Switched Ch. 06 - Shaping Up

They were almost done cleaning up that oil spill in the Gulf, that was good. Another scandal for the mayor of Atlanta, big surprise. And a prison transport was hit last night.

Oh no.

It was hit by the Rollergirls. A guard was dead and two more were critical. The transport was destroyed and...

They'd been trying to free their captured comrade but in the chaos and confusion, she'd been critically injured.

The Rollers had taken her to the nearest hospital on a makeshift stretcher, but she was still in intensive care and not expected to pull through.

I tried to keep myself busy by cleaning the apartment up, but I ended up just throwing things around and yelling.

This was no good. I needed the spa. I got dressed and took the elevator down, where I squatted like a toad in the middle of the soothing salt-lined room, glaring at everything and nothing.

The hot anger and shame congealed into a greasy sense of failure coupled with a headache. I could tell myself that I'd had no part in this, but I'd left that woman to the tender mercies of the prison system, for crying out loud. I'd been involved in that, and now people were hurt and dead.

I tried to meditate. I cried, a little, no easy or pleasant experience in a salt room. I laughed when I thought about what an asshole I was. How arrogant I'd been. I tried to meditate after that, but this thing, it was a splinter in my mind.

The day's wine ration had already been consumed and the hotel was under strict orders not to bring me any more until tomorrow. I'd have to pick the lock to the minibar. I'd get on Youtube and make an evening of learning how.

I stood and walked out of the spa. One guest pressed herself against the wall to give me room to go by.

There were voicemails on my phone. The first one just said, "Fuck." The second was, "You." The third was a long, drawn-out, slurry, "Biiiiiiiitch."

I laughed. Humorlessly. Just what I'd been thinking.

While I was jabbing the lock mechanism on the bar with a paperclip, the phone rang. I ran to get the voice scrambler and answered, "Yes."

"I'm gonna tell you about the woman you killed." It was the same woman, only a good bit drunker.

I sat down on the floor. "Tell me."

She told me at length and with so much love about Jennifer Rowland, fierce and determined and free. A difficult to love woman who'd never let a friend down, who cares so much for animals and had the best dog in the world, just by being its mother. Beautiful and strong. A natural leader.

What had I said to Tawney? I'd said that she was the bad apple. I had been so damned sure of myself. I had condemned her to a miserable fate for no other reason than resting bitch face.

Margot loved Jennifer, it was plain to hear. When the caller lost her brother in a tragic and highly suspicious police shooting, it was Jennifer who comforted her, who brought her back from the brink of suicide and guided her on the long, grueling road back to herself. Now, she had another grueling road ahead of her, and she was weary. I wished I'd just hacked the bar open with a sword.

"We did not accidentally hurt her," she said, out of the blue.

"No one says you did," I murmured. I just wanted to soothe her, I had no idea if it was true.

"It was a cop. After the transport tipped over, he fucking shot her! That bastard!"

Horrified, I asked, "Are you sure?"

"He said it was an accident. Guns don't go off by accident unless you're pointing them at someone, and she was handcuffed! He was pointing a loaded gun at my boo, and she was in chains!" She broke down in tears.

I had just decided to try to say something to her, anything to break this brittle silence, when she suddenly shouted, "I killed him! I fucking killed him! But you don't have that to answer for. That one was all me." She hung up again.

According to the reports, one of the policemen at the scene had been decapitated.

*

I waited until the next morning to call her back. She hadn't bothered to block her caller ID. I judged nine o'clock to be the best time to do it, as she'd hopefully be too hung over to check the number before answering.

I was right. She picked up and instead of a greeting, she just groaned, "This is Margot," and that was all it took to pierce her secret identity. Susan B. Agony was a cooler name, though.

"It's me, the bitch. Please don't hang up. I have a plan."

"What can you possibly do to make this better?"

"Nothing. It's awful and I feel awful. But we're still here. We have to find a way to be better." I felt so stupid, but I went on, "I have a plan for that."

There was a long silence, then a retching noise. Then she croaked, "Let's hear it."

"Let's take down a bad guy."

"Dammit! Ow. I am a bad guy, bitch!"

I waited through more upchuck, a whole salvo this time, and said, "So? Make better choices."

