The Slippery Slope [Worm AU]

The Slippery Slope

Part Twelve: Meetings and Conferences



[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]



Peter and I walked hand in hand, following Othala. Her costume was bright red, with some sort of utility belt around her waist. It would have been eye-catching even if it wasn't form-fitting. Peter had his head half-turned to look at me; I wasn't sure if this was because he found me fascinating, or because he didn't want to get caught staring at Othala's butt. For a moment, I found myself wondering how some cape teams dealt with the problem that they were all standing around in what was essentially skin-tight underwear.

That line of thought would take me nowhere good. I cleared my throat. “Othala, the symbol on your costume …?” I let my words trail off, not sure how to ask the question.

Fortunately, she guessed my meaning. “It's a rune called Odal or Othala, so yes, it's my cape name. It means 'heritage'.”

“Huh.” That made a certain kind of sense. “Sort of like people can 'inherit' powers from you.”

“Basically, yes,” she agreed. “It also means 'family', in a way. In the Empire, we're very big on family ties.”

“I can see that.” It was obvious to me that Peter had a good relationship with his father, and even though he had pretended annoyance with his youngest sister, he had been very quick to come to her assistance at the country club. And to mine, for which I would forever be grateful. I wish Dad could see this side of the Empire.

Othala stopped and turned to face Peter and myself. “We're here.” We were standing in front of a large set of double doors. In keeping with the lush carpet and the subtle (but very expensive looking) wallpaper, they were made of some kind of highly polished wood with a gorgeous grain. The handles gleamed like gold, but were probably something like brass.

I looked from Peter to Othala. Some kind of communication passed between them, and he nodded, looking resigned.

“What's going on?” I asked uncertainly.

“This is as far as I go,” Peter said softly. “When Kaiser's holding a meeting of this kind, the only people who get to attend are capes. That's you.”

“Peter …” I felt suddenly lost. He had been my rock for so long. It was due to him that I had become a Friend to the Empire. He had become my boyfriend, and his friends had become my friends. When I had made my decision to join the Empire, I imagined that we would basically do everything together. Never had I even considered that I might surpass him in such a bizarre fashion.

“Hey, it's okay,” he said reassuringly. “You'll be fine.”

“No, I won't,” I protested. “I figured that once I joined, I'd get to meet Kaiser sometime. I just thought you'd be there, too.” It was true. Peter steadied me emotionally, and made me realise my own worth. After the months of bullying from Emma and her friends, my self-esteem had been a battered and broken thing, but Peter's steady admiration had done wonders for it. I knew, intellectually, that I could do things without him. I just didn't want to.

“It's all right, honey,” Othala assured me. “I'll be there, right beside you. And Kaiser specifically asked for you at this meeting. He's not going to yell at you. If anything, he's going to try to make you look as good as possible.”

I bit my lip. “But what if he expects more of me than I can deliver?”

Othala chuckled and hugged me. “Taylor, you triggered last night. He's not going to expect the world of you.” She delved into one of her pouches and came out with a folded piece of white cloth. Unfolded, it turned out to be a bandanna with cog-wheels inked on to it. The artwork was quite nice. “Though you're going to need a mask, just for form's sake. Until you're a member, of course. Then we all unmask. It's a solidarity thing.”

I took it from her and spread it out, admiring the artwork. In the back of my mind, I knew that I was delaying the inevitable, but I didn't care. “It's amazing. Where did you get it from?”

“Victor drew it last night, after he finished talking with Kaiser,” she said. “He thought you might like it.”

“I do.” I ran it through my hands. “I'm just not sure if it's going to fit with whatever I end up using as a costume.”

She smiled indulgently and ruffled my hair. “That's up to you. For now, it will do as a temporary mask.”

“Okay, thanks.” I handed it to Peter. “Mask me up?”

“What am I now, a henchman?” he asked with a grin, but he stepped around behind me anyway. I shivered as his hands brushed the back of my neck, pushing my hair out of the way.

“Nope,” I told him, doing my best to keep my voice level when all I wanted to do was fall backward into his embrace. “You're a minion. You're going to have to work harder than that to make henchman.”

“And we hadn't even worked out my pay details yet,” he said jokingly.

“I'm sure we could work out something,” I replied, trying to sound suggestive. I wasn't exactly great at this. Othala looked amused, but cleared her throat anyway. Peter got back to tying the mask.

“Well there's definitely worse people to minion for, I'll grant you that,” he said cheerfully. Fastening the last knot, he let my hair fall back into place. “How's that?”

I pulled the bandanna up so that it covered my nose and mouth, and turned to face him. “The fit's pretty good. How do I look?”

He tilted his head. “Pretty good, actually. As a cape, I mean. As my girlfriend, you look awesome.”

I rolled my eyes. “I bet you say that to all the people you minion for.” I took his hand and squeezed it; he squeezed back. “As soon as we're finished, I'll come and find you. Okay?”

“Okay.” He couldn't kiss me without disarranging the bandanna, but he leaned forward until our foreheads gently bumped. “I'll see you then. Knock 'em dead.”

“I guess I'll try?” Taking a deep breath, I turned toward Othala. Don't screw this up, don't screw this up, don't screw this up …

She studied me, then nodded. “Yes, this is a big step,” she said, apparently in reply to my innermost thoughts. “Don't stress it, though. We're on your side. You've already passed any conceivable test that we could set for you.”

While that didn't calm me all the way down, it did help a bit. Still, my heart was hammering away at a mile a minute. They'll see how nervous I am, and just see me as a kid from now on. I knew all too well how damning a bad first impression could be, Othala's reassurance notwithstanding.

If I was using my powers, I wouldn't be feeling any of this …

The realisation hit me. I could use my powers!

Without further ado, I submerged myself in the powers, leaving useless emotion behind. Every action became logical, calculated.

My awareness expanded, cataloguing the machines to be found all around me. I was on the fifth floor of a tall office building; I could detect cars driving by on the street below, more cars in the parking garage five storeys beneath my feet, and quite a few firearms being carried about the building.

Conclusion: this building is an Empire front. Chances of Azn Bad Boyz attack: minimal to zero.

All of this had taken less than a second. Othala was reaching for the door handles.

Assume positive control: doors.

The handles rotated at my command, then the hinges swung the doors soundlessly outward. Othala hesitated, then dropped her hand. She stepped forward into the room. I followed, my power fully aware of certain hidden items.

Within the room was a large table, oval in shape. Eleven of the thirteen chairs surrounding it were occupied. The occupants turned to look at us as we entered.

Male, encased in interlocked armour with crown of blades. Armour registers as machine. Identification: Kaiser. Category: Provisional ally.

Male, militaristic costume. Identification: Krieg. Category: Provisional ally.

Females, wearing jointed armour, carrying sword, shield, spear. Armour registers as machine. Identification: Fenja and Menja. Category: Provisional allies.

Male, shirtless, metal wolf mask. Long hair, tattoos. Metal spikes protruding from skin. Identification: Hookwolf. Category: Provisional ally.

Female, scarred, short blonde hair, simple costume. Metal cage around head registers as machine. Identification: Cricket. Category: Provisional ally.

Male, shirtless, white tiger mask. Chains over shoulders. Identification: Stormtiger. Category: Provisional ally.

Male, black breastplate over red shirt, short cropped blond hair. Identification: Victor. Category: Proven ally.

Female, juvenile, red and black robe. Long blonde hair. Identification: Rune. Category: Provisional ally.

Male, jointed metal armour, long spear. Armour registers as machine. Identification: Crusader. Category: Provisional ally.

Male, white costume with black gloves and mask. White skin and hair, white eyes. Identification: Alabaster. Category: Provisional ally.

Firearm, loaded. Location: drawer next to Kaiser.

Toy car, metal. Registers as machine. Location: drawer next to Kaiser.

Analysis: items are oddly specific. Conclusion: test.

“Welcome,” Kaiser said as we entered. Chairs scraped back as everyone stood. “Please, have a seat.”

The two empty seats were situated between Victor and Rune. Othala moved toward them.

Observation: Allies 'Othala' and 'Victor' are partners.

Conclusion: She will sit next to him.

As I had calculated, Othala took the chair next to Victor. I pulled out the seat between Othala and Rune. Rune leaned over and whispered, “Hey.”

Expression: smile. Conclusion: friendly. Voice: familiar. Height, eyes, build, hair all congruent with ally 'Tammi'.

Conclusion: Rune is Tammi. Tammi is proven ally.

Conclusion: Rune is proven ally.

I gave Rune a single deliberate nod and turned my attention to Kaiser.

“Please be seated,” he said, his voice smooth and powerful.

Kaiser's voice is familiar. Max Anders was wearing platinum pin. Max Anders holds position of power in Empire Eighty-Eight.

Conclusion: Kaiser is Max Anders. Max Anders is proven ally.

Conclusion: Kaiser is proven ally.

I sat, my eyes on Kaiser.

<><>

Carol Dallon climbed out of her car and locked it. Briefcase in hand – because a good lawyer always has her briefcase to hand – she crossed the street toward the PRT building. At the doors, she encountered Manpower, in his civilian identity of Neil Pelham. Even though not in costume, Neil was as imposing as ever, looming more than a foot over Carol.

“Hey,” he greeted her. “Any idea what this is about?”

She grimaced. “The Director didn't tell me a thing. Just informed me that not showing up was a non-option.”

“Yeah, I kinda got the same message.” Neil shrugged. “I already called Sarah and the kids. They should be on the way. Where's Mark and Vicky?”

“Mark's at the hospital with Amy,” Carol said shortly. “Victoria said that she would join up with Sarah and your children.”

Neil pointed. “That'll be them, right there.”

Shading her eyes, Carol looked up into the sky. He was correct. A scattering of dots in the sky soon resolved itself into a group of four people; namely, one adult and three teens.

Unlike Carol and Neil, the four newcomers were costumed up, and Eric – Shielder – had his customary blue hair dye in. They came in for a smooth, fast landing. Vicky chose to land normally on her feet, rather than in that ridiculously overblown three-point landing that a lot of the wanna-be Alexandria packages were showing off with these days.

“Carol,” her sister greeted her.

“Sarah,” she said in turn. “Do you know what's going on here?”

