Electra

"Are we judging books by their cover now?" Miss A asked Freebooter with a laugh, even as she continued mowing through the crowd of ninjas, trying to isolate the one who actually had the sword. "You of all people should know better. And since you haven't gotten what you came for, your allies are scattered or gone, and the police are on the way, I'd say your little boarding party is all washed up, handsome." Despite that, she didn't move to take the swashbuckler into custody just yet, instead concentrating exclusively on the ever-shrinking pool of ninjas.

Miss A pursed her lips. "Sharl... it's complicated, but he found out about my double life at around the same time that you did. I think he's understandably angry that I lied to him, among all the other conflicting emotions he feels. He's not from this world, and I'm working hard to try and get him back where he belongs, but until then, I think it might be wise to look into alternative housing situations for him. I've heard good things about Claremont and the young heroes they train there. It might be good for him. He could make friends his own age."

Wander didn't laugh or participate in the banter, instead she held her bat a little tighter as they walked into the theater. "Dead bodies," she murmured, stepping away from the group to scan the area for escape routes and potential threats. "It smells like human decay in here." She could make that assessment with perfect assurance. Out of habit, she looked up towards the ceiling, checking to make sure that the upper levels and the chandeliers were structurally secure and not about to fall on anyone beneath.

"Consider it gone," Miss A replied easily, sounding as though she saw nothing odd in the request. "It's unlikely anyone will want to review that footage anyway, but there's certainly no sense in taking chances. I'll take care of it as soon as I'm done here." She adjusted the instrument, then flexed her fingers experimentally. The first three fingers and thumb moved with smooth precision, but the little finger remained stubbornly straight, as though preparing for a formal tea service. "Or maybe a bit before I'm done here," she amended. She paused for a moment, seeming to weigh another question. "Your girlfriend, Jill O'Cure, I seem to recall that she's a student at the Claremont Academy. Do you know anything about that school?"

"Sounds like I owe you one," Miss A said with a half smile, checking the readout on the device she'd been running over her arm. "Mm, that was quite a hit, wasn't it," she murmured, mostly to herself. To Dragonfly she said, "I appreciate your quick thinking, and the timely intervention as well. Not to mention the respect you've shown for my privacy. I like to think I would be as virtuous in your place, but even now I can't be sure. But you have my deep gratitude. We all need our costumes in order to do what we do, day in and day out."

Miss A moved to the center of the frame and smiled at the little girl. "My name is Miss Americana, Eira, but all my friends call me Miss A. Even though the work we have to do to move you into a new body is dangerous, it isn't going to hurt you," she explained carefully. "When it's time to scan your mind, we will make you fall into a deep sleep, so that you don't move around at all. When you wake up, you will be inside a computer, in a special temporary digital body. You know what a sidekick is, right? My sidekick, Citizen, is a young man who has a digital body and mind just like you will. He's different from you, and he will always have a digital body, but yours will only be until we have the robot body ready. Once you've been put into the computer, I can keep a close eye on you and make sure that you aren't feeling any pain." She took a deep breath and locked eyes with Magnus for a moment, then went on. "You're a big girl, and I know you're very brave and very smart. Taking a human being's mind and putting it into a computer this way isn't something that has really been done before." She wasn't even going to get into the Doctor Atom question at this point, since it was quite different anyway. "We'll be very careful, and my friends and I are very smart and skilled, but something could still go wrong. If something goes badly wrong enough, we might lose you, and you could die. But if it works, you'll have a strong new body, and no more pain. Do you understand?"

"I'm glad to hear everything's all right," Miss A told Dragonfly, walking over to a table full of tools and parts. "I know you were worried about her. The good thing is, now that everything is getting back to normal, other heroes are back on the job. We held the line, and now we can have a little break to put ourselves back in order." Unsealing the front of her patriotic jumpsuit to reveal a white camisole top underneath, Miss A worked her damaged arm out of the sleeve and began the somewhat awkward process of self-diagnosis. "I did want to ask, did, ah, anyone notice my lapse in the hangar?"

