Velveteen vs. The Seasons Read online

  “I’ve always trusted you not to lie to me. It’s everyone else who breaks their word.” Action Dude held his breath, waiting.

  Finally, almost imperceptibly, Vel nodded. At the same time, her posture shifted: he was dealing with Velveteen now, not Velma. The difference was a subtle one. That didn’t make it any less important. He leaned across her and unfastened the cuff, trying not to breathe in the scent of her skin, or pay attention to the heat of her body next to his. He no longer had the right to focus on those things. No matter how much he wanted to.

  Velveteen sat up straighter on the bed, rubbing her unchained wrist with the opposing hand. She looked at the IV needle in her arm. Action Dude winced.

  “Please don’t take that out,” he said. “You’re a lot better than you were when we found you, but you’re still dehydrated, and I’d really rather you left here back in fighting shape. You need the fluids. You need the nutrients in the fluids. We don’t currently have a healer on staff, so we’re having to do things the old-fashioned way. Imagineer has some nanobots she’d be willing to let you borrow, as long as you promise not to use the fact that they have rudimentary faces to take them away from her.”

  “Why didn’t she just dump them on me while I was sleeping?” asked Velveteen, sounding curious despite herself.

  He grimaced. “Because she was afraid your powers would wake up before the rest of you, decide your body’s poor health was a sign of danger, and kick off what she called a ‘gray goo apocalypse.’ I’m not big on apocalypses under, you know, the best of circumstances, and that sounded sort of like the worst.”

  “That’s fair,” said Velveteen grudgingly. “So what’s wrong with me?”

  “Dehydration, malnutrition, exhaustion. Imagineer said it was like you hadn’t slept in years. People aren’t supposed to do that.”

  “I wasn’t always a people when I was in the Seasonal Lands,” said Velveteen. Then she stopped, going perfectly still, one hand remaining wrapped around the opposing wrist. It was her fingers that moved first. They tightened, virtually spasming, before she forced her hands down to her lap, and asked, “Aaron, how long have I been gone?”

  Action Dude took a deep breath before reaching over and putting his hands over hers. It was a more intimate gesture than he normally allowed himself to even consider. It was necessary. He was going to hold her down if he had to. “You defeated Supermodel and kept your word to the Seasonal Lands three years ago, Vel. That’s how long it’s been since you disappeared.”

  She stared at him, uncomprehending, for several seconds before she shook her head and said, “You’re lying. This is a trick. It’s a mean trick, and I don’t understand why you’d do this, but it’s still a trick.”

  “It’s not a trick,” said Action Dude. “Three years, Vel. We didn’t even know if you were alive or dead. We couldn’t find anyone who could give us updates on Spring or Autumn—no one’s seen Trick or Treat since you disappeared—and when we asked Jacqueline, she said she wasn’t allowed to comment on holiday matters. We hoped the fact that she’s your friend would mean she’d break the rules enough to tell us if you’d died, but we didn’t know.”

  “Jackie?” said Vel, bemused.

  “Things have changed a lot while you’ve been gone, Vel. You’re here for your own protection. I’m sorry about the handcuffs, and I’m sorry I couldn’t be here when you woke up, but we had to know that you wouldn’t run away. We had to know that you’d be safe.”

  “Safe from who?”

  Out of everything, this was the part he’d been dreading: this was the part that felt the most like failure. Action Dude let go of her hands. “After Supermodel died, with Tag out of the picture and you off in the Seasonal Lands, the government went looking for someone to blame for what had happened. You know how ordinary people are about superhumans. You took the same classes I did.”

  “I remember,” she whispered. A World That Hates and Fears You 101; Great Responsibility 201; Everyone Wants to Be Special 301. Class after class explaining that people without powers would always be afraid of the people who had them, and that nothing would change this, and that the only way to cope would always be to pretend that it didn’t hurt. Even though it did.

  “I guess the government’s been waiting for a long time for the chance to start regulating things. We have lawyers—they sort of run themselves, all we have to do is sign the checks—but all the old fights about keeping the law from impinging on the freedom of the superhuman community had been based on the idea that we were self-regulating. Only now it turns out Supermodel was sort of evil, and we weren’t self-regulating as well as we’d always wanted people to think we were.”

