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Secondhand Origin Stories, Chapter 1

I'm posting a chapter a week till we're done, as I prepare book 2 in the series for release!

For details about the book, an index of chapters, and content warnings check out the information post!

Chapter 1

Opal shifted in the hard plastic chair in the humid, cinderblock room, leaning to peer past the scratched riot glass to the door beyond. Two half-cubicles down, a woman was arguing with her husband through the g1lass, tears on her face. Opal was pretty sure she’d passed the woman here a few times before. Most of the inmates at this facility were in for the long haul. A lot of them were altereds from the same line as her dad. You got to recognize the people that actually kept up their visits, for as far as the prison was from the city.

The door opened, and Opal leaned a little further forward, forehead to the glass. She grinned. Maybe it was a little forced, but she always had to show him she was at least OK enough to fake it. This visit more than ever. She let her dark skin light up with the flitting little pink bioluminescent lights he’d recognize as a good mood, but waited until he was close enough that she wouldn’t have to yell before she actually used words. The guards didn’t like it when they used ASL, but his cochlear implant was ancient by now, and fritzed out a lot. “Hi, daddy.”

She was 18. Too old to call him ‘daddy,’ really, and she would’ve looked weird to anyone watching. Opal was dense and well-muscled. She looked like some kind of hardcore weightlifter. Not someone who called her father ‘daddy,’ collected pretty stationary, and liked reading romances from the 1700s. But as long as they kept their voices low and conversational, and avoided gestures, nobody cared what they were saying. Everyone here was used to Nick Flynn, his bio-lights like the briefest flares of stars against the almost midnight black of his skin. Most of the Detroit line altereds had bioluminescence, which meant a lot of the inmates had it. Opal, with her wide-set black eyes, squared jaw, and high cheekbones, could not have been any more obviously his daughter.

He offered her a bright smile, not quite as forced as hers. “There’s my graduate! How’s it feel?” The smile dimmed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t--”

“Quit it,” she interrupted. She didn’t like to disrespect him by interrupting, but it turned her stomach every time he apologized for not being at home where he wanted to be. She didn’t want to be the reason he regretted what he’d done to end up here. She tried to lighten the mood. “Anyways, I’m bringing the experience to you.”

He raised his eyebrows. She wasn’t allowed to bring her phone or any electronics in with her, so she couldn’t show him the low-res video of her particular dot among the 2,000 other dots in a line getting their pieces of paper. But she was allowed to bring in a clear plastic backpack, sold especially for prison visits. She unzipped it, pulling out the slightly dented mortarboard hat she’d retrieved off the grass after she returned her own graduation hat to the rental place. His grin lit back up as she put it on her head and paused to pose, showing it off. “I have brought you your very own recent-history reenactment.”

He slow-clapped, leaning back in his chair, a faint hint of pink flitting across his features.

“First, we sat through two hours of speeches.” She leaned back suddenly in her chair, staring up at the ceiling as if boredom could actually kill her. The hat almost fell off. She sat back up. “Then they started calling names.” She pretended to be excited for a second, then drooped back again, slower this time. “Then, the big highlight of the day--” She schooled her expression into polite, attentive interest, turning to the side as if there was actually someone there. She mimed taking the diploma before recreating the fast, sweaty handshake she’d gotten. She nodded a thanks at the invisible principal, then looked back at her dad, sitting back in her chair again. “And that was the big, exciting day.”

“You forgot throwing your hat,” he pointed out.

She shook her head, taking the rumpled thing off. “Hat-throwing was punishable by fines and being ejected from the ceremony. Can’t have anyone losing an eye to this terrifying weapon.”

He looked dismayed. “You serious?”

She smiled ruefully, nodding. 2,154 students graduating. Apparently that was too much hat chaos for the school’s higher-ups. He sighed in aggravation. “That’s bullshit.”

She laughed. “Well, you can write them a nasty letter.”

“Think I’ll wait ’till after your sister graduates to piss them off.”

“She and Aunt Tessa will be out next weekend.”

“Why didn’t you just wait and come out with them?”

Her gut did a little flip, and she licked her lips. She didn’t let the nervous violet lights flare up around her temple like they wanted to. But he knew the tell, and sat up straighter. “I got a bunch of money from Grandma and everybody at my graduation party. I priced it out. With what I already saved, I’ve got enough for a bus to Chicago, plus living expenses for two months, and a bus home, if I need it.”

His eyes snapped shut, and he stopped breathing for a second. She held her breath with him. They’d both known this was coming. She’d just expected it to take longer. Dim purples and yellows, almost invisible under his skin, shimmered anxiously, but disappeared as he exhaled. He didn’t have the kind of deliberate control over the lights that Opal and her sister did. When he opened his eyes, he nodded. “OK. Bigger day than I thought, then.”

