Mission Statement 1.3



I woke up that morning and did some jogging. I'd started a little less than a month ago, after my Trigger.



Dad was a worrier, and I was cut from the same cloth. My power let me stay far away from any dangerous parahumans, at least so long as they weren't coming after me, but 'trouble' was a lot more likely to be a kid with a knife than Lung or Kaiser. There's only so many parahumans, and most people just aren't that important.



Now I was important, though, and I'd found a powerful patron. I was pretty sure that if I was on path to run into a Azn Bad Boys vs Empire Eighty-Eight turf war, I'd find myself running into a portal to a safer place, or meeting a group of Wards, or the thugs would all be killed by falling frozen turkeys or something. It was nice.



No reason to be stupid, though: I kept to the Boardwalk, the nice part of town, jogging with my eyes on the lights.



Why'd I have to Trigger in the winter... I'd only done this for a couple of weeks, so my lungs and legs were still killing me.



When I finished the jog, I stopped by home. At our meeting, Dad had insisted that whenever I could have breakfast with him, I would. That meal, at the very least. I could have had every meal with him, if I really wanted to, but I letting Dad know I was part of a superpower-granting world-hopping anti-apocalyptic conspiracy would probably freak him out. He's kind of overprotective.



"So, what's your plan for today, Taylor?"



"I talked it over with Contessa yesterday." I kept my eyes on my plate, mechanically shoving food into my face between phrases, thoughts already far away. "I'm going to visit a tailor and pick up my costume, then I'm going to stop by the Protectorate PR consultant. I think I know basically what I want my image to be, but I've got to really impress the rank-and-file capes if I want them to listen to me--downside of the whole 'teenager' thing--so it needs to be perfect. I'll probably do lunch with him too, and then I'll be doing some public-speaking training. Then I'll be stopping by the Wards after school ends. I'm kind of cheating, since I've had a lot longer to look at their powers than I usually will, but they don't need to know that. After that, more training. I may not be doing any fighting, but I'm still a hero... Need to get better at my thing."



Most of that was true, except the very last part--I wouldn't be using my power for most of the day, mostly so I could conserve it for the end. We were going to try to make a formula tonight.



I looked up and tried not to wince. Judging from his expression, I didn't need to bring up Cauldron to freak him out.



"I know you've had some time to think about this, but... I only found out yesterday, you know." He shook his head. "Are you sure you're not going too far, too fast, Taylor? No matter what the job, you always need a little time to settle in."



"My power's called Administrator, Dad. Ordering capes around is sort of what it's for, you know?" I smiled, but he didn't look very reassured. "And it's friendly turf. The worst that happens is that I spend a little longer on training before the next advising session. I'm not worried."



I really wasn't. I knew I should be, but... Something about the plan, something about walking into a room with at least one outright enemy, really appealed to me. I wanted to use my power, and I wanted to use it to win. I'd heard, reading, that Thinkers often fell into megalomania and self-delusion, and in that moment, I could believe it. I hadn't ever done much public speaking, but I didn't doubt for a moment that I could do it... Or that I'd find it fun, even.



I wouldn't necessarily succeed, though. Megalomania, self-delusion, Legend's warnings about tunnel vision... An excess of such self-confidence had put Teacher in the Birdcage for good, and the strongest Thinker I'd seen living in Brockton Bay was just a petty crook. I had no plans to follow in the footsteps of either example. Contessa was the proof of how far a Thinker could go, but her sheer power made the exception that proved the rule. I'd aspire to that, but I wouldn't expect it.



Maybe some of that self-restraint bled through, because I saw him relax. He leaned forward, placing one hand on mine. "I know you can do it, Taylor. I've never doubted you could do great things, even without superpowers. Just don't push yourself too hard... And remember, if all else fails, you can always come home. I'll always be your father."



"Yeah." I put my other hand on top of his. "Thanks, Dad."



---



Glenn Chambers wasn't exactly what I would have expected from someone in charge of appearances: overweight, not conventionally attractive even ignoring that, hair gelled into a mohawk, clothes that seemed on the 'tasteless' side of flashy. I'd read about countersignalling--the idea of being good enough that looking low-class was actually a status symbol, like the way they fade jeans for fashion--but I was pretty sure countersignalling wrapped back around eventually.



But of all the PR people in the world, the Protectorate had chosen him. He spoke to every Ward (a brief teleconference, at least), advised every hero, coordinated campaigns... He didn't have a power, but he was one of the most important men in the world all the same.



