Not Your Backup, page 14
“Look! It’s Starscream!”
“Wow! What a fight!”
Emma’s been so out of touch; she’s forgotten this farce is still happening. It seems so contrived now, watching Starscream shoot blasts of light and “apprehend” Dynamite.
“Come on, move!” Bells blurts, but traffic is still ambling at a very slow pace. Everyone’s automatic cars inch them forward.
“Here, switch with me,” Emma says.
Bells nods and scoots out of the driver’s seat, and Emma climbs over him. He smiles at her as she goes and his hand is warm, gently squeezing her arm. Emma smiles and impulsively kisses him.
“What was that for?” Bells asks.
“Nothing,” she says. “Just you were being cute.”
Bells gives her a small smile. “Come on, hotshot. You gonna get us out of here?”
Emma laughs. “Am I ever.”
She takes a deep breath and then presses on the acceleration pedal. The car speeds forward, zooming between lanes, narrowly avoiding the other cars. Emma weaves in and out of traffic, heading north through the city toward Christine’s rendezvous point.
Bells grips the dashboard, grinning with delight. He whoops with joy as they pass another group of slow cars and then whips his head around.
“You see something?” Emma asks.
“Just a feeling. Duck into this alleyway here.”
Emma does as he says, waiting in the darkness. Around them, everyone tunes into the fight between Starscream and Dynamite. Emma can see it, too, projected above them. Starscream is punching Dynamite dramatically; his cape sweeps with every move.
A gray car speeds past the alley, horn blaring. “This is the North American Collective Authority. You are operating a driver-operated vehicle in a restricted area. Please exit the vehicle immediately.”
Emma exhales. “I didn’t know it was illegal to drive your own car in this city!”
Bells narrows his eyes. “We’ll have to drive slow. Blend in.”
After waiting a tense moment, they return to the street and drive achingly slow, too slowly. Emma parks the car in an immaculately clean, multi-level carport, ignoring the curious looks several people give her as she hops out of the driver’s seat. They adjust their disguises and then take an elevator up to one of the many greenways, which is lush with trees and flowers and pathways and fountains.
They’re only a few minutes late at the rendezvous point under the clock tower, but they don’t see any sign of Christine.
Another five minutes go by. Bells frowns. “She’s not here.”
“Maybe she’s late?”
“It’s not like her.”
“Do we have another plan? Another location to meet her at if she doesn’t make this one?”
Bells shakes his head. “Let’s wait a bit longer.”
Emma waits, watching the clock tick, growing more and more impatient. The broadcast in the sky is now livestreaming Starscream recapping his battle with Dynamite to reporter Wilton Lysander. The pixels blur behind Starscream, and he brushes the back of his head, as if there’s an annoying fly.
Lysander laughs. “Now tell me about this new look of yours! Updated colors and a new cape! Very sleek—”
“Hey, I was talking to you!”
Starscream turns around, and so does Lysander. The camera zooms in on a smaller masked figure: a girl with flowing blonde-brown curls wearing a bodice and flowing skirt. “Yeah, that’s right!” she says. “You’re a fake and a liar and just doing exactly what the League tells you to!”
Starscream scoffs at her. “Who are you? Some sad excuse for a villain?”
Lysander laughs. “And your outfit! It’s several centuries old.”
Emma gasps. “Isn’t that Christine?”
Bells’ mouth falls open. “What is she doing? Confronting Starscream on her own?”
“She’s doing my plan,” Emma says, awed. “I love it!”
Bells grabs her hand and runs. “Come on! That’s in Postonwish Square!”
Emma runs alongside him for a few breathless moments until she stops to catch her breath. “Wait—”
Bells stops a few paces ahead of her; his eyes dart frantically. “Should we stop her? Join her? I don’t even have a supersuit anymore!”
“Does that matter?” Emma responds.
“Oh, right—”
Bells closes his eyes, and his clothes barely flicker as he shifts his clothing. The leather-look jacket he’s wearing over his T-shirt and jeans gives way to a very familiar, rainbow-hued green supersuit, complete with mask.