“Only that the Director told me that the future of New Wave was on the line. No, I'm not sure what she might have meant by that, either.”

“How about we just go in and find out,” suggested Neil.

“How about we do that,” Carol agreed. She didn't have court for another two hours. With any luck, we'll be done here by then.

<><>

Medhall Building

Justin lounged back in his chair, wondering what all the hoo-hah was about. There'd been something on TV about a fight between the Empire and the ABB last night, but he hadn't been involved, so it was none of his beeswax.

Nobody's got any burns on them, so either Othala got to them, or Lung didn't get too close. That big-ass chink was way too powerful for Justin to want to tangle with. Sure, he had his ghosts, but Lung was just too tough for them to hurt in any meaningful way, even if they dogpiled him. And if Lung ever actually got his hands on Justin, it would be lights out in a big way. No fucking thank you.

So the meeting wasn't about the fight, which was good. It meant that he didn't have to worry so much about paying attention. Except that there was this new kid, maybe sixteen or seventeen. Kinda cute, if you liked the tall skinny librarian look. Nice hair; she obviously took care of it.

She was obviously new to the game if she didn't even have a costume yet. Though he wasn't too sure what the bandanna with the cog-wheels on it was all about. Are we actually getting a Tinker? That thought alone made him sit up just a little. It was so totally unfair that the Merchants had a fucking Tinker, while the Empire, with three times as many capes, didn't.

“Ladies and gentlemen.”

Whoops, Kaiser's talking. Better look like I'm paying attention.

“You may have heard of the altercation with Lung and Oni Lee last night. You will be glad to hear that both Asian capes had to retreat from the battlefield in disorder, leaving more than a dozen of their dead behind.”

Justin's eyes widened behind his metal mask. Holy shit. Someone chased off Lung and Oni Lee? I am seriously fucking impressed.

Kaiser was still talking. “I regret to say, that victory cost us the lives of two of our more promising junior members, Bronson diAngelo and Jenna Parsons. Their sacrifice will be remembered in a service later next week. Also present was Peter Ferguson, who will be recognised for his bravery at the same time.” He paused dramatically.

Wait a second. Ed Ferguson's kid? Didn't he have a new girlfriend at the last Gathering? Justin took another look at the new kid. He hadn't been paying too much attention at the time, but he seemed to recall that Pete's arm-candy had been tall and skinny with glasses, just like this one.

“However, these lives were not lost in vain, for they paved the way for our newest member to join our ranks.”

Kaiser was good at this. Justin found himself sitting forward expectantly.

Pausing, Kaiser turned his head toward the teenage girl. “That is, I understand that you were intending to join the Empire Eighty-Eight. Is that still your wish?”

The girl's expression never changed, but her tone was definite. “Yes.”

Justin couldn't see Kaiser's face behind the helmet, but the smile came through in his voice. “Excellent. Normally, we wait until prospective members have passed the initiation process, but given last night's events, I'm going to declare the initiation well and truly passed. Now for the issue of sponsorship. Do you have a sponsor here?”

Well and truly passed? Justin blinked. Wait – was she the one who chased off the chinks and killed a dozen of them?

The girl's question was almost free of inflection. “Sponsor?”

“Well, yes.” Kaiser's voice was patient as he explained. “Your original sponsor is no longer valid. To join our number, you need a sponsor who is both a cape and a member in good standing.”

Justin had little trouble in deciphering that. She didn't have powers till really recently. Her original sponsor doesn't have powers. If she's the girl I think she is, he would be the Ferguson kid. Man, oh, man. His little bit of fluff just got powers and hit the big leagues. Sucks to be him.

Othala raised her hand. “I will stand as sponsor.”

Before Kaiser could acknowledge her words, Victor's hand had joined hers. “We will stand as sponsors.”

Kaiser nodded. “Acceptable. Let's have a show of hands. All in favour?”

Victor and Othala already had their hands up. Rune's hand went up a moment later. Justin shrugged and raised his hand as well, looking at the girl with interest. If she's a Tinker, we need her.

One by one, around the table, hands went up. With a scrape of metal on metal, Kaiser raised his hand, followed an instant later by Fenja and Menja. The only ones left were Hookwolf and Cricket.

Kaiser looked at them, tilting his head slightly to the side. “We have a clear majority here, but may I ask why you're holding out?”

Hookwolf lifted his chin. “I haven't seen what she can do yet. All we've got is word of mouth and a fancy mask. Gonna need something more than that.” His tone was harsh, as close to an actual challenge as Kaiser usually allowed.

Kaiser paused. “You would like to see a demonstration of her power?” Leaning forward slightly, he turned his helmeted head toward the girl in the bandanna. “Are you willing to do this?”

She did not hesitate. “Yes.”

“Very well, then. A demonstration it will be.” Kaiser pulled open a drawer at his end of the table and produced what looked like a toy car, about four inches long. He placed this on the table. “Well?”

The girl did not react visibly, but the car began to roll forward along the table. The sound of the rubber tyre treads on the highly-polished tabletop was only just audible. However, it was barely crawling along; Justin began to wonder what all the fuss was about.

When the car reached the centre of the table, it rolled to a stop. Nothing happened for a few seconds.

“That's it?” scoffed Hookwolf. “I could put a rubber band in it and -”

The back tyres began to spin, while the front ones stayed still. Under the impetus of the spinning wheels, the car crept forward, the rear end wobbling from side to side. Hookwolf shut up, watching. The whole car was vibrating now, showing far more energy than it had before.

Abruptly, the back end of the car swung around to the right in a complete three-sixty, back tyres still howling against the tabletop. Someone's gonna have a job, buffing that rubber off the finish.

When it had finished the first circle, the car reversed direction just as suddenly, pulling another complete circle to the left. Then, leaving a tiny trail of scorched rubber, it shot off down the table like a startled rabbit. Justin watched it whip past him in the general direction of Alabaster.

The white-skinned Brute barely reacted to the car's approach. However, before the toy could launch itself from the table, it turned its headlong rush into a curving turn, swinging perilously close to the table's edge as it completed its reversal of direction. All eyes followed it as it headed toward Kaiser.

With a grinding of metal, obstacles arose from the table top; walls and poles, scaled to the car. The girl did not seem to react, aside from a very slight narrowing of her eyes behind her glasses. She didn't know about this bit, then. The car swerved wildly, clipped the first obstacle, then bounced off the second one and stopped.

However, a few seconds later, it took off again. Pulling a long drift around both the obstacles that it had just hit, it then proceeded to complete the ad hoc course by swerving around each subsequent barrier in turn until it pulled to a halt in front of Kaiser. It did not, Justin noted, hit any more obstacles, although it came close a few times.

Into the silence that fell over the table, Victor remarked, “Now, imagine that's a dozen full-sized cars.”

Justin turned his head toward the skill thief. “What, all at once?” he blurted.

“That's what I saw,” Victor affirmed, a slight smile on his face. “She beat the living fuck out of Lung with them.”

“Very impressive,” Kaiser stated, in the tone of voice that says but of course that's not all. “However, how would you deal with something like … this?”

From the same drawer, he took a pistol, and aimed it directly at the new girl's face. In the silence that filled the room, he thumbed back the hammer with a distinct click-click-click.

She didn't respond at all. Justin saw Kaiser's trigger finger move. The silence was so complete that he actually heard the tiny click as the trigger stopped its rearward travel. Nothing else happened.

The girl spoke for the first time since Kaiser had initiated the demonstration. “Safety's on.”

Okay, she's got style. Justin had to admit, that was an absolutely classic line. He chuckled very slightly, and heard a couple of the others doing the same. Kaiser turned the pistol slightly, flicked the safety off, then aimed it at her again.

This time, when he squeezed the trigger, the gun … fell apart. One second, Kaiser was holding what Justin presumed to be a fully functional nine-millimetre pistol. The next, he was holding the frame. Metal parts bounced off the table; Justin was pretty sure that some of the screws fell on the floor. After all the clattering had finished, the only sound left was a few of the pieces rolling back and forth on the polished surface.

Hookwolf broke the silence first. “So … she can control cars and fuck up guns? Kind of specific, isn't it?”

The girl turned to face him and spoke, her voice as expressionless as her face. “Anything with metal moving parts.”

Justin jolted. “Wait, wait. Like, armour? Like my armour?”

Her gaze swung toward him. “Yes.”

That flat voice is creepy as fuck. Almost as creepy as Night and Fog. It's like her body's a puppet and she's pulling the strings, just like she controlled that car.

“So you could move me around because I'm wearing this armour?” It seemed important to get this straight. For the first time, he began to regret the concept of wearing full plate like one of those badasses from the Crusading days.

Again, that flat stare. “Yes.”

“Actually,” broke in Othala, “it's not that bad. You're not thinking about the upside.”

Menja and Fenja were murmuring to each other now; the twins' Valkyrie armour wasn't styled like his, but the pieces were still connected together.

“Upside?” he asked. “What upside?”

“Battlefield rescue,” Victor said. “Even if you're injured or unconscious, she can walk you back to Othala to get healed, without ever risking herself. Or, for that matter, stopping what she's doing.”

Justin blinked. “I … wait, really? She can do that?”

“Yes,” said the girl.

“And what I want to see,” Othala added with a particularly vicious grin, “is the meltdown on the PHO boards after she makes Armsmaster do the Macarena on streaming video.”

“Oh … oh, shit,” whispered Justin as the realisation burst upon him like a newborn sun. His voice strengthened as he went on. “I thought you were a Tinker. But you're not. You're every Tinker's worst nightmare. Aren't you?”

The girl nodded once. “If it has metal moving parts, then I can control it.”

Rune began giggling uncontrollably. Justin frowned; he hadn't thought the girl's comment had been all that funny. But then the teenager managed to get out one word, and he got the joke as well. He began to chuckle, then to laugh himself.

Squealer.

Oh, man. She's going to shit so many bricks she could build the chinks their own Great Wall of Fail.

I really want to see that. It might even be funnier than watching Armsmaster doing the chicken dance.

“Question.” That was Stormtiger.

The girl looked over at him. “Yes?”

“What about plastic guns? Can you screw with those, too?”

