Was such a righteous, noble president not worth Matt's wholehearted trust?
Well, fine. The fact that Matt could at least say it out loud meant he'd been completely won over.
While Madam President was busy consoling herself, Matt took the initiative. "President Hansen, what do we call our organization? What's our next move?"
Maya sighed. Whatever—Matt being this proactive was a good thing.
"First, stop calling me President Hansen. Just use my name. Second, there are only two of us. No point naming anything yet. Third, the situation's still unclear. As long as we keep our classmates from getting dragged in as cannon fodder, we're doing our job."
"They say the bureau chief is the steady one, mayors come and go. The New York mayor doesn't necessarily know more than the Commissioner. You only need to monitor the upper levels of Manhattan PD—wait, no. Scratch that. Forget the precinct brass for now."
Madam President's eyes flashed. "Howard Stark's wife died two years ago. Ever since, he's been living alone in his old mansion on the Upper East Side—right inside your listening range. Matt, from now on I want you listening in on old Howard!"
Matt sighed helplessly. "President Han—I mean, Maya. I have to tell you, my hearing has limits. A lot of Manhattan buildings have multiple layers of soundproofing. Even at the precinct, I can only catch the mid-level officers. Old Howard? Forget it."
Maya was dumbfounded. She hadn't considered that. Her own shadow clones could fake a stopped heartbeat and fool Matt. If her tricks could beat his senses, soundproofing could do the same.
"Fine. During the day, stay on the precinct—focus on that new department. At night, I want you listening to the boats along the Hudson on both banks. Watch for any human trafficking." Madam President settled for the fallback.
Matt hesitated. "Maya, running long-range listening mode for hours is exhausting. My brain can't take it."
"Can't you manage your own time? You don't have to monitor every second—just sweep the area periodically. Use keywords. You know what keywords are, right? Things like 'special department,' 'officer transfer,' 'closed-door meeting.' Or at night: women and children screaming, gunfire, unusually dense crowds. Make your own list over time. It'll save you a lot of effort."
Matt actually felt he was learning something. Madam President really did live up to her title.
"If I pick up something urgent, how do I get the info to you? Waiting until school the next day is too slow. Should I just call your house?"
Maya thought it over. It was a real problem. Calls wouldn't work.
She wasn't always home—she had part-time work, movies, visits to friends. And if some boy kept calling her directly every time, what would Jennifer think?
Cell phones existed now, but neither of them could afford one. Phones in the nineties were outrageously expensive.
A pager wouldn't help either—Matt was blind, he couldn't read the screen. Wait. Hold on. She only needed to be able to read it.
"Matt, this summer I'll pick up some part-time work and buy a pager. Anything you hear, send me a signal. We'll use numeric codes. We classify events by type—say 'A' for human trafficking. Then we number every Hudson pier. If you send me A12, that means trafficking at Pier 12. Works, right?"
Matt looked glum. "But I can't see. How do you send a message back to me?"
Madam President beamed. "Ha—Matt, Manhattan is small. My daily movement is pretty predictable. We divide my usual spots into a few zones. When you get a page, switch on super-hearing and sweep those zones. I'll just speak out loud to you. Neat, right?"
(In the comics, Matt often scanned the gym where his dad trained. That's how he knew, the moment old Murdock was killed, that his father's heartbeat had stopped—he ran straight to the scene.)
And just like that, Maya recruited her first member—and a crucial intelligence asset. A human radar, in every sense.
Factor in Madam President's own short-range precision sensing, and between them, nothing in Manhattan could stay hidden for long.
Matt might only rate a pathetic 5 in combat right now, but his fundamentals were excellent. On senses and body coordination alone, he could run circles around several big-framed, delinquent classmates.
Right then, Matt asked, "Maya, can I learn your ninjutsu?"
"Uh—well, if you're willing, we can try."
Maya's eyes lit up. She'd been itching to find a test subj—uh, no, no test subjects here. She just wanted to check whether her chakra could transfer into someone else—no, that wasn't right either. She just wanted to grant Matt's wish. Nothing more.
He'd asked for it. Maya wasn't tricking him. She wasn't pressuring him.
"Come on, Matt. Hold your right hand out, palm up."
Matt obeyed. Maya stretched out her own pale hand, pressed it gently against his palm, and began channeling chakra slowly into his right arm.
"Matt, what do you feel?"
So small. So soft. So warm. Matt's face turned red as a stoplight. For a long stretch, he couldn't get a word out.
Alarmed, Maya yanked her hand back. "Matt, you okay? Does anything hurt?"
"Uh—uh, sorry, Maya. My mind wandered. Let's try again. I'm fine."
Matt's face was red with embarrassment, and his expression had turned noticeably serious.
"All right. Anything feels off, shout."
Maya repeated the motion.
"It feels nice. There's a stream of warmth flowing down my arm."
"Focus. See if you can resonate with it."
"No. No connection at all."
Fifteen minutes later, Maya asked again. "Now?"
"My right hand feels like it's got unlimited strength. But still no resonance."
"Forget it. You can't practice ninjutsu."
Maya pulled her hand back, disappointed. She'd been using her sensing to watch the muscle cells in Matt's arm. Her regular chakra dispersed harmlessly through his muscles and bones—no effect at all. The pale-gold secondary senjutsu chakra did slowly strengthen his cells, but the effect was far weaker than it was on Maya herself.
Through the entire test, Matt's body had produced zero chakra of its own. And he wasn't a normal person. His senses were every bit as sharp as Maya's—just developed in a different direction. Hers were narrow-range, high-precision. His were wide-range, moderate precision.
She didn't dare push chakra into his head—one mistake and she'd never forgive herself.
If even Matt couldn't cultivate chakra, it meant Maya's chakra basically couldn't take root in other living beings.
To put it more charitably: Maya's power was clean. No pollution. Eco-friendly. Safe to deploy liberally, no radioactive fallout to worry about.