Later that day he met up with General Hudson in the officer's mess.

'You look pleased,' observed the older man.

Foster played it down. 'They need work, but in terms of sheer potential they're off the charts.'

'That's good to hear. Any red flags?'

'What's the deal with Black Amber?'

Hudson sipped his whisky. 'Bit of a snafu, that one. VIGIL have a telepath on their books. Doctor Bannister, he's a bit of a rogue, known for overstepping his boundaries. We've had our people trying to work out what went wrong, and our best guess is that VIGIL did some kind of super-NDA when they kicked her out. They pulled out everything related to the organisation, and must have left a mess. When our machine went in she came apart like a house of cards.'

He shrugged, watching Foster carefully. 'She's still useful, if you can get through to her.'

Foster frowned. 'Assuming there's still anybody in there.'

'If not, you'll have to train her up from scratch. It's been done before.'

'I didn't sign up to be a nursemaid,' he protested, mildly.

'Ah, but look at the other toys in your box. We can't even begin to define Savael's capabilities.'

'I'm more curious about the Visceroid.'

Hudson flashed a grin. 'Impressions?'

'I thought it'd be smarter.'

'It's a weapon, Foster. Point it at a target and stand well clear.'

'I thought you wanted heroes.'

'We also want to get the job done,' the General's eyes narrowed. 'You've done this before. I told the Board you were the man for the job. Don't tell me you're having second thoughts?'

'I can handle them, I just don't quite have a handle on them. Yet.'

'You've read the Green Book?'

'Yeah, and the extra stuff. Jesus. How many people did Meghan kill?'

'It's in the report,' Hudson took a swig. 'We don't know how many people it killed before we got to it, a couple-dozen at least. Mostly the idiots that made the thing, and a handful of locals after it got loose. Mostly it was eating cattle.'

'Yeah, I saw the footage. She eats sausages the same way. I guess her mouth isn't really a mouth.'

'You'd need to speak to somebody else about that, not my field.'

'Are the eyes really eyes, at least, or just cosmetic?'

Hudson shrugged again. 'Figure it out for yourself. They're your team. I've got a half-dozen other projects to watch over. I don't have time to obsess over every detail.'

= = =

The following day, he was once again having doubts. He had his orders, and Hudson wanted him to do an evaluation, to get a baseline of the girls' capabilities.

That meant sparring with instructors. He wasn't going to step in the ring himself, because losing a match would erode his authority, and it wasn't exactly iron-clad respect as it stood.

And so it was, oh-eight-hundred saw Foster and his five charges lined up in a gym, before a project-vetted PT instructor in a blue tracksuit. The guy was unpowered, just a mundane human with a bit of training, but he obviously fancied his chances, because he was sneering at the group.

Worse, he was sneering at Foster.

'We get all kinds in here, kids with all kinds of fancy-ass special abilities, but what matters most in this room is this: can you fight?'

Foster rolled his eyes. He wasn't here for a speech, and this guy was hardly the motivation speaker the girls needed. He stepped forward.

'I need a baseline,' he said. 'For comparison. If they're gonna face off against you, I need to know what level you're at.'

'I'm a seventh Dan black belt. Pure hard work and discipline.'

'Yeah? Okay. Impress me.' Foster stepped onto the rubber mat. His combat computer placed coloured markers on the guy, and streams of calculations began to run. Foster would normally release a large portion of his automated of his reflexes to the defence system, but he doubted he'd need anything like that. Instead he just waited.

The trainer just smiled, gave him a shallow bow, then lunged forward. Foster stepped back out of reach, and the man's punch fell short, stopping an inch from Foster's solar plexus.

Foster nodded. 'Not bad.'

The man stepped closer and threw another punch, at Foster's chin this time. Foster deflected it easily. 'Yeah okay, you'll do. Sam? You're up.'

The girl strutted onto the mats and Foster gave them room. 'Contact only, don't need anybody getting hurt.'

The instructor gave her a short bow, which Sam didn't return. Foster watched her intently, wondering how this teen would compare to the warrior he used to know. He wasn't disappointed.

Well, maybe a little. Eagle had skills and reflexes, but as an adult she had at least taken combat seriously. This kid was too confident, as though she didn't believe a normal human could hurt her. As she faced off against the instructor Foster found himself rooting for the guy, willing him to land a punch, to show her she wasn't unbeatable.

Sam blocked most of his attacked, dodged the rest, and struck out at him with kicks. Her long legs kept him at bay, and eventually he managed to grab her ankle. That should have been the end of it, but Foster winced. That move wasn't the same against a flier. Sam pivoted neatly in the air and her other foot flashed out. The guy released her and leapt back, swearing.

Foster clapped his hands. 'Okay, enough, stop.'

Sam dropped to the ground and gave the instructor a mocking bow. Foster stepped over and took him aside.

'Listen, uh?'

'Morris.'

'Right. Listen, Morris, just a heads-up: all these kids can fly. You're gonna have to adjust your assumptions. Trips, throws, flips, gravity ain't your friend here. Anytime you get one of these kids off the ground you're just freeing up extra limbs for them to attack you with. You with me?'

Morris nodded, frowning. 'I do work here you know.'

'As a combat instructor?'

'Yes!'

'Huhn. Right. Nikoli! Front and Centre.' The big girl jogged up, looking wary. 'Think you can put this guy on the floor without killing him?'

'Uh, I guess?'

Foster patted Morris on the shoulder. 'All yours man, instruct.'

Morris was irritated, and it affected his performance. Nikoli wasn't a fast striker, or a super-agile fighter, but she was solid and had good movement. Muscle memory, he guessed, but she was doing something clever with her flight. Half the time she was heavy and planted, but other times she drifted around on her toes, light as a feather, able to dart about faster than seemed possible.

That was new. She'd never done that as an adult. Foster was pleased, and called a halt before either of them landed a blow. 'Enough. Goryushka, that's excellent work, full marks. Back in line.'

The Constellation he knew had serious anger issues, and if she got frustrated she was liable to fly into a rage, and Morris would be paste. Foster had some new data to work with, so that was enough out of her for now.

'Fern? Yeah, you. Get over here. You're gonna fight this man.'

She walked over and goggled at him. 'I am? Why?'

'Practice.'

'Oh.'

Chapters...