“What’s the plan?”
“Uh…”
“You always have a plan!”
Right, right. If Christine is confronting Starscream, it’ll be a battle, right? So that’s best suited for Bells and his powers. Then they’ll need to get away before the League or the Authorities show up. “Okay, I have a plan!” Christine is incredibly powerful, right? But she can probably only use her powers for a few minutes? Ten?
The people they’re running past are focused on the projected livestreams on their own devices and also the huge projection in the sky, all showing the same thing: Starscream and Christine are facing off.
At the scene, a crowd of laughing people clustered around Starscream and Christine is visible in all the live feeds.
“Is this the new villain?”
“I can’t believe the losers that the Villain’s Guild is putting out nowadays. She barely even has a costume together!”
“What is that, a bodice?”
“My name is Crinoline!” Christine does a dramatic twirl; her skirts flutter around her.
“What’s your power? Anachronism?”
Even more laughter. Bells’ fists clench. “How dare they…”
Emma grabs Bells by the shoulder. “I’m gonna run back to the car. You go get Christine, and, whatever she’s doing, make sure that it keeps going. The broadcast, it’s live, so whatever you both say, it’s unedited, right? Go for it and make sure to mention that the League is a lie!”
“What are you—”
“You and Christine are gonna need a getaway plan!”
Emma turns around and runs in the opposite direction as fast as she can. She speeds past people completely absorbed in the ongoing fight. Emma tries not to pay attention to it, but she can hear Starscream taunting Christine in every DED she runs past and even see their conversation larger than life above her.
“You’re too late, kid. I’ve already stopped Dynamite’s bank robbery. You can go home now.”
“Not until you admit that you and Dynamite were faking the whole fight and the robbery! For the League!”
Starscream scoffs. “And what are you gonna do about it? Do you even have any powers? You look pretty useless to me.”
“Useless?” Christine’s eyes narrow. “I’ll show you how useless I am,” she mutters, raising her hands.
Starscream laughs, raises his arms as if he’s gonna shoot a burst of sound at her, but, as he rushes forward, his supersuit comes to life. Threads blooming wildly out of control, spinning wildly and wildly; the arms of his jacket completely come undone, rushing around and around, binding him in a circle.
“Hey! What’s going on?”
Jackets stitch themselves to pants and shirts as both Starscream and Wilton Lysander slump forward, falling down as they’re rolled in their own clothing.
“Hello! I just wanted to say to you all who have been following Starscream’s adventures: They’re all fake; he’s picking battles with Dynamite because the League told him to, and the so-called villains that they say are bad only pull those pranks because—”
“That’s right,” another voice behind her says, and it’s Dynamite, even though Emma saw Dynamite led away earlier in tantalum cuffs.
Bells. This must be Bells, shifted.
“I am a villain in name only,” Bells-as-Dynamite announces. “I was directed to go into the villain path right after Meta-Human Training…”
The sound of a siren comes over the video: the Authorities.
Emma curses at herself for getting distracted and darts up the stairs, two at a time, ignoring the broadcast until she finds the car.
Keys. Engine. Go.
Emma races through the streets, weaving in and out of traffic lanes, and drives right into the main square, then honks her horn as people jump out of her way. She knows if she keeps this up that the Authorities will be after her, but she just has to keep going and not get caught.
Bells and Christine are talking right into a cameradrone when Emma pulls up, even as sirens wail and get closer.
“Get in!” Emma shouts.
Bells and Christine clamber into the backseat, and there’s an awkward side-hug from Christine. “Perfect timing!” Christine giggles.
“Come on, we gotta go!” Emma says.
Bells shuts the door, and then Emma speeds them away from the still-twitching Lysander and Starscream on the pavement.
Emma tries to concentrate on getting them out of there; Bells and Christine are hugging and are already catching up, laughing with excitement. Emma concentrates as she swerves into an alleyway and listens for the sirens of the Authority.