Miss Americana was in her soothing pitchman mode now, a bit of a shock to Magnus, who had seen her mostly in her prickly scientist mien. Every nuance of her face and body was measured precisely to soothe, reassure, and maintain interest. Not that the last of those was too difficult; it was not easy to ignore Miss Americana under any circumstances. With terms calculated to be approachable to laymen, she first went over the records with them, showing with all the compassion she could muster exactly how much damage had been done to the already fragile little girl through the rounds of treatment and experiment and anti-rejection drugs. She showed them schematics, though they couldn't hope to understand, of the potential replacement organs, even as she explained the difficulty in sizing, the lack of time available. Once all of those cards were on the table, she began, with careful caveats, to lay out the possibility of digitizing Eira's consciousness and uploading that consciousness into a fully robotic body. She made sure they understood how experimental the procedure was, how there were no guarantees, but inside, Gina was growing excited by the possibilities. She wanted to save a life, certainly, but this could also be the perfect opportunity to turn theory and study and simulation into reality! A child was the perfect test case, more flexible and adaptive than an adult, with denser synaptic pathways and at the same time, less accrued memory. She really wanted this opportunity, but the burning desire only made her more careful. She, of all people, would not thoughtlessly sacrifice a child to her own ambition. "I understand that it's a very difficult decision to make," she told Bernhardt and Madga, her lovely face sorrowful and compassionate as a religious painting. "There are no easy choices, perhaps no one choice that's entirely right. But I assure you that no matter what, my colleagues and I, and Magnus as well, will do whatever is within our power to help your daughter in whatever way you decide to go."

"It looks like the civilians are being cleared away," Wander observed, looking around at the milling people. "It should be safe enough to go in, anyway." She looked over to Nick. "If you've got some insight into the magic or whatever it is going on in there, Jack and I can run interference for you, and, uh, Caradoc can cover our retreat. And if something's in there that's got a mind, Gabriel can probably talk it into calming down or whatever." She drew her bat and headed toward the theater, pausing only if the others disagreed.

"Yes, it is," Erin agreed, a little bit surprised. "I grew up in Seattle, before I came to Freedom City and everything. It's a lot different from here. My, um... the Erin who's native here is going to the University of Washington next year. They have a great girl's softball team." She opened a cracker packet from the basket on the table, fiddling with it as her thoughts were unexpectedly filled with old expectations and hopes. "Seattle is a good town for artists, too, lots of galleries and little museums and street fairs and stuff. Why did you decide to come back to Freedom City?"

"I have the expertise and the capability to make a body so lifelike, you would not be able to tell without looking very closely that it's not organic," Miss Americana told him with no false modesty. "I have no interest in making robots for what you might consider "the prurient interest," but in this case, I would advocate for the inclusion of a full human anatomy. It will be enough of a change to try and get used to a brand new body, with new potential and new disadvantages," she explained. "The closer we can come to a perfect replica, the smoother the transition is likely to be." She tapped a few commands on her datapad. "In a best case scenario, she will be able, with some accommodation, to go to school and live like a normal person. Even if the body is only updated every four to five years, it's amazing what hair length and shape, makeup, and appropriate clothing can do to change the appearance of age." She turned the pad so he could see a child-sized android body, dressed in pink overalls and sparkly tennis shoes, hair in pigtails. A couple of commands replaced the overalls with a trim blouse and fitted jeans, put subtle lifts in the shoes, and turned the pigtails into a shining fall of hair with subtle curl at the ends. "I understand that the financial investment that would be made in a body like this is substantial," she assured him. "We're not going to do anything that might draw attention to the fact that the body is artificial."

Erin blushed a little more, the color very visible on her normally pale face. "No, I mean, we're not living together or anything, he's going to be in a dorm and at his house on the weekends, like he is now. Even if we wanted to, I think his grandfather would disapprove, a lot. This'll be just my place, and it doesn't have to be anything fancy. And no college, no financial aid." She shrugged. "There are some resources for kids who are aging out of foster care, but that's kind of a limited pool of funds and I know most of them need it a lot more than I do. Did you go to Freedom City University?" she asked Mona.