She didn’t know what to say. “Yep.”

He nodded again, eyes slipping off to the side. He wouldn’t look down in front of her. He looked back at her. “You remember, baby. If they don’t take you, that’s on them. Not you. Don’t go taking any stupid risks to impress them. They aren’t worth that.”

“You are.”

This time his smile was tight. “Forget that. I’m a man. I can make do on my own.”

It was an old argument, but she was sucked into it, the same as ever. “You shouldn’t have to.” She didn’t raise her voice. She’d learned that lesson a long time ago.

He scowled, shifting uncomfortably. “Don’t start. You do this for you if you’re gonna do it. Nobody else.”

“Tch. Pretty bad superhero if I do it for myself.”

“Well, don’t do it for me.”

“I’ll do it because I can,” she said. She’d dreamed of being a superhero her whole life. It’d just taken on a different urgency after her daddy was arrested.

“Gonna be a while before I see you, then.”

“I included the phone charges in my budget. You can call me whenever.” It was harder to fake being cheerful now. She didn’t really want to. “If it goes good, I’ll have money to visit before too long.”

He nodded, but didn’t say anything. For all either of them knew, it’d be years before she saw him again. And email wasn’t allowed at this facility anymore. Phone calls were an inconsistent “privilege.” She changed the subject. “Gonna miss you.”

“Miss you too. But I’m proud of you. Do your best, baby.”

She bit her lip, and made herself smile, even if she knew he could see tears in her eyes.

She’d save lives, use the abilities she’d inherited from him for good, and use the fame and respect from her position to do something about the conditions for people like her daddy. There were too many of them.

Opal was going to be a superhero.

* * *

Issac woke up with a crick in his neck and corduroy stripes imprinted onto his face, as the saxophone wail he’d trained himself to wake up to blared from his phone. He didn’t answer it-- didn’t need to. Martin was listening. He rubbed his face, squinting in the daylight he could have sworn wasn’t there a second ago. “Wh-- shit. What time is it?”

Martin didn’t need sleep. Which made him even more of an obnoxiously chipper morning person than Yael. “Almost breakfast time.”

“You let me sleep for two hours?”

“Why not? Your essays and applications were already sent. The work on the nanites can wait.”

The trashier gossip blogs called Issac a “super-genius.” Which was inaccurate. As the kid of an altered, his genes had been scanned before birth. Just like his biological sister, his genes were totally unaffected by the procedure that turned his dad into LodeStar: Leader of the Sentinels.

Those gossipy blogs almost never even mentioned that his mom had a doctorate in biomedicine and an MBA. Issac knew who he took after. Dad might be the leader of the Sentinels, but Mom and Aunt Jenna had built the super-powered cybernetic limbs that had brought LodeStar to the next level. Had given him flight, and kept him in the field longer than any other superhero.

And now Issac was going to follow in their footsteps. The nanites he was making would be the game-changer for brain injury treatment. The ability to repair damaged neurons according to pre-made programs. They weren’t quite ready yet-- his micro-fabricator sat silent on Jenna’s dining room table-- but they were well on their way.

Issac did deserve to get some sleep. It’d be good for his brain.

He rolled over, trusting the amped-up microphone on his phone to pick up his voice, even half-smothered against the back of the couch. That was the only way Martin could hear him in here-- Jenna’s old apartment was a dead zone for the speakers and microphones Martin used for communication everywhere else in the family home. “Tell Mom I’m not coming to breakfast.”

“I’m sure that’ll go over well,” Martin answered from Issac’s phone. Why had Issac taught him sarcasm?

“She’s the one who told me to get my college application essay done ASAP!” he argued, flinging one arm out in a gesture exhaustion turned into a limp flail. His knuckle brushed crinkled paper shoved under the couch. He ignored it. He was used to ignoring all the little leftover reminders of why Jenna’s apartment was empty.

“About that--”

Issac opened his eyes, glaring into deep blue corduroy. “Don’t even start. You already sent them out. Spare me the lecture about ‘inappropriate subject matter.’ It’s too late.”

As a synthetic intelligence with zero biological components, Martin didn’t have lungs. But that didn’t keep him from sighing. Issac interrupted Martin’s lecture before he even got going. They’d been over this the night before. And the day before that. Issac sat up, rubbing feeling back into an arm that seemed even less happy about being awake than he was. “We’re about to revolutionize like five fields of medicine and micro-robotics, Martin. If you think I’m going to just not mention that to colleges--”

Martin interrupted right back. “I was going to tell you there’s been a miscommunication. Your father’s voiced plans to join you this morning for breakfast, to help you with the essay. It seems your mother didn’t intend for you to stay up all night finishing them, and then send them off without either of your parents looking them over.”