  Velveteen was quiet for a moment before she asked, “What did they do?”

  “They decided that the problem was the power set. All animus-type heroes are required to register with the government, and either agree to power suppression or to a certain amount of community service. For the greater good.”

  Velveteen frowned. “But I’m the only one.”

  “That’s how they got the law passed in the first place. It didn’t actually affect any real people. Only once it was there, they started changing what it meant. Technopaths are considered part of the animus class now. So are plant-manipulators. Polychrome and Victory Anna went rogue, rather than allow Torrey to be registered. They’ve been officially considered villains for over a year now. There’s going to be a hearing next month, about the psychometrists and the matter-manipulators, and Uncertainty says the probability manipulators and the psychics are next.”

  “We’ve lost,” said Velveteen. She sounded faintly amazed. Looking at the IV in her arm, she asked, “Is that why you didn’t wake me up to tell me what was going on? You’re invoking Dairy Keen v. Wisconsin?”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “I’m awake now.”

  “I know.” He took a deep breath. “What comes next is up to you, Vel. It’s your play. If you want to hide here, you can. If you want to turn yourself in, I’ll let you. And if you want to run, I’ll unlock all the doors.”

  “I don’t want to run, but I need some time to understand.” Velveteen looked at her folded hands for a moment before looking back to Action Dude. “Can you get me a mirror?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded before he rose, walked to the small attached bathroom, and wrenched the medicine cabinet off the wall above the sink. The action came with a ripping, splintering sound. Velveteen put a hand over her mouth to hide her smile. Some things never changed.

  “I own the building now, or at least a third of it,” he said, coming back and propping his pilfered medicine cabinet against the foot of her bed. “I figure I can break stuff if I want.”

  Velveteen didn’t say anything. She was busy staring at her own reflection. When she’d seen herself in Halloween, she had been so overcome by the fact that she had skin again that she hadn’t really looked at her reflection. Or maybe she had, and Halloween had still been throwing masks, keeping her from losing her focus on the task at hand. Regardless, she looked at the woman in the mirror, who was thin to the point of seeming skeletal, with dark circles around her fever-glazed eyes, and barely knew her.

  She swallowed her dismay. This wasn’t the time. “Mirror, mirror, from the wall,” she said. “Please will you connect my call? I need to talk to the Princess, in the Crystal Glitter Unicorn Cloud Castle.”

  Her reflection exploded into cartoon fireworks. Action Dude sat back down.

  “Do those words actually go in a specific order, or do you guys always just make it up as you’re going along?” he asked. His tone was light: he was trying to distract her. Part of her remembered why she’d loved him, all those years ago. “I always wondered, but the Princess doesn’t really talk to us corporate heroes.”

  “She’s a smart girl,” said Velveteen. She reached over, putting her hand on his, and waited.

  The fireworks cleared, resolving into the face of a beautiful blonde woman in a high-necked red gown. Her hair was
pulled back in a style that was more severe than Velveteen was used to, and there was a certain promise to the cut of her dress, like it was whispering of an Evil Queen yet to come. Velveteen blinked. The Princess blinked back.

  “Vel?” she asked, in a voice that quivered and shook. “Honey, is that really you?”

  “I think so,” said Velveteen. “It’s been sort of hard to tell lately. Princess, what’s going on? Why are you dressed like that?”

  “That’s a story that’s going to take some time telling, and maybe isn’t for all ears.” The Princess’s eyes darted toward Action Dude, making her meaning perfectly clear. She focused back on Velveteen. “Sugar, we need to get you out of there, and back here to the Cloud Castle, where you can recuperate. You look like twenty miles of bad road, and you’re about to drive it with a broken carriage axle.”

  “That’s why I called,” said Velveteen. “Can I get a ride? I don’t think I can exactly take a commercial flight home, given that I’m apparently illegal.”