Contessa, not Teacher. I'd chosen to dress accordingly.



"Good morning, Miss Hebert," he said genially, stepping forward. "Or should I call you Administrator? You look like you're ready for a job interview."



"I'll be at one this afternoon," I said, shrugging one shoulder even as I reached out to shake his hand. "A proof-of-concept meeting where I'll be telling capes older and more experienced than me what to do and what they've been doing wrong. If I try to pull off 'cape,' they'll be thinking of that. I need to show that I have status that isn't based on punching things, so the suit and name are part of that."



He nodded, and his smile dropped, expression abruptly all-business. His grip tightened a little on my hand. "Good. That's the level of thinking you need to do, if you're going to advise capes. Perceptions matter every bit as much as combat realities, and all reality starts with perceptions. I want to use you, but if you're in the way of the greater mission, you go before I do. Got it?"



He'd be surprised.



Still, I nodded back. "I'm a power thinker, not a PR thinker. I still have things to learn. I won't be stupid."



"Good. You don't really believe it yet, but you're at least saying the words--that's the first step." He released my hand, gesturing towards a seat and returning to his own. They were good chairs; I'd have to buy one, once I had actual money. "Let's talk costumes first. The suit cut is good, charcoal is good... I don't think your complexion and hair support much else. Still, you're Protectorate, not New Wave, so you need at least a pretense at a secret identity. What's your mask?"



I reached into the purse I'd carried in, lifting up a mask. It was a mock-up, something I'd asked for a little earlier--the Protectorate was very good at quick fabrication. I held it up to my face.



"A mirror," he said. "Interesting. One-way, I assume?" As I nodded, he leaned forward. "Explain the concept behind it."



"Two points," I said. "First, again, distinction. There are featureless masks, but outright mirrors are rare... From what I know, anyway. Part of that is Shatterbird, but I'm confident I can sense her coming." He nodded. "Second, I'm not in this for me--I'm not interested in turning the Administrator into a big Cape presence. Ideally, I won't have many public appearances at all. The more time I spend in the spotlight, the more time I'll screw up. So I'll only wear this on the way into the meeting." I removed the mask. "Capes who aren't on the same team each other tend to keep the masks on, even in the Protectorate."



"It's symbolic--a focus on the people you're talking to?" I nodded. "The suit, the moment of confusion when they first see the mirror, removing the mask, outsize status to your new arrival... You're planning to keep them off-balance." I nodded again and Glenn nodded back--acknowledgment, not approval. "That won't win you many friends, Taylor."



"I only need a strong first impression, and this is already a special case." He raised an eyebrow. "Shadow Stalker and I have serious bad blood in our civilian lives. She'll treat me with hostility, and I'll leverage that. Even if I'd normally come off as arrogant, I'll be able to use her as contrast."



"Explain."



I did.



"Interesting tactic. To be crass, working with Thinkers tends to be an enormous pain in the ass, but you're reminding me why it can be enjoyable."



He'd responded to my mention of a common enemy ploy with his own... And if I hadn't thought the same about other Thinkers, if I'd found it flattering instead of obvious, I might not have noticed.



I was pretty sure he was making a point, especially when he grinned again. It made him look a lot younger.



"Administrator," he said, "This is a thing I say very rarely: I can't actually give you much advice." He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "You see, your plan is excellent; you've covered the majority of the angles, and you have all of the appropriate institutional back-up to follow through. The problem is that it has a single point of failure." His hand rose up, extended index finger resting at the level of my heart, and all of his false cheer vanished in an instant.



"You. Your plan is execution-heavy, and you're an amateur. You'll succeed today--you have a friendly audience, Shadow Stalker aside, and you already have a clever plan to turn her hostility into an asset." His tone of voice made it hard to tell whether 'clever' was sarcastic. "But the moment you run into some team head who's willing to make things difficult, and you aren't able to eliminate it..." He spread his arms expansively. "In the long run, your plan requires reputation and experience. You don't have either yet, and we can only give you softballs so long. We're breaking the usual rules, and that means you won't have long before we're forced to shove you out of the nest. If it's you or us, we'll pick us."



"In other words," I said, "I can't screw up or we're all screwed."