Kaiser fielded that one with a chuckle. “No such thing. Not a truly plastic gun, anyway. Except for Tinker tech, because they follow their own rules. But mundane guns need metal working parts, even if they have plastic frames.”

“Actually, talking about Tinker tech,” said Alabaster unexpectedly, “can you affect it?”

“I don't know.” She said it with no hint of apology or other emotion in her voice. “I haven't tried. But if it has metal parts? Probably.”

“One more thing,” Hookwolf said bluntly. “What about range? Sure, the thing with the car and the gun were cute, but three yards isn't a great range for stuff like that.”

Smoothly, she turned to face him. At the same time, she held up her hand. Three fingers were extended.

“Three?” He sounded confused. “Three what? Miles?”

She folded one finger down. Justin got it. “It's a countdown.”

“What the fuck?” Brad sounded even more perplexed now. “A countdown to what?”

The second finger folded down.

Kaiser leaned forward. Oh, shit, Justin realised. He's got no idea what she's doing.

“My dear,” the leader of the Empire Eighty-Eight said smoothly. “I do hope that what you're doing is neither impetuous nor reckless.”

The last finger folded down. Justin found himself holding his breath. For an instant, nothing happened. She played us -

Someone banged on the door. This was not a polite 'may we please disturb you' knock. This was a 'you need to open the damn door NOW' sort of knock.

Kaiser looked at the girl, then at the door. “Is that …?”

She gestured, not bothering to speak. Go ahead, answer the door.

With a single glance back at her, he stood and opened the door.

“I trust that this interruption will be entirely justified?” he asked coldly.

“Uh, yes, sir.” Justin could see past Kaiser to the security man he was talking to. The guy was solid, well-trained, and competent enough that he knew at least some of the true identities of the people in the room. He had earned his place in Medhall. And yet, he was sweating. “Sir, it's the cars in the underground garage.”

“What about them?”

Yeah, what about them? Justin had a beauty of a sports car, bright red with a Confederate-flag license plate, that was parked down there. Gloria, honey, if someone's so much as scratched your paintwork, I'm gonna string 'em up by the nuts.

“They've all started. All the vehicles. Including your limo, sir.” Which, Justin just happened to know, had a top of the line engine immobiliser built into it. With the keys physically separated from the car, it should be literally impossible to make the motor turn over. “It's got to be a cape doing it, sir.”

Oh. I see. Justin nodded to himself, looking at the new girl. The parking garage is sixty feet straight down. Range? We got it.

“Indeed.” Kaiser may well have been commenting on the weather. He turned his head toward the girl wearing the bandanna. She nodded once at the unspoken question. With her left hand, she made a horizontal slicing motion.

Kaiser turned back to the man at the door. “Check again.”

“Sir.” The man took hold of his shoulder microphone. “Charlie Delta calling Golf Whiskey. Report on vehicle situation. Has it changed? Over.”

There was a long pause. Justin somehow knew the answer; he wondered how many of the others were absolutely certain in the same way he was.

“Golf Whiskey, here. The vehicles all turned off their engines just now. I say again, the engines are off. Over.”

Kaiser nodded. “Good. This was a test. Your response time was adequate. Return to your regular duties.”

Closing the door before the guard had a chance to reply, he made his way back to the table. Instead of sitting, he stood beside his chair for a moment, looking at the girl in the bandanna. “Are any of the vehicles damaged?”

“No.” Her tone was matter of fact. “There is ongoing wear and tear to most of the vehicles that will eventually require repair, but that's a pre-existing condition.”

Justin made a mental note to have a quiet chat with the girl about whatever needed to be done to Gloria, just as soon as possible.

“I see.” Kaiser sat down. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, I believe that to be an adequate test of our prospective member's powers. If I may have a show of hands?”

Justin's hand went up immediately. By the time he looked around, nearly every other person had a hand in the air as well. Hookwolf and Cricket were the last two, but that was more a matter of timing than reluctance.

“Well, then,” Kaiser noted, putting his hand down again. “It's unanimous. Welcome to the Empire.”

“Thank you,” the girl said. Justin blinked; he could've sworn he'd just heard emotion in her voice. “It's good to be here.”

<><>

PRT Building

Well, at least they knew we were coming, mused Neil as they travelled upward in the elevator. Between him, Sarah, Carol and the three kids, the confined space was already cramped; adding a PRT soldier into the mix made it even more so. “What's the big deal?” he had to ask. “We've been to Piggot's office before, and we didn't need a babysitter.”

“We're not going to her office, sir,” the soldier said.

“Where, then?” asked Sarah.

The answer turned out to be 'a conference room'. The PRT soldier got to the door first and opened it, holding it so that the others could come through. Reflexively ducking under the door frame, Neil looked around at the room. Neil hadn't been in this particular conference room before, but there tended to be a sameness about them. Piggot sat at one end of a long table, facing the wall-sized screen at the far end of the room. Standing in a corner of the room was another PRT soldier.

“Come in,” Piggot said bluntly. “Sit down. We have something serious to talk about.”

Neil made sure that he was the last one in; the door swung closed behind him. Carol took a seat at one side of the table, with Vicky beside her. Crystal chose to sit next to Vicky. Neil sat across from Carol, with Sarah facing Glory Girl and Eric looking across at Crystal.

As soon as they were all seated, Piggot took out her cell phone. She dialled a number, then placed the device on the table in front of her. A few moments later, Neil heard a familiar voice. “Hello, Director. Mark Dallon here. Are they there?”

“They are,” she replied. “Are you with Panacea?”

“I'm here,” Neil's other niece said.

“Good. I'm about to replay the footage. I'll let you know when I've paused it.”

Picking up a remote, she clicked a button. The screen bloomed to life, showing a jittery image of the Boardwalk in the late evening. Zooming in and out slightly, the footage focused in on two figures; the shorter one was eating an ice-cream. If Neil squinted slightly, he could recognise both of his nieces.

“This is us yesterday, on the Boardwalk,” Vicky said. “So?”

Piggot gestured at the screen. “Keep watching.”

They were too far away for any dialogue, but the image was clear enough. Neil watched as Vicky's image on the screen turned, then the camera swung toward three vehicles parked haphazardly at the side of the road. It followed a single figure stumbling and then running toward Vicky and Amy. He couldn't hear any of the words, but the body language was abundantly clear; she was desperate for Amy to come back with her.

But Amy didn't. Vicky stood in the way and argued with the newcomer, a tall skinny girl with dark curly hair. At one point, the girl grabbed Amy by the sleeve, but Vicky intervened, forcing her to let go again.

When the shot sounded, it made Neil jump slightly. What the hell? The person holding the camera must have thought so as well, because the picture swung crazily for a second. It angled back toward the vehicles, where Victor stood with a smoking gun.

Director Piggot paused the footage there. She ran her eyes over the members of New Wave who were present. “So, you were faced with a civilian clearly in some distress, pleading for assistance from New Wave, and you withheld it. Why?”

“We were off duty,” Victoria said at once. “I explained that.”

The look on the Director's face as she shook her head made Neil wince. Wrong answer. “The unmasking that your parents went through ten years ago means that while you have far more freedom in the use of your powers than your masked peers, you also have much less of a dichotomy between your cape and civilian lives. You were recognised as Glory Girl and Panacea; to identify you as such broke none of the unspoken rules. You were specifically approached as superheroes and asked to save lives. Why didn't you?”

Neil glanced at Vicky, who was looking stubborn. Don't dig yourself in any deeper.

“Are you trying to assert that Victoria and Amy broke the law?” Carol said sharply. “May I remind you that there are no laws specifically requiring Amy to assist anyone -”

Piggot held up her hand. “I am doing no such thing,” she stated flatly, raising her voice slightly. “Believe me, I've looked at it. On the one hand, she's the world's number one healer. She's got a one hundred percent success rate and she's a publicly known superhero for whom healing someone is apparently next to effortless. On the other hand, she's a minor, she has no actual medical credentials, and she's only ever volunteered her healing duties. All of that adds up to a massive grey area, a legal morass, that lawmakers could argue over for a century without coming to an agreement. In fact, I would be thoroughly unsurprised if this very topic is being discussed right now at the highest level of government. And that they're getting nowhere.” A dry smile crossed her lips. “Fortunately, that problem is not one that I am required to solve.”

“Uh, if Amy isn't required by law to do anything, what's the problem?” asked Flashbang. Neil had been wondering exactly the same thing. He had a feeling that he would find out, very soon.

“Because official laws or otherwise, this promises to subject you to a judgement far more arbitrary and vicious than any you would find in a courtroom,” the Director said. Her eyes found Carol's. “I'm referring, of course, to what's commonly called the Court of Public Opinion. Especially given that someone apparently died while you argued with that girl.”

Carol's lips thinned, which was enough to make Neil worry. “Are you going to fan the flames here?” asked the lawyer tightly. “Make it worse for us?”

“On the contrary,” Director Piggot said. “I've sent a high priority request for Scapegoat to be flown in from San Diego. The PRT is going to make every attempt to assist New Wave in this trying time, and the public is going to know it. The message that I'm sending is that you have the full weight of our support.”

“Scapegoat?” Sarah frowned. “I've heard the name, but not what he can do. Healer, I presume?”

“Not really, Mom,” Crystal said. “He can take wounds away, but he gets them instead. Then he passes them on to the bad guys.”

Oh. Okay, that is bizarre. Mentally, Neil shrugged. When you think you've heard it all …

“We're getting off the topic here,” the Director said. “Glory Girl, why did you refuse the Hebert girl's request? Panacea, why did you let her?”

“Because she's Empire,” Victoria explained.

Director Piggot waited for the teenager to continue, then cleared her throat when no more was forthcoming. “I'm going to need more than that,” she prompted.

Victoria rolled her eyes. “Okay then. Ames was talking about how there's been a whole truckload of ABB in the hospital from Empire guys beating on them, and the latest ones were repeating a message not to mess with Taylor Hebert. And I heard from one of your Wards that Taylor Hebert's a big wheel in the Empire junior ranks, and that she's the queen bitch of Winslow. She's teflon, or that's what she thinks anyway. So when cars pull over and she comes running up, it's kinda obvious that they've been in a firefight and that she thinks she can just start sh, uh, stuff with the ABB and then just snap her fingers and get Ames to heal up her guys for the second round. So I said no.”