Christine claps her on the shoulder. “Great to see you, Em! Where are we going?”
“Glad we found you,” Emma says. “First step is away from here, and then I gotta double back and lay a false trail in case anyone is watching.”
“Thanks for getting me. I was excited to see you today but then I got sidetracked when I saw that hack Starscream and I knew I had to try—”
Bells jumps in immediately to reassure her. “No, it was great! I love your new outfit, by the way! Did you make this supersuit? Or is it still called a supersuit if it’s a… I don’t actually know what it is, but you look awesome!”
Christine laughs. “This is a bodice over a dress. So, outfit works!”
“You look great, Christine,” Emma says, still watching for danger. “So, the plan: We’ve been hiding the car in the woodland just outside the city. We could—”
“Oh!” Christine says brightly. “I’ve got a safehouse!”
Christine guides her through the city, pointing out sidestreets and alleyways, but they do occasionally have to drive on the main streets, where they must pretend to be in an inconspicuous automated car. They manage to get out of downtown, far too slowly for Emma’s liking, but at least they aren’t being actively pursued. The tinted windows do help.
Emma drives to a suburb where a number of pretty, multi-storied houses are spread out on a hill. “Go right,” Christine says. “This whole street is monitored for security purposes. The Authorities, too.”
Emma follows Christine’s directions to a hill overgrown with vines. Christine waves her hands at it, and they lift to reveal a dark tunnel. As Emma drives through, she realizes the “vines” are actually knit from green yarn and fabric. Clever, Emma thinks.
The motion turns on a number of lights. “So who all is at your safehouse?” Emma asks.
“Oh, just me. When I left ages ago, I tried to convince Jess and Abby to come with me, but they were set on staying with their folks, you know. And I even asked Steven, light-spot guy. But he thought staying in hiding with the Villain’s Guild would be better.”
“We were there just a while ago,” Bells says.
Christine laughs. “Yeah. Did they ever figure out an action plan? It was all research and discussion. I was bored, so I left. What were they up to?”
“They just got attacked,” Emma says. “That whole hideout in the mountains is compromised. I don’t know where they all are now.” She bites her lip. It is the third day; they should be here by now.
“Have you seen Jess or anyone?” Bells asks.
Christine shakes her head. “I haven’t heard. I didn’t even know there was an attack. That’s the kind of thing the League loves to boast about, though, shutting down Villain’s Guild headquarters.”
Emma’s gone through many possibilities, each one of them more troubling than the next.
“Here we are,” Christine says when the tunnel slopes upward. “You might as well make yourselves at home and wait in comfort.”
The driveway lights up, welcoming them as they enter a cavernous garage. They join a sleek blue solarcar and a few other vehicles waiting quietly in the dark.
Christine gestures them forward. “Got any bags? Need any help?”
“Oh, we got it—” Emma starts, but Christine is already waving her hand.
Something touches her foot as it slithers past her, and Emma recoils in disgust. In the dim light she can barely make out the thick ropes coiled on the ground flicking to life. The ropes slink toward Emma and Bells’ bags in the trunk, tie themselves neatly around them, and move toward the house like giant, floppy snakes.
“Neat!” Bells says, stepping over the rope and reaching down as if he wants to pet it.
“Very cool,” Emma says, stepping over the rope and trying not to let the snakelike movement bother her. It’s just a rope; it’s not alive. Emma rushes ahead so she doesn’t have to see it.
Christine keys in a complicated code on a datapad, and then a door swivels open, revealing a brightly lit hallway.
The house is bright, airy, and spacious, filled with modern effects and a few anachronistic touches that Emma takes as Christine’s personal style. A tall, polished-walnut grandfather clock stands in the corner; the hallway is lined with a number of dress forms with half-finished dresses, ornate with ruffles and lace.
Bells lets out a low whistle and taps his feet on the tiled floor. “Nice. This feels more you than the Vegas place.”
