“Please, I just want to see my daughter,” Danny Hebert said, alternating between pleading and threatening. “Let me see my daughter!!”

  “We will shortly sir,” Battery said patiently. “But there are some things you have to understand about your daughter’s condition--”

  “Condition? I wasn’t told anything about a condition!” They were on the hospital floor of the Rig. Danny looked about frantically and saw a glassed-in room off to the side that seemed suspiciously active. “Is that where you’re keeping her?” he pointed. “Get out of my way!” He lunged past the protesting heroine and marched for the room.

  Danny opened the door.

  Inside a small mob of medical professionals and technicians were gathered around an examination table. Sitting on the examination table was an adorable little lavender unicorn with a curly black mane and tail and a ladybug tattoo on its hip. They all looked up to see who had come in and stared.

  “Hi Daddy,” the little unicorn said.

  Danny closed the door.

  Several long, unnervingly quiet moments passed. Battery walked over and stood next to him.

  “Okay….” Danny Hebert said, his voice calm as oceans. “I’m listening.”

  “Here comes Shadow Stalker. She’s hopping along, still pulling on parts of her costume, guess she’s in a hurry-- she’s firing back down the hallway as she rounds the corner-- are those broadheads?? Naughty, Naughty, Shadow Stalker, you know you’re not allowed those… and heeeeere comes the unicorn! Woops, looks like little hoofies aren’t good for traction on tile, she just slid past the intersection but she’s a game one and she’s coming round the corner--- whoa, look at those eyes, she is out for BLOOD--”

  Aegis groaned and palmed his temples. Of all things, giving Clock Blocker console duty as punishment for his past infractions was going to go down as the worst mistake of Aegis’ short career as leader of the Wards. He had possibly resorted to it one too many times in a failed attempt to simmer down the overly exuberant Ward, and Clockblocker had sworn that someday Aegis would regret it.

  Well, he was right.

  “And we switch now to footage from the cafeteria… Holy crap are those exploding crossbow bolts? Why yes they are--- it’s double secret probation for you, Stalky-- too bad it seems our friend the unicorn has some sort of forcefield. Holy cow look at those tables fly--”

  In retrospect, Aegis couldn’t think of a worse mistake than giving a boy whose down-time hobby was editing together comedy videos for Youtube access the PRT Console system. During the Trigger Event Incident earlier today, he had managed to tap into the Winslow security camera system--- he suspected hacking help from Kid Win-- set up a laptop to record the footage, and had in a matter of a couple hours spliced together a highlight reel of Shadow Stalker’s disastrous battle with the new Cape, which he was now showing on his laptop to anyone who would watch. The footage was silent and in black and white (Winslow High was, in addition to being a terrible school, miserably cheap), and Clockblocker was narrating the onscreen action with relish.

  Aegis suspected him of planning to add silent movie sound effects later. Possibly Yakkity Sax.

  “Oh, oh, oh, she’s shooting out that glowing aura and it’s got Shadow Stalker by the leg! Ohhhh, slammed into the wall! And now the other wall! And the ceiling! And the floor! Ceiling! Floor! Wall again! And the floor! She’s gonna feel that in the morning all next week, folks--”

  Thankfully, Aegis knew, the Triggered student hadn’t used nearly the force that it sounded like. Still, Shadow Stalker had bruises on top of her bruises, for sure

  “And she spots the trashcan by the wall… she shoots, she SCORES! Dun, duh duh dunt, DUN, duh duh dunt-- And that’s game, folks! Score: cute little unicorn, TWO, Shadow Stalker, NOTHIIING!”

  The current captive audience was Kid Win and Browbeat. Clockblocker was sitting in the common room sofa with the laptop in his lap while the other two watched the video over his shoulder. Browbeat was leaning on the back of the sofa trying not to laugh; Kid Win was completely collapsed over it, by all appearances dying from lack of oxygen due to laughing so hard. “You do realize that if that video gets out on the internet I’ll have to kill you myself,” Aegis said to Clockblocker. “Otherwise Piggot will kill ALL of us and hang our bodies from the ramparts as a warning.”

  “We have ramparts?” Clockblocker said, amused.

  “She’ll build ‘em.”

  “Not likely,” Kid Win snorted between fits of giggles. “Piggy’s already too busy trying to decide who to strangle first: Shadow Stalker for her screwup, or Armsmaster for his.”