“I see,” was all Piggot said, although Neil heard a whole world of meaning behind those two words. “Panacea?”

“Basically, what Vicky said,” the healer replied. She paused, then burst out, “I don't see why I should reward them for hurting other people!”

“Please, stop,” said Piggot. Slowly, she raised one hand, closed her eyes, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Now, Panacea, think very carefully. Did you know that the injured people were the instigators of any conflict?”

“Vicky said that the girl's father, the Hebert guy, was well in with the Empire -”

“Stop!” The Director was on her feet, the whip-crack of her voice bringing Amy's voice to a halt. She turned to look at Vicky and, despite the fact that the girl was an Alexandria package in her own right, Neil wasn't surprised to see her leaning back from the almost palpable waves of Piggot's anger. Normally it's Glory Girl doing it to other people. I wonder if she'll realise that this is how other people feel around her?

“Glory Girl.” The Director's voice would have caused helium to freeze solid. “Which of my Wards did you hear this from? And where in the hell did you hear about her father having Empire ties?”

Victoria blinked. “Um, Shadow Stalker, both times. She was pretty emphatic about it.”

Piggot's fist crashed on to the table, making Neil jump. Everyone else looked a little startled as well; the phone and remote both clattered a little on the table top. He stared at her as she stood with her clenched fist still resting on the table, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, and her head lowered. For a long moment, she stayed like that, before raising her head and opening her eyes.

“Let me make one thing exceedingly clear,” she growled. “Shadow Stalker is in no way a credible witness, especially when it comes to Taylor Hebert. She is currently under investigation for activities unbecoming a Ward, specifically to do with crimes involving Taylor Hebert. In which the Hebert girl was not the instigator. Is that understood?”

<><>

Carol observed the Director, possibilities turning over in her mind. If Victoria and Amy were working off of false information, then they may have just stepped into a legal minefield. She hadn't forgotten Piggot's earlier mention of the 'court of public opinion', and she knew full well how that sort of thing could twist a matter that was otherwise cut and dried, legally speaking.

“I'm sure they both understand it,” she said carefully. “Now, if I understand you, what you're saying is that neither Taylor nor Daniel Hebert are as enmeshed in the Empire Eighty-Eight as Shadow Stalker was alleging?”

Piggot's face cleared somewhat. Carol tagged that as her at last, someone sane! expression, flavoured with a certain level of irritation. “Daniel Hebert,” the Director said, “is the head of hiring for the Dock Workers. He's also the union rep. And he's specifically the reason that no gangs have managed to get their hooks into the Dock Workers in the last ten years. And yes, that does include the Empire Eighty-Eight.”

Carol frowned, thinking through her next words. “I'm not disputing your statement. However, it seems to me that there must be some kind of reason that they were travelling with Empire personnel.”

The sour look was back on Piggot's face. “I can think of several, none good.” She slowly sat down. “Panacea.”

“Uh, yes?”

“What was Daniel Hebert's physical state before and after you treated him?”

“Unconscious,” Amy said promptly. “He had a gunshot wound, broken bones, and brain damage.”

“How severe was the brain damage?”

Where is she going with this? From the pause, Carol wondered if Amy was thinking the same thing.

“Uh, unless Othala can do some pretty serious brain repair work, he's going to be in a coma for a long time, if he ever wakes up at all,” Amy said slowly. “I don't know exactly what happened to him, but he'd suffered major trauma. Over and above the gunshot wound, that is.”

“Such as a car accident?” asked Piggot.

“I … yes, that would probably fit,” Amy said. “I can't be certain, of course, and there was no bruising consistent with a seatbelt or an airbag, but I would rate that as a high probability.”

Carol nodded slightly. Her personal feelings about Amy aside, the girl had obviously learned to avoid committing herself on matters before she had learned all the facts. Well done.

“And you healed them to the best of your abilities?” That was Piggot. The woman could have been a fair prosecuting attorney, if she could learn to control her biases.

“Understanding that I can't do brains … yes. The boy was fully healthy once I finished, apart from a minor concussion, and the girl didn't respond to my power at all.”

The Director did not let up. “In your opinion, had the girl been dead for long?”

“I honestly can't say.” Carol controlled an internal wince. That was usually code for “no, but you can't prove otherwise”. However, Amy went on almost immediately. “Her skin wasn't any cooler than normal, but that could mean she'd been dead for one minute or fifteen. All I know for certain is that when I got to her, I couldn't register her with my power at all.”

Carol leaned forward. “Director, I must protest. You're badgering her, asking the same question over and over. If the girl was dead, the girl was dead. Panacea being there changed nothing.”

“I'm merely asking the same questions that others will be, in time,” Piggot said. “If nobody can prove that the girl died after Panacea could have gotten to her, then when someone asks me, I can point that out.”

“I see.” Carol sat back again. “Was that all?”

“Not exactly.” Director Piggot picked up the remote again. “I'm going to play some more of the footage.”

Carol turned to watch the screen. The action rolled on; Empire thugs holding hostages, Victor making his demands. Carol winced inwardly as she saw Victoria continuing to argue, then Amy pushing past her to carry out the demands of the villain.

That, right there, is a very dangerous precedent. We should never let villains know that we can be coerced into using our powers to their benefit.

A moment later, she came to the conclusion that this possibility had always existed; it was only now that it was being realised. We're going to have to ensure that nobody can exploit it in future.

Still not sure exactly how that was to be accomplished, she watched as Victoria faced off both Victor and the girl called Taylor Hebert. She was mildly impressed at how the teenager managed to withstand the fear-aura that her daughter had to be emanating at this point.

On the screen, Amy climbed down out of the truck, the hostages were released, and the Empire contingent prepared to leave. Which was when Victoria pulled her play.

To her mild surprise, Piggot did not pause the footage at that point. Glory Girl posed, Victor shot Panacea, Glory Girl grabbed him and flew him into the sky. When she punched him straight down, Carol winced.

The screen paused once more. Victoria had gathered Amy into her arms and was flying into the distance. Othala and the Hebert girl were on their knees. Victor was crumpled in a heap on the grass.

“So, tell me.” The Director's voice was like ice. “What happened here?”

<><>

Vicky's lips were suddenly dry. She licked them. “Uh, I tried to stop them from leaving?”

“Wrong.”

Director Piggot's steel-grey eyes bored into her. She doesn't have powers. Does she? Right now, Vicky could not swear to that. “Um … I'm pretty sure that I did.”

The Director shook her head. “What you did was exacerbate an already-precarious situation to the point where someone got hurt. This was irresponsible in the extreme.”

“But … but … they were criminals. Victor and Othala were villains! They'd just committed a crime, right in front of me. I couldn't just let them go.”

Mom and Aunt Sarah had spoken to her the previous night about this, and while Vicky had to admit that they had made some good points, in her heart of hearts, she still believed that she had done the right thing. Maybe if I'd punched out Victor first …?

Anyway, she was going to find Victor soon, and then she was going to explain to him in detail why you do not shoot my little sister.

“Yes.” Piggot's voice broke into her thoughts. “You could have. And you should have. There were many better options that you had, but you took none of them. Instead, you pushed matters to the point where Victor shot your sister, so you did what? Tried to kill him?”

“He deserved it!” she burst out. “He shot Amy!”

“Do you believe that Victor tried to kill Panacea?” asked Piggot, almost gently. Vicky saw her mother open her mouth; the Director shook her head fractionally, and Carol closed her mouth again.

“He, uh, he could have been?” Vicky hedged.

“Come now, Miss Dallon,” Director Piggot told her firmly. “We both know what his power lets him do. He's a skill thief. One of the best there is at virtually any field of endeavour, which includes pistol shooting. If Victor shot your sister in the leg, it's a given that he intended to shoot her in the leg. Add in the apology which he offered before shooting her, and it's more or less a guarantee that he did not mean her any lasting harm.”

“But he still shot her,” Vicky said doggedly.

“For which you tried to kill him?” Piggot's tone was uncompromising. “Knowing that you were being recorded?”

Mom cleared her throat. “It was in the heat of the moment, Director. Remember that.”

“Which pushes it from attempted second-degree murder down to attempted manslaughter,” the Director said.

“But he was invincible anyway, from Othala,” Vicky muttered sulkily. “I didn't hurt him at all.”

Director Piggot shook her head. “That doesn't matter. What matters is that there is a great body of footage, taken from several different angles, showing you grabbing Victor and retaliating in a vastly disproportionate fashion to a bullet wound to the leg. Disarming him, perhaps dislocating his wrist, that would have been appropriate. Maybe even breaking a leg or arm. But spiking him into the ground like that? No, that was a clear attempt to kill him.”

Vicky felt a chill go down her back. She wasn't sure where this was going, but she didn't like it at all.

“But she didn't, right?” That was Amy. “He's fine. He got up and walked away.”

“Yes. He did. Which still means that there's a possibility that New Wave might just find itself being sued by the Empire Eighty-Eight for excessive brutality,” Piggot said heavily. “What you did goes against the unspoken rules, Glory Girl. And while they don't have the force of law, you won't find many capes standing in your corner on this one.” She grimaced. “And that's not even counting the people who've been asking about the possibility of you being tried for attempted murder.”

Wait, there's people who want to try me for attempted murder?

“Manslaughter,” Mom reminded her. “Not murder. Heat of the moment.”

“If they get a conviction, I doubt it will matter to the public,” the Director said.

“Sued?” Vicky burst out. “By Kaiser and his bunch of racist jerks? Could that even happen?”

“Even if they try and fail, it will still be a matter of public record that they tried.” Piggot's voice was implacable. “And there's a chance that they won't be shot down.”

“But -” Vicky's voice was higher this time. I could be in real trouble. She didn't get any farther than that, as her mother raised a hand. She shut up.

“But you've got another idea in mind, don't you?” asked Mom. “Something that is likely to benefit you and the PRT, and wipe out the problem, all in one fell swoop.” Suspicion was strong in her voice.

Director Piggot smiled slightly; as far as Vicky could tell, there was no humour in the expression at all. “I believe that I do.”