“Yeah, I didn’t stay there that often,” Christine admits. “One of my dads used it whenever he had work stuff. I like this house best out of all of them.”
On the mantle a number of holos loop, showing a series of moments frozen in time, using the most advanced holotech, showing the images in full color. They could be any three attractive and capable-looking adults holding a baby in a ruffled dress, but Emma nearly trips when she recognizes three of the most prominent figures in maglev tech and aerospace engineering: Frankie Taylor, Carolina de Sandoval, and Joshua Ibarra. The holo loops between all three of them taking turns holding baby Christine and various shots of them kissing each other in easy, casual affection.
“Aw,” Bells says. “Your parents look cool!”
Cool is an understatement. Cool is the very least of what Emma feels right now. “Your parents,” Emma says, breathless. “Are they— are they here?”
Christine gives her an amused look. “They’re all traveling right now.” She considers, ticking her fingers thoughtfully. “Abroad in the European Union doing work with the United Federation, at the mine in Argentina, and, oh, back in Nevada right now.”
“They’ve got style,” Bells says, looking around the house.
“Yeah,” Christine says with a note of sadness in her voice. “Anyway! You all hungry?” She turns brusquely, gesturing them forward to follow her. They walk through two expansive living rooms, what looks like a doorway to a home theater, and several hallways lined with doors before entering a kitchen. It’s spacious and modern without being cold and austere; Emma can easily imagine it filled with laughter and the sounds of family.
“Siblings?” Emma asks.
“Nope, just me,” Christine says. “I think they were too busy, plus it took forever for them to get to the top of the queue at GenTech, so they didn’t wanna bother with another one,” she says, grinning at them.
“Oh, yeah,” Emma says, recognizing the genetic recombination company. “My moms waited like, twenty years; that’s why there’s such an age gap between me and my brother.”
Christine nods in solidarity, then presses what Emma thought was just a wooden panel in the wall, but which swivels to reveal a refrigerator. “Allergic to anything? There’s lots, what do you want?” Christine pulls out container after container from the fridge, gestures at all of it, and then proceeds to pull items from a pantry.
Bells whoops, popping open a bag of chips and crunching noisily. Emma laughs when he passes her the bag and watches Christine gesture toward a classic-looking MonRobot to heat food. Soon the two of them are eating a savory stew.
“This is from my mom’s hometown in Mazatenango. It’s kak’ik,” Christine says.
“It’s great,” Emma says, taking another spoonful. It’s delicious, warm, and spicy and fills her with warmth.
“Reminds me of a sopa your mom made once,” Bells says thoughtfully. “Hey, do you remember that weird protein stuff they had at Meta-Human Training?”
“Ha! The one in Baja?”
The conversation quickly drifts to summers spent at mysterious, secret training locales. As Christine and Bells catch up, Emma turns her focus to the tasks at hand: regroup, gather their resources for the next step. She wonders if Christine has any burner DEDs or if they could make some.
Emma finishes her kak’ik, and, as soon as she sets her empty bowl down the MonRobot picks it up and takes it away.
“Thanks, Christine for having us,” Emma says. . “I think the next step is to set up lookouts for Jess and—”
“Whoa,” Christine says. “You know there’s a curfew after dark, right? They wouldn’t be able to move around without getting the Authorities on their tail. There’s no point in going outside now. We’ll have to wait until morning.”
More waiting. Great.
Emma wakes up to the scent of coffee and Christine loudly singing in Portuguese. Bells is already in the kitchen when Emma gets downstairs. He’s humming along and has a half-eaten omelet in front of him. “Hey, Em! Did you sleep well?”
“It was okay,” Emma mutters.
It was not okay. She couldn’t get comfortable in the soft bed with fluffy pillows. She’s fallen asleep wedged up against the cold metal door with the sharp corner of Bells’ elbow digging into her and even on the ground with the wind howling over them and dust blowing so severely that they’d wake up covered in sand. Maybe Emma just missed Bells: the constant comfort of his presence, the soft intimacy of having his arms slung around her, the little hitching breaths, even the little soft snores.
