One More Trigger Pt 9 (Patreon)

The morning show Brockton Bay AM was in full swing. They were just coming back from an ad break, during which time three shadowy figures had been escorted from the wings while the studio lights were down, and seated on stage. Off to the side, an upright figure resembling a crash test dummy was also wheeled on stage.

The lights came up again, revealing three costumed teenage girls sitting in the seats. The morning host, teeth glittering in the studio lights, strode on stage, microphone at the ready.

"And welcome back to the show. I'm Barry Norton, and we have some new and exciting guests with us today. Some may recognise them as the teenage heroes who interrupted the robbery in the Weymouth Mall on Wednesday last. Calling themselves Team Samaritan, these three girls took on a bunch of four villains, all hardened criminals from out of town, and handily defeated them."

The implication, not quite voiced, was that any Brockton Bay teen hero team could take on twice their number in out-of-town adult villains, and still be home on time and get their homework done. Hometown pride, indeed.

Emma wanted to frown. We're 'the Samaritans', not 'Team Samaritan', she told herself. But she'd spent enough time in front of cameras to know not to make any move or expression that you didn't want recorded for posterity.

Beside her, Madison was sitting quietly, hands in her lap; Taylor, on the other side of Madison, was looking around with interest, and surreptitiously trying to spot her father in the audience.

Norton, in his role as the host of the show, was going on. "We managed to get a camera crew on scene while it was all being wrapped up, and our reporter spoke to Armsmaster, the leader of the Protectorate forces here in Brockton Bay."

The huge screen at the back of the studio, which up until that point had been showing a view of sunrise over Brockton Bay, as seen from Captain's Hill, dissolved into a picture of the armoured hero himself.

<><>

"Armsmaster," said the reporter urgently. "The capes who took down the villains, are they in the Wards program? What are their names?"

"They are not," replied Armsmaster briefly. "However, the offer has been made, and they may yet take it up. They call themselves Sparx, Ladybug and Aerodyne."

"What's your assessment of their heroic debut here?" asked the reporter. "How would you say they went?"

"They did the job, stopped the villains. No innocents got hurt. Nobody died. I count that as a win. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have important matters to attend to."

<><>

The picture froze, and Barry took up the microphone once more. "And that was Armsmaster, ladies and gentlemen. We all know the man is notoriously careful with his praise, so what he said there is practically a glowing recommendation. Also, we have these testimonies from the people who were actually on site."

The big screen cleared once more, and the reporter spoke to several people one after the other, the scene flickering from one brief interview to the next. Their voices rang out through the speakers.

<><>

" ... so totally awesome ... "

" ... I thought I was gonna die, then they showed up ..."

" ... totally kicked their asses ... "

" ... I'm not into girls, but they could take me home any day ..."

" ... we owe them our lives ..."

" ... that Creeper guy was the worst, and that girl just took him down like a boss ..."

" ... seriously, they owned them ..."

" ... do you guys need a sidekick? Because I'd totally do that ..."

" ... that chick with the hair? She was the bomb ..."

" ... those bugs were really creepy, but creepy in a good way, if you know what I mean ... "

<><>

The last interview faded off the screen as Barry took up the microphone again. "Creepy in a good way, indeed." He walked over to where the three girls were sitting, and shook their hands, one at a time. "It's good to have you on the show, girls."

"Thank you," said Emma, shaking his hand firmly. "It's good to be here."

Madison shook his hand next; she didn't say anything, but she smiled and nodded.

"Wow," said Taylor when he shook her hand. "This is so cool. How do I know which camera to look at?"

He smiled and pointed. "You see that little red light? When it's on, the camera is recording. When it's off, it's not."

"Oh, okay," said Taylor with a wide smile. "Thanks."

Barry seated himself and then looked over his guests.

"I guess we'll start with you, Sparx," he began. "How did you settle on your name? And does it end in K-S or with an X?"

Emma smiled. "Well, originally, Barry, I was going to go with 'Spark', but then I decided on 'Sparx'." As she spoke, her hair extended outward, forming a loose cloud around her head. "And it ends in X, because as we all know, cape names don't have to worry about the English language."

This generated a laugh from the audience, and Barry indulged himself in a chuckle. "So, your hair, how does it work? What can you do with it?"

Emma stood up, her hair extending farther. "I'm not going to give you my full capabilities, Barry, because villains watch TV too," she paused for the laugh from the audience, "but here's a little demonstration."

<><>

" – here's a little demonstration."