<><>

Medhall Building

“Traditionally, the next step is to unmask to each other,” Kaiser went on. He did something to his helmet; the faceplate split and slid away to reveal the face of Max Anders. “Do you have a problem with this?”

“I thought that was you,” the girl said almost breathlessly. Justin hadn't been mistaken; moments ago, she had been showing all the animation and emotion of a robot, and now she was talking in an excited tone. “But knowing it's true is so much cooler.” Reaching up, she pulled the bandanna down, revealing a wide mouth currently wearing a shy smile. “Hi, everyone. I'm Taylor Hebert. I'm pleased to meet you all.”

Justin raised the visor of his helmet. “Hi, Taylor. I'm Justin. Pretty sure we met at the last Gathering. You were Peter's plus one, right?”

She nodded quickly, her smile widening. “Yeah. I remember you, too.” She looked from face to face as the rest of the Empire capes unmasked and offered her their names. “Wow, no wonder Peter looked so pleased with himself. He was introducing me to most of you guys, and I never realised it for a moment.”

“Young Ferguson is one of our rising stars,” Krieg said. “We were, of course, interested in his choice for a companion. I'm pleased to say that he's managed to impress us all this time.”

Justin saw a flush spread over the girl's cheeks. “Well, I'll try not to disappoint you,” she said hastily.

Victor chuckled. “After what I saw last night,Taylor, disappointing us is about the last thing you're likely to do.”

Okay, now I wish I'd been there. Victor doesn't throw praise around like that without good reason.

“Which brings us to our next topic,” Kaiser said with a smile. “Taylor needs a cape name. Does anyone have a suggestion, or should we just go with the most obvious one?”

“Obvious one?” Taylor sounded puzzled. “Which one's that?”

“'Panzer', of course,” Krieg supplied. “It's perfect.”

A murmur of appreciation went around the table. Justin pulled his mind away from the puzzle of Taylor's robot act – if act it was – to consider it a moment. Krieg's right. It is perfect.

“I'll vote for it,” he said out loud.

“Wait, wait,” Taylor said, looking concerned. “Is this how it works? You guys vote on the name, and I don't get a say?”

“Well, of course you get a say,” Kaiser assured her. “You're free to choose whatever name you want. We'll just offer suggestions.”

“Uh, sure, okay,” she said. “But why Panzer, anyway?”

<><>

As far as I could tell, Mr Fleischer didn't seem to understand my question. “Why not Panzer?” he asked. “It's a strong name. It suits you, and it suits the Empire Eighty-Eight.”

I shook my head in mild frustration. “No, what I mean is, why does it even have to be a German name? I'm not German. I don't speak the language. Who in the Empire Eighty-Eight even does?”

“I do,” Krieg pointed out. “I am, in fact, German.”

“Well, okay, yeah,” I said, trying not to flush with embarrassment. “But everyone else here's American, right? I'm American. The Empire Eighty-Eight is an American organisation. Most of your names are in English. Crusader. Hookwolf. Cricket. Alabaster. Victor. Why do I have to give myself a German name?”

“Most of us here have German heritage,” Mr Anders said. “We're paying homage to that.”

“You're paying homage to a specific part of German history,” I said, trying to sound respectful. “Nazi Germany, right? Eighty-Eight stands for H-H. Heil Hitler.”

“Well, yes,” Justin said. “And what's wrong with that?”

“Um, apart from the fact that Nazi Germany lasted just twelve years, until Hitler took poison and shot himself?” I spread my hands. “Guys. The Empire Eighty-Eight has already lasted longer than that. Why should we blindly follow a legacy that ended so badly? Why don't we make our own legacy? We're American. From what I've been told, the Empire's mainly about supporting our brothers and sisters, and making sure that the blacks and the Asians don't push us down. Why don't we keep doing that? Look forward instead of looking back?”

In the silence that fell over the table, I felt my face heating up. In future, talk something like this over with Peter in private before bringing it to the big table.

“Taylor …” Kaiser's voice was careful. “Do you no longer want to be in the Empire Eighty-Eight?”

“What? No!” I shook my head. “Of course I want to be one of you guys. All the shit I've been through over the last few months, the only people to take my side have been Empire Eighty-Eight. Peter was my only friend for the longest time, even when I kept rejecting him. And when I accepted your Friendship, your people stood by me, even when it meant getting into trouble themselves. You've been there for me, over and over. Some of you have even -” I stopped and swallowed a lump in my throat. “Even died for me. I can't, I can't -” I began to sniffle.

Wordlessly, Othala handed me a handkerchief. I wiped my eyes, then blew my nose. “Thanks. Uh, what I was saying, I can't just walk away from that. That'd make me an even worse bitch than the bitches were to me.”

I drew a deep breath. “That black bitch Sophia Hess shoved me into a locker full of shit. Peter Ferguson pulled me out again. Jenna stood up for me, over and over again. George took on a dozen ABB for me, and nearly died. Bronson threw himself on a grenade for me, and did die. Victor and Othala helped save my dad's life. I owe you all a debt I can never repay. I'm committed to the Empire, to helping you guys, and everyone like you and me, against race traitors and niggers and chinks who want to push us down and make us less than they are.”

I was vaguely aware of the hateful terms that I was saying. I didn't mean them, not really, but I knew that the capes around me would listen more closely if I said it the way they wanted to hear it. “And that's what I see the legacy of the Empire as being.”

“Well spoken, Taylor. Well spoken, indeed.” Kaiser didn't applaud – it would have sounded weird, with the metal gauntlets he was wearing – but the warmth in his voice worked just as well. “I suppose that's what we are all about, when you come down to it. Supporting each other, and making sure the lesser races don't push us down.”

“Well, that's the way I understood it, anyway.” I gave him an anxious look. “So it's okay if I pick a name that's not German?”

He chuckled indulgently. “You were very articulate on the subject, and made a few good points. I can hardly deny you your logic. Did you have one in mind?”

“Yes,” I said slowly. “I think I do.”

<><>

PRT Building

“Well, what is it?” asked Vicky nervously.

The Director of PRT ENE looked directly at her. “You join the Wards.”

<><>

Medhall Building

“Well, don't keep us in suspense,” Victor said. “What is it?”

I took a deep breath. Well, here goes. “You can call me Remote.”



End of Part Twelve

Part Thirteen

 

The Slippery Slope

Part Thirteen: Analyses and Revelations



[A/N: This chapter beta-read, and much improved on, by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]



Kaiser slowly nodded. “I can see it,” he agreed. “Although, it's a little … undramatic, isn't it?”

Hookwolf snorted. “Yeah, that's one way to describe it. A 'remote' is what some suburban couch potato uses to turn on his damn TV. How the hell are you gonna get any respect with a name like that?”

I felt a thrill of … not quite fear, but definitely concern. Hookwolf was one of the more dangerous members of the Empire. I doubted that he'd attack me, but if he decided that I wasn't due any more respect than my name was, I could see an uphill battle toward being accepted as a true member by the rest. All too well I knew from my experiences at Winslow that you were never a part of anything until those already a part of it accepted you as one of them.

Othala's hand rested on my shoulder before I could answer. Victor's voice rang across the room; deep, firm, commanding. “If you'd been there last night, Bradley, you would not be asking that question. The answer is simple: she earns it. As she already has with me, and Othala.”

I cleared my throat. “I could've taken a more impressive name. One that was threatening, even. But there was another reason that I didn't.” I looked from face to face around the table. “I'm not as dangerous, up front, as most of you guys. I want people to underestimate me, right up until they learn why they shouldn't have. They tried to kill me last night. They hurt my father. They did kill my best friend. They thought I was weak.” I let my lips skin back from my teeth. “For a lot of them, that was their last fucking mistake.”

That actually got me some applause. Crusader clapped, as did Rune and Victor. Othala squeezed my shoulder briefly. Hookwolf gave me a brief glance; it may have been my imagination, but I thought I saw him nod.

“Unless anyone has any further business, this meeting is concluded,” Kaiser stated. “Anyone? No? Good. Victor, Remote, Rune, I'd like you to remain behind. Everyone else, you're dismissed.”

I decided to let my powers deal with the shakes from being criticised by Hookwolf. As chairs scraped back and people walked out, I focused on the toy car, still on the table. Threading it between the barriers that Kaiser had grown, I brought it over to me. It had no inherent steering system, but I had improvised a crude method that involved braking with one front wheel and accelerating with the opposite side rear tyre.

Beside me, Victor and Othala conversed in quiet tones. I did not listen in. At my other elbow, Rune observed the movements of the car.

“Does your control over it break if I use my power on it?” she asked.

Observation: Ally 'Rune' proposes experiment yielding potentially useful information.

“I don't know,” I said. The car rolled to within easy reach of her. “Try it and we will find out.”

Reaching out, she touched the car. My control over it did not waver. I rolled it a short distance without difficulty.

“Okay,” she said. The car lifted into the air. I still had control of it, but lack of traction prevented me from doing more than spinning the wheels.

“It appears that our powers do not interfere with each other.” I released control of the car. “You can make it fly, while I cannot.”

“But you don't need to touch it, which is totally unfair.”

Observation: Ally 'Rune' is employing tone of dissatisfaction.

Observation: Ally 'Rune' is showing facial expression 'smile'.

Analysis: Tone does not match expression.

Conclusion: Ally 'Rune' is not serious about dissatisfaction.

We both turned our heads as Kaiser cleared his throat. I dropped my powers, feeling the emotions flowing into my every perception once more. It was a weird experience, but one that I was getting used to.

“As a matter of interest,” he said, “whose power is stronger?”

My eyes went to Tammi, then to Kaiser. “Uh, I don't know. She can hold the car still while I spin the wheels, but that's a traction issue.”

Kaiser nodded. “True.” He stood up. “Everyone, follow me.”

We rose from our chairs and followed as he led the way to the end of the room away from the door. There was an elevator there, behind what looked like a blank wall. I had noted it, as well as the hidden controls to reach it, while my powers were active. Kaiser swung open the concealed panel and pressed the button; panels slid aside and the elevator doors opened. Nobody else seemed to be surprised by this; then again, secret elevators were almost required for a villain's hidden base.

“I'll go and sit with your father,” Othala said softly.

I hugged her, more grateful than I could express with words. “Thanks,” I managed awkwardly.

