The Legacy Forge
Act One, Scene Three
The Titanium Tyrant wore his dress armor to the meeting, which was remarkably similar to his battle armor but added spikes. The American negotiators were bringing two consultants, so he brought Heavyhand and Prudence. Today was not a day for subtlety, which was why the meeting was being held aboard the Legacy Forge, the room where the Tyrant met the Americans cradled within the spiral of raised walkways, bridges and armor that showed the immensity of the Tyrant’s power. They knew it might never fly again without Solaris lifting it, but the Americans did not.
In the interests of leaving the threat implicit, rather than explicit, the two supervillains stood outside the door, staring down the Secret Service men that the suit had brought. Heavyhand hadn’t bothered to learn his actual rank.
“I hope you understand,” said the suit distantly, “that we have no intention of negotiating with terrorists.”
“I’m very pleased to hear that,” said the Titanium Tyrant as he closed the door. “All sovereign nations must cooperate against extortion, Novapest as much as America.”
Prudence looked up at Heavyhand, her eyes calm. “So, how are your boys doing?”
Heavyhand’s mouth twisted sheepishly. “Alejandro is doing fine. He’s talking with real sentences now, I must’ve told you. I’m very excited.”
Prudence nodded. “You did. And how is James?”
Heavyhand raised his hand, balanced, tilted it slightly, and lowered it. “James is James.” He let it sit there for a moment. “How about you? How are, uh, yours doing?”
“The population of North America continues to increase,” Prudence said drily. “After four hundred years it’s hard to say anything more.”
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“You don’t miss it?”
She shrugged. “Perhaps I ought to clone myself again, but after last time…”
“Didn’t she take out Rhode Island?”
“Actually, Temperance turned most of it into a robot.” Prudence sipped tea. Heavyhand had no idea where she had gotten it from. “And Charity made a building-infecting virus that ate Luxembourg,” his friend continued, “Modern science is somewhat too energetic for anyone based on my genetic code.”
“Maybe you should teach them what you learned, then.”
“Mmm. I attempted to teach it to Temperance. Would you like some tea?”
“... No, thanks,” he said. “She’s still in stasis?”
“A horror to be unleashed on the world when I die, yes,” Prudence said.
“Can’t be that bad if she’s your daughter.”
“Survivor powers are triggered from, and fixed by, shock,” Prudence said. Heavyhand nodded. He’d gotten his from a Korean shell and it hadn’t changed since. “The powers gained are suited for the exigencies of the situation - survival. Most Warper and Idealist powers work the same way, albeit with different causes. The same is not true for tinker powers, which can be influenced by any and all of your background, skills, needs, and, alas, beliefs, and can change as these do.” She sighed. “Some people were not made for a world where the more you delude yourself the more powerful you become, or at least not made to know that. And I, alas, am one of them.”
They both ignored the Tyrant’s cry of, “AND AN EARTHQUAKE MACHINE!” from inside the room, though one of the Secret Service men flinched.
“She’d still be your daughter, still have powers,” Heavyhand said. “You’ll be there for her. You really think -”
“Most likely,” she says, “but she might not be a tinker and so might only end up producing crises on a small scale.”
“All the power science stuff is a bit past me,” Heavyhand admitted.
“My children will have my genes,” she said. “So they will develop powers. They don’t have my environment, so they may not develop my powers.”
Heavyhand lowered his voice enough that he thought the secret service men across the way would have to strain to hear. “Do you really think Sandor’s going to get away with it? Do you really think we’re going to get away with it?”
She shrugged. “For a generation.”
Heavyhand raised an eyebrow, but a second later the doors swung open and out swept the Titanium Tyrant. His two “consultants” fell in behind him, perfectly in step with him a pace behind to his left and right; behind them followed the dejected suit, and then behind him the Secret Service men, trying to pretend they weren’t almost pointing guns at a supervillain.
“We have a deal,” he said without turning to look at them. “We have a country. And you have your counties.”