A dark-clad figure, the blackness of his costume only relieved by the image of a white snake winding about his body, sat watching the screen. He carefully observed every move, every gesture made by the the girl in the skintight costume and the long coat.

How very perceptive of you, Sparx, he thought. We do, indeed.

<><>

Her hair shot out in all directions, extending to twenty-five feet before she brought it to a halt. Then she brought the tendrils down, weaving together to form great ropes, which wrapped around Barry and lifted him easily from his seat.

"Whoa," he said apprehensively. "Don't drop me, now." The audience laughed again.

"You're in no danger of that," she assured him. "I can lift far more than your weight." Gently, she lowered him to his seat, and the tendrils whipped out of the way. He looked around and patted the seat, as if to reassure himself that he was indeed sitting down again. More laughter from the audience.

"So, I hear you can also generate electricity from your hair?" he said. "That must be fairly hair-raising for your enemies." A groan from the audience.

"I can indeed, Barry," she confirmed. "Once again, I'm not going to tell you my exact capability there, but if I may demonstrate?" She gestured at the dummy standing to the side of the stage.

"Be my guest," he said, with a wave of his hand.

Sparx whipped her hair forward, lashing out at the dummy, wrapping it up thoroughly. The movement was so sudden, so dramatic, that the audience clapped and cheered. And then lights began to fluouresce through her hair, racing back and forward, before converging on the dummy. There was a loud pop and crackle, and the smell of ozone permeated the air. The dummy's eyes flashed on and off rapidly, and it spoke in a tinny voice. "Error ... electrical overload ... error ... electrical overload ..."

As the audience laughed and clapped, Sparx withdrew her hair and sat down again, primly crossing her legs.

Barry clapped along with them. "Well, that was certainly dramatic," he said. "Now, Aerodyne, I understand that you can control air?" He waved his hand in front of his face. "Is that very useful? I mean, air's pretty thin stuff."

Aerodyne stood up, flexing her fingers. "It is, yes," she said. "But you know the good thing about controlling air? You can find it nearly anywhere." She stepped away from the chair and raised her arms until they were straight out from her sides. Wind sprang up from nowhere, whipping around her, and causing her costume to flare outward in all directions.

And then she began to rise off the ground, legs straight, toes pointed downward, arms still outstretched. The wind whistled and caught at peoples' clothes, and stray papers blew about while she hung in the air, ten feet above the floor. After several seconds, she settled to the ground, took a step toward the dummy, and brought up her hand in a striking motion, palm out. A ripple of air blasted across the distance between her and the dummy, and it rocked wildly on its base.

"Whoa, whoa," it bleated in its tinny voice. "I give up, I give up!"

The audience clapped and cheered again; she bowed to them, then sat down.

Barry clapped along with the audience. "That was very impressive," he said. "And now, last but not least, we have Ladybug." He nodded to the girl dressed in the red-with-black-spots costume. "I understand you control insects."

Ladybug nodded. "Yeah. Well, to be more precise, I control bugs."

"So you're a lady who controls bugs. Ladybug. Got it." Barry nodded, then paused. "So what's the difference?"

Ladybug smiled. "Spiders are bugs too. Anything without a backbone, and a very simple brain, I can probably control."

"Ah," said Barry. "So basically, politicians."

The audience burst out laughing and clapped at his joke.

Ladybug chuckled as well, then shook her head. "Sorry, Barry. It's got to have some sort of brain before I can control it."

More clapping, more laughter.

Barry applauded her riposte, then tilted his head. "No, but seriously, Ladybug, the ability to control bugs doesn't seem too powerful to me. What can one bug do?"

"If I was going to stick with one bug, not much," said Ladybug. "But I don't." She turned to the audience. "If anyone here is scared of bugs of any sort, be aware that every bug in this building is under my personal control. No-one here is in any danger at all. You have my direct assurance on that."

She gestured, needlessly but dramatically. From the darkness all around flowed the swarm which she had been stashing there since she entered the building. The majority of flyers carried crawlers, while other crawlers scuttled across the floor and up the legs of the dummy. In seconds, it was covered from head to toe.

Immediately, it began to thrash and flail its arms uselessly. Its tinny speakers cried out, "Ahh, bugs, get them off me, get them off me!"

Ladybug gestured again, and the swarm melted off the dummy, leaving it pristine.

There was a long pause, then clapping and cheering rose once more.

<><>

Vista's comm buzzed with a message. She read it off. "Aww," she complained. "The Director wants to see me. I wanted to watch the rest of this."