Issac blinked, then lay back down, and moaned his objection into a throw pillow. It wasn’t like Issac hated his dad. He wouldn’t keep his little display case of LodeStar action figures in his room if he hated the guy. It was just that Issac was stubborn and brilliant, and his dad was pigheaded and bossy. Pigheaded and bossy were fine traits for the leader of the oldest and most respected superhero team in the US, but it made for a lot of lecturing for anyone caught in a subordinate role like “son.”

“Four more months,” Issac reminded himself. He took a deep breath. “Just four months, then I’m getting the hell out of Dodge.” He gave in. Swung his legs off the couch with resignation. Mom had given up on banning him from all-nighters, but he was expected to show up at breakfast, come hell or high water. And he couldn’t be caught leaving his aunt’s supposedly empty old apartment. He could only get away with using this place at all because Martin was the building’s security system, and Issac had talked him into it.

Issac ran his fingers through his sleep-tangled mass of brown curls. He’d better get home before Mom asked where he was. Martin couldn’t lie. He could obfuscate with the best of them, but he couldn’t lie.

Issac didn’t know what would happen to Martin when Issac left for college. Issac was the only one who realized what Martin was-- not just an advanced, learning security system, but a genuine synthetic intelligence, the most sentient and complete in the world. Kept secret only because Issac could lie, and because Martin had pleaded with him not to tell anyone what he really was-- a person. Jenna had been gone by the time Issac had figured it out. And Martin hadn’t really been... this... before then.

Issac got up to wash the coffee mug he kept in here, unplugging the flash drive that held his data and shoving it in his pocket. He used Jenna’s old apartment as a refuge, but he touched as little as possible, and never left a mess.

“Aren’t you going to be lonely when I leave?” Issac knew Martin’s code better than anyone but Martin himself, at this point. Martin was programed to be interested in, and invested in, people. In the eight years since his first activation, that imperative had grown into real social impulses. He sent Issac interesting articles and funny memes throughout the day, dropping them into his email when Issac was occupied or accompanied.

Since Martin’s substantial electronic “brain” lived in the central column of the Sentinel Plaza, and what passed for his “body” was 24 stories tall, Issac was pretty sure Martin would find it hard to attend classes or keggers. Issac’s research partner wasn’t coming with him.

“I can acquire phone lines. I’ll call you.”

Issac tried to lighten the mood. “What, are you afraid my dad will try to adopt you, and you’ll be stuck with his little speeches forever? You’re only eight, Martin,” he chided, wagging a finger. “You should have proper parental supervision.”

The joke fell flat, as he reminded them both that Jenna, who’d originally made Martin, wasn’t here to take care of him like she should have been. Issac set the mug down and headed back to the couch, but Martin’s tone was musing, not hurt. “You know, I’ve been thinking about that. If we conceptualize Jenna as my mother…Then really, as the other person who ‘raised’ me--” Issac stopped dead, not liking where this was going. “You could be reasonably be described as my father.”

No. Nope. There was so much wrong with that. Like how he considered Jenna a mentor, nearly a parent, and did not have a kid with her. Like how Issac was all of 10 when Martin was activated. Like how Issac didn’t want to be described as a teen father, even if the “kid” was a 24-story supercomputer with a smart mouth and an impressively nuanced understanding of neuroplasticity.

Like how Issac was leaving, and if Martin was his son, what did that make Issac for going?

Damn it, he was operating on two hours of sleep and hadn’t had his morning coffee yet. He was not up to dealing with this. He tried to settle his breathing, glad that from here, Martin couldn’t detect Issac’s suddenly soaring blood pressure. “Don’t get mushy on me, twerp. You’ll fry your circuits with that sap.”

He grabbed his phone and headed out the door, back into the central courtyard, where Martin couldn’t answer him without being overheard. Issac wasn’t ready for that conversation.

* * *

Jamie poked her cereal unenthusiastically. Mom always poured her way, way too much. As if enough healthy cereal could make Jamie grow the way 16-year-olds were supposed to. Maybe make up for the growing her 15-year-old self had neglected. It was a hope Jamie theoretically shared, but she suspected any growing she had left to do was likely to disappoint.