"Never," he said, words dark and heavy. "I don't know who you know or how we got to be here, but I have never seen a situation like this. There's a reason for that, because this is dangerous for everyone. You have to be flawless--this time, next time, the time after that, on and on and on and on until people respect you like they respect Alexandria. Treat every single meeting as a battlefield, treat every single predictable difficulty as potentially career-ending, because it could be. Your plan requires you to be distinctive, different, and to inspire a kind of awe, and I can't give you anything better yet. The moment you stop looking bulletproof, Taylor, people will remember that you're a fifteen year-old Thinker, and then they fit you into a pattern. And then we get in trouble for putting you there."



He stood up, extending his hand, helping pull me to my feet.



"So long as the possibility remains, you'll have my full resources at your disposal." He looked at me, expression grave, larger hand tight on mine. "Make no mistake, Taylor: on odds alone, you will fail. The vast majority of people would, given your plan and your powers, because it requires you to be superhuman in a way that isn't based on 'punching things,' to use your phrase. All the same, we can't wait for you to grow up, and if you don't have the spark, sequestering you away in speech classes won't make a damn bit of difference. I have no idea why the bigwigs would put all of this on your shoulders so soon, but... It's do or die, Administrator. Impress me."



I nodded, outwardly undaunted even as my stomach twisted and my power expanded outwards.



"That's the way every other parahuman lives," I said. "If I want to change them, then I have to be at least that serious."



He nodded. "Good." He turned. "Walk with me and I'll brief you on the Wards. Today's a softball, especially with your own preparation... But I'm not going to let you stumble at the gate."



---



"Good morning, Armsmaster," I said, extending my hand to shake. He met my eyes as returned the shake with a firm grip--slightly too tight, but not quite at 'shake my hand out' levels. I'd gone to meet him in his lab, and he sat in his dark blue power armor; his visored helmet sat on a nearby table, half-disassembled. He was adding some new part, it seemed.



I liked the beard. He had to as well, considering the helmet would've left his mouth exposed even if he'd worn it.



"Good morning. The Administrator, was it?"



His voice was gruff, his words clipped; the Efficiency Tinker power he'd been given seemed to fit him well. I nodded.



"Yes. I'd rather you called me Taylor, though. Much shorter." He nodded.



"Colin, then." He glanced down at the papers in his free hand, more as a gesture than necessity, because a man like him had the important parts memorized. "Vouched for by the Triumvirate. You're a rare Thinker, it seems."



"So I'm told." I paused. Glenn's briefing hadn't covered Armsmaster... The question was why. The answers that came to mind weren't fun ones. "I'm lucky--I knew the right people to sidestep a lot of bureaucracy. I would have been a shitty Ward."



He looked up at me, eyebrows raising. "Really."



"I spent a week figuring out my power. It's simple enough that it has easy-to-deduce limits. None of it is directly combat-relevant, and none of it requires me to be on the front lines. The only thing I can improve is the speed of my analysis, and that's not going to happen if I spend the next several years here, mostly working with the same people. My power's combat applications lean towards large-scale battle, and Wards don't do those." I shook my head. "So, instead, this. Glenn expects me to fail, and I can't say he's wrong, because doing this requires me to manage the Wards, the heroes, the bureaucrats, and the public, and that's ignoring the actual analyses I'm going to conduct. Any one thing goes wrong and this gets blown to hell."



"You think you can do it regardless," he said dispassionately.



I considered him for a moment, and I let him see me do it.



"The problem isn't that I can't do it," I said. "The job itself isn't that hard. The problem is public relations, because it doesn't matter how good I am--once you get to the level I need to be at to do my job, I'm a public figure. And once I'm a public figure, then the good I do gets forgotten and they remember every time I fuck up. There'll be wolves in the wings waiting to take me down, even if they think they're really 'protecting the public welfare' or 'defending our children.'" A short nod from him. "I'm a people Thinker, and managing bureaucracy is people Tinkering. The question here isn't whether I can do it, the question is whether or not I can get enough people like YOU to support me, so that this bullshit impossible task becomes something more reasonable."



"Which is the real reason you're here." Armsmaster considered me with narrowed eyes.



"Yes. Because if Glenn was really on my side, he would have pointed that out before I met you. He wouldn't have kept my attention on the Wards and then dropped me unbriefed into the most important meeting I have today."



"You believe he wanted you to alienate me, which would likely cause your first consultation session with my Wards to fail--"



"--and give him an excuse to backbench me, because I make his job harder. He expects me to fuck up, and if I do, then that means more work for him. Whatever he said before, he's not on my side." I leaned forward. "Armsmaster, let me be blunt with you: I'm not fighting for the right to help the world, because I'm going to do that regardless. I'm fighting for the right to keep helping you in ways you can see."



