Interlude - Then and Now (1/2)

Then:

Betrayal rarely sat well with Anastasia. Not as the victim nor as the perpetrator. Fortunately, in this case she was neither. Though, even if it was not her own word that she was breaking, she couldn't help but feel disgusted at the necessity of the act. There was an inherent wrongness in it that left a bad taste in her mouth. It was nothing unexpected. The inevitable result of politics and humanity and time and power. How sad that events had come to this; this extermination of those she'd once counted as allies. Because it would come to that, no matter what her peers had deluded themselves into believing. The People would not meekly submit. They were like her in that way.

”The Champion will see you now, Mrs. Summers,” a man's voice said, bringing Anastasia's musing to an end. She sat in the packed lobby of a doctor's office; a public clinic open to all in need of healing. The orderly speaking to her was one of many, a volunteer, giving his time back to the community that had raised him. The clinic was sustained entirely by private donations, and seen as a hallmark of the city. That the Champion of Chicago was known to frequent it, offering both assistance and protection, only deepened its allure. This was the People's fortress, their castle, their place of power.

And Anastasia was here to break some very bad news.

She would have felt afraid if she was anyone but herself. There was a certain undeniable security in being the most powerful person in the room. An invisible shield and sword, a promise of violence that spared more than it smited. It was why she'd come personally. That, and she owed the People. They should hear it from familiar lips when their hopes were turned to ash.

She had arrived in Chicago by rocket sledge, one of her husband's more insane designs. Little more than a steel tube strapped to a jet engine, its ludicrous speed well outpaced any rumors from Washington. The first of what politicians were calling the Vigilante acts should be on Nixon's desk by now, ready to be signed into law. The culmination of her husband's labor, years in the making. The leeches in the press room would have it in hours, and the papers would be printing the details by morning. Her work here would be finished by then.

Still, she couldn't discount the People's resources. They would almost certainly find out beforehand, word being slipped to them through sympathizers or fools or plain bad luck. It was better that they hear it from her first. While Champion's reaction to the news would largely determine what comes next, she was prepared for rogue action. He held his organization in a velvet glove but lacked an iron fist to back it up. The man was too pacifistic to engage in the methods needed to secure his rule. It was admirable in a way, if foolish. Now, America would likely suffer the consequences of his naivete.

She had never thought to be in a position to determine the future of a country. Was this what her father had imagined for her, when he'd sent her sailing across the dying waters of the Golden Horn Bay, in the hands of strangers? She had walked a strange path, this last decade and a half, from the poisoned sky of Vladivostok, all the way to the steps of Chicago's most powerful vigilante.

She followed the orderly through clean hallways, down deep in to the heart of the clinic. It was a sprawling building, of size with those massive shopping malls that had sprung up across the city, with multiple stories and built to last. It cost a small fortune in rent alone, to say nothing of maintaining such an extravagant building. Less a clinic than a modern hospital. Not the first of its kind, but by far one of the most outrageously expensive. On the surface, it was ludicrous.

For those in the know, it made perfect sense. The People used it as a staging ground, and for good reason. Only the most brazen of villains would dare to attack a hospital, certainly none of the gangster scum that made up the majority of the Natural crime population. The fact that it was built like a modern fortress only added to the difficulty of a siege. No one sane would voluntarily pick a fight with the People here. Not, at least, from without.

The orderly brought Anastasia to a stately conference room. Glass windows revealed its occupants: Champion, still wearing his signature tweed, and his two closest lieutenants. The first was Kyoma, a man encased entirely in a flowing silvery metal. His body extruded the stuff, thick globs of super-heated liquid that he could launch with the force of a cannon. The second was a young man in a thing domino mask. Square-jawed and handsome, he radiated the passive charisma of a politician, steadfast and self-assured. His costume was a more elaborate version of Champion's, an embroidered swallow-tailed coat and a frilly regency shirt, perfectly cut to fit his lean proportions. He called himself Echo, and could mimic the effects of other Natural's powers. A poor imitation, but an imitation nonetheless.

