Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Six: Braaaiiiiinns.... (Patreon)

Pemberley stared at me. "You want me to get the NHS to find you excised brain tissue."

"Secretly."

"That goes without saying. Anything else you need, like the blood of the innocent or the screams of a tortured soul?"

I blushed. "Just the brain matter. And yes, I know exactly how weird it sounds."

"But it'll help you get nanofibre weave production going."

"Yes, and I only need a small amount. About 1.2 kg."

"That's actually a lot, Belessar. The average brain tumor is only a few grams. We're talking about the entire output of the NHS for several months. And there is no way we'll be able to keep it quiet, especially not considering the sheer number of medical staff involved." She sipped her coffee. "How old does the tissue have to be?"

"Gideon's dad's stuff worked, and it was frozen a year ago."

"I'm still not happy about you briefing an unaffiliated civilian about this, but whatever. How did he react?"

"Said he couldn’t think of a better use for it than to ‘bugger the bloody aliens silly’.”

“People don’t talk like that anymore.”

“Gideon’s father does.” I shuddered mentally. The senior Mr. Troy had been positively gleeful at the thought…

“You can’t have normal problems, can you?”

“Normal went out the window a long time ago.”

Pemberley sighed. “Fine. I will speak to MI5, to the NHS, to whoever it takes and get you your brain tissue. In return, you’ve got to do something for me.”

“As you say, Commodore.”

“You have to take part in the Ultrahuman Convention.”

“The what?”

“The brass had the idea of doing a massive get-together for ultrahumans from all over the world. Here in London, a month from now.”

“... what kind of ultrahumans?”

“Every kind. The idea is to get them to mingle, like a conference. Get to see how different ultra powers work, maybe create some high-powered international teams out of them.”

“You do realize this is a spectacularly bad idea.”

“And why would that be?”

“Because half the ultras in the world are at war with each other?”

“The same could be said for a lot of militaries.”

“This isn’t the same thing. Ultras are hot-headed, prideful, and indisciplined.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Sarcasm apart, there are groups that hate each other. Hate enough to kill. Where’s the get-together?”

“The O2 grounds in London.”

“Open-air. Which means you could have attacks from hostile flyers. Or a Master - or multiple Masters - slipping into the convention and using it as a recruiting ground.”

Pemberley smiled crookedly. “We’ve got a few Mindshields up. Plus, the Oyam Aldish have volunteered to patrol the grounds.”

"Aren't they the Turkish ultra team at war with another group?"

"The Dashar Edraish, and they've agreed to a truce during the convention."

"That's one truce brokered and ten thousand to go."

The RAF officer shot me a dark look. "I know. It changes nothing. We need the convention."

"Why?"

"London drove home a lot of lessons. One of which is that most ultra teams are very, very badly assembled."

"I don't understand."

"Your typical ultra teams are drawn from the same local area. Close friends. Family. Dealers and their dependents."

"That's because ultras find it difficult to trust strangers."

"That also means you've got unbalanced teams. Look at Bulldog’s team, for example. A Herculean, a temporal, a shifter and a cognitive, and they were almost wiped out by a single unknown alien. Would have been, if you hadn’t been along.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “The Rakturai can remove superpowers. You can’t plan for that.”

“You can plan around it. A Rakturai has to be engaged by long-range fighters, not close combatants - Elementals and inventors are the perfect counter, supported by armor. And that’s just one more species. How many others are there that Sarvenimazarus didn’t tell us about? How many other, unique skills?”

“Point taken, but how will the convention help?”

“SURGE has plans for different team combinations. Balanced teams, versatile ones that can deal with different situations and react flexibly. The challenge is, most of the individuals on such teams don’t know each other.”

“And they’re not going to like being thrown together. Especially with strangers.”

“Hence the convention. A chance to get different types of ultras introduced to each other, under a situation that doesn’t have aliens shooting at them.”

“You’re trying to force the balanced teams to form.”

“We’re trying to nudge introductions along. The idea is for people with different powers - and from different countries - to be placed in close proximity to each other for a three-day party. Hopefully, at the end of it, some of them will be willing to work together.”

“That is either the stupidest or the most brilliant idea I’ve heard.”

“Why, thank you.”

“... it was your idea, wasn’t it.”

“Got it in one. I know that there are plenty of ultras who hate each other personally, and a lot more who dislike each other for political reasons. Or gang reasons. Or any reasons. We still need to get them to work together.”

“I hope you’re not planning on having, say, the Black Flags and the Legion of Light work together.”

“Of course not. We’ve got our dream teams planned out already. We just need a forum to introduce them to each other.”

“Who’s on my team?”

“I haven’t decided yours yet. Be nice.”

I smiled.

“The theme to the convention is going to be promoting collaboration amidst diversity. There’ll be pavilions for ultrahumans to talk about their powers, their themes, what they stand for. Inventors can talk about technology they’re willing to sell, Elementals can offer their services for construction and modification work, savants and precogs can demonstrate their skills…”

“Wait, is this a business exhibition?”

“That’s the official purpose. We’ve got sponsors from over a hundred different global firms wanting to meet ultras. Mostly defence firms, but a fair number of peaceful applications.”

“Didn’t know we had much of those.”

“Contrary to popular perception, more than half of ultras don’t participate in any conflicts of any kind. That’s a conservative estimate; we don’t know how many ultras are hiding in plain sight as normal - if slightly talented - people.”

I thought of Mayor Aldiss, the secret inventor. “I can see that. You want to attract the ultras who don’t show up to the big battles, figure out if they can fill the holes in our team lineups.”

“And also connect ultras who have little reason to dislike each other but synergize well. Falcao, for example, would work very well with Mahutsukoi, but there’s not a lot of opportunities for a Portuguese inventor to meet a Japanese elemental.”

“What makes you think they’ll run into each other at the convention?”

“We’re picking the pavilions for each ultra or group. Which are being kept top secret, officially to keep any groups from planning harm to other groups; practically, this lets us put the folks from our dream teams together.”

“And I suppose you want me to take part. Be one of the teams. Man a pavilion.”

“I want you to be physically present to show what successful industry-ultrahuman collaboration can do. Hold up BAE-Dragonfly as an example to all other ultras.”

“You realize we haven’t started production yet.”

“You have a factory, you have people working for you, you have contracts from the Ministry of Defence. That’s all they need to know.”

“I have people working with me, not for me.”

“Doesn’t matter. There are supervillain gangs who would reform if they had a legitimate way to make a livelihood. We want them to see that there are opportunities, even for someone classified as a violent, dangerous supervillain.”

“... wait, did you call me a supervillain?”

“I didn’t say that. Agni, though, might qualify. So please, keep her away.” Pemberley slumped back. “This is going to be a logistical nightmare even if everything runs smoothly. I don’t want people thinking they’re going to go up in flames because somebody called Agni names.”

“Fine, I’ll ask her not to come.”

“That’s not all. You need to be on your best behaviour. Make people see you as a success story. Keep the potential investors happy.”

“Where’s my pavilion?”

“You won’t have one. You’ll be wandering across the convention, sort of a roving troubleshooter.”

“Ah. You want me to put the fear of God into anyone who tries to break the peace.”

“More like the fear of mass driver rounds, but yes. Officially, you’ll be just another visitor. Unofficially, you see ultras about to start a fight, you break it up. I’ll need Nanocloud’s eyes across the convention too.”

“Can do. Freelance policing for brain matter.”