It seemed he'd already come to the same conclusion. "Normal teenagers don't get sponsored by the Triumvirate, after all."



"Yes. I expect that part of my biography will quietly disappear if I show my chops here, to keep people from drawing that exact conclusion. I think they want me to fail, too, which is probably why THEY'RE also throwing me in the hot water immediately." I sighed sharply, pinching my nose; his scrutiny had only intensified, and not all of my headache was pretended.



Sure, I was bullshitting him, at least a little, but Contessa had casually mentioned Armsmaster's lie detector yesterday; I was pretty sure it was in his helmet, but it was so conspicuously unavailable that he just had to have a back-up somewhere on him. So everything I was saying had to be something I believed, at least a little... And knowing Contessa, it was entirely possible she was trying to break me of my current goals. If I gave up on this, then I could sit in Cauldron's labs, safely perfecting formulas, and she could keep her attention on other Paths.



If that was what she was doing, then I'd lose and find myself delighted with the result, or at least too disgusted with the Protectorate to argue the point. Knowing that didn't mean I wasn't going to fight her the whole way.



I dropped my hand, meeting his eyes. "Still, all of that public scrutiny is also an opportunity. If this works, I get to keep working publicly, because it's difficult to make such a public cape vanish. Whether or not I get to do that, Armsmaster, hinges on you. If you fuck me over here, there's not much I can do about it--I really do need your help."



"Appealing to my vanity?" He snorted, lips quirking upwards. "Clever of you."



"You're a hero, I figure it's at least a little likely you have a hero complex." That got me something closer to an actual laugh.



"Make requests. I won't accede to blanket support, but I'm willing to listen if you have specifics in mind."



"I can do that." First benchmark passed. "For now, I need to lie to the Wards one time, and I need you to back me up on it--say nothing, if you want, just don't deny it. You can judge what you want to do from here on out based on what I do for them."



"Explain."



That response wasn't actively unfriendly, and I just needed an opening.



"Well, before I can do that, I'll need to tell you about my Trigger Event--"



---



I arrived at my afternoon meeting exactly on time, stepping through the door in suit and mirrored mask.



"Good afternoon, Brockton Bay Wards." I glanced over the room, head turning to meet each eye in turn from behind my mask. "I am Taylor Hebert, also known as the Administrator. I am a Thinker 9-Trump 3, and my specialty is capes. My power grants me the ability to see and analyze the power of every single hero, villain and rogue within ten blocks of myself, and operates as an intuitive Thinker understanding of capes in general. I know who all of you are beneath your masks, so I thought it fair to extend you the same courtesy."



I reached up, pulling off the mask, and put it down on the lectern. Then I walked forward, stopping in front of the front row of desks.



"You will notice that I am not a Ward. I am a consultant. I am the first of my kind in the Protectorate, and I am here today to offer you my services. Do you have any questions about an aspect of your power? I can answer it. Do you believe you may have a secondary power? You are very likely correct; I can tell you what it is, and I can explain how it works. Is there any tool you require to better do your job? I had a personal meeting with the Triumvirate this time yesterday; I have connections, and I will advocate for you. This afternoon, I am at your disposal, and I suggest you take advantage."



There was a long moment of silence, and I began to count. One, two, three, four--



"Bullshit."



She'd spoken before I hit five, just as I'd expected.



A girl in a heavy black coat leaned forward, black mask glinting in the light. I couldn't see her eyes, but I knew them--dark, nearly always narrowed. Every time she talked to someone, she'd stare into their eyes, unblinking, until they backed down. I always had, because I couldn't afford to escalate.



Today was not 'always.'



"It's true, Shadow Stalker," I said. "Incidentally, your actions against me earlier this month were a violation of your probation. Doubly so, in light of the fact that those actions induced a Trigger Event. The Protectorate was quite eager to score points with me by sacrificing you." I met her eyes; my power told me where they were, despite the mask. "But I plead your case, on the condition that you be watched more closely. You're scum, but your power is useful, and if I'm being honest I'm rather grateful that a cape was involved--the academic literature suggests that that's what made me a partial Trump. Still, make no mistake, Sophia Hess: you remain free only so long as I want you free. Now sit down and shut up."



The silence continued... But all the other heads in the room turned a little, eyes on Armsmaster, standing silently in the corner. He didn't react: no denial, no reprimand, not so much as a word. He simply continued to look straight ahead... And in its own way, that was damning.



