Matt slept fitfully; Jane not at all. She had, on his insistence, dragged down the mattress from the destroyed bed in the guest room, flopping it in a heap of tangled bedding in the corner of Azleena’s computer lab. Matt had slept partially wrapped up atop the sheets, passing out almost immediately despite the overhead lights, the constant pitter-patter of the genius on her keyboard, and the low mutterings passing between her, Helen and Jane.
When Matt awoke, it was to the stale heat of long‑running electronics and the room looking as he had left it – tawny brown wooden walls, windows with blinds drawn down, public use computers running along the sides plus Azleena’s setup in the middle. The biggest change was that somebody had been kind enough to dim the fluorescent lighting – that and the sight of Jane’s golden cape pacing back and forth. She’d changed back into her uniform and was interspersing her constant marching with only the occasional muttered word or heavy breathing. This did not bode well.
“Ugh,” Matt groaned, half from stiffness and half to announce he was awake. He stretched his arms over his head, sending his spine through a series of satisfying cracks, as across the room Jane spun around, locking onto him with piercing eyes. That his girlfriend hadn’t slept all night would have been Matt’s initial evaluation of her, save for the fact that Jane hadn’t slept any night in the last six months, which rendered the description kind of moot. He ran cold and clumsy fingers through his tangled hair and rubbed the poor excuse for sleep from his eyes.
“Hey,” Jane grunted, striding towards him. Over at the computer desk, Helen’s cybernetically‑enhanced head peered up, but Azleena gave no indication she’d heard anything, remaining fixated on her screens. The lumbering close‑shaved technopath and dainty dark‑haired genius were in pretty much the same positions in front of Azleena’s computer they had been when Matt lapsed into unconsciousness, and neither had changed clothes. “Are you okay?”
Matt interpreted this as paranoid speak for asking how he’d slept. Physically, he was the same as ever – still just some mid‑sized, brown‑haired white dude, though there were a few scratches on his hands from where he’d crawled through rubble at the apartment yesterday and his ears rang a bit from sirens and explosions. Mentally, Matt was a bit shaken, adrenaline still spiking a little whenever an errant thought reminded him of how close he kept coming to death. Yet his years of mental training persisted, and functionally Matt had everything pretty much under control. And now that they had the USB drive from Lionel – one of the recent assassins – and access to the mystery server it drew from, Matt finally felt like they were close to getting some answers. Answers, please, and then resolution. And then an end to the chaos and a return to normality. Maybe. Please.
But as for sleep? “Not bad,” Matt replied, stretching his stiff legs out and somewhat mashing the untucked sheets, “Bedframes are overrated.” A more skittish man might have had difficult falling asleep in a semi‑lit computer room while a genius and a technopath muttered and clacked relentlessly and their large, jittery girlfriend paced and mumbled dark curses – but Matt had always been a deep and easy sleeper. He’d fallen asleep watching Die Hard at the cinemas once, plus slept through a hotel fire alarm, which his family were fond of reminding him about.
“Where’re we at?” he asked, climbing somewhat unsteadily to his feet and directing the question over Jane’s shoulder to Azleena. His girlfriend moved beside him, her arms crossed, and Matt squeezed her bicep in substitution for a hug. Over six foot tall, especially in her Dawn boots, Jane was athletic and lean, with long bronze hair, sharp (he thought) attractive features, and a large spikey ‘E’ tattooed on her right cheek which was either normal tattoo black or a variation of living gold depending upon how much of the power of Dawn she was currently unleashing. At present, though not actively streaming light, the mark had taken on the colour of a flat sunrise, which Matt did not need a lifetime of studying human behaviour to interpret. The glowing ‘E’, pearlescent white body of her uniform, gold cape, boots and gloves, and the gold symbol of breaking day emblazoned across Jane’s chest stood the tall empath in stark contrast to Matt’s own appearance, which was dishevelled grey track pants, a maroon pyjama shirt with a Triceratops on it, and bare feet (because what kind of weirdo slept in socks).
Azleena, the wafer‑thin dark-haired genius currently responsible for the Legion of Heroes’ operational organisation, security systems, technology management, information dissemination, research and collective music piracy, did not glance up at Matt’s question, but instead maintained laser focus on the three computer screens arrayed in front of her. Her legs tucked beneath her atop her computer chair, strands of long black hair sticking to her forehead, the genius was clearly twenty‑thousand leagues deep into document trawling, and the fact she was still at it, after six hours or so, boded ominously for the weight of the haul.
“We are balls deep,” Azleena answered, a very incongruous statement coming from a ninety-pound girl who had at best given puberty a light slap, “I’m not making preliminary conclusions.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Won’t,” she replied. Beside Matt, Jane mouth twitched into a frown. “I’m not unintentionally strapping myself to anything. Besides, you-” and she pointed without looking at Jane, “‑have the habit of charging off at the first hint someone has wronged you. We have to be very, very careful.”