  “Yeah, between the parole violation, the bullying scandal, the Trigger Event, and Armsmaster’s little public op-ed, everybody in the tri-state area wants a strip of her hide. She’s gotta be tearing her hair out! The rest of us were good little boys and girls-- it’ll probably be days before she even remembers we exist.” Clockblocker chuckled and hit replay.

  “Your highly irrational optimism is refreshing,” Aegis said. “I can’t believe you of all people have forgotten the Two Rules of Crap.”

  “The Two Rules of Crap?” Browbeat echoed, puzzled.

  Clockblocker’s smirk (his full-face visor was up) turned rueful. “You’re new, so you’re forgiven for not knowing the Two Rules of Crap in the Wards. One: When the stuff hits the fan, it never spreads evenly. Two: No matter how it spreads it always runs downhill.” He sighed. “Still, a guy could hope...”

  “So don’t go borrowing trouble we don’t need,” Aegis suggested. “Keep that video off the web.”

  “You ought to anyway,” Browbeat added, a look of empathy crossing his face. “The new kid is probably still pretty fragile. She don’t need to see that right now.”

  Clockblocker’s smile vanished. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said, shutting down the app and closing the laptop. “I wasn’t going to put it online anyway, but-- yeah.” There was one thing you just didn’t jerk people around about when you were a cape: Trigger events. “So how long till we meet the new kid?”

  “They said Saturday at the earliest,” Aegis said. “Her mutation is pretty extreme, so it’ll take them a while to clear her medically. The medics and the power wonks are going over her with every scanner and probe they got.”

  Kid Win winced. “Better her than us.”

  “I heard they were even asking Panacea to come in and take a look,” Browbeat threw in.

  Clockblocker froze, so suddenly Aegis almost thought he’d used his power on himself. A slow grin spread across his face. “So after running the gauntlet she’s going to get an official introduction to us this weekend?” he said.

  “That’s the plan,” Aegis said.

  Clockblocker’s smile grew to unsettling proportions. “And that’s when Vista gets back from her family trip, right?”

  “Yes, she… oh boy.”

  “Oh man. This is gonna be good...”

  Taylor sat patiently as the technicians and doctors and other PRT staff poked, prodded, and at one point waved booping rods over her. Her father sat next to the examining table, his hand on her withers; men armed with crowbars couldn’t have pried him away. It warmed her heart to know how devoted he was to her… even if he was looking a little poleaxed at the moment. At the moment there was a nurse with a clipboard speaking to them. “...With all that we’ve done so far, we’ve gotten the outlines sketched down of your daughter’s new physiology,” she was saying, “But with your permission, we’ve asked as a special favor for Panacea to come in and take a look.”

  “Panacea?” that seemed to pull her father out of whatever world his mind was wandering in. “But I thought she was a healer. How exactly...”

  “Panacea’s abilities give her an innate understanding of a person’s biology and biochemistry better than our best scientists and doctors,” the nurse said. “she’ll be able to spot things we never could, give us a general idea of your physical development, any possible medical concerns--”

  Taylor’s stomach suddenly growled, loud enough to hear. She blushed brightly enough to see right through the fur on her face. “Dietary needs?” she said meekly.

  The nurse laughed. “It has been a long day, hasn’t it. Didn’t they give you anything to eat?”

  “I had a plain salad about an hour ago.” Taylor said. “It wasn’t much but it seemed safest.”

  “Ah.” The nurse nodded, making a note. “Well, once Panacea looks you over, checks for any food allergies or the like, we can give you the all-clear for a proper meal. So… with your permission?”

  Danny nodded. The nurse smiled and hustled over to the door. She leaned out and spoke to someone; a moment later the robed figure of the world’s most famous healer walked in. She was startlingly young; she couldn’t have been any older than Taylor herself. She had dark brown, curly hair that peeked out from under the hood of her white robes, and a scattering of freckles across her face, and despite the professional look of her uniform she looked terribly worn out, with a listless expression and heavy circles under her eyes. She slouched into the room, barely lifting her head.“Okay, I understand you have a new cape here, a case fuuuuu….” her sleepy eyes went wide as they locked onto the miniature lavender unicorn sitting in the center of the room.

  “….Yes?” Danny said innocently, gently patting his pony daughter on her shoulder. “Something the matter?”