Eyes turned to Shadow Stalker. When she tensed, ready to move, to say something, they followed suit. Her eyes flicked to her right, looking at the others who were looking at her; there was a kind of silent negotiation, and by the end of it, she backed off. She had to.



I paid them no mind, continuing to speak. "So." I clapped softly on the word, and it echoed in the silent room, bringing all eyes back to me. "I have something to say to each of you, but the order is your choice, and I can dedicate more or less time to each individual issue. Anyone interested in going first?"



No one did. I hadn't expected them to--they were obviously still focused on my revelation about Shadow Stalker.



Good. So long as I got to decide what was happening, I'd keep control of the morning. I waited five seconds before speaking.



"I'll start, then. Kid Win," I said, and he jumped.



He was probably the most brightly-colored of the Wards, in brilliant red and gold, face concealed by a visor. Gold was the single most common color among Tinkers, thanks in part to its presence in Hero's costume... Hero, the strongest Tinker, who had stood among the Triumvirate before the Siberian cut them down to three. No one quite sat still, but he fidgeted more than the others. His file said he had some variant of ADHD, among other things. Becoming a Tinker probably hadn't helped.



"I believe you haven't intuited your exact specialization as a Tinker." A short nod. "It's 'adaptation.' There's three effects on your inventing. First." I ticked up a finger. "Modularity. Your inventions will function better if you design them to have multiple physical configurations. You should strip your hoverboard down to essentials and create optional add-ons to improve specific capabilities--you'll notice an improvement right away."



He got a distant look in his eyes, one I almost recognized from myself. I'd remember Legend's warning about Thinkers and Tinkers for quite some time to come.



"Second." I ticked up a second finger, waiting until his eyes snapped back to me. "Multiple settings. Different mechanical implementation, same philosophy: don't focus on making a generally strong tool, make a variety of specialized tools within one item. It'll take more time, but it'll work much better for you. This is a focus of Armsmaster's and a place where your powers intersect--the two of you can do a great deal of quid pro quo. Cooperate with him to reconfigure your weapons and see what you can do for his. Third--"



I ticked up one final finger; this time, his eyes mostly stayed focused on me. "--you have an additional Thinker ability related to your Tinkering: Adversity. You'll invent better while you're under personal stress or strain. When it comes to mid-battle adjustment or optimization, there aren't many Tinkers better than you. Be aware of it but don't rely on it. All the same, if you're in a corner in a real situation, it's something to be aware of."



As I finished speaking, I reached into a pocket, pulling out my Protectorate phone. I pressed through the menus, opening and sending a pre-saved message. "Check your e-mail later for a more detailed breakdown. I'm a Thinker myself, so I spent more time on that aspect. Read it on your own time."



That part was an excuse; I doubted he'd appreciate having his teammates learn about his dyscalculia, at least like this, and so I wouldn't make that choice for him. It'd given me an excuse to draw up dossiers for each of them, at least.



Even as he pulled out his phone, I looked up from mine, returning it to a pocket. "If you have no immediate questions, Kid Win, I'll move on. Any volunteers?"



One hand this time: Aegis.



Aegis had a costume in rust red, helmet included, with silver trim and a silver shield emblem. That element of his costume made me sort of uncomfortable... They called him an Alexandria Package, but normal capes whose powers included high durability didn't need a costume that'd hide the blood.



"I don't think any of us would have expected Kid to have a Thinker power," he said, glancing at Kid Win. I couldn't quite see his mouth, but something about the body language was friendly. "I'm guessing I have something similar?"



"The same one, yes, expressed with a different shard composite." He turned back to me, his bearing attentive. "Consider it a specialized form of Uber's: you'll easily learn anything that allows you to overcome a physical disadvantage. You've already noticed this in part, with how you can adjust to your body's developmental redundancies, but it's wider than that. It would take you an afternoon to become fully ambidexterous, if you aren't already. You'll pick up sign language very easily, but not French."



"Anything I can use in combat?"



I waited a moment; best to look like I was considering it. "You'll find you're much better with kicking-related martial arts than punching; techniques like judo or aikido are borderline, since they're meant to overcome even stronger opponents. It may come down to mindset... Note that this doesn't include the use of assistive technology, it has to be a part of you." I crossed my arms. "In a better world, we'd have biotinkers that weren't Bonesaw; theoretically, anything that's actually incorporated into your body should count... But that's an unproductive line of thought at the moment. Keep it in mind, if you're open-minded and we're lucky."



I hoped to start on that soon.