Light streamed in through the bank of picture windows, glinting off a 24th story Chicago skyline, ricocheting off various gleaming marble and glass surfaces in her home, and poking her right in the eye. She squinted, tilting her head the other way, only to get a different ray bouncing off her dad’s bionic arm and into her other eye. Would it kill him to get some sleeves? She decided looking down at her cereal was her only safe option.

He was 54 years old, fully old enough to have given up on tank tops. But, being age-stable, he looked like he was in his mid-20s, barely older than Issac. His curling brown hair hadn’t shown a single strand of gray that Jamie could see. He had proportions that bordered on ridiculous, with the top half of him forming a shape like a generous pizza slice with a head and arms. Granted, part of that build was due to the way his cybernetic arms mimicked body-builder arms, but that didn’t make Neil Voss look any less like a bizarrely stylized old-school comic book character.

Mom poured herself another coffee. Mom was elegant, if not exactly pretty-- tall and still slim at 56, with high cheekbones and perfectly manicured eyebrows. Jamie guessed she was considered reasonably good-looking for her age, but good-looking like a person, not like a cartoon. Mom had on a dove gray suit, heels that put her at or above the eye level of most men, and the graying version of Jamie’s fine strawberry blonde hair pulled up into a sleek ponytail. Her manicure and makeup were flawless, and carefully curated to be the classic versions of current trends.

Jamie had managed one of her brother’s old flannels over a baggy t-shirt, cargo pants, and ballet flats. She owned plenty of makeup, but she only wore it for special occasions, since she still couldn’t get close to applying it as well as her mom did, and there really wasn’t anyone here to notice or care. Her little kit was mostly an array of concealers in shades between paper-white and manila, and looked more like a filing cabinet than anything. She kept her hair short enough that she didn’t have to fuss with it much, but had at least tried to pick a cool-ish cut.

Jamie eyed the coffee pot enviously as her dad poured himself another cup. Jamie was the only resident of the whole building whose place setting was never graced with a coffee mug. Just a couple caffeine-induced palpitations and everybody had to panic about it. “I bet I could work up to being able to drink coffee. I could start with mostly milk and a little coffee, and build up a tolerance.”

Mom raised an eyebrow. “You don’t even like coffee. You make faces every time I give you a sip of mine.”

Well, that was hardly the point. “Issac didn’t used to like coffee. Now he drinks like six cups a day,” Jamie pointed out.

Dad’s tone was so gentle, it felt brittle. “Issac doesn’t have the same sensitivities as you.” Jamie couldn’t get over the way he seemed to think he was breaking bad news to her every single time he brought up her health issues. As if, wow, gee, she hadn’t noticed any of them before now.

Now that she thought about it, maybe Dad had been the main person fussing over her pulse the last time she’d tried coffee. He was probably at the heart of the conspiracy to deny her the caffeine the rest of the country ran on.

She could almost swear he didn’t used to be like this. He didn’t used to treat her like a bundle of liabilities. He even used to say that Jamie was just like him. But it seemed like the older she got, the younger she looked to him.

Jamie went back to poking her cereal. Family breakfast was as close to a sacred ritual as her gentile mom got. Picking fights was absolutely not allowed.

Mom handled the subject change for her. “Speaking of sensitivities, how are Talon’s girls doing? I heard Anna was in for chemo again.”

Jamie was content to switch topics. Altereds from every line-- every type of alteration-- were prone to strange, obscure health problems, since they had bodily systems normal people didn’t. Talon was on the Santa Fe superhero team. Like Dad, he had super-healing. Unlike Dad, he’d passed his superpowers on to his kids.

Most of the other kids of superheroes had superpowers. And most of them were younger than Jamie-- young enough to think Jamie was cool just because she was a little older, even though she dressed bad, never went anywhere, and never did anything. Jamie moderated a little closed book-club forum for them, since a lot of them were as bored and isolated as Jamie was. None of them were allowed on social media. Most of them went to online schools. And a lot of them weren’t lucky enough to have siblings in their families’ bases. Jamie didn’t usually care about books for 12-year-olds, but it was a small, easy thing she could do for them. “I don’t think she even minds anymore. Last time she only stayed for about two weeks. She just saved up a few shows to marathon and finished the book club book early.” Jamie sincerely tried not to be envious of a sick 12-year-old. But Anna bounced back from cancer and chemotherapy faster than Jamie could shake a stomach flu.

Mom and dad both shook their heads, frowning. Mom tapped her plum-colored nails on the white marble of the kitchen peninsula while dad tried to reorganize the universe by frowning, with superhuman strength, at his fork. “Thank G-d you and Issac are healthy.”