“Wow! What a fight!”
Emma’s been so out of touch; she’s forgotten this farce is still happening. It seems so contrived now, watching Starscream shoot blasts of light and “apprehend” Dynamite.
“Come on, move!” Bells blurts, but traffic is still ambling at a very slow pace. Everyone’s automatic cars inch them forward.
“Here, switch with me,” Emma says.
Bells nods and scoots out of the driver’s seat, and Emma climbs over him. He smiles at her as she goes and his hand is warm, gently squeezing her arm. Emma smiles and impulsively kisses him.
“What was that for?” Bells asks.
“Nothing,” she says. “Just you were being cute.”
Bells gives her a small smile. “Come on, hotshot. You gonna get us out of here?”
Emma laughs. “Am I ever.”
She takes a deep breath and then presses on the acceleration pedal. The car speeds forward, zooming between lanes, narrowly avoiding the other cars. Emma weaves in and out of traffic, heading north through the city toward Christine’s rendezvous point.
Bells grips the dashboard, grinning with delight. He whoops with joy as they pass another group of slow cars and then whips his head around.
“You see something?” Emma asks.
“Just a feeling. Duck into this alleyway here.”
Emma does as he says, waiting in the darkness. Around them, everyone tunes into the fight between Starscream and Dynamite. Emma can see it, too, projected above them. Starscream is punching Dynamite dramatically; his cape sweeps with every move.
A gray car speeds past the alley, horn blaring. “This is the North American Collective Authority. You are operating a driver-operated vehicle in a restricted area. Please exit the vehicle immediately.”
Emma exhales. “I didn’t know it was illegal to drive your own car in this city!”
Bells narrows his eyes. “We’ll have to drive slow. Blend in.”
After waiting a tense moment, they return to the street and drive achingly slow, too slowly. Emma parks the car in an immaculately clean, multi-level carport, ignoring the curious looks several people give her as she hops out of the driver’s seat. They adjust their disguises and then take an elevator up to one of the many greenways, which is lush with trees and flowers and pathways and fountains.
They’re only a few minutes late at the rendezvous point under the clock tower, but they don’t see any sign of Christine.
Another five minutes go by. Bells frowns. “She’s not here.”
“Maybe she’s late?”
“It’s not like her.”
“Do we have another plan? Another location to meet her at if she doesn’t make this one?”
Bells shakes his head. “Let’s wait a bit longer.”
Emma waits, watching the clock tick, growing more and more impatient. The broadcast in the sky is now livestreaming Starscream recapping his battle with Dynamite to reporter Wilton Lysander. The pixels blur behind Starscream, and he brushes the back of his head, as if there’s an annoying fly.
Lysander laughs. “Now tell me about this new look of yours! Updated colors and a new cape! Very sleek—”
“Hey, I was talking to you!”
Starscream turns around, and so does Lysander. The camera zooms in on a smaller masked figure: a girl with flowing blonde-brown curls wearing a bodice and flowing skirt. “Yeah, that’s right!” she says. “You’re a fake and a liar and just doing exactly what the League tells you to!”
Starscream scoffs at her. “Who are you? Some sad excuse for a villain?”
Lysander laughs. “And your outfit! It’s several centuries old.”
Emma gasps. “Isn’t that Christine?”
Bells’ mouth falls open. “What is she doing? Confronting Starscream on her own?”
“She’s doing my plan,” Emma says, awed. “I love it!”
Bells grabs her hand and runs. “Come on! That’s in Postonwish Square!”
Emma runs alongside him for a few breathless moments until she stops to catch her breath. “Wait—”
Bells stops a few paces ahead of her; his eyes dart frantically. “Should we stop her? Join her? I don’t even have a supersuit anymore!”
“Does that matter?” Emma responds.
“Oh, right—”
Bells closes his eyes, and his clothes barely flicker as he shifts his clothing. The leather-look jacket he’s wearing over his T-shirt and jeans gives way to a very familiar, rainbow-hued green supersuit, complete with mask.
