity.

"Director." She stood in front of the desk to deliver her report. "I am sorry to report that the cape known as Garment has declined Protectorate membership at this point. I know the importance of this initiative and would like to apologize for this outcome."

Emily felt her lip twitch in what was probably the first real amusement she had felt in days. "Miss Militia, you came here directly from the event, correct?"

"Yes Ma'am." The answer was sharp and clipped.

"Then perhaps you would like to see the general reaction to your performance."

She connected to one of the wall screens and brought up the midday Crisis Update, an infuriating fixture from the local network that had been run several times a day for the duration of the current situation. For the first time the video wasn't full of injured civilians, scenes of destruction, or on the street testimonials lamenting the attacks.

Instead it showed the warm community atmosphere of an outdated but well cared for boxing gym filled with smiling faces as they drank in the presence of the Protectorate's finest. Excerpts from Dauntless's speech were intercut with crowd reactions and the sight of capes mingling with the public. The announcer spoke of the gathering to celebrate heroes, both cape and citizen alike. The segment finished with Hannah's announcement of Garment registering with the Protectorate.

The woman seemed stunned as she watched things play out. "Director, I had no idea it came across that well. The meeting went quite smoothly, but otherwise it was a fairly standard appearance."

Emily nodded. "That was on the camera crew. Whoever they had running things knew how to read a room. They squeezed as much good will possible out of that event. Let me tell you, we needed every drop."

The cape nodded and turned back to the screens. "I do apologize for not securing recruitment."

The director nodded. "That would have been ideal, but registering is a good first step. And it's shifted the news cycle. This could buy us the leeway we need." She hated needing to play public relations during a city-wide attack, but the job just didn't allow any concessions for that kind of thing.

She grinned slightly as she shifted over to a review of social media. "The event went over particularly well. Congratulations, you're trending."

As Hannah scanned the provided feeds Emily once again thanked whatever good fortune had granted them this boon. The single event had shifted the narrative from incompetent capes disconnected from the city they served to earnest but put upon local heroes trying their best in difficult times. Even Shadow Stalker had been framed favorably by the event.

Scenes of the event were even being picked up by other sites. Chambers was dead right about Flechette's new cape. It looked particularly striking in the shots from the event and was making repeated circuits on various sites and platforms. They would have to update the next line of action figures, but that could be a concern for people who weren't managing a city in crisis.

"Between this and Clockblocker's commendation we might get enough breathing room from the public to actually make headway on the real issues."

The two women shared a look that conveyed their feelings on the matter. 'Clockblocker's commendation' was a sequence of words that Emily never anticipated uttering. The amazing thing was this wasn't just a public relations effort. The award had been approved by the national office and for once Emily couldn't find a fault in their reasoning.

The Wards were understandably restricted during the events of Saturday night. During that time, and against all odds, Dennis had demonstrated a completely unforeseen aptitude for leadership in crisis situations, making a sequence of sensible calls that not only foiled a mass kidnapping but nearly resulted in capture of the attacking villain.

It was more than just a publicity boon. The children that had been protected were connected to some of the wealthiest families in the city. Funding was practically being thrown at the Protectorate and PRT in response to the event. For that class of person an anecdote about a near villain encounter was worth more than any donation, and no doubt the story would be cycled around dinner parties and galas for years to come.

It was a cynical thought regarding the people who were covering the substantial cost of damage inflicted on Protectorate and PRT assets. Getting the Rig operational again would be a nightmare. Uppercrust had been scaling back his maintenance program among rumors of failing health. There were larger cities than Brockton that needed their force field systems maintained, and there was little chance of being able to prioritize their case.

The whole situation was wearing on her, much worse than any time in recent memory. She glanced up to see the concerned expression on Miss Militia's face.

"Director, if you don't mind me asking, are you sure you're ready for the press conference this evening?"

A spike of anger flared inside her, but she quelled it. Hannah was currently the only member of the protectorate with enough experience and seniority to get away with asking a question like that. A dressing down would do no good here. Instead she took a breath.

"I will admit that this has been a challenging situation for everyone." She let the words hang before continuing. "As it stands I will be more than capable of holding the press conference." Even setting aside the consequence for not showing a united front there was currently no one she trusted with this task who had enough standing to carry it out.

Hannah at least decided not to pursue the matter. Instead she stiffly turned towards the screen. "Are there any new matters I should be aware of before returning to my shift?"

All Emily could consider was where to start. The mad theories of the past few days had made briefings impossible. Everything beside after-action reports seemed to be blind speculation. Data was piling up faster that it could be analyzed, even with the generous 'help' of Thomas Calvert.