Jamie heard that a lot. The assumption was that she herself would pick her current body over an altered version. She didn’t think anyone had ever actually asked her if she’d trade in generalized frailty for super strength, speed, endurance and healing, even if it came with greater risk of serious complications. She was pretty sure she’d get a lengthy lecture on thankfulness if she ever did answer a question like that out loud. She was expected to be grateful for her dubious good health. And since her wish to grow up to be a superhero had gone from cute to sad years ago, she’d learned to keep it to herself.

She’d tallied it all up, once. She’d put mom down as the responsible party for Jamie’s anemia, shellfish allergy, hellish periods, low blood pressure, absurd proneness to sunburn and freckling, overbite (now corrected), acne (sort-of now corrected) and nearsightedness (also now corrected). She’d placed the blame for the asthma, wussy stomach, mild scoliosis, low bone density, and susceptibility to gingivitis on Dad’s pre-alteration genes. Dad didn’t actually have to deal with any of those things anymore, though. Which was why Mom was now Jamie’s favorite. Whether that was fair or not.

Her brother Issac had gotten acne and a cross-bite. Science had saved him from the acne better than it had saved her, and could have saved him from the cross-bite if he wasn’t a baby about going to the freaking dentist.

Dad patted Jamie’s shoulder, light enough to be an insult to Jamie’s ability to sit upright on a stool. He didn’t look at her, though. These days, he always seemed to be looking over her head, instead of directly at her. As if it pained him to have to look so far down to see her. He addressed Mom. “So, Tillman, where are you hiding my other offspring? If he doesn’t show soon, he’s going to have to wait for me to get up before I help him with that essay.”

Mom made a face. They’d been divorced since Jamie was less than two years old, but they were a lot closer than most divorced couples. They sort of had to be, as neighbors living in the same high-security building. “Were you up all night again?”

“Justice never sleeps,” Dad quipped back halfheartedly. He did look a little rumpled, and his eyes were bloodshot. A little strained, now that she looked closer. Which was odd enough to be interesting. They hadn’t had anything more than a two-day mission in months. Why should he be worn out enough for it to show? He’d seemed OK on TV yesterday, during that interview.

MARTIN interrupted. “Mr. Voss, Dr. Tillman. I have just received a direct communication from Secretary Bridgewater asking me to inform you that he intends to come to the residential floors of the Plaza shortly to speak with you and the other Sentinels.”

Jamie choked on her cereal. The head of the Altered Persons Bureau did not make house calls. Jamie didn’t think he’d ever even been to Sentinel Plaza, even though 20 of its 24 floors were APB offices. He worked out of the DC branch. Yael hadn’t ever even met him, and he was xyr uncle. He was like the Wizard of Oz-- invoked and referenced, but never seen. She managed not to drown in her breakfast and cleared her voice for action “Why?”

“He declined to provide that information,” MARTIN intoned.

“He wanted me to be there?” Mom clarified, glass halfway to her mouth.

“You were specifically requested, yes.”

It was rudely last-minute, and Mom had a medical technologies conglomerate to run, so Jamie expected concern or irritation. She didn’t expect the amount of alarm on both her parents’ faces, or Dad’s furiously muttered “Shit,” as he started to get up. “MARTIN, tell Drew and Solomon to come over--”

This was the sort of chance Jamie had been waiting for. An opportunity to take a stand.

“I’ll get Issac!” Jamie volunteered, jumping off her bar stool. She knew what happened next. Something was happening, so she, Yael, and Issac would be shunted off to some obscure corner of the residential parts of the tower and told to stay put.

She bolted down the hallway, trusting that her parents’ interest in discussing this without her there would keep them from wondering why she was in such a hurry to get Issac. She’d get Yael, next. If she was going to turn this into an opportunity, she’d need backup, and fast.

She banged her knuckles on Issac’s door hard enough that they stung. No answer, but the shower was off. “Issac!” she called through the door, banging it again.

The door swung open on an damp and irritated older brother. His usual trendy outfit was marred by the way his ubiquitous headphones-- placed just behind his ears, but blaring jazz music-- made his wet hair stick up like the scruff on a poorly-manicured purse dog. He looked exhausted, which meant he looked cranky. “You look like crap,” Jamie commented.

Issac raised an eyebrow. “Thanks. Hi. What do you want? I’ll be at breakfast in a second.”

“Secretary Bridgewater is gonna be here ‘shortly.’ Here in the house levels.”

Issac frowned. “Yael’s uncle?”

Jamie nodded. She could just about see the gears turning in Issac's head. “And he wanted to talk to Mom and the whole team, so you know it’s something important. He wouldn’t come all this way to talk about finances.”

Issac frowned. “He didn’t say why?”