She smiled, shared a brief kiss with Victor, and left the room. Along with Victor, I stepped into the elevator to join Tammi and Kaiser.

This was my first time in a secret elevator; I gazed around with interest while Kaiser pressed the very lowest button. The numbering on the panel confirmed my suspicion that the building had levels extending below the parking garage.

The doors closed; we began to descend toward our destination. Beside me, Victor cleared his throat. “Taylor, just out of curiosity, does your power extend to elevators?”

“I believe so,” I said, recalling my previous awareness of the mechanisms to be found throughout the structure of the building. While it didn't let me see the building itself, I had been able to trace its outline with a fair degree of accuracy. “When I was using them, this whole setup stood out to me pretty clearly.”

“Wait,” Kaiser said. “When you're using them? As in, you're not using them all the time?” The tone of his voice gave me the distinct impression that he wouldn't hesitate to use every chance he had to control the world around him.

I shook my head. I'm not like that. “I'm not using them right now. It's no effort to drop into them, but there's a complete lock on all emotional response while I'm doing that. I think totally logically. Achieve the goal, help the allies.” And while that can be useful, it's not always the greatest thing.

“So that's what was going on!” Victor shook his head, a wondering grin on his face. “It was doing my head in, trying to get a consistent read on you. Last night you were all robot girl and today you kept flicking back and forwards between robot girl and normal girl.” He seemed more relieved than annoyed at me. Maybe he's just glad that his skills haven't deserted him.

My grin was just a little forced as I recalled how crappy I'd felt when I woke up. “I was normal girl when I got up, trust me.”

“So why don't you just stay robot girl all the time?” asked Tammi, tilting her head. “Doesn't seem too much of a price to pay. I could do without being scared sometimes.” Her eyes dared me to say anything about even a passing reference to being scared. I suspected that it happened more often than anyone was going to admit; there had been a lot of male ego flexing at that meeting.

“Because I think the emotions kind of bank up. When I dropped my powers last night, I fell apart totally.” I took hold of my left elbow with my right hand, as sort of a half-assed self-hug. “I'd rather not spend all of my downtime curled up in a ball crying, thanks.” I didn't add the other part. Plus, there's places and times I want to feel emotion, like with Dad and Peter.

The elevator came to a halt; the doors hissed open. Kaiser strode forth into what appeared to be some kind of workshop or laboratory, or some weird cross between the two. There were workbenches and strange-looking electronic devices, as well as drill presses, overhead hoists, and other stuff that I wasn't really sure I could name.

Kaiser made his way over to a wide work table, with a whiteboard at the end. He gestured toward the latter. “Victor, you've got more scientific expertise than the rest of us put together. Are you able to devise a way to determine the strength that Remote can bring to the team? I'd rather not put demands on her that she can't meet.”

Victor nodded. “I believe I can. I'll just need some items made of metal … hmm.” He fell silent then, rubbing his chin with forefinger and thumb and staring through the whiteboard. I glanced sideways at Tammi, who gave me a tiny shrug. This meant, I supposed, that she had as little idea about what Victor was thinking as I did.

Abruptly, Victor dropped his hand and went to the whiteboard. Several markers were available, and he uncapped one with a flourish. I watched as he sketched with quick, confident strokes. It seemed to be a flat plate, several inches thick, with a narrow cylinder rising from the middle. “I'll need that to start with,” he said. “Three feet across, two inches thick. The axle needs to be one inch in diameter and four inches long.”

So that's what that is … wait, what? Axle? What for?

“Doable,” Kaiser said, his tone confident. “Anything else?”

Victor uncapped another marker. “Yes. A series of discs that can fit over that axle. A selection of diameters and thicknesses, I think. Just to cover all the bases.” Swiftly, he wrote a series of numbers; 1”x 3', 1”x 2', 1”x 1', 1”x 6”, 2”x 3', and so forth.

Kaiser watched the growing list with a slightly bemused air. He arched his eyebrow sharply. “How certain are you that we need all these?”

Victor turned toward him. “Sir, I'm not even certain what the rules behind her power are. 'Metal moving parts' is a very broad generalisation. If we can narrow it down, we should be able to improve the efficiency of her power use, probably by quite a lot.”

“I see,” Kaiser said. I wasn't totally sure, but I got the impression that he didn't see exactly. I thought I did, but I wasn't about to open my mouth and prove myself wrong. “Then let's get this done.”

Victor held up his hand. “Before you create all this at once, we'd better make sure that it actually works with Remote's power.” He turned back to the whiteboard and circled one one of the sets of numbers. “Just the baseplate, and … say, the one foot by one inch disc to begin with, I think.”

For a moment, Kaiser didn't react. Instead, he eyed the sketch. “Victor.”

“Sir?” The skill thief turned away from the whiteboard, where he had begun to scribble down some more numbers.

Kaiser took a step toward him. “This is all necessary, yes?”

I wasn't great at reading tone or body language, but then, Kaiser wasn't being very subtle. Translated, I guessed what he was saying was, I know you're trying to put Remote at her ease, but a practical joke on the boss is not the way to go.

It appeared that Victor had come to the same conclusion as me. “Absolutely,” he said, conviction filling his voice. “Without it, we'll get nowhere.”

Kaiser smiled. “Very well.” He held out his hand over the worktable. While Kaiser's powers had been known and documented for more than a decade, I had never actually seen them in action, especially not this close up. I leaned forward, intrigued. This is all kinds of awesome.

With a metallic groan, the flat plate from Victor's diagram grew out of the table; I estimated it to be about a yard across. A secondary creaking introduced the cylindrical 'axle'. At least an inch in diameter, it wasn't going to break in a hurry.

The disc formed itself beside the plate. Victor lifted it, grunting slightly with the effort, and let it slide down over the axle. It seemed to be a neat fit, anyway. The clang as he dropped it the last inch or so resounded through the cavernous room.

“Remote.” He looked at me, then gestured toward the construction, which seemed for all the world like a vague representation of a child's toy, only wrought in solid steel. “Does your power work on this?”

I dipped into my powers. Device constructed by ally 'Victor' registers as machine. “Yes.” To demonstrate, I turned the disc one-quarter of a full rotation, then brought it to a halt.

“Very good indeed.” Victor favoured the circled numbers with a broad tick, then turned to Kaiser. “Sir, if we could have the rest of those discs, please? Then we can start testing in earnest.”

“Very well.” Without further ado, Kaiser began forming metal discs of varying sizes on the table. Victor had specified nine sets of numbers; it seemed that when Kaiser wanted to make something quickly, it happened. After the ninth was completed, he turned to Victor. “How long is this testing likely to take?”

“I don't know, sir,” Victor said frankly. “With all due respect, that's why it's called 'testing'. We might narrow down all the particulars in five minutes, or we could spend the next five hours working it out.”

Gesture: nod. Expression: uncertain.

Conclusion: Ally 'Kaiser' does not fully understand the details.

“Do you require any more parts?” asked the leader of the Empire Eighty-Eight.

Conclusion: Ally 'Kaiser' is impatient for data. Does not fully understand how data is generated. Is used to demanding results and getting them.

Pause before answering. Conclusion: Ally 'Victor' is examining options.

“No, sir, I don't think so. I'll let you know the results when I have them.” Victor motioned toward the discs, then gestured at the equipment around us. “I'm reasonably sure I can get what I need from all this.”

“Good. I have business to attend to. Let me know how you get along.”

Voice and expression match. Expression of relief. Ally 'Kaiser' does not wish to remain for testing.

Conclusion: Ally 'Kaiser' does not understand scientific method. Wants immediate results. Has not demanded such results.

Conclusion: Ally 'Kaiser' trusts ally 'Victor' despite lack of understanding.

Kaiser turned and left the laboratory, striding back toward the elevator. I watched as the doors slid shut behind him and the elevator began to ascend. It was all clear to my power, from the pistol in Victor's holster to the safe in Kaiser's office.

“Rune.” Victor's voice drew my attention, and I turned to watch as he indicated the device. “Touch both of these items. Your job is to hold the disc still while Remote attempts to turn it.”

Concern: Ally 'Rune' may react negatively if her power is seen as inadequate to the task.

I moved closer to the table. “Rune, I will not think any differently of you if my power beats yours.”

She turned toward me. Expression: smile. “I'm sorry, but I can move tons with my power.”

Tone: regretful.

Conclusion: ally 'Rune' does not wish to cause embarrassment.

“Don't worry,” I said. “No matter who wins, this will be useful knowledge.” It was true; science was the surest way to determine the truth.

Observation: ally 'Kaiser' is a proven ally. To disappoint him would be sub-optimal.

Rune walked over to where the device sat on the table. Carefully, she touched the disc and the plate upon which it sat, then stood back. “Done. That ain't moving.”

Victor also moved back. “Good. Remote, kindly rotate the disc clockwise. Rune, stop the disc from moving.”

Assume positive control of item tagged 'test machine'. Apply minimum force necessary to rotate disc around axle.

Initial movement stalled. Ally 'Rune' has strong power.

Increase motive force.

No movement.

Increase motive force.

I applied more and more force; by the time the disc should have been spinning fast enough to send sparks flying across the room from the friction, it began to scrape around in a turn. I heard Victor mutter something, but I ignored him.

“Jesus fuck,” Rune swore. “I can't fucking stop it.”

I increased the force, accelerating the disc around the axle. By the time it was spinning at a rate of approximately one revolution per second, I had no more force to apply. Rune's power was preventing it from revolving any faster.

“I am at my limit,” I said. “Rune, I will cease applying force in three … two … one … now.”

As I said 'now', I dropped my power; the disc ground to a halt in seconds.

Tammi turned to me; to my surprise, her face was slick with sweat. “Holy shit,” she said. “How the fuck did you do that?”

I wasn't quite sure what she was talking about. “I turned my power off, and it stopped?”

“That's not what I meant!” Her voice rose, and I realised that she was angrier than I had first supposed. “How did you beat my power?”

I shrugged, as if it was obvious. Well, it was, to me. “I kept on putting power in until it started turning?”

That clearly wasn't what she wanted to hear. “But I can lift more than two tons,” she insisted.