"You'd better go," advised Aegis. "She doesn't like to be kept waiting."

<><>

"Thank you, Ladybug, for that demonstration," said Barry Norton cheerfully. "I know I certainly would not want to be in that poor dummy's place."

He waited for the applause to die down, then addressed them as a group. "So ... you call yourselves Team Samaritan, correct?"

"Actually," said Ladybug, "I thought we were going with 'the Samaritans'." She turned to Sparx. "Weren't we?"

Sparx shrugged. "Apparently we're now Team Samaritan." It's not a bad name.

Barry nodded and chuckled, now made aware of his error. "Well, whatever you end up using, I guess you're modelling yourselves on the idea of the Good Samaritan, to help out people in need?"

"That's ... about right," agreed Sparx. "We don't really have a power theme, and so we wanted a team name that said 'we do good things'."

"I've heard of worse ideas," agreed Barry. "So who's your team leader, anyway?"

Aerodyne looked at Ladybug, and then they both looked at Sparx.

"That would have to be Sparx," said Ladybug.

Sparx shook her head. "You two both come up with awesome plans and ideas," she protested.

"But you're the one who knows how to deal with people," retorted Aerodyne.

"She's right," Ladybug agreed. "If it wasn't for you, this team wouldn't be happening."

Sparx shrugged. "Well, I guess I'm the leader, for whatever that's worth in this team," she said to Barry. "I like to think we're all in it together. I mean, we all depend on each other so much."

Barry nodded. "I have to say, it's refreshing to see people not trying to grab the top spot in a team."

Sparx looked at the others. "We've trained together enough to know that no one person can do the job of the whole team."

"And if you start giving orders without knowing what's going on, and get it wrong," chimed in Ladybug, "everyone suffers."

"So yeah," Aerodyne concluded, "what we work at is communication, so we're all on the same page. That's how to get the job done."

<><>

Sitting several rows back, Danny Hebert traded discreet fist-bumps with Alan Barnes and Rod Clements. What the girls had just said was the distillation of what Danny and the other two had worked so hard at getting them to understand over the last three months.

They get it, he told himself. They really get it.

<><>

"You wanted to see me, Director?" asked Vista.

Emily Piggot nodded. "Come in and close the door," she said.

Vista entered, as directed. She stood in front of the desk, arms behind her back.

The Director looked her over. "Are you happy here, Ms Biron?" she asked.

"Um ... yes?" replied Vista, startled that the question had even been asked.

"That didn't sound very happy to me," observed Director Piggot. "The way I understand things, you're unhappy because people treat you as a kid, even though you've got more time as a Ward than most. Isn't that true?"

Vista blinked. "Uh –" How did she know about that? "It's not really important, Director. I'm doing good work here. My personal feelings don't really matter."

The Director shook her head. "There's more to it than that. As it happens, we have more boys than girls on the team, and you're at an age when you would like someone to talk to about such matters. And the only other girl on the team is Flechette, and she spends most of her off-duty time away from the base."

Vista's eyes were wide behind her visor. Director Piggot was very much more aware of what went on in the Wards than she'd previously given the woman credit for. I'm going to have to warn Dennis to quit it with the Miss Piggy jokes.

"Director ...?" she asked. She wants me to do something. This is more than a normal interview. Much more.

Piggot leaned forward. "You've been watching Brockton Bay AM, with the spot on this new Team Samaritan, correct?" she asked.

Vista nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"What is your opinion of them?"

Vista blinked. "Well, Armsmaster likes them –"

Director Piggot cleared her throat. "If I wanted Mr Wallis's opinion of them, I would ask the man myself." She fixed Vista with a firm gaze. "I would like your opinion."

"Um ... they look pretty cool, actually," said Vista. "I'd like to know where they got their costumes from. That's not homemade stuff. Or if it is, it's really good."

"Indeed," murmured Director Piggot. "Well, if you want, you can find out for me."

This was moving too fast for Vista. "I don't –"

"Ms Biron," said Director Piggot patiently. "I would like you to take a leave of absence from the Wards, and offer your services to Team Samaritan as an official liaison from the Wards. They're all teenage girls, so you will have that in common, and your Wards training should be an asset to them."

"I ... " said Vista. "Quit the Wards?"

"I believe I said 'leave of absence," corrected the Director. "More precisely, detached duty. You will continue to be paid your Wards salary, and you will be joining Team Samaritan on a temporary basis only. They are a new team, and there are sure to be teething problems. You will have us to turn to, to ensure that these do not get in the way of the Samaritans being as effective as they can be." She paused. "Also," she added delicately, "if you happen to see any wrongdoing, it would be your duty to report it."

