The Metawars, Chapter 12

You'll find that a lot of the dialogue and interactions from the end of this chapter are recycled from the previous Chapter 13.  I wasn't able to squeeze in Ghost's conversations with Captain Chicago or Brick.  Your opinions on their exclusion would be nice.

This chapter needs some severe editing, fyi.

Chapter 12:

“Is this really happening?” Ghost asked, brandishing the ivory-colored envelope. It was addressed to The New York Guardians, 90 Park Avenue, New York NY. The return address was somewhere in Washington, DC. “A party?”

“It's not a party,” said Evermind as she leafed through the contents of the letter. “They're strategy meetings and a Metahuman solidarity and unity summit. That's what they're calling it, anyway.”

 

“And what pencil-pushing idealist came up with that name?” Hothead asked.

“Someone who probably gets paid more than us,” Speedster said solemnly.

“No, really. Seriously.” Ghost waved the envelope around, hoping it would get everyone's attention. “How can they expect us to take this war seriously if they want us all to go to this event?” He stopped himself from putting unnecessary sarcastic emphasis on the word 'war'. There was no other word for what it was, but there was something awful about calling it that. It was not a war. It was the heroes desperately trying to respond to terrorist strikes across the country. The Vietnam of my generation. “Won't we all just be vulnerable if all the heroes are present?”

“They won't be,” Evermind explained, still not looking up at Ghost. She drummed her nails against the kitchen counter while Brick gathered things for dinner. Speedster kept dashing in and out between the kitchen and the Situation Room where he was on duty. The pressure in Ghost's ears kept changing from Speedster's rapid air-shaking movements, a complaint of pain building up in his head. “It'll likely just be the team leaders and tacticians. Private meetings and public events. Two days. The home teams will be bolstered by additional armed forces.”

 

Ghost was not convinced.

“You're not convinced,” said Evermind as she flipped the letter over.

“No.”

 

Evermind sighed and went on reading. Ghost floated over to the couch, grabbing Super America from the side table. “So who's going?” Hothead asked as Ghost thumbed the volume open to the bookmarked chapter: DMR Restructuring. It was in 1980 when the Department of Metahuman Regulation and the American superhero saw its first glimmer of real change in over twenty years. With Mikeal Gorbachev as premier of the Soviet Union, the Russian state Metahuman program had reached-

“Myself, of course,” Evermind said. Ghost glanced over the top of his book at the other three. No, four. Speedster had just run in again.

“What about me?” he asked, nearly bouncing up and down in excitement.

“You'll be more useful here,” Evermind told him.

“Translation:” Hothead said in a stage whisper to Speedster, “you'll be a liability there.”

 

Ghost slunk back behind his book, hiding a smirk. Speedster would probably love nothing more than to be in DC, schmoozing with senators at fancy cocktail parties, dazzling important people with his supposed wit and charm, flirting with wealthy and powerful women, and all in front of the cameras.

 

The brief thought of Speedster in private with some pretty woman sent a jab of jealousy through Ghost's stomach. It was the sort of thing that happened all the time, as he and the gossip columns well knew. For some reason, he found himself caring now.

 

He went back to the book, but somehow he'd lost his place. He frowned and started at the top of the page again.

“Actually, I thought I'd bring Ghost.”

 

Ghost jolted up. “Wait, what?”

“We have a winner,” Hothead grinned.

“Why me?” Ghost asked as the others all looked at him.

 

Evermind put the letter down on the counter and addressed him from across the room. “I think you'll be able to offer a valuable insight to the process. That, and a change of scenery and roles might be beneficial for you. You may actually enjoy it, you know.”

 

Ghost sincerely doubted that. Locked up in strategy meetings with a bunch of other recruited heroes, stodgy politicians and generals? Geez, what could possibly be more fun than that? “Why not you and Brick?” Ghost asked.

“I need Brick to remain here in New York,” said Evermind. “Chain of command.”

“Suits me,” Hothead said.