“What’s the plan?”
“Uh…”
“You always have a plan!”
Right, right. If Christine is confronting Starscream, it’ll be a battle, right? So that’s best suited for Bells and his powers. Then they’ll need to get away before the League or the Authorities show up. “Okay, I have a plan!” Christine is incredibly powerful, right? But she can probably only use her powers for a few minutes? Ten?
The people they’re running past are focused on the projected livestreams on their own devices and also the huge projection in the sky, all showing the same thing: Starscream and Christine are facing off.
At the scene, a crowd of laughing people clustered around Starscream and Christine is visible in all the live feeds.
“Is this the new villain?”
“I can’t believe the losers that the Villain’s Guild is putting out nowadays. She barely even has a costume together!”
“What is that, a bodice?”
“My name is Crinoline!” Christine does a dramatic twirl; her skirts flutter around her.
“What’s your power? Anachronism?”
Even more laughter. Bells’ fists clench. “How dare they…”
Emma grabs Bells by the shoulder. “I’m gonna run back to the car. You go get Christine, and, whatever she’s doing, make sure that it keeps going. The broadcast, it’s live, so whatever you both say, it’s unedited, right? Go for it and make sure to mention that the League is a lie!”
“What are you—”
“You and Christine are gonna need a getaway plan!”
Emma turns around and runs in the opposite direction as fast as she can. She speeds past people completely absorbed in the ongoing fight. Emma tries not to pay attention to it, but she can hear Starscream taunting Christine in every DED she runs past and even see their conversation larger than life above her.
“You’re too late, kid. I’ve already stopped Dynamite’s bank robbery. You can go home now.”
“Not until you admit that you and Dynamite were faking the whole fight and the robbery! For the League!”
Starscream scoffs. “And what are you gonna do about it? Do you even have any powers? You look pretty useless to me.”
“Useless?” Christine’s eyes narrow. “I’ll show you how useless I am,” she mutters, raising her hands.
Starscream laughs, raises his arms as if he’s gonna shoot a burst of sound at her, but, as he rushes forward, his supersuit comes to life. Threads blooming wildly out of control, spinning wildly and wildly; the arms of his jacket completely come undone, rushing around and around, binding him in a circle.
“Hey! What’s going on?”
Jackets stitch themselves to pants and shirts as both Starscream and Wilton Lysander slump forward, falling down as they’re rolled in their own clothing.
“Hello! I just wanted to say to you all who have been following Starscream’s adventures: They’re all fake; he’s picking battles with Dynamite because the League told him to, and the so-called villains that they say are bad only pull those pranks because—”
“That’s right,” another voice behind her says, and it’s Dynamite, even though Emma saw Dynamite led away earlier in tantalum cuffs.
Bells. This must be Bells, shifted.
“I am a villain in name only,” Bells-as-Dynamite announces. “I was directed to go into the villain path right after Meta-Human Training…”
The sound of a siren comes over the video: the Authorities.
Emma curses at herself for getting distracted and darts up the stairs, two at a time, ignoring the broadcast until she finds the car.
Keys. Engine. Go.
Emma races through the streets, weaving in and out of traffic lanes, and drives right into the main square, then honks her horn as people jump out of her way. She knows if she keeps this up that the Authorities will be after her, but she just has to keep going and not get caught.
Bells and Christine are talking right into a cameradrone when Emma pulls up, even as sirens wail and get closer.
“Get in!” Emma shouts.
Bells and Christine clamber into the backseat, and there’s an awkward side-hug from Christine. “Perfect timing!” Christine giggles.
“Come on, we gotta go!” Emma says.
Bells shuts the door, and then Emma speeds them away from the still-twitching Lysander and Starscream on the pavement.
Emma tries to concentrate on getting them out of there; Bells and Christine are hugging and are already catching up, laughing with excitement. Emma concentrates as she swerves into an alleyway and listens for the sirens of the Authority.