"So I'm a spy now," said Vista flatly.

"I believe I said 'liaison'," Director Piggot replied blandly. "You won't be acting against them, unless you find that they are committing crimes. I won't be asking you to find out their secret identities, or even carry a wire. I just want you to join the team and help them to become as effective a team of heroes as they can be."

Vista looked at her steadily. "Why this team?" she asked. "What's so important about them that you have to put a liaison in their ranks?"

"Because the young lady known as Sparx bears a striking resemblance to the person who defeated Lung three months ago, and is almost certainly the same one who brought down Shadow Stalker. From the way she's been handling herself of late, she's been getting professional-level training from somewhere. I'd be very interested in finding out where. Also, as you noted, the costumes. They are not home-made, nor are they store-bought."

Vista paused. The Director had a very good point. "Why me?" she asked. "Why not Flechette? She's closer to their age."

Piggot nodded, conceding the point, but then answered it anyway. "She's already got an outside relationship going on. I don't want her becoming distracted."

"Oh," said Vista. "Well ... how long do I have to decide whether I'll do it or not?"

Director Piggot considered simply making it an order, but then she thought again. "Forty-eight hours," she said.

Vista grimaced. "I hate leaving the team in the lurch."

"In the long run," pointed out Piggot, "this will be for the good of the team. And you'll be in a position of greater responsibility, helping coordinate any joint actions."

Vista brightened. "I guess," she said. "But I still don't like leaving the others behind."

But she knew she'd do it anyway.

<><>

"Wow," said Taylor. "What's this?"

The message had come in on the anonymous email account set up for Team Samaritan, and Danny had called Taylor to have a look.

<><>

Management of Weymouth Mall wishes to offer Team Samaritan a one-time reward of fifty thousand dollars ($50,000) for services rendered on Wednesday last.

Contact management for further details.

<><>

"I contacted them via their public email address," said Danny, "and it's legitimate. They want to reward you for what you did."

"Wow," said Taylor again. "What do we do?"

"You accept it, of course," said Danny promptly. "Charging money is one thing. Accepting it is another."

And so, that afternoon, Team Samaritan jointly accepted a cheque worth fifty thousand dollars from the CEO of the group that owned and managed the Weymouth Mall.

As he said in a private aside; "I know it sounds like a lot to you kids, but the amount of property damage that could have taken place, not to mention the people who could have been hurt, might have put the cost into the millions, if you hadn't intervened so effectively. Superhero teams cost money, and if you're the age I think you are, you'll be looking at college soon. So take it."

So they had taken it, and immediately run into a stumbling block.

<><>

"How are we going to bank it?" asked Emma. 'The Weymouth people don't want to make a big noise about it, and if we walk into the bank in costume to open a team account and bank it, it will hit the news big time."

"And if we walk in out of costume and bank it, there go our secret identities," Taylor pointed out.

"Maybe one of our dads could bank it for us," suggested Madison. "Emma, your dad's a lawyer. He could say he's representing us."

"Until someone looks at him, and then at the fact that he's got a red-haired daughter. And then, secret identity – fzzzp!" Emma's voice was unhappy. "How can we bank this?"

"Ah," said Taylor. "Emma, your dad knows other people who are in cape law, right?"

Emma nodded. "Yeah, a few," she said. "But what – oh!"

"Oh, what?" asked Madison.

"I think Taylor's got it," replied Emma. "Dad talks to one of his lawyer friends. They're bound by client confidentiality. He banks it, Dad pays him for his time. Maybe a couple of hundred, maybe a thousand. And from then on ... we're good."

"Damn," said Madison. "I think it'll work."

Taylor grinned, then oofed as Emma and Madison double-hugged her. "You, my dear Ms Hebert, are a genius," said Emma fondly.

Taylor hugged them back. "All for one, right?"

"And one for all," they replied.

<><>

"Calle Associates. Quinn Calle speaking."

"Good morning, Mr Calle. My name is Alan Barnes."

"Ah, Mr Barnes. I have heard your name before. You attended a symposium on cape law last year, and asked some very cogent questions."

"Ah. Thank you, Mr Calle. I'm actually calling on a matter to do with capes in general, not specifically cape law."

Calle raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening, Mr Barnes."

"I need to purchase your time for one hour, sometime in the next few days."