"I can't sugarcoat things for you," Miss A told him, "there's simply no getting around the fact that even if the process is successful, she will be a prototype, and we don't have any established protocols. All I can give you is ideas and possibilities. And of course I'll be willing to speak with the family, and with Eira herself. I know she's young, but she's old enough to understand some things." Miss A took a few moments to type on her datapad, bringing up some schematics of what were obviously robots at various stages of human development. She turned the pad to show him. "Since she's only nine years old, the robotic body we design for her would be in the shape of a preadolescent or very young adolescent, and ideally modeled on what her real body would look like without the ravages of illness. As technology progresses and her consciousness ages, we will adjust the body and eventually upload her into a new robotic shell, probably middle teenager, based either on projections or her own wishes. Then another one at college age, another one as an adult, if everything goes as we hope. The process would not be gradual or granular the way organic growth is, but we wouldn't put her in an adult body now, or leave her a child forever."

Miss A hesitated a moment, studying his face. "There might be another option," she finally said. "I wouldn't even suggest it if there was another choice. It's very experimental, almost theoretical still. A very talented colleague of mine and I have been conducting parallel research on digitizing consciousness, with the goal of uploading that consciousness into a fully robotic body." She paused a moment to let that sink in. "I have a template created, and I know that it does work to contain and express an evolving and developing sentience. Even so, no one on Earth, as far as I'm aware, has actually attempted to digitize a human mind before. The process could fail, and the failure could potentially destroy her mind and kill her. But she's already dying."

In some cities, being an ambulance chaser wasn't much of a compliment, but ever since she'd come to Freedom City, Wander had found that trailing the sound of sirens was a good way to find trouble while out on patrol. Tonight there was plenty of noise out in Parkside, from the wails of police cars to the wails of people, to the loud jetpack roar of a hero she'd never seen before. The trouble seemed to be coming from an old theater building, one that looked sort of run-down around the edges but still generally nice. It didn't look like a fire or anything had gone at it. Perching on a roof nearby, she could make out the jetpack knight and one other man who she was betting was a superhero as well. That might be enough backup, but it never hurt to drop in and offer a hand, she figured. In this case, that literally meant dropping off the roof and walking over to where the other heroes were converging.

"I've been working on replacement organs as part of my work with ArcheTech, as well as here in the Lab," Miss Americana began, setting down the datapad and regarding him levelly. "In the time we have left, with unlimited funding and assuming no major Freedom City disasters, I believe I could fabricate replacement organs that would address most of the problems that your design team has found. But the human body is a fragile instrument, Magnus," she told him gently. "When a vital part begins to shut down, it doesn't go alone. By the time we can fabricate all those parts in such a small size, much less test them, it may be too late."

Fleur hastened after Wail, a little surprised at this turn of events. "It's a bit of a madhouse out there," she warned her fellow superhero. "Once we get out there, we're probably going to have to turn this guy over to the police. If he's your old nemesis and he's suddenly back, it might not be a bad idea to let him wake up and have a talk with him first, see if he spills any information on why, exactly, he came back and what he wanted with that stone? We can give him to the police after that."

Miss Americana plugged the drive into her datapad, bringing up the scans and looking through them with a quickness that went beyond the seemingly-cavalier into the downright inhuman. Her eyes didn't even flicker as she took in the information, the only movement was her finger on the scroll bar, calling page after page of the damning records. After taking perhaps a minute to review data that should've taken hours to internalize, she looked up at the baron. "You know this isn't just a heart problem anymore," she murmured. "All the surgeries, the failures, they've taken their toll as well. She's on the cusp of multiple organ failure. I'm not certain a heart is going to help her now, no matter how advanced."