That literally made her throw up. She said, "Are you kidding me with this shit?"

"Call me when you're ready." This time I hung up on her.

*

"So what's the deal? You can't expect this to get me out of jail." She hadn't waited long to call me back.

"No, nothing will. But I'm more worried about you, Margot." Enough of this robot voice. I switched the voice scrambler off and spoke to her as myself. "Look, I'm new to this hero and villain bullshit, all right? I just see someone who was trying to do some good in a crazy way, who got out of control." I pushed my breakfast plate aside so I could put my head down on the table. "This is stupid. I just figured you'd want to get in a win while you still could."

"If you're for real about this, I have to be able to trust you."

I didn't know how to place the feeling that said I should trust her. "My name is Jessica."

"You've got to do better than that, Girly. Let's meet."

*

Non-Disclosure

Tawney

"You're really going overboard with all that gear." he said.

"You shouldn't have offered to pay for it, then," I sassed. He hadn't just offered—I wasn't going to just take his charity. He had to force it on me. It was the only polite way.

A guy with his kind of money wouldn't blink at a few thousand, anyway. And I was overdoing it. We were headed for a rendezvous with one or maybe two unstable and dangerous capes, of course I was!

I had on a bulletproof vest, for one thing, not to mention the ballistic helmet. Also there was a big-ass tool belt loaded with everything I thought I might need, from Snap-On to Red Cross to Ruger. Bryan had on a vest, too, but guys like him get them tailored to be concealable. Chase had been wearing one like that when he'd been shot, so maybe they were a little too concealable.

"This is insane, you know that," I reminded him.

"So you keep saying."

"It's also kind of boring? Like... Boring and insanely dangerous. Why do we do things that fit both categories?"

He grinned, "When I planned this operation, I didn't just lay out for your body armor and bandages. I paid a freelance analysis service to give me odds on Shadow Hawk's location and activities."

"You mean rich folk can buy information like that, too?"

"Of course. There's a whole branch of insurance adjusters who look at this stuff. Did you know State Farm has its own cape response unit?"

"But if that's the case, this shadowy Hawk guy should be in prison by now."

"He's not the kind of guy you just sneak up on. According to my analysts, he always initiates contact."

I sat back and folded my arms so he wouldn't realize how impressed I was. No sense in him getting a big head. "But not with us?"

"Especially not with us. I've just got to make us worth talking to."

"How do you know he's here?"

"There's a cape operating in the area. Goes by the name Sawblade. Shadow Hawk will be hunting him."

"Again, how do you know and the police don't?"

"Sawblade doesn't rely on secrecy, all he needs is a distraction. Right now, Perro Tsunami is in lower Alabama."

"Perro Tsunami? No way! I used to love that show!" I sang a few bars of the theme song.

"You do know the reality is different from the kids show."

"I know. But it was so cool! Living out under the stars, traveling from place to place fighting crimes, just you and your hundreds of stray dogs... it sounds like heaven."

"They aren't all strays. Not even most of them. And they don't..." he wisely realized what he'd accomplish by continuing this line of thought and shut it off. "Anyway, it's a superhero PR disaster if they let him kidnap everyone's dog, and it's a worse one if they arrest him. So they'll be busy trying to keep them away from the high-population areas. The bigger villains will move right now, too. They've got the same idea as Sawblade, and they're higher priority. If you look at the actuarial tables for armored car companies around here, it's pretty obvious."

"Damn! I'm impressed! And how did you get the tables?"

He flashed his dumb crooked smile, "I'm a potential investor, and I signed an NDA."

"So this is why we've been sitting next to a honkytonk in the middle of nowhere for two nights in a row?"

"Yes."

It was stressful and exciting when the armored car showed up, got the money from the drop safes, and vacated without incident.

Then it was boring again.

Lord, I hated stakeouts.

*

Home Base

Jessica

I sat, as promised, in the Food Mart with a yellow flower in my hair. I had never felt so exposed in my life. My shoulder blades itched with the feeling I was about to be ambushed or simply sniped from afar. Again.

It had been my idea. Meeting in public, there was no danger that she'd be geared up. I scanned the crowd again, wondering at every woman in it. There were too many to keep track of. I'd thought myself so clever at the time.