"And what would I be doing in that time, Mr Barnes?"

"Before I answer that question, I need to know if you accept my offer of employment. This involves lawyer-client privilege, you see."

"You are aware of my rates, Mr Barnes?"

"I am, Mr Calle."

"Then you have just hired me. I happen to be free for the next hour. What is it that you need me to do?"

So Alan Barnes explained about the cheque for fifty thousand, and how it needed to be banked, and how he needed a neutral third party to do it for him.

It was something new; it was something different. So Quinn Calle agreed to do it. He could stroll down to the Brockton Bay Central Bank in his lunch hour, get it done, and be back in time for his next appointment.

The cheque arrived by special messenger half an hour later, along with detailed instructions on how the account was to be set up.

When his lunch hour was due to start, he put the envelope into his briefcase and left the office. It would only be a short walk to the bank.

<><>

Emma nudged Taylor in the ribs. "There he is," she hissed. "He just walked in."

Taylor tried to look over the heads of the crowd, and gave up; she focused on the bugs she had stashed throughout the bank – I will never go anywhere ever again without a swarm – and their senses.

The gestalt she picked up gave her a good picture of Quinn Calle, joining the end of the line.

"Is that him who just joined the line?" asked Madison in an undertone.

Taylor nodded. "Isn't this so awesome?" she whispered. "Team Samaritan's getting its very own bank account. And I've had some ideas. Our costumes are pretty durable; maybe the PRT will pay us for making spider-silk gear for them too."

Madison and Emma turned to her with widened eyes. "Sell stuff to the PRT?" gasped Madison. "Cool."

Quinn Calle was entirely unaware of the three teenage girls huddled and whispering toward the back of the bank; even if he had taken notice of them, he would not have paid more than a second's worth of attention. Depositing a cheque for fifty thousand in the bank for a group of teenage superheroes may sound like menial work, but he was being paid his standard rates for it, and so he would carry out the work he was being paid to do.

Calle reached the head of the line, and commenced negotiations with the teller regarding the cheque and the details of the account. Soon, a senior bank executive emerged and escorted him into a side-room, where the details were hammered out.

Taylor listened carefully with the bugs she had in the room, and it sounded like the account was being opened exactly in the manner that was specified. She was not surprised; Quinn Calle had a reputation for meticulous exactitude.

It did not take long before Calle and the executive rose and shook hands; Calle exited the room and began to make his way to the doors.

<><>

And then three gigantic monsters, shaped vaguely like dogs, but the size of horses, burst out of a door to the back of the bank. Barking and growling, sounding like malfunctioning rock crushers, they barrelled through the lobby. People screamed and fell away from them. Taylor could swear they were growing as she watched them.

She was already reaching into her bag for the helmet to her costume – there was no way she could get the whole thing on in time – when darkness rolled through the room, and all the lights went out.

Emma was used to being in darkness; she pulled her mask up over her face and let her hair tendrils spread out close to the ground, giving her a good picture of what was around her.

Taylor's swarm started spilling out of the cracks and crevices in which she had stashed them, forming a living cloak around her, and incidentally hiding her clothes. She took the time to cover the security cameras with bugs; if anything noteworthy happened, she would uncover them, but she did not want any more clues to her identity uncovered than absolutely possible. Other bugs spread out through the room, giving her a good map of the area.

Madison reached into her bag and pulled out the softer-than-soft spider-silk mask that Taylor's spiders had crafted for her. She pulled it over her face in a practised movement.

While the darkness had an almost palpable feel to it, she could still make air move through it, and feel the obstacles that the air hit as tiny impacts.

<><>

Following the dogs came a loud revving engine noise; Taylor's bugs worked out a rough humanoid shape, metallic, with wheels down near the feet. Some sort of wheeled power armour. But not airtight ... or bug-tight.

The darkness had a boundary; outside it, people entered the lobby from the rear door. One was a young man in motorcycle leathers and helmet, leaking darkness. Another, a girl in a skintight black and purple costume. A third; male, with black curly hair, with a ren-faire style costume, carrying a golden sceptre. And the fourth was a stocky girl with auburn hair and a dog-face mask. The initial person to enter the lobby was over near the doors, revving his engine.

The descriptions were vaguely familiar. Mr Barnes had made them all study the parahuman criminal databases, so they'd know what they faced, if they came across a known villain.

The Undersiders were robbing the bank.

The bank that had just accepted their cheque.

Hell, no.

That was not going to fly.

Part 10