  “Honey, you only ever have to ask.” The Princess raised her hand, fingers poised to snap.

  “Wait!” Action Dude reached for the mirror with his free hand, like he could somehow physically change the reflection. It worked, in a sense: the Princess stopped what she was doing in order to turn and look at him, visibly bemused. He pulled his hand back, cheeks flushing. “Um,” he said.

  “Did you have something to contribute, honey, or can I get back to getting Vel out of there before somebody decides to collect the ransom on her pretty little head?”

  This was it: this was his last chance to back out. He’d spent his entire life taking the path of least resistance, doing what other people wanted him to do. He’d done it because it was easy, and because it was safe, and because he didn’t know what other options he had.

  He knew now.

  “Take me too,” he said.

  “Aaron—” said Vel.

  He shook his head. “No. I’m done sitting back and letting things fall apart. I want to help. Take me too.”

  The Princess smiled.

  When Imagineer came to check the room some ten minutes later, it was empty, save for the beeping machines and the medicine cabinet lying on the bed. She looked at it and sighed.

  “Good luck, Aaron,” she said, and closed the door.

  The transition between the real world and the Crystal Glitter Unicorn Cloud Castle was usually smooth and easy, accompanied by rainbows, sparkles, and sometimes a thematic musical number. Not this time. Velveteen tumbled out of the mirror and into a forward roll, barely managing to get her elbows into place to keep herself from landing on her own head. She heard rather than saw Action Dude come through behind her; from the way his grunt cut off, he hadn’t been as good about recognizing the need for a recovery roll as she had. Oh, well. He’d probably be fine, and if he wasn’t, the Princess had an excellent in-house medical team. The fact that they were all rodents was beside the point.

  “Oof,” said Action Dude. “Did you get the number of that truck?”

  “There was no truck, sugar,” said a sweet Southern voice. There was an edge to it that made Velveteen uncomfortable. The Princess wasn’t supposed to sound like she was inching up on supervillain. The Princess was supposed to be the best of them.

  Velveteen raised her head and found herself looking at a pair of polished black leather boots decorated with red filigrees. The stitching formed roses, not apples. That was a relief. The apple motif was absolutely a supervillain thing, and if the Princess ever crossed that line, she wasn’t going to be coming back. Some things couldn’t be forgiven by the children of the world, no matter how much they wanted to.

  Slowly, Velveteen tilted her head back, following the boots to a pair of red velvet trousers under a red coat that belled out around the Princess’s legs like the skirt of a ball gown, leaving her with a wider range of motion than her norm, while still keeping her firmly within her fairy tale standards. Her bodice was sweetheart-cut, trimmed with garnets and diamonds, and her buttery blonde hair was piled on her head like she was getting ready for her own wedding. The expression on her face was torn between relief and sorrow. It was such a perfect division that it was painful to look at. That, too, was part of the fairy tale. Only in a story could someone’s expression be such a flawless summation of their story.

  “Vel, honey?” said the Princess. “Is that really you?” She knelt, offering Velveteen her hand. It was gloved in velvet, but that couldn’t stop it from trembling.

  “I think so.” Velveteen took the Princess’s hand, letting the other woman pull her to her feet. “The holidays bounced me around pretty hard, but I think they—oof!” She squeaked as the Princess abruptly jerked her into a hard hug, knocking the wind out of her. The Princess was always taller than she was, and with the amount of both weight and muscle tone Vel had lost in the Seasonal Lands, there was no contest.

  After it became clear that the Princess wasn’t going to let go on her own, she tapped the other woman’s shoulder and wheezed, “Cara. Can’t…breathe…”

  “Aw, shit, honey, I’m sorry!” The Princess thrust her out to arm’s-length, keeping hold of her shoulders. “I just never thought I was going to see you again.” There were tears forming at the corners of her eyes, and somehow that was the most alarming thing of all.

  “What the hell happened?” Velveteen gripped the Princess’s forearms, trying to take some comfort in the contact. There didn’t seem to be much comfort to be found. “Aaron told me some of it, but he—”

  “Villain!” The shriek came from the left. Velveteen turned, but not fast enough to get more than an impression of a swiftly-moving blur heading for the spot where Action Dude had fallen.