“Don't worry, Ghost,” Brick said when Ghost slouched back into the cushions. “I think it'll be a great experience for you. You'll be doing important work.”

“Sure,” he muttered. “Just like I am now.” He felt himself turning invisible and made no effort to stop it. Why should he? He realized he was being childish. Selfish, even. This was supposed to be something big and he'd been chosen to help with it and all he could think about was how much he didn't want to do it. Guess that was part of the whole package deal. Be a superhero, do what your team leader tells you to do. Heroes in comics never had to go to meetings and summits. But Ghost was quickly learning that there was a lot they didn't show you in comic books.

 

He barely paid attention during dinner, even though Brick's food was good. He didn't say a word to anyone before he climbed into bed. Sleep was a long time coming, and when he finally nodded off, the patterns of New York lights playing across his window flashed behind his closed eyelids. He was woken in the morning by Evermind, her brisk knocking breaking apart his dream. “Alright, alright,” he muttered as he dragged himself out of bed. He tried to remember his dream, but all he could recall were flashing lights and the approaching footsteps of...something. He mumbled and muttered through Evermind's instructions and details as he shoved clothes and books into a duffel bag. Evermind's luggage was a sleek grey suitcase, the clasps sporting the Guardians' G.

 

The rest of the team waved them off. “We'll try not to blow up the city while your gone,” said Hothead. Unamused, Ghost just nodded. Evermind said, “Ha ha,” and swept onto the elevator. Olivia Lopez held them up in the lobby, wishing them luck and safe travels and other stuff. Ghost stopped paying attention after the first minute.

 

Grand Central Station was at the end of the block, so it only took a few minutes to make it and even less time to be whisked ahead to their awaiting train. They got less attention from bystanders than Ghost had expected. He attributed it to the early hour and their street clothes.

“Don't be in such a funk,” Evermind said to him once they were seated. First class. Ghost stretched his legs out as far as they would go, then sunk lower in his seat to stretch out even further. “It's going to make the whole experience much less pleasant.” Ghost's response was to hide from Evermind behind his book. “Do you know why I wanted you to come?” she asked him.

“I guess.”

“Beyond the fact that I couldn't leave Hothead in charge of the Guardians, I thought you would be the most useful.”

 

Ghost put the book down, genuinely intrigued. “Better than Brick?”

“Different skills,” she said. The train was rumbling along now, Manhattan's skyscrapers vanishing and replaced by low buildings and marshes. “You'll be good with the people, Ghost. You're young and people respond to that.” She crossed her legs and clasped her hands. “Perhaps you haven't noticed, but the Guardians haven't looked their best since the start of the war. I think you'll be able to help with that.”

 

Ghost felt part of him inside swell with pride. That small vote of confidence from Evermind meant more than he'd realized it would. And then, just as quickly, it deflated. He was being used as a simple PR stunt. And why should what she said matter? Was he being strung along, following the glowing lure of a brief compliment to make up for everything else? Well, forget it. He made a point to exchange as few words with Evermind as possible for the rest of the trip. For her part, she didn't seem to mind.

 

Four hours later when they stepped off the train in Union Station they were immediately hauled aside by security guards, military men in fatigues with concealed guns. They walked beside them, their steps brisk, their faces stern.

“Why are they here?” he asked Evermind as softly as he could. The clap of military boots against the floor and the loud sounds of trains and passengers around them almost drowned him out.

“Protection,” Evermind said. “This is somewhat of a covert operation. Unannounced. If Nucleon knew so many important Metahumans were in one place together...” She left the rest unsaid. “The security's additional protection.”

 

Ghost felt that the addition of two armed men made their presence even more obvious, but he kept silent. Said guards escorted them to a taxi outside the station, and then they were whisked away to a hotel. Ghost had never been to DC before, and he found himself glued to the window, watching the city around him. In the window's reflection he could see Evermind looking at him.