  Taylor scowled up at him. “Daddee...” she hissed, poking him in the ribs with a hoof. “Stop winding up the world-famous cape healer.” She rolled her eyes. Dad Humor. Honestly…

  Panacea jumped. “It talks!” she squeaked.

  Taylor’s eyebrows tabled. “Yes, it talks,” she said sarcastically. “It also hears.” It had been a long day, and she was getting a little grumpy.

  “Yes, ahem.” The lead doctor butted in. “This is Taylor Hebert, age fifteen, she just triggered and--”

  “She’s the trigger? A-are you sure a biotinker didn’t make her?” Panacea stalked forward like a cat who’d just seen its first laser dot. She reached out a hand to touch Taylor’s face.

  “Hey!” Taylor said, pulling back.

  Danny gently, but firmly grabbed the girl’s wrist. “Yes, she’s my daughter,” he said with patient amusement. “The only biotinkering that went into making her involved me and my wife, thank you very much.”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Daaad!!” Taylor said, mortified.

  Taylor’s wasn’t the only face flushing dark. Panacea backed up, hands to her mouth and her cheeks read. “Oh, I-- I’m so sorry-- I apologize, I don’t know what-- It’s just--”

  “It’s just you don’t get too many breaks from patching up the same old breaks, bumps and bruises,” Danny said knowingly. “Or to use your power on anything unique or new. And,” he chuckled and looked at his daughter, “This is certainly unique and new.”

  Panacea gave him a fleeting smile. “Yes, that’s… true. I’m sorry about that.If I may…?” she asked Taylor, holding out her hand.

  “Go ahead,” Taylor said. She leaned her head forward till Panacea’s palm was resting on her forehead, just under her horn. The healer’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, then back open. “Oh, wow,” she breathed.

  “What??” Taylor asked in alarm.

  “Your physiology it-- it’s incredible!” Panacea stammered. “It’s perfectly orchestrated to gather, generate, and transmit… s-some sort of energy, I can’t say what--”

  “That glowing aura she generates when she uses her telekinesis,” one of the techs standing by said. “It’s giving our propeller-heads fits. The readings might as well say “Bingo Bango Bongo Boingo” for all the sense they make.”

  “...Th-the keratin in your hooves, horn, mane, and tail all seem to conduct this energy too,” Panacea went on. “Reactive to it--”

  “That would explain why her hair frizzed when one of the techs startled her,” someone muttered.

  “Oh, your horn is alive, by the way,” Panacea told Taylor. “It has a nerve fiber in the base and a live root, and apparently grows like a rhino horn or a rodent tooth… slowly, but you may need to file it smooth every few months or so.”

  “Important grooming tip, thanks,” Taylor muttered.

  “Reproductive cycles are… different,” Panacea said, her brows furrowing as she stared at nothing. “Probably an eleven month pregnancy cycle--”

  “NOT going to be an issue,” Taylor said.

  “Normal for a horse, though,” someone else said.

  “But a monthly waxing and waning fertility cycle--and no menses. Looks like you got spared your monthly visit from Aunt Flo, you lucky little stinker,” Panacea said.

  “Nice to know but could we PLEASE move on from my ‘reproductive issues?’” Taylor said on a rising note. “What about dietary? Is chocolate poisonous to me now? Am I going to have to live on grass now or oats or something?”

  “Actually… oh good grief...”

  “Whaaahahat?” Taylor said. Would she ever stop DOING that?

  “Well, you don’t have to worry about chocolate,” Panacea said. It was hard to tell whether she was more amused or annoyed. “Your body can easily handle the theobromides and other toxins that give dogs and cats so much trouble. In fact it can handle toxins way better than a baseline human… or a baseline horse. You not only COULD eat grass and like it, you could nosh down on plants that would kill a horse-- or a human.”

  “Really,” Taylor said, impressed.

  “What about meat?” Danny asked.

  “You and your barbecues...” Taylor said.

  Panacea huffed. “Yesss, she can still eat meat and dairy,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “For that matter, normal horses can eat meat too… it takes some time to adjust to it but they can. Her? She could sit down right now and eat a Fugly Bob’s Burger without a hitch.”

  “So what’s the catch?” Taylor said.

  “What catch?”

  “You said ‘oh good grief’ earlier… that no sound good to me.”