The opportunist had come crawling to her as soon as Panacea's testimony leaked. He was clearly desperate to cover his actions in Ellisburg and was dressing up the fear as a magnanimous act of friendship. Expanding his usual contracting work and reduced cost had proven to be a much-needed pressure valve for the organization, especially as disasters piled upon each other. That said she neither liked or trusted the man and his eagerness left her feeling uneasy.

"Projections are still being updated. We don't have any solid predictions at this time." She admitted.

"Is that because of Weld's report?"

Emily had to bite down in response to that question. Weld's situation had been a disaster, and only narrowly avoided being a public disaster. During this critical period she'd had to contend with the Youth Guard, Director Armstrong, and finally an entire series of new and contradictory reports regarding Apeiron.

"It has been a contributing factor." She admitted.

The woman's scarf crinkled as she nodded. "Are they still leaning towards him orchestrating high level coordination of forces in the city?" Her tone suggested she didn't have a great deal of confidence in the idea.

Emily suppressed a sigh. "They are pointing towards some significant level of coordination. Things are falling apart too quickly. It's ordered chaos. Either it's being arranged by a new player or one of the existing powers had been setting this up for years."

Neither were appealing prospects, but a fresh cape was much more likely than an unseen conspiracy. Every domino traced itself back to Apeiron. A cascade with the new tinker at the heart of it. He had already demonstrated high levels of coordination and admitted unspecified contracts with the Undersiders. He was the most likely driving factor.

That said, the situation didn't make sense. The only way it could be explained was either Master powers or a Thinker ability so strong it could run the city like a pocket watch. Placing the blame on Apeiron required assigning direct intention to every action, every off handed phrase, even the precise timing of appearances and power use. With every mounting disaster the assumptions necessary to lay it at Apeiron's feet got more and more extreme.

Apeiron himself didn't make sense, not as a normal tinker. When you constantly have to tack on additional powers to explain a situation it means something was being overlooked. That specific but vague thinker power of his was too precisely placed. Just the right leaks at the just right time to make everything fall apart.

She looked up at Hannah and voiced what she suspected they were both thinking. "You feel too much emphasis is being placed on Apeiron? That we're overlooking something?"

"Dauntless did express a desire to focus more resources on the ABB. I believe he might have the correct intention."

"Analyst resources are being assigned to that issue. They suggest a period of rebuilding after the conflict with the Undersiders. With no provocation we might have as much as a week before their next action. Barring a breakthrough in the conventional investigation allowing a productive counter offensive we need to focus on recovery."

"And Apeiron?"

"Apeiron can destroy teams with a single exchange." Emily's voice rose more than she intended and she quickly corrected herself. "Whether that's intentional or not, it can't be ignored. New Wave is finished, and right when we needed them most."

Hannah's brow furrowed. "Victoria Dallon…"

"Victoria Dallon will be sued into oblivion by half the students of Arcadia as soon as Weld's report is declassified, something we can't hold off forever. Even if the accusation is disproven there's enough cause for damages to be sought from everyone exposed. Even if the team wasn't already splintered it wouldn't survive that."

"And if that wasn't his intention?"

And there it was, the veiled accusation. If Apeiron wasn't pulling the strings the only explanation was that city the had been balancing on a razor edge from oblivion waiting for the wrong push at the wrong time. With Apeiron providing it as a possible mad scientist tinker loose in her city.

And for the situation to reach that level she would either have to have willfully ignored it or actively facilitated its creation.

"If it wasn't his intention then it's the actions of a third party. There is some force at play here, something running under the surface." She restrained herself when she saw the concerned look in Hannah's eyes. "What I am saying is this is coordinated. If not by Apeiron then someone connected to his actions. Until we have answers to what is happening we need to proceed with caution."

"And the provisions?"

"All policies stay in place until vetted externally." She looked at the veteran cape. "I am well aware many of those are no longer prudent, but I can't dismiss that kind of accusation arbitrarily. A few days of peace should be enough to get a final ruling on most of the items. Then we can see about going forward."

Which might finally get Panacea out of the tank, which might get her capes back in the field, which might let them salvage this entire situation.

They just needed a few days of peace.

Jumpchain abilities this chapter:

Ambrosial Artificer (Macross) 400:

So many moving parts, so many pieces to the puzzle. It's so... needless. The other tech teams are complete morons. That's why you've learned how to figure out the optimization of your complex machines like Veritechs. What parts you don't need, you find a way to do away with. What parts you DO need, you can use the now-extra space to improve and bolster their performance. Some will call you mad. But the only madness that will come from your work is the rage of your enemies and rivals.