 

They barely had time to establish themselves in their hotel (something fancy and doubtlessly expensive, if the minibar in his room could be trusted; Ghost was tempted to take the king-size Snickers just for the DMR to pay for it) when they were swept away by a government escort to the Pentagon. Dressed again in their uniforms, they were pushed through the endless security checks. It took the Guardian's ID card, a metal scanner, and a DMR telepath to see them through. Ghost watched in quiet amusement as Evermind stared down the government psychic, innocuous in her jacket and skirt. The psychic probe lasted only two seconds, but Ghost walked away with a sharp pain between his eyes.

“As if they don't trust us,” Evermind muttered as they were shown down the white halls. “Really unnecessary.”

 

Ghost decided not to say anything. He knew Evermind's objection was to being mentally scanned herself. Funny how much she objected to it. Evermind gave him a sharp look and Ghost looked away, praying that she hadn't heard him.

 

The meeting took place in a large windowless conference room. Ghost estimated about fifty people present, and even with the meeting agenda before him he had no idea what was going on. Every fact was disputed, every idea struck down and counter-proposed and hailed once again. Ghost found himself watching people instead of listening. At one end sat a man and a woman in the dark green of the West Coast Warriors. Deluge and Miss Amazing, he thought. Psychout of the Rough Riders. Captain Chicago, who waved and winked at Evermind and Ghost. Ghost took to scribbling on the back of his agenda.

“We can't support the production of more R1,” some member of the DMR blustered.

“Why not?” Deluge asked.

“It's outside of our budgetary limits!” the man insisted. Secretary Chapman agreed.

“Why shouldn't we use them against Nucleon? It would have to work!” Several others agreed.

 

Ten minutes later a decision still hadn't been reached. Chapman suggested calling in an expert from Lynch Labs, which led to another hearty round of debate.

 

Privately, Ghost wondered if this sort of thing would go faster if not for the superheroes present. Too many egos squashed in too small a space. He felt suffocated by it.

“Well, that was productive,” Evermind said when they left. Ghost couldn't tell whether she was being sarcastic or not.

 

And that evening they had more to do. No rest for the wicked. Or the famous, in this case. Ghost and Evermind traded one set of uniforms for another; this time, fancy dress clothes. There was something horribly awkward about adjusting his tie (blue and white) in front of the mirror while Evermind looked on.

“Lovely.” She wasn't wearing her sunglasses, but her eyes had been done up with striking makeup. Ghost found himself somehow unwilling to meet her gaze. “Remember, Ghost, this is your time to shine. Chat everyone up.”

“Why?”

“To get them to like us. To get them to aid us.”

“But what do we need?”

“I'll tell you as I figure it out,” she said.

 

If the combination of politicians and heroes in the Pentagon had been odd, it was even stranger at an uptown club, where humans and Metahumans alike mingled, all dressed in their best and conversing over h'or devourers. Evermind glided through the crowd, glass of champagne in one hand, perfectly at home. Ghost huddled up in a corner of the room near the main door, doing his best not to turn invisible. What had she been thinking? What made her think that he'd be good at socializing with so many people, making small talk with other heroes and elected officials? She should have brought Brick.

 

Well, there are some perks, he thought as he grabbed a small spinach-and-feta pie from a passing waiter.

 

*Ghost! The Los Angeles representatives are nearby. Go on.*

 

Prodded on by Evermind, he found Deluge and Miss Amazing close by. “Hello,” he said, and when neither turned to him, he repeated himself, a little louder. “Hey.”

 

Deluge turned. He'd slicked back his blond hair, and a set of pinkish gills gaped from the side of his neck, just visible over his shirt collar. “Salutations,” said Deluge with a smile. Ghost nodded to him. “Guardians, right?” he asked, with a glance at Ghost's tie.

“Yeah. I'm Ghost.”

“Ghost, huh?” Deluge held out his hand, and Ghost shook it as briefly as he could. “How long you been on the team, Ghost?”

“Three years, now.” God, had it been that long?