She shook her head. “But Mom. Which means finances, huge policy change, a threat to the tower, or--”

“Or one of us,” Issac finished. Jamie nodded. That was why they had to act fast. “Shit,” he muttered. “OK. Go…tell Yael or something.”

He moved to shut the door. She shoved her foot into the doorway-- and winced, as reclaimed wood connected with thin canvas shoe-- but it kept him from closing the door. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Issac! This just makes it even more important that we stick together. If this might be about us, we deserve to know what’s going on. And you know they’re going to try to shut us up in Dad’s apartment or something--”

He paused, curious but hesitant. “Yeah. They do that.”

Jamie warmed to the subject immediately. She hadn’t been sure Issac would hear her out, but she knew he hated information being kept away from him. And there was a lot of information being kept away from them. Like where, exactly, Jenna had gone. Like where their own dad was, when he’d sometimes disappear for a day or two without the team and without appearing on tv. Like how nobody would talk about Yael’s parentage, even though they all already knew! That last one was especially insulting. “So we should do something about it! Take a stand. Right?”

For a moment, she thought she’d lost him. She prepared herself for another hurried pitch, but there was an extra spark in his eyes that stopped her. She remembered it from the Great Hanukkah/Christmas Gift Investigation of 2026 and the Puppy-Smuggling Attempt of 2025, plus a few other illicit escapades the three of them had pulled off or attempted over the years. They were mostly too old for that kind of thing now. She didn’t need to know what her presents were ahead of time.

But this-- this was worth breaking rules for. Especially if it really was about them. He grinned at her. “All right, Jamie. Way to grow some balls.” Jamie gave him the expected eye roll at his grossness. He punched her arm, and graciously ignored her minor stagger. This time, his suggestion was part of their conspiracy, rather than a dismissal. “Go get Yael.”

Perfect. If Jamie and Issac were in on it, there was no way Yael would sit on the sidelines. Jamie grinned back at Issac, then ran off to complete their team.

* * *

Yael's fist connected with Papa’s face. Xe darted backwards, out of his range. At near seven feet tall, xe had far superior reach compared to his six feet, five inches. But he was faster. Yael noticed too late that xe’d been focusing too much on his fists, and he’d snuck one of his legs behind xyr. A sweep and a shove, and Yael was flying backwards across the room.

Xe hit the ground in a controlled roll that only stung for a second, and was back up, fists ready, in one racing heartbeat. Dust motes swirled frantically in the morning light between them. Yael was relieved to see a grin on his face. Xe laughed at1717 xyr own mistake to distract him from the few spots of glossy gunmetal gray xe’d felt seep out of xyr skin the moment xe’d hit the ground.

Sparring with the Sentinels was critical for xyr training. But sparring with Papa was sometimes more like a super-powered game of tag. It would stay fun, as long as he didn’t see those silvered spots. He’d learned to not freak out at xyr shape shifting, but any sign of xyr exoskeleton would grind the match to a halt, and he’d bolt.

But he hadn’t seen. For once, xe was thankful for the straight sheet of nearly black hair that xe usually resented for the way it looked nothing like Papa’s dark gold waves. Xe’d had it cut over and over again trying to make it fall even a little like his, but it wasn’t happening.

At least Yael's hair could cover for xyr occasional silver slip-up.

He laughed, because xe laughed. The booming sound echoed in the huge, empty training room. The others would just be getting up and having their breakfasts, but Yael and xyr papa had been awake for hours. Xe’d have to find Drew later and try to talk him into a match. At least with Drew, Yael had some chance of winning. It helped to balance the productive ass-kickings xe got from Papa.

Yael hurtled forward, but ran right into a solid, but not especially painful, punch to xyr kidney. That was a point in Papa’s favor, but he’d had to move in closer to do it, and xe threw a well-formed side kick at his stomach as he tried to get out of range. He was still too fast. But xyr foot at least grazed his shirt! It was close enough to a victory for Yael to crow a triumphant “Ha!”, bouncing on the balls of xyr feet.

Papa chuckled, shaking his head. His guard dropped to signal Teaching Mode. “That’s not a strategy, dove. When you’re fighting real enemies, I don’t want you getting hit just so they’ll get close enough for you to hit them. With reach like yours, there’s no excuse.”

Yael stayed in stance, but waved a padded hand airily, pretending that it was a plan and not a side effect of distraction. “No one heals faster or better than I do.” As far as superpowers went, xyr pedigree was unmatched in the US, and difficult to rival even on a global scale. Xe was the sole second-generation member of the Heavenly Rule line. And aside from xyr, there were only two first-generation members left alive.