I drew out my phone again. "More details in the e-mail, including a short list of skills that I think you'd find useful. Next?"



Gallant.



I'd have recognized his silver powered armor as Armsmaster's work, even without their files. Apparently he had enough money to commission it and have Armsmaster maintain it, and keeping Tinkertech in good shape wasn't easy. That purchase said a lot, and I didn't know how to interpret it. Caution, to want the protection? Arrogance, to want the best? A focus on appearances, because that model wasn't THAT much better than normal gear?



"I'd ask," he said, amused, "but..."



"You can tell I know," I said, nodding back. It's hard to be mysterious around an empath... Unfortunately. "Before I answer, I need to establish some background science on Trigger Events first." More than a few eyes went to Shadow Stalker. "Scientists have noted that the expression of a power tends to be connected to the traumatic event that triggered the development of the power. What's less well-known--barely in the literature, but I imagine veteran Capes all know--is that many powers vary in strength, and they do so based on emotion. Specifically, the closer your emotional state to the time of your trigger, the stronger one particular aspect of your power. In my own case, the standard range at which my power perception applies is approximately half of what it was during my Trigger, and it expands when I feel particularly helpless."



So far, I'd hit every point I'd planned to. This afternoon was going pretty well.



"All of which is to say that, in your case, your control over the Blaster aspect of your power, the emotional projection, is your variable aspect. You always possess a small degree of control, but it should be greatly amplified when you're experiencing one particular emotion most closely connected to your Trigger. To preserve your privacy where others are concerned--I can't help but see it, and I think you can relate to that--" He nodded slightly. "--I've left that detail to your e-mail. The same applies to all of you with your own amplifiers, all of which are noted in your own e-mails. Kid Win, I should note that your Thinker ability is separate from this general tendency." I clapped my hands again. "Questions? No? Next, then."



Clockblocker.



He was in the classic skin-tight bodysuit, a pure white, with armor placed where it wouldn't get in the way. The animated clocks on the panels were distracting, which was probably intentional--if it took your attention away from his hands for even a moment, then there was a better chance he could make the most of that power of his. That might have been why his smooth white helmet was so nondescript, because it made it harder to see where he was looking.



"Two questions. One, is there any way to know where we are on that scale? I'm pretty sure what my variation is, but it's hard to predict."



"It's channeling of the power along interconnected parts. And your power can't be reversed, so it's hard to test... That's a good question." It was a good thing I'd already thought about it. "Tell me: you can choose whether to time-lock interconnected parts, correct? And you can't actually freeze yourself. Your costume, yes, but not yourself." Two nods. "That's one test, then--check how far your power extends using the one thing you can't freeze. You're always--" I paused just before I said something unfortunate. I really didn't want to be remembered for walking into a joke that easy. "Rather, let's say that you are always in a position to use your power on yourself," I said, I said, smiling, and there was some quiet laughter. It seemed at least some of the Wards had noticed what I'd almost said. "Although I won't rule out the other phrasing. There are sayings about teenage boys..."



I think the rest got it, then, judging by the other reactions.



"That's actually a great segue into my other question," he said, and my eyebrows rose. Armsmaster cleared his throat, I heard someone say something about 'sexual harassment training,' and Clockblocker held up his hands. "I meant the joke, not the... reference. I mean, you've got a sense of humor, you're rocking that suit, and I'm totally into the woman-in-charge thing you've got going on. Any chance we can maybe see a movie some time?"



Well, if nothing else, it seemed I wasn't acting totally unapproachable. Now if only I was sure that was a good thing...



"Sexual harassment training," Aegis repeated, louder this time.



"And if you're going to hit on her," Vista said, "you should probably remember you're wearing a mask."



"Point," Clockblocker said, ignoring Aegis entirely, and he slipped off his blank white helmet. He ran a hand through his hair, preening dramatically in a way that didn't match his wide grin.



Hmm. He wasn't bad-looking... More importantly, their banter had given me an opening to recover my equilibrium.



"My mornings, afternoons, and evenings are fully booked from now to quite far in the future," I said, and he sighed... But then I smiled. "Still, I think I can manage lunch this Saturday. We can talk details later over e-mail."



He pumped one fist. "Score!"



"Now that we've entirely undermined my carefully cultivated atmosphere of strict professionalism," I said (I really should stop smiling), "we should probably move on. Vista or Shadow Stalker, please." Vista raised her hand. I nodded at her. "General advice, or do you have an issue in mind?"



"General advice."