Hangar (Ace Combat) 100:

Sure you might be able to get a fighter plane… but where are you going to store it? You can't just leave your vehicle to the mercy of the elements, it would cause all manners of damage to the plane and then you might be really in a bind. That's why if you come out of this with a plane (or end up importing one) you can obtain a hangar bay which has the tools needed to keep the plane in good shape and can stand up to most forms of weather. It can even attach to a property or the Warehouse after your time here should it please you. For an undiscounted +100CP, this turns into an automated hangar bay with heavy arms and equipment to make repairing and moving the plane significantly easier.

Basic Flight Training (Ace Combat) Free:

If you couldn't fly before, you have a basic idea of how to fly a plane now. You know how to maneuver the joystick properly, which button fires the missiles, and how to properly land a plane without creating a multi-million dollar pile of scrap. It won't save you if you dive into a massive swarm of planes all by yourself, but you can learn.

Missile Surplus (Ace Combat) Free:

Well this is odd. Any plane you pilot seems to hold an unnatural number of missiles for its type, far more than it should. You're not sure where it's getting this many missiles, but you'll have to restock them if you run out. The same thing happens with special weapons, though you have to have a working model to attach if you want to swap it out. The standard number of missiles thanks to 'Missile Surplus' is 150 missiles on a plane, barring any differences depending on the description of the weapon.

Comm Chatter (Ace Combat) Free:

While an important part of war is knowing what your opponent is up to, sometimes it's good for puffing your ego up too. For whatever reason, your radio will occasionally catch communications being broadcast from the enemy. This can range from important information to wild surprise at your antics. Not too useful, but good for knowing how you're doing.

Flight Suit (Ace Combat) Free:

When taking off, an important requirement of being in a plane is a flight suit so that the G-forces don't make your organs explode. It sounds silly, but you'll be lucky you had it. So, have a nifty flight suit to help keep any pressure issues down while you're in the sky, on the house. It can come in any color you wish with a snazzy helmet to boot, ensuring that you're the most glamorous pilot in the sky.

4th Generation Fighter Plane (Ace Combat) Free:

These planes have been around for some time now, and as a result some would consider these particular planes to be outdated. It's not the most advanced machine in the sky, but it will get the job done when you need it. Whether it's an MiG-29OVT, an F-18, Su-27 or something else, you can be given a 4th Generation Fighter Plane to do your work and achieve what you need to achieve. Show them that the old ways still work.

Autocannon - Something of a standard on anything that flies in the air, autocannons or gatling guns on a plane's nose can help one shoot down enemy planes or other targets by unleashing a torrent of bullets upon whatever has the misfortune of being in front of your plane at the time. This option will grant a single gun with 1000 rounds.

Standard Missiles - One of the things that is noteworthy regarding just about any plane is the fact that they will carry missiles. The reason is obvious; you need more than just bullets. That's why you have a good supply of missiles, attached to your plane and ready to fire off the moment you achieve radar lock with your plane. It's simple, but it works. Sometimes that's all you need.

Flare Launch System - Flares are fairly important when it comes to aerial combat. After all, you are in enemy airspace. Enemies will want to shoot you with missiles. Ergo, having protection against missiles would be the smart thing to do. Radar-guided missiles can be duped easily, but infra-red missiles that track heat sources are a concern. Thus it is important for this flare countermeasure system to be equipped, allowing you to launch flares while you do a sharp turn and reduce engine power to dupe the missile into hitting the flare instead. It's not perfect… but it could be better than nothing.

Ejection System - You know the old saying of going down with the ship? Yeah, nuts to that. This isn't the navy, this is the Air Force. That's why there's ejection equipment for when your plane gets shot down, assuming said plane wasn't just instantly vaporized by whatever attacked you to begin with.

The Arcane Craft (Sword and Sorcery) 300:

As much as you might look down upon brutes and barbarians who know only how to break bone and spill blood, you and the warriors of this land have one thing in common. You require the tools of your trade. You know all the methods and ways to bind arcane and mysterious forces into physical vessels. Rings, staves, talismans, warded stone towers, and even more. These items allow the channeling of such forces to work your will, capturing, bending, and shaping the worlds invisible tides to enable works of sorcery and occult splendor. The strength of these items and their effects rely on your skill, knowledge, and power. Of course should you yourself be a font of such forces from your varied lives then you would be surely capable of building the focuses and talismans to augment and amplify your power. The world rewards men for diligent labor. It would behoove you to refine this art to get everything you can out of it. This also includes the skill to use such items, even those not made by your hand should you have the ability to reveal their secrets.