  Panacea snorted. “It’s just that on top of all the above, your metabolism, your lipid storage and your insulin cycle are practically bulletproof. They can handle mass loads of starches, sugars, and carbohydrates-- in fact they’re turbocharged to run on ridiculous excesses and LIKE it.” She bent down to look the unicorn in the eye. “In layman’s terms you’re custom-built to snarf chocolate cake and ice cream sundaes like they’re going out of style.” She hmmmed. “Even your saliva and tooth enamel are more resistant to decay…”

  “Oh, now I’m starting to hate her,” the nurse with the digital clipboard joked. “Someone up there must like you, kid.”

  “Someone up there must think it’s adorable to have a little purple unicorn that can practically live on cookies and cake,” Taylor corrected her wryly.

  “Part of it might be you have to burn a lot of calories to make that… glowy aura thing you did,” Danny pointed out.

  “In part, yeah,” Panacea agreed. “Anyway, your growth cycle… hmh?” she paused, looking puzzled. “Oh… kay… your maturation is about the same as a human-- about 12 to 13 years to the start of puberty, full maturation by about 25… slightly longer lifespan, possibly close to 120 to 150 years--”

  “Whoa, that’s good!” Taylor said.

  “B-but… I can’t quite put it in words--” Panacea stopped and took a breath. “Okay, it’s… really fuzzy down past a certain point. But the impression that I get is that your ‘species,’ for lack of a better term, has three major possible forms. And that during the first month or so of your gestation-- that is, if you had actually had a gestation-- your form could have gone one of those three possible ways. The form of a unicorn is only one of them.”

  “Really?? Then what are the other two?” the lead physician asked.

  Panacea rubbed her forehead, vexed. “How would I know?” she said. “Reading a DNA strand to know how it MIGHT have developed is like-- like looking at part of a blueprint for a half finished house that got changed again and again before construction started. Short of cloning her and seeing what the clone grew into-- assuming we could even figure out what the trigger is to select the form-- we can’t tell.

  “The real kicker though is that there’s coding here for a-- a conditional metamorphosis.”

  Taylors’ eyes went even larger, and Danny’s body went stiff with sudden tension. “You mean I’m going to change AGAIN?” Taylor cried out in dismay.

  “NO! No, no no,” Panacea said, shaking her head firmly. Both father and daughter relaxed, but only slightly. “Your physiology is perfectly stable. What you see is what you get.” Danny and Taylor sighed in relief. “But there’s… something here, a sort of switch-- almost a … promise of potential. one that will only activate under extreme duress or environmental conditions. Perhaps a-- larger form? No, not quite---” she sounded frustrated. She squinted at Taylor’s head under her hand as if the answers were written in a too-small font on the unicorn’s brow.

  “So okay, I’m some sort of Pokemon or something?” Taylor said, cocking an eyebrow. “I’m going to ‘digivolve’ or whatever? Or possibly could?”

  “It’s… not very likely? The sequencing sort of implies one hell of an environmental stressor--- a drastic change-- is needed to cause the paradigm shift...I’m sorry, my power usually isn’t this cryptic,” Panacea complained. “I haven’t hit a no-sell like this since they had me look at Weld-- and he’s made of living metal!”

  “It’s okay,” Taylor said sympathetically. The healer looked like she was getting a terrible headache from trying. “You’ve already told us a lot of important stuff we really needed to know.” Her stomach suddenly growled again, making her blush madly. “Speaking of which--”

  The techs and physicians all chuckled. “Okay, I think that’s lunch,” the lead said. “Or dinner, considering the time. If you like,” he said to Danny and Taylor, “the Rig has a pretty decent cafeteria. I’m pretty sure they’ll spring for the bill.”

  Danny gave him a half-smile. “Sounds good. Sounds good Taylor?”

  “Definitely,” Taylor said with relief. She’d been starving for ages, it felt like! She looked up at the healer. “Care to join us?”

  Panacea blinked. “I… well yes. Something to eat does sound good right about now. Thank you.” She smiled briefly, as if it pained her. “Call me Amy, by the way.”

  Taylor held out a hoof. “Taylor.” Amy shook it, this time with a sincere smile.

  The staff of the PRT working out on the Rig were of the highest calibre, and of the highest professional standards. They worked with masked heroes who trusted them implicitly with their anonymity. Discretion was their byword and their personal code.

  So naturally the photos of an adorable little lavender unicorn sitting in the Rig cafeteria, eating her way through an enormous hamburger and fry platter and a sundae almost as big as herself, hit the internet within a matter of minutes.