The first thing you'd notice about Vista was her height: short. Her costume was alternating white and green in long, twisting lines, but it couldn't hide the fact that she was the youngest person in the room. For all that her power couldn't be used directly on others, her ability to alter and shape empty space made her the second-most dangerous person in the room... Especially considering she was the second-most experienced.



She was trying, and failing, to look like she was paying close attention. I didn't doubt that she was used to being talked down to.



"Honestly, you're the hard one of the group to advise, both because your power is quite strong and you're already very good with it." Even with her visor hiding her face, I could feel her surprise. "That said, you do have an obvious issue: you neglect to use your own body. True, your team is quite uncommonly capable by Wards standards, but out of your team, your power renders you the absolute priority target in nearly any engagement. You need to act accordingly, and your power doesn't require empty hands. Pick up a taser, baton, pepper spray, a containment foam weapon... You shouldn't use martial arts against anyone that wants to engage you, but tools work just fine. Use them. You need to learn now, in the Wards, while the fights are easy, the stakes are low, and Panacea lives in the same city. As it is, Vista, sticking to your power means you've already wasted far too much time. You're better than that."



"That's not the usual advice," Vista said, and something about her voice was strange. I wasn't the only one whose problems came from my age.



"If the usual pattern requires us to be stupid, then fuck that," I said, pronouncing the words crisply, tone remaining calm and even. I pulled out my phone, sending the message I'd preprepared for her. "Consider this an order, backed with my full authority as a member of the Protectorate: I expect you to act on this advice. If you can't find a competent teacher here for any combat skill you want to learn, then let me know and I'll get you one, even if it requires a teleporter. And if anyone in your chain of command tries to contradict me on this, you have my e-mail address--tell me and I'll handle it. By the same token, I have full access to all Protectorate recordings. I expect you to improve."



"Yes ma'am," she said, smiling as she sketched a quick salute.



"Good." I turned to the last member of the room. "Shadow Stalker. It made sense when you were a lone vigilante, but I have no idea why you're still fighting the way you do. Your shard is going to waste."



"What the hell do you know?"



If I was being honest, I took more than a little joy in tormenting her. It was useful, of course--she wasn't liked and I'd expressed why I felt the same, so taking her down a peg would endear me to the other Wards, make me seem more human--but I'd had time to think about Contessa. It wasn't impossible her power had expected me to ask that question, that it'd told her what to do when she did.



After all, showing weakness, showing that I could still be a petty teenager, might make Armsmaster underestimate me. He'd be more likely to work with someone he thought he could outmaneuver, if we were working in a place not governed by my power.



And that was also satisfying, in its way. Gallant's power would tell him what I was feeling, but not why--and that was the key to working around it.



"Feel free to ignore me. I'll be honest: despite the sheer potential of your shadow state, I don't expect you to make full Protectorate. You're impulsive, over-aggressive, you have a strong fixation on social dominance, and those three traits feed on themselves to get you into trouble. Hence, I can only assume, your current strange determination to piss on the electric fence." I heard a sort of strangled choking laughter to the side of the room, but I couldn't afford to take my eyes off of her. "So you'll do something stupid soon, you'll end up back in jail, and you'll be the one I got wrong." Her hands clenched on the desk. I watched her, impassive. "But I have a certain degree of professional pride, so I'll keep talking. Feel free to surprise me, Sophia... I'd be happy to be wrong."



I waited a moment, to see if she'd rise to the bait, then continued.



"First. Your power renders you largely immune to physical blows. Energetics--fire, electricity--are a problem, but you have nothing to fear from the vast majority of humans. You can't affect them either until you phase back in, but this is a bonus: your shadow state lets you flow around enemies, allowing you to attack them at unexpected angles. There's very little most people can do about that... And as a track runner, you're already quite physically fit. You're no Brute, but like Vista, tools are always useful. Don't get me wrong: you should always start a fight at range, at least until you identify who can actually hurt you. But after that, the majority of your strengths lie at close range."



"I know," she said, speaking through gritted teeth. "I do all that."



Did she? Honestly, I hadn't been able to watch that much of the footage; I'd only gained access to it today, after all. I thought she might, but her power made her hard to keep track of. Knowing Sophia, though, there was still something I could seize on... That was the only reason I'd taken the risk to begin with.