He rolled his eyes, but his smile didn’t falter. “Oh, what I’d give to be seventeen and convinced of my own immortality again. Try not to take too much after me, princess.”

Yael hated that xe still looked for ways xe took after him. Still looked for any similarity in their features, even though xe knew they wouldn’t be there. Xe understood why they were missing. He called xyr birthparents his siblings as a mark of love, not genetic relation. They were from the same alteration line and had grown up together, but weren’t any more biologically related than Yael was related to Drew, or Neil. Xe could mimic Papa’s features, if not his colors, and had, privately. But he knew xyr face. There was no point in pretending they looked more alike than they did.

It was obvious that everyone living in Sentinel Plaza knew exactly who Yael got xyr genes from. Not that any of the adults would talk to xyr about it. They always told xyr to talk to Papa, and he avoided the subject with the kind of urgency he usually reserved for avoiding machine gun fire.

Xe’d given up trying to force the issue. Was trying to be patient. But xyr taboo exoskeleton and its ability to manipulate temperature and make ice out of thin air was way too useful to ignore in a real fight. And xe was 17-- adulthood was right around the corner.

Of course, the marketing team would want to riff off those powers for xyr superhero name and costume. Yael had come up with several superhero brands for xyrself already. “Mercury” was xyr favorite this week, since it was associated with temperatures and a highly malleable form. Xe’d even sketched some costume designs. But Mercury was more of a light silver color, whereas the exoskeleton membrane was closer to hematite. And there was already a Hematite out west.

MARTIN interrupted from overhead, and they both dropped their stances. “Excuse me. Secretary Nodiah Bridgewater is en route to the building and is expected to arrive ‘shortly’ to converse with the Sentinels and Dr. Tillman.”

Yael gaped at the ceiling.

“What?” Papa croaked in a tone that ripped xyr attention from the ceiling to him. His expression was filled with an intense, intimate fear. His eyes flicked to xyr, giving him away. He only lingered on xyr for a moment, but Yael felt exposed to the spine as xe saw him catalog the gap where their family resemblance should be.

His voice snagged between apology and command. “Stay here.”

That hurt way more than any punch xe’d ever buckled under. In one instant, xe’d been assessed, and come up short. “I want to meet him!”

Nodiah Bridgewater was the only other surviving member of the Heavenly Rule line, Papa’s only remaining sibling, and one of the only living people who’d known Yael’s birthparents well.

He clearly expected the objection, but was pulling off his protective gear without looking at xyr. “Now’s not the time.”

“Not the--?! This is the first time in my life we’ve been in the same building together!”

“That should tell you this is serious, and I need to talk to him.”

“Then talk to him.That doesn’t mean that I can’t--”

“No, Yael.”

Xe reached xyr hands out entreatingly. “I won’t get in the way, I swear--”

He gave xyr a stern glance, with some unknown fear bubbling under the surface. “Stay. Here.”

He turned. His broad back made a psychological barrier as solid as if he’d bricked xyr in. As he reached the gym’s door back into the central corridor, he nearly ran over a panting, flush-faced Jamie. “Oh. Jamie. Good.” He looked back down the hallway. “Where’s your brother?”

“He’s coming.”

Papa nodded, sidestepping Jamie’s tiny body as she slipped sideways into the room. Yael’s hands clenched to fists, and xe headed after him, but Jamie was moving as purposefully as Papa was, and xe only got a few steps before bird-boned fingers stopped xyr in xyr tracks. Jamie looked up at xyr meaningfully. She didn’t say anything until they heard the elevator ding its closed-door signal.

Xe growled and turned on xyr heel, heading semi-obediently to a bench and stripping off xyr training gear. “Why’d you stop me? Do you know who’s coming?”

“I only stopped you for a second. Issac and I think we need to show a sort of…united front. The three of us.”

“To do what?” Nodiah. Right here in the building. One floor up, with Yael stuck down here. Xe forced xyrself to slow down, or xe’d shred the glove xe was trying to get off.

“To tell them we’re tired of them excluding us from everything! We think Bridgewater is here because of one of us-- I mean, probably you, but--”

Xe stopped. “Me?”

“And they’re still trying to keep you from knowing what’s going on.”

“You think he’s here to see me?”

“Well, it makes sense. You’ll be eighteen in October, and everybody knows you’re going to be a Sentinel. He is the head of the Bureau that handles that.” That did make sense. And Nodiah might see every adult in the tower as some kind of parent to Yael-- that was how he and Papa had been raised, after all. Yael’s mind jumped over everything xe’d done in the last year-- or, no-- in the last few years, that could impact xyr uncle’s impression of xyr. There were too many-- and xe had no idea which of them he knew about. Did he know about the childhood wall-wrecking tantrums? Did he know xe had defended Issac when they were kidnapped three years ago? Did he know how?