“Why do we have to be careful?” snapped Jane, bristling a little at Azleena’s entirely correct assessment, “It doesn’t matter who’s responsible. Whoever it is, they’re dead. Them, their lackeys, their whole operation.”
“One word,” replied Azleena; “Money.” This time she actually turned in her chair to stare at the pair of them, Helen continuing to interface quietly with the computer in the background. “This is the only conclusion I’m willing to draw right now, but it’s not so much a guess as a certainty. Whoever is behind the attacks on you is spending money. Like, an incalculable amount. Not literally-” she was quick to add, seemingly unable to stop herself, “-I can calculate it. But in common parlance. They are spending a proverbial tonne of money acquiring and utilising all these resources.”
“How much are we talking here?” Matt asked, feeling his stomach turn. Unconsciously he crossed his arms across his chest in a half self‑hug. “Millions?”
Azleena shook her head and swung back to the computer, lips pursed as if sucking on something sour. “Billions. There are transactions in here for things I don’t understand. Diamonds. These people are selling diamonds, truckloads of them, and I have no idea why.”
“Diamonds?” Matt said, incredulous, “I’m being hunted by diamond miners?”
“You’re being manipulated by someone with access to what looks to me like half the world’s diamond reserves, not to mention gold and any number of other precious metals. Which makes absolutely no sense, because surely the majority of those diamonds would be tied up in, you know, jewellery.” She squinted at the screen, seemingly torn between irritable and insulted. “Why would anyone have a multi‑billion-dollar diamond horde just sitting around?”
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“Maybe we’re up against a dragon?” Matt joked. Beside him, Jane’s head slowly turned and she fixed him with a razor‑thin, letterbox glare, which Matt chose to interpret as her way of saying she found him adorable.
“At this stage I would take ‘dragon’ over the other options,” Azleena muttered darkly.
“I mean at least if it was a dragon we could have a sick dragon fight.”
“Government,” growled Jane, ignoring Matt’s sheer raving idiocy, “It has to be the government.”
“Multi‑pronged,” piped up Helen, who’d clearly been listening though so far not contributing to the conversation.
“Exactly,” Jane agreed, nodding her thanks, “Attack from the Courts, attack from the radicals, attack from the FBI. Force Matt into giving into them. Cover every angle.”
“It’s not like the government to be that organised,” Matt frowned, feeling troubled. Yet he had to admit it seemed plausible.
“We can’t discount the possibility,” Azleena said, “And because of that I’m not making any conclusions until I’ve reviewed everything and talked strategy. With more than just you Jane. No offence.”
Jane grumbled under her breath but nevertheless raised no further protests. She could, it seemed, temporarily preserve her calm, at least within the safety of Morningstar’s walls.
“So what do we do in the meantime?” she asked the genius, “Just stay put?”
“I could use some breakfast,” Matt suggested. As usual, everybody ignored him.
“Things need doing,” said Azleena, “North Korea’s going to need more attention. And you still have a regular schedule. Herd’s in bed at the moment but you’ve got a full day mapped out.”
“Matt’s coming with me,” Jane stated. For the second time, Azleena’s eyes pulled away from her computer, and she fixed them both with an inscrutable, unblinking stare.
“Is that wise?” the genius asked, with only the tiniest hint of exasperation.
“Come on,” scowled Jane, “You’re sitting here talking about some international conspiracy, someone spending billions of dollars, and you still think the Academy is safe? You think there’s absolutely no possibility, not even a shadow of doubt, that one of these new Acolytes might be a sleeper, that we haven’t onboarded a rat?”
“I think that’s highly unlikely,” Azleena replied, her voice monotone. Yet the genius’s expression wavered as she turned over the possibility. “Although I guess not impossible. And potential ties of this nature aren’t something we actively screened for…”
“Exactly,” said Jane, “No offense to you or any of the newcomers, but as far as I’m concerned everyone who came in post Detroit is suspicious.”
“As much as I dislike paranoia, I think Jane’s right,” Matt grimaced. Beside him, Jane’s face flowered in surprise.
“You do?” she said, staring at him in disbelief, “You agree with me?”
“It has been known to happen.” He paused to let process her shock, which converted a moment or two later into an expression of quiet self‑satisfaction, before turning back to the others. “It only takes one, right? I mean probably not you two-” he indicated Azleena and Helen, “‑since you’re the ones who helped uncover this, but the rest… what do we really know?”
“A lot,” Azleena complained.