Some instinct told me someone was coming up fast behind me and I tensed, then sprang to my feet.

I turned to see a busboy pushing past with his tub held high.

I sat down again, and immediately got that feeling again. I had time to turn but she was on me, her hand coming down on my head...

I flinched, but she was withdrawing, my flower in her hand. She'd been so fast! But not so fast on the return that she damaged the bloom. I knew they had ridiculous reflexes, but she obviously felt that I needed a reminder. Flexing her power.

She smirked at me, then sauntered over to her seat. She was my height, meaning she was short, and dark-complected, with glossy black hair hanging to her shoulders and casual clothes. Under her bomber jacket she could have been concealing anything.

The look on her face didn't conceal her intentions.

I cleared my throat, "I'm gonna search you, okay?"

She narrowed her eyes. "That's not—"

We Switched. I saw my body continue saying, "—gonna happen shit!"

She patted at her body—my body, if we're accepting squatter's rights—and her face. When she got a look at her hair, it sunk in. I could see the panic in her eyes.

"Hold still," I ordered. "I'll Switch us back in a sec." I patted myself down, courteously avoiding her no-no zones.

"Damn, your feet hurt! Why are you wearing these shoes?"

"Practice," I replied absently. Then, "A knife? Really? I don't rate a gun, at least?" I demanded. When she didn't answer I shrugged, "With your speed, I guess that's all you need."

Using her body's speed, I snatched the blade from its sheath under my armpit and stabbed it into the table from beneath. It rattled violently, making her jump.

We paused, to give time for the looky-loos to lose interest. I settled my elbows on the table. "I turned her in. I could have turned you all in."

I Switched us back.

She blew a big sigh of relief at being back in her own self. With an effort, she pulled herself back from the edge of a major freak-out. "I could still kill you," she said almost tiredly.

I twirled a finger in the air. "And I could force you to marry an eighty year old man with rickets. What's your point?"

She stared at me for a long moment. When after a while neither of us had blinked, she said, "Come on." She rose and turned away without waiting to see if I would follow.

Margot went out to the parking lot and a beat-up Toyota pickup. I hopped in the passenger seat. She glanced at me once, then started the motor.

Saying nothing, we rode for an hour, up to the Scar. Houses got smaller and dirtier the farther we went. We never actually reached the Scar proper, so I didn't get to see for myself if you could spot Tennessee on a clear day.

We pulled into a little compound of prefabricated dwellings arranged in a ring, with a little courtyard between. There was a late model Jeep parked here already, as well as a large Chevy SUV of an older vintage.

"The home base," I guessed.

"You might as well." She got out and once more I tagged along in her wake.

We went into a small, dirty kitchen and past a tallish, androgynous person making a grilled cheese sandwich. The back of her shirt didn't conceal an obviously manufactured attachment, like a centipede running down her spine. Its gleaming metal head poked out of the neck of her wide-necked shirt, its fangs sunk deeply between her shoulder blades, and the thin material showed the shape of what was in between. The person looked up in surprise at me, then over at the couch in the living room, where a green suit of rollergirl armor sat in a chair like it was watching TV.

My hostess called, "Girls, get out here!"

The person of undetermined gender came out of the kitchen. "What the hell!" Okay, a male to female transsexual from the voice. Pre-op, judging from the bulging silk shorts and tight t-shirt. So a woman.

She looked back and forth between me and Margot in frustration, but it didn't take long for the other two to appear, one a fit-looking redhead and the other the tall blonde I remembered from the highway. I'd occupied that body. Along with them came several dogs, a couple of mutts and a golden retriever.

"Introductions," said Margot. "Jessica, that's Lisa, Erin, and Robbie," she pointed to the redhead, the blonde, and the brunette trans woman in succession. "Girls, this is Jessica, the Variant who ruined our last sortie and landed Jennifer in prison." Then she folded her arms and leaned on the wall to watch.

The trans woman—Robbie—clenched her fists while the redhead started toward me. The dogs began leaping around and barking excitedly.

Margot slid between us with her uncanny speed. With her back to me, I noticed there was something under her shirt, too, the same sort of cybernetic spine I'd seen on Robbie. It caught my eye because I could see lights flashing on it under her shirt, like green streaks as she'd activated it for that brief burst of motion just now.