Erin listened carefully, her brow furrowing a little as she listened to the rather pessimistic advice. It all made sense, but that didn't mean it was really what she'd been hoping to hear. She wasn't exactly great at talking to strangers. "I was kind of thinking of trying to find someplace near the university," she admitted. "I mean, I'm not going to college, but I thought maybe it would be easier for someone my age to get an apartment. And, um, my boyfriend is going to school there, so that would sort of be a bonus. But it sounds like it might be too hard to find anyplace there, especially in my price range."

Miss Americana watched him intently as he told the entire sad story, her face difficult to read. Reaching behind her, she took a box of tissues from the sideboard and handed them over to him. "It sounds like a difficult case," she told him honestly. "And the timetable you're giving me isn't exactly promising either. But I'll take a look. Have you got her medical records and the blueprints of your devices on hand?" She'd noticed he'd come emptyhanded, but that meant little when a library of information could be tucked in a pocket.

Miss Americana had set up deliberately for the meeting, changing into a trim-lined power suit of deep red, with navy blue belt and diamond earrings and necklace, an outfit that absolutely projected confidence and authority. She'd also refrained from taking a chair while she waited, ready to meet the Baron on her feet for whatever conversation they were going to have. His entrance, first his appearance and then his genuflection, rendered most of that preparation useless, and indeed a bit silly. She retrenched quickly. Obviously whatever was wrong, it was more important to Katastrof than his considerable pride. That meant it was probably big. Even so, she wasn't quite entirely sure she was ready to let bygones be bygones. "Why don't you have a seat, Baron, and we'll talk about it." She took the seat at the head of the small conference table, nodding him to one of the other chairs. "What exactly is it you're looking for?"

"You'd be surprised how useful a good cleaning and assisting robot is," Miss A said congenially, flexing her limbs and swiveling her neck and waist, checking for other problems. The body definitely needed a tune-up, she could feel several motions that were not quite smooth, and there was a slow hydraulic leak near the ribcage that would have to be patched before it widened. "I don't know how anyone keeps house without one. But really, there's enough trouble in the world to keep me and all my powers busy without snooping into the lives of my colleagues. You're as entitled to your privacy as I am to mine." Miss Americana got down off the table, stumbled a little as she noted down a slight defect in the ankle joint, and corrected for it as the table lifted up and away. "You look tired," she remarked to Dragonfly. "Have you gotten any sleep yet?"

Miss Americana flew into the Lab around ten that morning, her usual time to arrive. As a founder, not to mention one who didn't answer to deadlines, she could sleep in if she wanted to! When she arrived in her office, she checked her messages and was darkly amused by the one the receptionist had relayed to her over voicemail. Sounded like the Master of Disaster had changed his tune from last time they'd spoken. She toyed with the idea of leaving him on tenterhooks for awhile, or of disregarding him entirely, but that would be unprofessional, and potentially unheroic. That is, if his problem was as urgent and far-reaching as his message made it sound. If he were dissembling, she could always kick him out of her office personally. She called down to the receptionist and had her set up an appointment with the Baron in one of the conference rooms late that afternoon.

The boxy robot went still, even as equipment all around the table came to life. Several diagnostic machines rolled up to the table and began running cameras and scanning wands over the prone body. After a minute of humming, beeping, and chattering, the machines fell silent as well, and a moment later, Miss Americana opened her eyes. "That's much better," she said, smiling over at Dragonfly. "I see you took good care of things while I was indisposed. I appreciate that." She pushed herself to sit up, grimacing when she put weight on her left arm, and rubbed it just exactly as though it truly pained her. "Looks like I've got a little repair work to do."

"Synthetic neuromesh interlaced with multiwall carbon nanotubes, over a frame of mostly polycarbonate," the robot supplied helpfully, sounding more human now, if still totally devoid of any defining personal characteristics. "And a few proprietary tricks. It's good you didn't start peeking around, though, you'd have activated the failsafes." The robot trundled over to a control panel and dropped a stainless steel table on guy lines down from the ceiling. It was hardly the only piece of suspended equipment, space was obviously at a premium here. "You may place the robot on the table at your convenience."