The man was a social chameleon, a schemer, and a fanatic. He was utterly devoted to the idea that Naturals would advance humanity. He likened the process of incarnating a power to unlocking a person's potential. If he had it his way, he'd dose the entire continent in radiation, the social and political consequences be damned. They'd had dealings in the past, he and Anastasia, the two of them working to smooth over the rough edges of Champion's idealism. She had a great respect for the man's competence, if not his ideals, and dearly hoped he would give her an excuse to kill him. It would make things much simpler in the long run.

The door was opened by the orderly, and Anastasia stepped in with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. ”Champion,” she greeted, giving the man a respectful nod. ”We need to talk.”

”Ana, my friend!” the gregarious hero—vigilante, she reminded herself viciously—greeted. ”You look spellbinding as always!”

Anastasia was not dressed for beauty, but for practicality. Skirts had never been her preference, instead wearing flared trousers and heavy boots. Her blouse was nothing special, though it hung low across her shoulders. She was a beautiful woman, and was perfectly happy to exploit the stupidity that attribute tended to induce in others. Champion in particular, though no philanderer, had a pronounced appreciation for her charm.

”And you're a flatterer, as always,” she bantered back, though her heart wasn't in it. She took a seat on the opposite side of the large conference table, clasping her hands across each other and placing them before her. She acknowledged the two Lieutenants, ”Echo. Kyoma.”

The metal man simply nodded, staying silent.

”Anastasia,” Echo replied, sketching a formal bow. ”What a wonderful surprise! You've come with good news, I hope?”

Already stirring the pot, the bastard. Anastasia kept her expression still, a placid smile smeared across her face.

”I've just come from D.C.,” she answered. ”The vote is in.”

The mood of the room turned serious. Champion leaned forward, eagerly, hopefully.

”And?” he pressed. ”Are we in the clear?”

Her smile turned sad, her voice apologetic. ”No. I'm afraid not. The Vigilante Act passed.”

The silence after her remark spoke for itself.

Champion's hand slowly clenched into a fist. The creaking sound of his leather gloves going taut punctuated his next words. ”How is that possible?”

With great difficulty. Her husband had spent more money and favors than she felt was truly wise in order to bring about this decision. Influencing politics was never a cheap endeavor, even when the majority party was in agreement.

”Nixon had more votes than expected,” Anastasia replied, spreading her hands helplessly. ”The count was off. He campaigned on this, after all. I warned you this might happen. The president warned you himself.”

”He told us this bill was a warning shot! A political ploy!” Champion exclaimed, slamming his fist down on the wooden desk. ”He said that he expected it to fail! We were told that we'd face moderation, not extinction! This thing wasn't even supposed to make it to the floor intact! It should've died in committee!”

”It didn't,” Anastasia said simply. The news was like removing a band-aid, better to rip away all delusions as fast and cleanly as possible.

”What about a veto?” Champion asked, turning to Echo. ”If we can pressure the president—”

Echo shook his head, a grim look on his handsome features. ”He won't veto his own bill, Champion.”

Champion turned to Kyoma, who repeated the negative motion. The steel man's expression, normally so stoic, was filled with anguish.

”There has to be something we can do,” Champion said, whirling back to Anastasia.

”It's done, Champion,” Anastasia corrected. ”It's over. Tomorrow, the news will spread. The People's charter is now in violation of Federal law. You've still got options, but not as a vigilante.”

”We are heroes!” Champion said with something approaching a snarl. ”We—” He paused, closing his eyes and breathing deep. When they reopened, she saw steel in his gaze. ”The People of Chicago will not accept this. Illinois will not accept this. The country will not accept this. We are not alone.”

”Nixon'll just pull an Eisenhower on any state that fails to fall in line,” Anastasia commented with a shrug, ”but I doubt it'll come to that. Nobody wants a bloodbath.”