"You act like an ambush predator," I replied, unfazed. "You circle fights and attack the weak, and you don't close in unless you can drop them. Don't get me wrong, that's a totally respectable strategy--for Clockblocker, Vista, Kid Win, or me, because we're no tougher than any powerless person. Or, for that matter, for a single lone vigilante, someone who doesn't have anyone else they can rely on." I shook my head. "You're in a team, Shadow Stalker, a team with a single Brute. Clockblocker HAS to be at close range to use his power, but not for very long. Aegis can't shield everyone, and he can't be in all places at once, even with Vista's assistance."



She scoffed. "So, what, should I just stand there and let them hit me? I'm not THAT tough."



Good, it'd worked.



"Stand there? No. You don't need to get hit to keep people busy, but you don't do that. The fact is, your power, in this team, puts you in the support role, because everyone else hits harder. Get over it." I raised my hands, palm up. "Now, if THAT part of my assessment is invalid, if you ARE doing everything you can to protect your team? Anyone can chip in and tell me I'm wrong, and I'll happily accept it. But I don't think so."



No response, including Shadow Stalker... Which, in this case, was what I wanted. Good. I nodded.



"Second. Any trick good enough for an enemy is good enough for you. You've heard of Fog, the Empire Eighty-Eight cape--poisonous mist transformation." I reached into my bag, pulling out a can. I tossed it in a low arc, and she caught it. "Pepper spray. Spray that in front of you, change state, and float towards an enemy. Your shadow form has enough mass to carry it along, so go for the eyes--congratulations, you've instantly incapacitated the vast majority of targets, Brutes included. No matter how tough your skin is, the mucus membranes stay vulnerable. The same protections that keep you from adding smog to the inside of your body will work on the pepper spray. When you're damn sure you know what you're doing, you can do the same with containment foam--it won't contain your shadow form, but you still can carry it along. That'll work on nearly anything not stopped by pepper spray, and you can also use foam as a shield against charging capes and projectiles, giving you another means of defense... That said, it wouldn't be hard to catch yourself in foam as you're untransforming, and then you'd be helpless. That one will require practice."



Lead with the weakest advice. Improve as you go. I wasn't sure about the containment foam, but if she tried it in the training room, it failed, and she was humiliated... Well, I wouldn't shed any tears.



"Third." Was it just me, or were they all paying more attention now? "You'll discard this one outright, I'm sure, because you don't think it'll fit your image, but it's the one I'd most strongly recommend: get someone to add an electric fan to the back of your armor--or your boots, or your shoulders, wherever--and add buttons to control it to your gloves. I know you can do selective phasing, and if you're mostly in your shadow state, then you're light enough that wind will provide a substantial speed boost. Pride is the only thing standing between you and full-on flight... And there's considerable use in a fight for a quick, easy, on-demand speed boost in a direction you choose. Clothesline, quick escape into a wall, that sort of thing."



"Fourth--"



"Holy crap," Clockblocker said, seeming almost alarmed. "Do we need to be meaner to you? How come none of us got these many suggestions?"



"Clockblocker, you already do most of the things I'd suggest. The one thing you're lacking that I know will work is some sort of string shooter, something to create time-stopped triplines or try to freeze targets at range, and I already included that one in your e-mail," I said, even as his eyebrows went up. "Vista is also quite creative already, so I had to focus on her other aspects. Aegis got the list of skills, Gallant got some commentary on his control issues--" (His triggering emotion seemed surprisingly easy to safely self-induce; I was surprised he hadn't already noticed) "--and I already commented on ways Kid Win could adjust his inventions to better suit his specialty. I half-expect Sophia to ignore the e-mail when I do send it, so I'm hedging my bets... Maybe peer pressure will do the job for me."



"CC me on it," Aegis said. "Or, well, forward me a sanitized version without sensitive information. I take my duties as team leader seriously."



"Christ," Shadow Stalker said. "No need to be such a damn drama queen... I'll read your stupid e-mail."



No promise to listen to any of it, I noticed.



"Good." I clapped my hands. "Thank you for your cooperation, Brockton Bay Wards--if this was a class, then I've officially entered my office hours. I'm going to take a water break and do some cape research for my next session. Read your e-mail, think, and if you want to discuss anything in more detail, see me in the next room and we'll talk. I'll be here until five, but if you miss me today, you have my e-mail."



Then I strode out of the room, slipping on my mask on the way out.



Water. Couldn't go to the bathroom, couldn't risk being heard vomiting. Couldn't seem nervous.



'Cape research.' Now would be a good time to watch some of U&L's old recordings. A spectacular failure might cheer me up.



God, I hoped this got easier.