"Where are your manners, girls?" asked Margot evenly. "She is our guest. She's here to talk."

Robbie shook her head, "I can't believe what I'm hearing. And from you of all people?"

Margot shrugged unhappily. To me, she said, "Show her what you can do. Go on."

They glared daggers at me.

I Switched with Robbie. She gasped, then screamed with glee.

"That's just a loaner," I told her, and her shocked eyes snapped to mine.

"What did you do!" she demanded.

"What's going on!" demanded the redhead in alarm.

The blonde, Erin, stepped forward. She'd obviously been thinking about this, since it had happened to her. "That's the one? But she's so small."

"Don't look at me." squealed Robbie, running her hands all over her loaner body.

I Switched with Erin, putting her in Robbie's body, then Switched Lisa into Erin's. It was a madhouse, everyone freaking out. They shouted in surprise and fear while Margot and I exchanged dry looks.

I Switched everyone back after that.

"Get the picture?" asked Margot. "We can't do shit to this bitch but maybe kill her. And haven't we done enough killing?"

This made them pause. They were very much not happy about the casualty they'd caused. I filed that away for later.

"Besides," she added with a disapproving look, "Digger likes her." She was clearly referring to the golden retriever trying to burrow into my crotch, and they all laughed when I said that.

"What the hell are you doing here?" growled Erin.

"Hating myself," I said.

"Join the fuckin' club!" grumbled Lisa. "We hate you, too."

"We can't blame her for what happened in the transport," Erin decided. "That was the cops."

"She wouldn't have been there—" began Lisa.

"—If not for me!" I finished. I looked round at all their angry and confused faces and I just couldn't any more. Shoulders slumping, I siad "I fucked up, okay? I feel like shit." They were surprised to hear that, but I couldn't stop. "Yeah, I feel like shit. But instead of moping about it in my clubhouse," I waved a hand at our surroundings, "I'm gonna do something about it. I'm gonna try to redeem myself."

Robbie looked down and realized she was still holding her uneaten sandwich. Taking a bite of it, she mumbled, "I wanna hear what she has to say."

"Jessica here has a plan," announced Margot unnecessarily, just to make me feel even more pressure.

But I was no stranger to this kind of pressure. Giving a good impression during brief social encounters was pretty much the only thing I was good for. I cleared my throat and dislodged the eager canine from my nethers. "If you're trying to change the world for the better, you're doing it wrong," I declared.

I had their attention. "I know politics, okay? Can't tell you how but boy howdy, do I know politics. And I'm here to tell you that killing a lawmaker is never, ever, ever going to work in your favor. People have been trying that shit since the Contessa got that universal health care bill passed, and no one has pulled it off since."

"Even a thwarted attempt to hit your target is good for him. It provides energy to his campaign. The one thing his political machine needs is a threat. They can use a threat to push their constituents even harder than before. It is literally what they do, all day long. It'll increase their revenue and improve their polling—even among their opponents. You have done your enemy a huge favor."

Robbie slapped her thighs in frustration. "We got whips and roller skates. What are we supposed to do, go door to door and pass out flyers?"

"Sneer all you want, but that would be more effective than you think. It would get you attention, which means media coverage, and that translates to votes."

"What we did got us attention," pointed out Lisa.

"Yes. But the media coverage was negative. Everyone who was on the fence is now more likely to fall in the wrong direction."

Scanning them, I saw that they were starting to believe me. I continued, "There's a better way. It's slow and it's difficult, but it's legal and it does work. You gain some goodwill, and then support a cause."

I looked around at them. "How do we gain goodwill, you ask?" I'd been hoping they'd ask, but no matter. "Something more interesting than putting out flyers. We're going to take down a supervillain."

I looked around the room and saw that I had their undivided attention. "His name is Sawblade."

*

* * * * *

I think rollergirls are cool, and for the record they should all have razor whips. Next week's chapter will see the thrilling conclusion to this story arc. Tune in for the inevitable three-way collision between the rollergirls, Sawblade, and our loving protagonists. Or tune in for all the freaky sex.

Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment or vote. Every time one of you posts a comment, I call out your username when I orgasm. That's why I'm no longer allowed in Starbucks.