Christine claps her on the shoulder. “Great to see you, Em! Where are we going?”
“Glad we found you,” Emma says. “First step is away from here, and then I gotta double back and lay a false trail in case anyone is watching.”
“Thanks for getting me. I was excited to see you today but then I got sidetracked when I saw that hack Starscream and I knew I had to try—”
Bells jumps in immediately to reassure her. “No, it was great! I love your new outfit, by the way! Did you make this supersuit? Or is it still called a supersuit if it’s a… I don’t actually know what it is, but you look awesome!”
Christine laughs. “This is a bodice over a dress. So, outfit works!”
“You look great, Christine,” Emma says, still watching for danger. “So, the plan: We’ve been hiding the car in the woodland just outside the city. We could—”
“Oh!” Christine says brightly. “I’ve got a safehouse!”
Christine guides her through the city, pointing out sidestreets and alleyways, but they do occasionally have to drive on the main streets, where they must pretend to be in an inconspicuous automated car. They manage to get out of downtown, far too slowly for Emma’s liking, but at least they aren’t being actively pursued. The tinted windows do help.
Emma drives to a suburb where a number of pretty, multi-storied houses are spread out on a hill. “Go right,” Christine says. “This whole street is monitored for security purposes. The Authorities, too.”
Emma follows Christine’s directions to a hill overgrown with vines. Christine waves her hands at it, and they lift to reveal a dark tunnel. As Emma drives through, she realizes the “vines” are actually knit from green yarn and fabric. Clever, Emma thinks.
The motion turns on a number of lights. “So who all is at your safehouse?” Emma asks.
“Oh, just me. When I left ages ago, I tried to convince Jess and Abby to come with me, but they were set on staying with their folks, you know. And I even asked Steven, light-spot guy. But he thought staying in hiding with the Villain’s Guild would be better.”
“We were there just a while ago,” Bells says.
Christine laughs. “Yeah. Did they ever figure out an action plan? It was all research and discussion. I was bored, so I left. What were they up to?”
“They just got attacked,” Emma says. “That whole hideout in the mountains is compromised. I don’t know where they all are now.” She bites her lip. It is the third day; they should be here by now.
“Have you seen Jess or anyone?” Bells asks.
Christine shakes her head. “I haven’t heard. I didn’t even know there was an attack. That’s the kind of thing the League loves to boast about, though, shutting down Villain’s Guild headquarters.”
Emma’s gone through many possibilities, each one of them more troubling than the next.
“Here we are,” Christine says when the tunnel slopes upward. “You might as well make yourselves at home and wait in comfort.”
The driveway lights up, welcoming them as they enter a cavernous garage. They join a sleek blue solarcar and a few other vehicles waiting quietly in the dark.
Christine gestures them forward. “Got any bags? Need any help?”
“Oh, we got it—” Emma starts, but Christine is already waving her hand.
Something touches her foot as it slithers past her, and Emma recoils in disgust. In the dim light she can barely make out the thick ropes coiled on the ground flicking to life. The ropes slink toward Emma and Bells’ bags in the trunk, tie themselves neatly around them, and move toward the house like giant, floppy snakes.
“Neat!” Bells says, stepping over the rope and reaching down as if he wants to pet it.
“Very cool,” Emma says, stepping over the rope and trying not to let the snakelike movement bother her. It’s just a rope; it’s not alive. Emma rushes ahead so she doesn’t have to see it.
Christine keys in a complicated code on a datapad, and then a door swivels open, revealing a brightly lit hallway.
The house is bright, airy, and spacious, filled with modern effects and a few anachronistic touches that Emma takes as Christine’s personal style. A tall, polished-walnut grandfather clock stands in the corner; the hallway is lined with a number of dress forms with half-finished dresses, ornate with ruffles and lace.
Bells lets out a low whistle and taps his feet on the tiled floor. “Nice. This feels more you than the Vegas place.”
“Yeah, I didn’t stay there that often,” Christine admits. “One of my dads used it whenever he had work stuff. I like this house best out of all of them.”