“Which means that Remote can move more than two tons,” Victor interjected. This did not seem to help either, as her face went redder than Othala's costume.

“Hey, you can make 'em fly through the air,” I reminded her in an effort to calm her down. “I've got to have metal moving parts, or my power's got nothing.” Tammi didn't look overly mollified by this. I guess she's used to being the heavy mover of the group.

“Okay, that's established a baseline,” Victor said, jotting down notations on the board. “Remote, would I be correct in assuming that Rune's power hampered yours significantly?”

“Yeah,” I said, thinking it through. Measuring the output of my power wasn't exact, but I was able to make a rough guesstimate of how much force I'd been using. Compared, of course, to my maximum. I had no idea of how many foot-pounds, or newtons, or whatever, I'd been generating. “Maybe two-thirds to three-quarters of my power just went toward overcoming hers. At a rough guess. More than half, anyway.”

Too late, I realised that this could have been taken as a boast, or even a taunt.

“Wow, gee, I'm glad that my power's more than half as strong as yours.” Tammi's voice was heavily sarcastic; I guessed she was feeling a little butt-hurt.

Victor ignored her comment and noted that down as well. 2/3 to 3/4 of Remote's power = Rune's power? Investigate.

“What, really?” If my power beating hers had upset her, Victor's casual recording of it didn't help in the slightest. “Think maybe you could write Rune is yesterday's news too? In big fat letters so everyone can read it?” She snatched a duster off the end of the whiteboard and let it dangle in the air in front of her, as though she couldn't figure out who to launch it at.

“Don't be ridiculous, Rune.” Victor's voice was calm as he turned toward her. “You're not yesterday's news. You're still an extremely valuable team member. So what if one test shows that under certain circumstances, Remote's power can generate more pushing force than yours? Can she fly? No. Is your power any weaker for her being around? No.” He stepped closer, his gaze fixed on hers. “And most importantly, can your power work in concert with hers? Yes.” He raised his hands, as if conducting an unseen orchestra. “I can see it now; Remote doing the ground assault while you run air support. Like Othala and myself, you would make an amazing team.”

“ … huh.” Tammi seemed to deflate slightly. The whiteboard duster floated back to its little shelf. A little sheepishly, she turned toward me. “I … uh, sorry. Didn't mean to fly off the handle there. I just thought you were kinda trying to overshadow me.”

I smiled and hugged her. After a long hesitant moment, she hugged me back. “Hey, it's all right,” I assured her. “I've been pushed aside by the best. I wouldn't blame anyone for feeling bad about something like that.” I stepped back, holding my hands on her shoulders. “And I can't wait to help you kick ass and take names. Rune and Remote, the best in the business, right?”

Her eyes lit up and she nodded ferociously. “Damn right,” she agreed.

“And between the two of you, you could bring a whole new meaning to the term R&R,” Victor said cheerfully. He ignored our dirty looks. “Now to make some hypotheses and try to falsify them.” He didn't actually crack his knuckles, but I got the impression that he wanted to anyway.

I frowned. While I had done some science classes at school, he'd kind of lost me at 'hypotheses'. “Uh … I'm not totally sure what that means,” I confessed.

“It's simple,” he assured me, turning back to the whiteboard and beginning to sketch. “You were able to overcome Tammi's power on the disc.” A quick circle was drawn, with the notation T>2 t next to it. “That's a data point. However, as you yourself said, you were unable to pull the pins on Oni Lee's grenades with your power.” He drew a quick but surprisingly recognisable grenade, with the notation T<10 lb alongside. “This is our second data point. Which means that your power scales upward and downward according to one or more variables. What I want to do is find those variables and use that to leverage the maximum use out of your power's potential.”

I blinked. 'Simple' apparently meant something else to Victor. I'd understood him, but 'simple' was not the word I would have used. “Okay, so how do we do that?”

He smiled. “Science.”

<><>

Director Piggot's Office

Glory Girl blinked. “Uh, the Wards?” She looked hard at Director Piggot. Is she joking with me? I don't see a smile.

“It's that bad?” asked Mom, apparently at random.

“It has the potential to be very bad indeed,” Piggot confirmed. “As the regional Director of the PRT, once this news breaks, I am required to do something about it. I can hold off for a little while, but not forever; nor am I inclined to try. A hero doing something that's almost guaranteed to kill a non-Brute villain -”

“He shot Amy!” Vicky blurted it out before she realised she was going to speak.

“He was invincible!” That was Amy's contribution, almost at the same second.

“Yes, he did, and yes he was,” Piggot allowed. “However, even a cursory examination of the footage shows him putting the gun away again and facing you with empty hands before you hit him. For that matter, you had several options for disabling and subduing him. As a hero and an affiliate of the PRT, you're more or less required to go with the less lethal options first.”

She turned her head toward the screen and addressed Amy. “And as for him being invincible, if your sister had realised that at the time, then she would have known that smashing him fifty feet straight down would have exactly the same effect as a punch to the jaw. That is, nothing. Any competent prosecutor would tear that apart in seconds. Which is why I'm doing my best to ensure that this never reaches a courtroom.”

“And you can do this by inducting her into the Wards … how, exactly?” asked Aunt Sarah.

Piggot's expression then might have been defined as a smile by someone who didn't know her. Vicky decided that it more resembled a shark which had decided not to eat her right at that second.

“We have mechanisms in place that allow for villainous capes, as well as independents who end up on the wrong side of the law, to walk straight into a probationary membership of the Protectorate in return for not actually ending up behind bars.”

Eric stared. “You're sh-, uh, kidding me. That happens?”

“Not so that the public knows, of course,” the Director said bluntly. “And if anyone says anything about it, we deny everything. But the Protectorate needs every hero it can get, either in its ranks or in affiliate teams, so we have a lot of strings we can pull when needed.”

Mom made notes on a pad. “Will she have to change her cape name or wear a mask?”

That would suck. Both those things would suck. Vicky had often wondered how her fellow heroes in the Wards ever tolerated having to wear masks.

Piggot shook her head. “I spoke with Richardson, our PR man. He's of the opinion that Glory Girl's prior record of long-standing heroism will work in our favour here. We present a narrative where she's recognising that she overstepped the mark and so she's voluntarily signing up for the Wards where she will receive the training and oversight she needs, under the watchful eye of the PRT. On the other hand, the PRT notes the fact that she's truly remorseful and that she's under probation; we don't want to commit such a promising young hero to the juvenile detention system, so we're putting her through the super-powered equivalent of community service. And so on, and so forth.”

Mom narrowed her eyes. “So, a con game.”

“Not as such.” The Director had lost all semblance of a smile. “Every step about it is legal. Letting her face trial would also be legal, but could have much less pleasant consequences. That's the outcome I'm trying to avoid, here.”

“We could still win in court,” Mom said flatly.

“You could,” Piggot agreed. “And we would support you every step of the way. But if you lose, she goes to juvey. And even if you win, there's likely to be a backlash directed at New Wave. If you lost public confidence, the team may well go under.”

Vicky realised that she was the focus of Aunt Sarah's attention. “What?”

“When it comes down to it, this is your choice, Victoria.” Sarah tilted her head slightly. “Which way do you want to go? Trial or Wards?”

This was a big step. This was a really big step. The irony was that she'd been thinking about leaving New Wave for the Wards anyway; this just forced her hand. And she hated being forced into anything.

On the other hand, she'd take the Wards, even involuntarily, over being the cause of New Wave falling apart. And hey, me and Dean will be on the same team.

She took a deep breath. “Wards.”

Aunt Sarah seemed to relax slightly, while Mom slumped just a little. Piggot nodded curtly. “Understood. I'll set things in motion. There'll be a hearing -”

“I thought you said that you could bypass the trial!” Aunt Sarah's voice was sharp.

“I did.” The Director raised her head from what she was writing, to look Sarah in the face. “There will be a hearing. The charges will be presented. Glory Girl will agree that she is guilty, and will express her remorse. I will then present the option of service in the Wards. As you are sixteen, Glory Girl, you may accept in your own right. Then it's all over bar the paperwork.”

“It all seems a little too easy.” Mom's voice was dubious.

Vicky couldn't blame her; she'd been thinking the same thing.

“This is because we're trying to make it easy.” Piggot's voice was patient. “Too many young capes commit an idiotic crime and end up behind bars. Then they're labelled a villain, and they can never escape that. This way, Glory Girl is seen as someone who made a mistake and is atoning for it, rather than a reckless out-of-control teenager with too much power for her own good.”

Vicky winced; the Director had given the latter description a pitch and spin that stung. Is that what she thinks of me? She knew that Piggot didn't give the Wards much in the way of slack; to be in that group, to be under that level of discipline …

Her decision to join the Wards was starting to look very impulsive indeed. But she couldn't see a better way out of the current situation.

The Director's phone beeped. Piggot picked it up and read something off the screen. “Ah,” she said. “Good.”

“Is this something we need to know about?” asked Uncle Neil.

“Certainly. Flashbang, Pancea. Are you still there?”

“Yes,” came Dad's voice. “We're still here. Why?”

“You may recall that I mentioned Scapegoat. The message I just got informed me that his transport just entered Brockton Bay's airspace. It should be landing in ten to fifteen minutes.” She looked at the members of New Wave. “If you hurry, you might get there in time.”

Vicky levitated out of her chair. If this Scapegoat guy can heal Ames, I might just give him a big wet kiss.

“Wait.” It was Mom; alone in the New Wave contingent, she hadn't moved from her seat.

“Yes?” The Director sat almost serenely, hands folded.

“Is there any obligation owing to the PRT from New Wave, for bringing Scapegoat in like this?”

Piggot did not so much as twitch. “None whatsoever.”

“And you'll make the procedures for this hearing available, so that Victoria and I can familiarise ourselves with them?”

A fractional nod from the Director of the PRT. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” Mom didn't smile, but at least she relaxed a little as she stood up. After a long moment, she added, “And I appreciate you calling us in on this -”

Vicky didn't hear the rest. She was already out the door.

<><>

Brockton Bay General Hospital

How long now? Amy fought the urge to look at the clock. Don't be impatient, she chided herself. Crystal and Eric and the others only just got in themselves.

“So what have you heard about this Scapegoat?” That was Mark, addressing Crystal.