  Emily Piggot, director of the Brockton Bay PRT, a jowly woman with a severe haircut and an even more severe scowl etched permanently on her face, sat behind her desk and glowered like a basilisk at the two leaders of the Brockton Bay Protectorate. She was not amused. She was never amused. But current events had her less amused than ever before. Her current level of amusement could be annotated in negative numbers. “So would either of you care to explain to me,” she said in the dulcet tones of someone who had spent the past 24 hours chewing nails and tearing hair, “why our illustrious Armsmaster decided to do an impromptu on-air interview and turn our intercession in a Trigger Event, something which should have been an easy PR coup for us, into a screaming public relations disaster?”

  Miss Militia was seated casually across the desk from her. Armsmaster, in a none-too-subtle show of defiance, had refused a seat and was standing, staring out the picture window, sunlight gleaming off his blue and silver armor. “I’m not retracting my statement,” he said without looking at her.

  “You will if I say you do,” Piggot said, her temper flaring. “Even if I have to stand behind you, mimic your voice and move your lips with my finger.” She rapped on the desk with her knuckles absently. “Armsmaster, you stood on live TV and informed the people of Brockton Bay that their darling, angel children were all, quote ‘worthless little shits.’ Tell me that isn’t going to bite us in the arse.”

  “That is a gross distortion of my words,” Armsmaster said, his lips a thin line.

  “Which is exactly what they’ll do with those words-- are already doing with those words!” Piggot leaned back in her seat, grimacing as her ruined kidneys twinged.

  “And they were exactly what needed to be said,” Miss Militia said.

  Piggot’s eyebrows raised. “And how do you figure that?”

  “Director, I don’t expect someone who is never in the field to be aware of things as we are,” the patriot-themed cape began. Piggot bristled at the reminder of her permanent state as a PRT desk jockey, but held her tongue and let her continue. “But you read the dossier, you saw the photographs and the footage. What was done to Taylor Hebert by those girls-- by the entire school, staff included, was… obscene. And what’s more horrible is that this event was actually the culmination of a year-long campaign of cruelty--”

  “Aided and abetted by the school administration’s willful apathy,” Armsmaster bit out. Piggot’s eyebrows rose further. She’d rarely seen Armsmaster so agitated about something.

  “It not only needed to be said to the little assholes,” Miss Militia added with a sardonic tone to her voice, “It was in our best interests to express outrage and disgust at the whole thing, and as bluntly as possible.” Her brows furrowed. “Because, in case you forgot, Director, we are at least partially complicit in the whole affair. We were the ones who placed a highly questionable probationary Ward in that school. We were the ones the school staff thought they were pandering to when they hushed up the activities of Sophia Hess and her friends. And after today’s little media circus, to say nothing of the few hundred cell phone videos that are going to hit the internet over the next few days, anyone with the IQ of a gerbil is going to figure out that Shadow Stalker, the Protectorate Ward, is also Sophia Hess-- the leader of the most notorious group of bullies since they dumped a bucket of pig’s blood from the gym rafters in Carrie.”

  Piggot made a sound somewhere between a snarl and a groan and rubbed her temples. “Could you at least have found a more diplomatic way to distance us from that?” she almost pleaded. “Did you have to let ARMSMASTER speak to the Press unfiltered?”

  “Honestly, not without sounding mealy-mouthed,” Miss Militia said. She refrained from pointing out she didn’t ‘allow’ Armsmaster to do anything. “Tell me, Director; would you expect him--” she jerked a thumb over her shoulder “--to be diplomatic?”

  “No,” Piggot admitted bluntly. “I’d expect him to sound like he was reading off a teleprompter if he tried.” Armsmaster made a few grumbling noises himself at that.

  “Neither would anyone else,” Miss Militia said. Her eyes crinkled slightly in amusement. “In fact it’s expected of him to be utterly tactless.”

  “I’m right here, you know,” Armsmaster said.

  “So basically it works out that what we needed to say got said, in the way it needed to be said, by the one person who could get away with saying it.” Miss Militia’s amusement faded. “And within earshot of the one person we sincerely needed to hear it most: Taylor herself.”

  Something in the heroine’s voice caught Piggot’s attention. “And why do you think it’s so important that the PRT curry favor with a talking plush toy?” she asked.