“It's been a while since I was in New York,” Deluge said. “You know, I was considered for team leader of the Guardians, back when Sentinel retired. I hadn't been in the game long, but the bigwigs at the DMR thought I had the right stuff. Now, they said that I would be great for a team leader even though I was only twenty-six. Well, eventually they figured my powers would be better suited out in LA, and hey, I'm glad they waited to make me a team leader, because age and deceit will always trump youth and skill.”

 

Ghost blinked, utterly unsure of what to say. He settled with, “Okay.”

“Best part is being out west let me meet my lovely wife Cora.” Deluge put his arm around Miss Amazing's shoulder. “You know, when I met her-”

“Save it, John,” Miss Amazing said. “You've told that story a million times.”

“But he's never heard it before!”

 

She made an indistinct noise in the back of her throat. “I have, and I'm right here.” Her long brown hair had been done in elaborate waves and curls, the way she looked in her official pictures and interviews, minus the usual domino mask. Ghost doubted she did much crime fighting the way she looked on TV. “Are you enjoying yourself, Ghost?” she asked.

 

Ghost shrugged. “I guess.”

“Not the best strategy meeting I've ever been to,” she said. “Pretty scattered. We'll figure something out, but for now, I think this is a pretty nice gathering.”

“Not quite the same as our wedding reception, eh?” Deluge asked her. He smiled and leaned in close, whispering something into her ear. She rolled her eyes and said, “John!”

“I'm serious!” he said. “I know this is official government business, but they could seriously do with a little music. Some Stones, some Grateful Dead, you know?”

“That's not quite why we're here.”

“So we should just resign ourselves to a boring party? A party without-”

“Pretty much,” she said, cutting him off.

 

He pulled a long face. “That's no fun.”

“Sorry.” The twinkle in her eye and the tiny smile she flashed her husband undermined the flat tone of her apology.

 

Ghost wondered whether they'd always been like this. They'd only been married for a few years, an event that the media jumped all over. Had about as much coverage as a presidential election or a royal marriage. It had been, in a sense. The guest list had included celebrities, superheroes, and the mayor of Los Angeles. Even before then, the tabloids had been filled with photos of the two of them flirting and fighting. Pictures of Deluge and Miss Amazing grabbing coffee together! Wearing civilian clothing on the beach! Look, they have to eat and breath just like you and me! Just like regular humans do!

 

It wasn't often that Metahumans were married; a life of superheroics didn't leave much time for other things. But somehow Deluge and Miss Amazing had hit it off and found time to lead their team and maintain an apparently successful marriage. Rumors were still swirling about when they'd have a child, if ever. Having Miss Amazing out of commission for months on maternity leave would be disastrous for California's defense. What concerned Ghost far more was what their potential child would be like. Every other superhero Ghost knew had grown up in a normal life before being swept away to serve under the MPA. Any child born with famous figures as parents would never have a normal life. They'd be a superhero in training from day one, born a sidekick. The kid probably wouldn't even have a normal name. It would just say 'Amazo' or 'The Astonishing Superkid' on its birth certificate.

 

Ghost shifted his feet, eager to be away from the couple, when he spotted someone across the room. “Sorry,” he muttered, and pushed his way through the crowd. “Hey! Lightshow! Hey!” He nearly stepped on the toes of some tall and important-looking man, past Evermind deep in conversation with some New York senator, (“Of course, it would mean a lot to the Guardians and the people of the state of New York if our jurisdiction was expanded beyond the five boroughs...”), past someone with an Atlanta Liberators lapel pin laughing at some politician's joke, and to Lightshow. “Hey.”

 

She smiled at him, braces flashing blue and red. “Hey, Ghost.”

“I didn't know you were here,” he said. “You weren't at the meeting.”

“No,” she said, “Captain Chicago had me go to a congressional meeting.” She wore a dark blue dress, and Ghost noticed that her ears were pierced with little pink studs.

“Lucky.” He put his hands in his pockets, unsure of what to say next. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“I just realized, I don't know your name,” he said. “Your real name, I mean.”

“It's Allison,” she said with another smile.