On the mantle a number of holos loop, showing a series of moments frozen in time, using the most advanced holotech, showing the images in full color. They could be any three attractive and capable-looking adults holding a baby in a ruffled dress, but Emma nearly trips when she recognizes three of the most prominent figures in maglev tech and aerospace engineering: Frankie Taylor, Carolina de Sandoval, and Joshua Ibarra. The holo loops between all three of them taking turns holding baby Christine and various shots of them kissing each other in easy, casual affection.
“Aw,” Bells says. “Your parents look cool!”
Cool is an understatement. Cool is the very least of what Emma feels right now. “Your parents,” Emma says, breathless. “Are they— are they here?”
Christine gives her an amused look. “They’re all traveling right now.” She considers, ticking her fingers thoughtfully. “Abroad in the European Union doing work with the United Federation, at the mine in Argentina, and, oh, back in Nevada right now.”
“They’ve got style,” Bells says, looking around the house.
“Yeah,” Christine says with a note of sadness in her voice. “Anyway! You all hungry?” She turns brusquely, gesturing them forward to follow her. They walk through two expansive living rooms, what looks like a doorway to a home theater, and several hallways lined with doors before entering a kitchen. It’s spacious and modern without being cold and austere; Emma can easily imagine it filled with laughter and the sounds of family.
“Siblings?” Emma asks.
“Nope, just me,” Christine says. “I think they were too busy, plus it took forever for them to get to the top of the queue at GenTech, so they didn’t wanna bother with another one,” she says, grinning at them.
“Oh, yeah,” Emma says, recognizing the genetic recombination company. “My moms waited like, twenty years; that’s why there’s such an age gap between me and my brother.”
Christine nods in solidarity, then presses what Emma thought was just a wooden panel in the wall, but which swivels to reveal a refrigerator. “Allergic to anything? There’s lots, what do you want?” Christine pulls out container after container from the fridge, gestures at all of it, and then proceeds to pull items from a pantry.
Bells whoops, popping open a bag of chips and crunching noisily. Emma laughs when he passes her the bag and watches Christine gesture toward a classic-looking MonRobot to heat food. Soon the two of them are eating a savory stew.
“This is from my mom’s hometown in Mazatenango. It’s kak’ik,” Christine says.
“It’s great,” Emma says, taking another spoonful. It’s delicious, warm, and spicy and fills her with warmth.
“Reminds me of a sopa your mom made once,” Bells says thoughtfully. “Hey, do you remember that weird protein stuff they had at Meta-Human Training?”
“Ha! The one in Baja?”
The conversation quickly drifts to summers spent at mysterious, secret training locales. As Christine and Bells catch up, Emma turns her focus to the tasks at hand: regroup, gather their resources for the next step. She wonders if Christine has any burner DEDs or if they could make some.
Emma finishes her kak’ik, and, as soon as she sets her empty bowl down the MonRobot picks it up and takes it away.
“Thanks, Christine for having us,” Emma says. . “I think the next step is to set up lookouts for Jess and—”
“Whoa,” Christine says. “You know there’s a curfew after dark, right? They wouldn’t be able to move around without getting the Authorities on their tail. There’s no point in going outside now. We’ll have to wait until morning.”
More waiting. Great.
Emma wakes up to the scent of coffee and Christine loudly singing in Portuguese. Bells is already in the kitchen when Emma gets downstairs. He’s humming along and has a half-eaten omelet in front of him. “Hey, Em! Did you sleep well?”
“It was okay,” Emma mutters.
It was not okay. She couldn’t get comfortable in the soft bed with fluffy pillows. She’s fallen asleep wedged up against the cold metal door with the sharp corner of Bells’ elbow digging into her and even on the ground with the wind howling over them and dust blowing so severely that they’d wake up covered in sand. Maybe Emma just missed Bells: the constant comfort of his presence, the soft intimacy of having his arms slung around her, the little hitching breaths, even the little soft snores.