  Armsmaster turned from the window and walked to her desk. He pulled two glass jars from a compartment on his belt and set them on her desk blotter. One contained a handful of red and white flower petals. The other had holes crudely punched in the lid, and held a vividly colored, living butterfly. “These are rose petals,” he said, tapping one lid, then the other. “and this is a butterfly; a Holly Blue, to be precise.”

  “And?”

  “This morning they were a rotting tampon and a cockroach, respectively,” he said. “I can show you helmet cam footage of the precise moment of their metamorphosis.”

  “When I was tending to Taylor during her emotional breakdown, she emitted a pulse of that strange energy of hers,” Miss Militia said. “The wave encompassed the entire school. We have techs going over the building with a fine toothed comb, but so far it seems all that was metamorphosed was the bugs and filth from the locker, including the remnant clinging to her own skin.” She held up an evidence bag with a few flower petals inside. “Daisies and carnations, in this case.”

  “I thought you said she was a telekinetic!” Piggot sputtered in alarm. “She’s capable of transmutation, too?” She refused to say biokinesis. It was too alarming to even think on.

  “And who knows what else,” Armsmaster added. “The scans so far indicate this energy field of hers is… exotic beyond imagining.”

  “She knows Sophia is Shadow Stalker,” Armsmaster went on. “She could hardly not figure it out, seeing as she went from being stuffed in a locker by her to thrashing her up one end of the school and down the other. It’s in our favor that we were quick to respond and that we moved to help her; that means she saw us as on her side right from the beginning. And right now she’s probably still a little shell shocked from all that’s happened to her. But the instant things settle down and she has time to think things over, she’ll start making connections.

  “If she decides we’re still on her side, we’ll get a new and fantastically powerful member of the Wards. If she decides that the past two years of suffering were our fault, then the explosion we saw at Winslow could be small potatoes.”

  “To say nothing of what her father could do to us,” Miss Militia couldn’t help adding, even as Piggot groaned and covered her face with her hands. “In case you missed it, Danny Hebert is in charge of the Dockworker’s Union, and a political gadfly in his own right. If he gets it in his head, he could raise a public stink like nothing you’ve ever seen.

  “‘Protectorate covers up Ward criminal behavior,’” she said, making quote marks in the air as if reading a headline. “’The big bad heartless PRT verses the poor little cute crying unicorn girl.’ How bad an aneurysm would Glenn Chambers have, do you think?”

  “And what do you recommend?” Piggot hissed, sourly admitting defeat.

  “How about the novel approach of ‘the truth’?” Miss Militia said cynically. “Look, the only way we can do it is if we just do it straight. Tell everything. All at once. Like ripping off a bandaid. We let the Heberts know everything, make it clear that we had a failure in our chain of command…”

  “No fooling,” Piggot said dryly. “I know a certain Ward handler who’s getting thrown under the bus.”

  “We come down on Shadow Stalker with both feet,” Armsmaster added. “No shipping her off to another district with a name change, no quiet shuffling away. Her family goes under witness protection and she goes straight to Juvenile Hall.”

  “Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars,” Miss Militia said smugly.

  “The Chief Director may give us trouble on that,” Piggot said. “The whole reason we gave Shadow Stalker probationary status was because she insisted the girl’s abilities were just too useful.”

  “They’re still useful,” Armsmaster said curtly. “But she’ll keep in the Cooler just as well as anywhere else.”

  Piggot nodded and gave a grimace that could almost pass for a smile. “Fair enough.”

  “And we make a point of cutting a sweetheart deal with the Heberts,” Miss Militia added. “Compensation for our part in her pain and suffering. Even if it’s a token gesture, it’s still a gesture, and should be made.

  “The upper management will quibble over that,” Armsmaster said. “Say that it’s too self-incriminating, or the like. Make it a few extra pluses on her eventual contract with the Wards; extra pay or benefits-- say that it’s due to her unique physical needs, her inability to maintain a secret identity, etc.”

  Piggot nodded slowly. “We already do something like that for the few Case 53s we have on board,” she said. “That will at least pass muster...” She sighed and shook her head. “I can’t find any reason not to do it the way you suggest. I’m just not looking forward to the ruckus-- or the red tape-- that’s going to cut loose when we do.” her expression soured.

  “Look on the bright side, Director,” Miss Militia said, her eyes crinkling again. “Once she signs up we are going to make a MINT on merchandising."