“Oh. I'm Billy. Well, William, really, but my mom was the only one who called me that.”

“Billy. Okay.” She paused for a beat. Ghost scrambled for something to say during the interminable stretch of silence. “Why Billy, instead of Ghost?” she asked, to his relief. “I think it's a good codename.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“I wanted to be Spectrum, but there's already someone registered with that codename, and I wasn't allowed to use Rainbow Bright.”

 

Ghost shrugged. “I dunno. Sometimes I get tired of being called Ghost. I was Billy for so long and then I was given another name.”

“Like a nickname.”

“But worse.”

“I'm so used to Captain Chicago and the others calling me Lightshow that I don't mind anymore.”

 

She was missing the point entirely. “And that doesn't bother you?”

“It did,” she said. “Not anymore.” Ghost frowned. “So, how have things been back in New York?” she asked.

“Okay. Could be better. There hasn't really been anything since the whole 30 Rock thing.”

“We just had an attack,” she said. “In Ann Arbor. Not connected to Nucleon, just some unregistered Metahuman with anti-MPA ideas. He could control plants. He had trees walking all over the city, attacking buildings and scooping up people.”

“Heh. Ents gone bad.” He chuckled at his own joke.

 

Lightshow gave him a curious look. “What gone bad?”

“Ents. Tree-herders. Lord of the Rings. J.R.R. Tolkien.” Ghost gestured wildly through the air to express his exasperation, almost hitting a passing waiter. “Sorry. Have you really never heard of them?”

She shrugged. “Sorry. I haven't read the books.”

“Geez, really? Okay, I mean, if you're not into fantasy, I get it...”

“I've read The Chronicles of Narnia. Does that count?”

“Sure. I've read those, too.” Ghost felt a strange sense of relief at this revelation. Something in common. “Favorite one?”

“Two,” she answered promptly.

“Not six? Come on. No one else likes six.”

“I haven't read them in a while,” she explained. “Middle school, I think? I really like them, but I haven't had time to reread them between field work, training and tutoring.”

“Eh, don't bother. They sort of lose their magic once you get older and you figure out they're just thin Christian allegory.”

“I already knew that,” she said. “But I still enjoyed them.”

 

Ghost bit back the onslaught of retorts he had. Normally he'd want to pick the argument apart, discuss C.S. Lewis's works as they pertained to modern literature and fantasy, the inherit issues of religion and sexism and ham-handed symbolism, but he didn't. What if it scared her off? He wasn't about to give her, the only superhero his age he'd ever met, the impression that he was an opinionated jackass.

 

Which I sort of am, so yeah. But still.

“Cool.” He glanced away from her, watching the knots of people mill around them. He tried to catch snatches of their conversations, but it was all just muddied noise. “Hey. Um, Allison?”

“Yeah?”

 

He exhaled. “Nothing. Just wanted to call you that.”

“Oh.” She tugged at her ponytail.

“You know. A normal name. Do you ever just want to be called Allison, sometimes? Do you ever want...you know...everything back the way it was?”

 

He waited for her response, his nerves tingling. His question had been perfectly innocent, but he felt as though he'd just broached some sort of forbidden subject. What was he waiting for?

 

Lightshow tipped her head back, looking at the chandeliers and dark wood ceiling. When she spoke, her voice was so quiet Ghost almost missed it. “I don't know.”

 

The voices around them died down as a man walked up to a podium in front of the room. There was a polite scattering of applause as he took his place and all present turned to him. Ghost was grateful for the distraction. He delivered some generic greeting, thanking everyone for coming and being a part of this historic and important event. “I'd like to introduce now a man entirely devoted to this cause. The man without whom this could not have happened. Please welcome Senator Spencer Alan!”

 

Lightshow stood on her toes as everyone clapped, straining to get a look at the podium. Ghost clapped, once.

“Senator Spencer Alan!” the man repeated after ten seconds. The applause died down. People started to look around. They muttered. Ghost felt the back of his neck tingle.

“Senator Alan?”