“Yeah, but do we know enough?” Matt replied, “Do we know with one hundred percent certainty their whole background prior to coming? Or forget infiltration, are we absolutely certain none of them could be turned? Sad to say but it sounds like there’s a lot of money on the table. And it’s not like my existence and the Legion’s necessarily aligns.”
“The Legion is going to protect you,” Jane growled, glaring at him and then everyone else for good measure.
“Right,” Matt said, “But is it such a stretch to imagine one person in the world’s foremost team of superhumans being a bit worried about the possibility of someone out there having human DNA? The greater good and all. Some of that conspiracy stuff is convincing. Besides,” he said, glancing between all three, “It’s what I’d do. Helen’s right, multi-pronged. It’s logical. If my blood can’t be obtained legally or voluntarily, why not by coercion? Create a threat, force us to respond to it. So think about it, play that scenario out. Our home gets attacked, where do we go, logically? Here. Then what? That’s easy – at some point Jane leaves and I’m left wide open. Well, somewhat semi‑open,” he corrected, seeing the dark cloud cross Azleena’s face.
“I intensely dislike this line of conversation,” the genius muttered, though she followed that statement, after a moment’s hesitation, with, “But only because it’s plausible.” She eyed off Jane and Matt. “Is dragging him everywhere better though? It’s out in the open.”
“It’s random,” Matt shrugged, “Less people know in advance where Jane’s going. And if someone makes a move she can break off. Unless we’re looking at like, the end of the world, she’s probably not going to have her hands so full she can’t protect me. And if we’re all going to die, well, then we have bigger problems.”
“Hilarious,” replied Azleena, flat and sarcastic, “Yet sadly I follow. There are no completely safe options.”
“Exactly.”
“In that case, you’re taking my bug-out bag.” The genius leaned over to her left, forcing Helen to step back, and pulled open the large bottom draw of her computer desk. Azleena reached inside and drew out a black polyester backpack with drawstrings, the kind a regular person might get as a freebie for joining a new gym. She wheeled over in her chair and held the bag up to Matt, who took it with mild to medium confusion.
“Your what?”
“My bug-out bag. Small, portable devices to assist survival in imminent danger. Physically,” she said, casting her gaze over Matt with a keen, empirical eye, “We’re actually somewhat similar in our practical uselessness in combat. Except you’re also an idiot.”
“Thanks,” Matt said, trying not to take that too personally. He weighed the bag in his hand, feeling a variety of different sized objects jangling around inside.
“You’re welcome,” replied Azleena, spinning back to her computer, “I’ll also build you a mech suit.”
Matt head snapped up from examining the bag’s contents. “Excuse me?”
“A mech suit. A mechanised suit of armour.” Still locked onto the screens, Azleena’s face split into her rare goblin grin. “It’s something of a genius tradition. The armour protects from external dangers and-”
“I know what a mech suit is,” Matt replied, having indeed watched cartoons, “I just… um…” He glanced at Jane for support, finding her completely unperturbed, as though they were discussing used car prices. “That’s… thank you?”
“You’ll love it,” Azleena assured him with a dismissive wave, “It’ll be classic, something Mentok would’ve approved of. Bulletproof, flight‑enabled, missiles-”
“I don’t know if I need-”
“Plus it’ll cover your face, hide your identity. Nobody’ll think twice to see a Siegfried accompanying Lady Dawn.”
“What’s a Sieg-”
“And it’ll make you taller,” Azleena stated, nodding over her shoulder at Matt like she expected that to meet his approval. Matt just looked concerned.
“Is there something wrong with my hei-”
“Thick boots, lumbar support, a decent visor.” The genius was not even vaguely listening to him at this point. “I think a comfortable seven feet. Six and a half, if you want to be inconspicuous.”
“As a giant killer robot?”
“Or we go big.” Abruptly Azleena stopped talking, peering off into space with her head cocked and one eye slightly squinted, “Really big. Mechazord. Ooh.” She sounded suddenly, almost sexually, excited. “With a body hole right in the centre.”
“Azleena, please, no fifty-foot robots,” Matt pleaded, “I’m getting enough attention as is.”
“Quiet, idiot. Let us do what’s best for you.”
“Stop calling him an idiot,” Jane growled. Azleena completely ignored her.
“Enough,” the genius demanded, waving aggressively behind her, “No more talking. I’ve got too much to do. Matt, take the bag, familiarise yourself.”
“How-” Matt started to say, but then his phone pinged. He glanced down to find a text message enclosing an instruction manual.
“No more questions,” said Azleena, “Unless it’s about what colour you want your robot. Jane, I’ve sent you your itinerary. Liaise with Herd. Helen, coffee.” Azleena turned back to the computer, her small eyes dark and gleaming. “No sleep this week.”