Issac appeared, damp, disheveled, and with one shoe. “And that’s my eviction,” he proclaimed. He waved a slice of toast. “Cold toast. One slice. This is what she gave me.” He took a bite of it, continuing with his mouth full. “What kind of parent gives their teenager a single slice of cold toast for breakfast?”

Yael sighed, spiking a padded glove against the ground spitefully. “One who wants said teenager out from underfoot right away.”

“Pretty much,” Issac agreed. “So are we doing this, or what?”

Jamie piped up. “I think we should figure out quick what exactly we want to tell them--”

Issac interrupted dryly. “How about ‘this is bullshit’?”

Yael bounced xyr leg impatiently. “We don’t have time for a deep discussion. Who knows when he’s going to get here?”

“MARTIN?” Issac prompted.

“He has pulled into the parking garage,” the system answered.

Yael's breath caught. If xe didn’t get permission now, xe’d end up looking like a kid throwing a tantrum when Papa told xyr ‘no’ again in front of Nodiah. No good. “Then we need to get moving.”

So Yael got moving. Issac followed with long strides, and Jamie scrambled. Xe took the small staircase that linked the three residential floors, taking the stairs four at a time. Xe wouldn’t usually make Jamie scramble, but the window here was so small--

They came out to the top floor through the unobtrusive door between Drew’s apartment and xyr own. The top floor’s central courtyard was large, well-lit, and filled with plants. Doors to each apartment made a pentagon around the courtyard, which had a column of elevators in the middle. Yael only saw Neil, walking across. He stopped, squaring his shoulders, raising his chin, and adopting the look of someone ready to have an argument he didn’t want to have. So Papa had warned him, already.

Xe reorganized xyr body. Slimmed xyr hips, squared xyr jaw, flattened xyr chest out, and even gave xyrself a little more length to xyr legs and spine. Twinges of pain flared all over xyr body at the sudden stretch, but it was worth it to meet Neil looking every bit as strong and immovable as he himself was.

Neil’s voice was even, trying stiffly to smooth things over. “Yael, we can talk about this later, right now--”

Issac cut in. “Right now, you want us out of the way.”

Neil tried again. “Until we know--”

Yael interrupted this time. “Until we know what? Whether or not he’s my uncle?”

Drew came around the elevators in the center of the room. He was the only one left on the team who could show his age. And right now, every year showed. “Yael, fuck’s sake. Now’s not the time for infighting.”

Drew was the most reasonable person on the whole team. He was the only one left who wasn’t actually and directly a parent. Yael always thought that made him a little easier to talk to. Xe turned to him. “I don’t want to fight. But he’s probably coming to talk about me. And I want to be there for that. He’s never even met me-- why can’t I be there?”

Jamie spoke up unexpectedly, her voice thin but a little too loud. “We all want to be there, if it’s going to be about one of us.”

Issac’s voice wasn’t thin at all. Yael could have wished xyr strongest supporter sounded less muleish. “We’re staying.”

Melissa and Papa appeared from the Tillman apartment, completing the assembly. She spoke first, no anger or fear in her voice, only well-worn certainty. “No, you are not.” She focused on her daughter. “I thought you were helping out, not staging a riot in the courtyard.”

Xe appealed to xyr papa again. Xe was running out of time and options. “It’s not a riot. We just want to be involved when important people are talking about us.”

“No. Now do what you should have done the first time.”

The words ripped out of xyr before xe could grab the strength to hold them in. “Why are you trying to hide me?”

Papa flinched. Even Melissa flinched. He knew xe’d seen it, and tried to cover it with bluster. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“Yes, you do!” Jamie argued.

Melissa's voice layered on top. “Jamie, keep your voice down!”

Once Melissa raised her voice, it was all over. Neil and Melissa were arguing with Jamie and Issac. Papa wasn’t paying attention to anyone but himself. Drew was, for reasons Yael didn’t catch, arguing with Papa. No one would hear xyr words. Xe locked them down. Xyr questions were too hard for xyr to waste when nobody would notice. Xe looked down at xyr feet, squirming restlessly in xyr yellow boots. What else could xe do that’d be fast enough to matter?

Xe focused on not being silver.

A fast twitch of movement grabbed xyr attention. Jamie’d stopped mid-sentence, head whipping around to look towards the elevators and freezing in place like a rabbit who’d been spotted.

The elevator door opened to Secretary Nodiah Bridgewater.

* * *

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