20th October 2017
16:21 GMT
It's still a little surprising, just how
normal supervillains can be. Even when they're dressed up, if you know how to approach them, you can start a conversation about American football or baseball or the weather and get a pretty normal answer back. I suspect it's something to do with how secure they feel in their position, and the position of the organisation in general. But outside of that…
Skud smiles as her son
George haphazardly shares his blocks with his half-sister
Atalanta, the lights from her cortical implant visibly shimmering under her skin. I'm not sure if parental responsibility is what caused their parents to cut down their intake of intoxicants or their ardent desire not to forget to use protection ever again, but it's made them all more effective operatives so I'm not going to complain.
And it's not just my former wards who've taken advantage of the relative security of the Syndicate's oligarchic rule of most of Africa to… If not settle down, to at least pair off and have children. Supervillainesses…
Less so than the menfolk, as it's much easier for them to find someone they're willing to have bear their children than it is for a villainess to find someone she wants to sire her children and then take a year out to actually gestate and wean them. I've been taking notes that I'm going to use to write a sociology essay on the subject, though it will probably have to be published decades from now. The extra children added to our population, most of whom have superpowers, mean that I actually got to build the first ever supervillain nursery school, complete with robotic security staff able to intervene if their powers flare up during tantrums.
My own eldest daughter is… Trying to interest Pavor Scott in letter blocks, but it doesn't seem to be holding his attention. She actually sighs as he toddles off to grab a soft ball to throw around. She's approached just about every other child in our social circle, but… The children her age don't have the attention span, and the older children aren't interested in someone that much younger than them.
As she's aged, it's… Become increasingly obvious that she's retained at least
some of her past life memories. I'm not sure if she has any specifics, but she's so much more mature than her peers that it's obviously causing difficulties in her socialisation.
"Hey." Zorina comes up behind me and leans into my left side, our son Zane sleeping against her chest. "Is she still having problems?"
"Mm." I nod. "I don't think we can put if off any more. If we don't know what she remembers, we can't help her."
She considers that for a moment, then nods in response. "You're right. Should I call Dad to take the others while we-"
"No, no."
"-talk it over with her?"
"No, I don't want to put her under even more pressure if all she's got is a few schematic patterns. I'll offer to play draughts with her, and just try bringing it up gradually. If she starts getting worried, I'll back off and let her know that she can talk to either of us whenever she wants."
"It's funny how she's so obedient. I'd have thought that the one who remembered being in command of her life would be more trouble than…"
I nod,
tilting my head to the left so that my cheek presses against the top of her head. Oh, all of our children have given us sleepless nights, but Zita's younger sister Zoë has a habit of screaming at every little thing that she's showing no sign of growing out of. Zita on the other hand acts more like a miniature adult half the time and the only thing that distresses her are her own lapses into childishness.
Even a mature mind can't completely rise above the requirements of the body.
I turn my head and kiss Zorina's brow before walking-. Stopping as a small swarm of children race across the floor on painted wooden foot-driven lorries. Zita briefly watches them… It doesn't look like she want to join them exactly, and she swiftly turns away and goes back to-. She got a newspaper from somewhere, and she's reading it.
Yes, I've put this off for entirely too long. I walk across the floor, skirting the detritus that has spread out from the toy chests, and approach her. She comes to her feet when she spots me, paper poorly hidden behind her legs as she comes to parade rest.
"Father."
"
Zita." I crouch down in front of her, smiling warmly. "What have I told you about calling me 'father'?"
Her eyes
move
away for a moment, and I see Pavor glance over with a bemused frown on his chubby face. "You told me to only use it if you had done something foolish."
I raise my eyebrows as she goes back to looking at my face.
"Dad."
"You see? That wasn't so hard." I keep smiling. "Are you busy?"
She glances down at the edge of her paper, then tries kicking it further backwards.
"No."
"How about a game of draughts with your Dad?"
For a moment she doesn't move,
then she jerks her head towards the closest group of children. They pay her absolutely no attention.
"I-. Yes. Alright."
"Would you rather play something else?"
"No, ch-.
Draughts is fine."
I look around-. Then I pick her up with both hands and head over to the nearest free table. I put her down feet first onto the bare metal chair on one side and sit on the opposite side myself, leaving our faces close to level with one another. Then I
take a board out of subspace and lay it out before us.
"You shouldn't waste power like that. It's dangerous."
"I think it's more dangerous
not to use it." I'm more than a little embarrassed about how long it took me to realise that her linguistic skills were
far more advanced than anyone else her age. It wasn't until I compared her development to Zoë's that I started kicking myself. Actual five year olds don't sound like that. "Using it demonstrates that I
could use it for other things. If people don't see me using it then they might do something stupid like decide that I don't have it any more."
She reaches across the table, picking up a black piece and a white piece. She tries to shuffle them behind her back, but it looks like she's having a little trouble holding them. And when she puts them out in front of her, her hands aren't quite big enough to cover them.
"You choose." She returns the black piece to its place in her front rank, and holds the white piece out to me. "Thank you."
I put my piece back in its place, and consider the best way to start.
"Zita, I've been meaning to ask for a little while. Now, this isn't anything to worry about, but-" She looks up at me with a sceptical expression on her face. "-do you ever..? Do you ever dream of places you don't remember visiting?"
"I think that most people dream of places they couldn't have visited." She slides a piece forwards. "I don't think my dreams are different to the dreams of other people."
"Alright, not a dream." I move one of my edge-most pieces towards the side. "Remembering something that you don't remember seeing."
She stops moving, hands floating above the board while her eyes are pointed at the pieces. "What do you mean, F-? Dad?"
"When you were very young, your mum took you to see some of her relatives, and they seemed to think that you might be able to… Remember certain things. Sometimes… People are born with someone else's memories already in their heads. Usually, they only have a few memories, and they don't really think much about them unless they see something in those memories in real life. But, sometimes, they remember more."
She hasn't moved.
"Now, I'm sure that you've noticed that you're a
lot more mature than a lot of children your age-."
Is she..?
Shaking?
I stand, reaching across the table and picking her up under her arms before holding her against my chest.
"Zita,
you've done nothing wrong, you aren't in trouble."
"S-. Stupid child-body, can't control its emotions-."
A
h.
"That answers my next question. You remember a good deal, don't you?"
I feel her nod as the damp from her tears seeps through my t-shirt.
"Your mother and I are just worried that we're raising you wrong, given how developed you are. This isn't a situation that comes up in parenting classes. Are you alright to talk about it?"
"I don't like losing control, especially in front of people. Can we please go somewhere private?"
"Of course we can." I turn around, make eye contact with Zorina and nod towards the door to the meeting rooms. She nods. "Then you can tell me all about it."