  Velveteen didn’t think. She just reacted. The Crystal Glitter Unicorn Cloud Castle was constructed from the dreams and beliefs of children everywhere, and children everywhere apparently thought that any fairy tale princess worth her salt would do a hell of a lot of decorating in marble statues and topiary. A dragon made out of thorny hedge lurched into motion, grabbing Victory Anna by the collar and hoisting her into the air before she could pull the trigger. She tried anyway, and her shot went wide, vaporizing a stained glass window.

  The Princess sighed. Heavily. “Too damn much, that’s what,” she said, and that was the perfect answer, and it wasn’t an answer at all.

  *

  In the matter of controlling the world’s superhuman population, many things have been tried. Common power sources have been tracked down, documented, and, when possible, suppressed; civics classes have been expanded to include explanations as to why wishing one’s neighbors into a demonic cornfield is not good citizen behavior; laws have been passed. In the end, however, public opinion has proven to be the best mechanism for exacting this control. Despite the “super,” people with powers are still only human, and like all humans, they seek social contact and approval. Their desire to be liked is their greatest weakness.

  Comic books, graphic novels, and popular television shows have been deployed with great success to keep the superhuman population on the effectively “straight and narrow.” No one likes the villain, after all. When the world is rooting for the heroes, who would voluntarily choose the other side? But more insidious, and more effective, is rumor. Gossip and hearsay are slippery weapons, best deployed by the experts—and those with reason to attempt control of the superhuman population have had more than enough time to perfect their craft.

  Take, for example, Velveteen. A relatively low-ambition superhuman, she seemed content to disappear from the public consciousness, becoming a footnote in the history of The Super Patriots, Inc. The narrative supported by the corporation, however, did not allow for this quiet exit; if she was not a hero, she needed to be a villain. Years of careful propaganda resulted in her public approval rating entering the negative numbers during a time when no one should even have remembered that she existed. As a consequence, when she did return, the general populace was primed to view her as a thre
at—something which made it easier for the superhuman registration and recruitment laws to pass.

  Had Velveteen been left alone, had The Super Patriots, Inc. been willing to admit that she was a lost cause, would the animus regulation laws have been able to pass? The world had been prepared to see her as the bad guy in any situation she happened to become involved with…and when that situation included publicly defeating the only other person known to have her specific power set, it became easy to see that power set as somehow innately corrupt. It is possible that, in their handling of the Velveteen matter, The Super Patriots, Inc. sowed the seeds of their own eventual downfall. Rather than entering a period of rebuilding after Supermodel’s defeat, they were thrown straight onto the defensive, and were unable to recover.

  And then there is the matter of the magical heroes, of the seasonal heroes, of the ones who manifest ideas, ideals, and most of all, opinions. Jolly Roger, the living human manifestation of the concept of heroic piracy, was very different in our time than he would have been during the time of the East India Company. Fewer throats were slit; more baths were taken. So what, then, happens when the great machine of gossip and public opinion is turned against someone whose powers stem from such a well?

  How much can a hero change without “hero” ceasing to be the operative word?

  *

  The sound of shouting attracted Yelena to the arrival garden. She stepped through the space between two decorative hedges, wearing a black ball gown trimmed with rainbows, and stopped, blinking at the edifying sight of her lover locked in unceasing battle with two topiary dragons and a large plush unicorn. The Princess was standing nearby, arms crossed, looking at the fight in disgust. Action Dude was off to one side, looking baffled. And Velveteen—

  Velveteen was there, half-crouched behind the Princess, face screwed up in concentration. Yelena frowned, assessing the fight again. Torrey wasn’t being hurt by the topiary; they were doing their best to restrain her, and she was shooting them over and over again, sending leaves and twigs raining down around her. If they’d wanted to, they could have gripped her arms tight enough to make her bleed; they could have stomped on her and broken her bones. All they were doing was keeping her away from Velveteen. Vel was playing a defensive game, which was why she was going to lose.