“Only what's on PHO,” her cousin said. “He's a Ward, and he somehow takes on the injuries that he heals. Which has got to suck.”

Amy shuddered in agreement, recalling the complaints and maladies that she had dealt with, over just the last six months. Though if she was being honest with herself, she barely remembered most of them; one broken bone was much the same as another. Sucking chest wound? Join the queue. Stomach cancer? Been there, done that. It just never ended.

Ironically, the only thing stopping her from climbing out of bed and tending to the patients in the hospital was that she herself was now a victim of gang violence. Growing up in a family of superheroes meant that she didn't have to worry all that much about bullies, or even random street violence. And as much as she made light of it, being shot hurt. So much so that she felt a sudden pang of regret for every time she'd been a little less than sympathetic toward a gunshot victim.

On the other hand, it was kind of restful to lie here and know for a fact that she had a perfectly reasonable excuse to not get up and start healing people. (Not that Carol would criticise her for not doing so. But she'd think about it, and Amy would see it in her face.) She lay back, stretching out a little, enjoying the comfort. Boy, she mused. These are some fantastic painkillers. I haven't had a twinge out of my leg since last night.

Not that she was considering getting out of bed just yet. The last time she'd thought the painkillers had kicked in, she had incautiously moved her leg the wrong way, and the pain had brought tears to her eyes. So nope, not moving it till the doctor says I can.

“- weird. Just saying.” That was a new voice, one Amy didn't know. Male, teenage, with a sarcastic edge to his tone. Outside the door, coming closer.

“Just be nice, okay?” A different voice, also male, around the same age, but with a long-suffering vibe to it. “We're guests here.”

“Yeah, and we get rousted at oh-dark-thirty and flown right across the country to -” His voice broke off and when it came back, the tone was much sharper. “What?”

“This is the room. Now be polite, okay?”

Amy hid a grin. Whoever this was obviously had no idea just how little sound insulation went into these doors. The hospital went with the lowest bid there. What a surprise. A moment later she heard a sharp knock on the door.

“Come in,” she called out. Everyone else had heard the conversation, of course, so by the time the door opened, every eye was on it.

The first one in was a teenage boy, so she gauged, wearing white robes, less like hers than like Myrddin's. He had a goat's face for a mask, attached to a metal headband. There were little horns attached to the sides of the band. Repeating the theme, he had a goat's head for a belt buckle as well.

At a rough guess, this is Scapegoat.

“Hey,” he said as he entered. “The name's – gah!”

Amy knew she shouldn't laugh. The poor guy obviously hadn't expected to find a room full of capes, all staring at him. Sternly, she fought down the impulse to giggle madly as he staggered back a step.

“Christ,” he complained, putting his hand on his chest. “Don't do that to me. Seriously. Just don't.”

Another costumed figure stepped through the door behind him, hands up and containing a volume of oddly behaving space. “S.G., you okay?”

“Yeah,” the goat-masked boy replied. “Apart from having a heart attack and a stroke all at once. I was told I was fixing up one person. Didn't expect a whole team to turn out to meet me.”

That would have been ironic. I would've had to heal the guy who came to heal me.

Obviously deciding that New Wave wasn't about to attack, the unnamed newcomer dropped his hands to his side, allowing the twisted space to dissipate. His costume was designed with angled points going upward, in grey and brown. “Sorry about that. I'm Spire. This is Scapegoat.” Then his eyes widened. “Crap, sorry. S.G., eyes down!” He shaded his own eyes as his teammate looked down and away.

Aunt Sarah and Mom shared a puzzled glance. “What's going on?” asked Lady Photon. “What's wrong?”

“You're unmasked,” Spire explained, still shading his eyes. “Didn't mean to look. Sorry.”

“Spire. Dude. You need to get out more.” Scapegoat turned toward them again. “I mean, who's not gonna recognise Glory Girl? And that makes you guys New Wave.”

“New Wave?” Spire cautiously unshaded his eyes as Vicky preened. “Oh. Right. New Wave. Sorry. I wasn't even looking at the costumes. My bad.”

Huh. They weren't told who they were healing? That's as far under the table as it gets.

“That's all right.” Aunt Sarah smiled as she offered her hand to the older teen. “You're team leader of the San Diego Wards?”

“That's right,” Spire replied, drawing himself up a little. “So who's the patient? And why didn't you just get Panacea to … oh.”

“'Oh' is right,” Amy told him dryly, as Scapegoat facepalmed – or mask-palmed – behind him. She gave him a little wave, careful not to yank on the lines she had leading into her wrist. “Hi, pleased to meet you. I'm Panacea.”

<><>

Vicky had expected Scapegoat to just ask for permission, do his wound-swap thing, and be on his way. It hadn't worked out like that.

“Really?” asked Scapegoat. “Your power doesn't work on you at all?” He sounded as though he couldn't believe it. “Not even a little bit?”

Vicky leaned over toward Spire and murmured, “He doesn't seem to get it, does he?”

Spire shrugged. “He has a unique outlook.”

Whatever that means, decided Vicky.

“My power's not like yours,” Amy told Scapegoat. “If I touch someone, I can see what's wrong and fix it.” Vicky could attest to this, having seen it happen more often than she could count.

“Anything?” Scapegoat rolled his eyes. “Sorry, got it. I have read your PHO bio, just by the way. But that just seems unfair. I don't even know what's wrong with someone before I start doing my thing. I just … I guess I just tell it to go to work. Anyway, what you've got is a basic leg wound, yeah? Calf muscle, through and through?”

“Basically. Hurt like hell, though.” Amy's voice was wry. “I kind of fell over and screamed a lot.”

“Right. Chair.” Scapegoat looked around and pulled the plastic chair over to where he was standing. “And … dressings.”

Wordlessly, Spire reached into his utility belt and produced a rolled bandage.

“Let me guess,” murmured Vicky. “You've done this before?” More than once, she guessed.

Spire rolled his eyes behind the tinted visor that he wore. “Oh, you have no idea. And he bitches every single time.” She thought she heard echoes of Dean's voice when talking about Triumph's hassles in dealing with Brockton Bay's Wards. Especially Clockblocker and Shadow Stalker.

“Shut up,” Scapegoat told them. “I'm allowed to bitch. It freaking hurts.” He pulled his robe up, showing a pair of white knee-high boots. Putting the left boot up on the seat, he undid the laces and worked the boot off. “Don't want to suddenly start bleeding everywhere.”

Amy carefully pulled herself into a semi-seated position. From the cautious way she moved her leg, Vicky guessed that it had been giving her problems. “I'll heal you,” Amy told Scapegoat. “You'll have the wound for all of two seconds.”

“It might not work like that,” he said. “See, the way this works, the wound's still linked to you for a few hours.” He pointed his finger at where her legs would be under the covers, then drew an imaginary line to his own leg, making stretching-rubber-band noises with his mouth. “You take a hit, or you move too far away from me, it rebounds.” His finger flicked back in the other direction, along with a 'Twang!' sound effect. “You've got it back, worse than ever. So if it's linked to you, it's still technically 'your' wound. And you can't heal yourself.”

Setting her jaw stubbornly, Amy shook her head. “But it shouldn't work like that.” She gestured to where the wound would be. “On me, I can't do a thing to it. On you, it's your leg. I fix it. It's still swapped, so even if it swaps back, we exchange healthy me for healthy you, I guess?”

Scapegoat shrugged. “Might be a loophole that works. Might not. It'll be interesting to see.” A grimace crossed his face. “And painful. Did I say I hate my power? I hate my power.” The words were trite; nearly every cape sitcom had some variation of the phrase. But to Vicky, Scapegoat actually sounded like he meant it.

Vicky had no idea how to take that. If Amy hated her power like that, would we still expect her to heal everyone?

“Wait, so do you heal fast or something?” Crystal leaned across from the other side of the bed. “How do you get rid of injuries you take away from people?”

Vicky couldn't see Scapegoat's face, but the smile came through in his voice. “The normal way. I touch a bad guy and pass it on to him. It's even more satisfying if it's a battle injury.”

“So you don't usually heal people out of combat,” Dad observed.

“Well, no. Especially given that what I do isn't healing,” Scapegoat said. “I'm doing a patch job. But I'm not actually doing any healing.” He sat on the chair and took the bandage from Spire. Quickly and efficiently, he wrapped the length of cloth around his leg until the area that the wound would appear in was covered.

Not healing? “I guess I'm confused,” Vicky said slowly. “If it's not healing, then what is it?”

“Swapping healthy body parts for injured body parts,” Scapegoat said. “The injury goes from you to me, and the healthy body part goes from me to you. It's no more healing than putting a new tyre on your car is the same as fixing the punctured tyre.”

Huh. That sounded almost rehearsed. Like he's said it more than once before. I wonder how many times he's explained his power using that very same phrase?

Scapegoat took a deep breath. “Okay, enough stalling. Hang on.” Reaching out, he took Amy's hand.

What the fuck? Vicky stared. “Wait, aren't you supposed to ask permission?”

He shrugged. “Never bothered to before.” Without being able to see his face, she heard a puzzled note enter his voice. “Panacea, are you getting anything?”

“Uh, I had a weird shivery feeling for a second,” Amy said. “But that's gone too.”

“No, that's not right,” muttered Scapegoat. “There should be more to it than that.” Deliberately, he poked the bandage on his leg, automatically wincing as he did so. A moment later, he did it again, this time without the wince. “Nope, no injury. Here, let me try again.”

Amy was looking as confused as Vicky was feeling. “What's supposed to be happening?” asked Amy. “And by the way, you should lay off the fast food.”

Pshh, yeah, as if. Vicky knew that Amy would yell at her as well if she knew that Vicky secretly indulged in less than healthy food from time to time. So I'll never tell her. Problem solved. There was something about floating through the McDonalds drive-through and freaking out the attendants that never got old.

“Screw that,” Scapegoat retorted, turning his attention away from his bandaged leg at last. “I'm a teenager. We eat junk food. It's a thing.” Letting go of her hand, he leaned back in the chair and absently crossed his unbooted foot over his other leg. “What I'm worried about is the fact that your power seems to be blocking mine totally. Like you're not even injured.”

“Well, there was more to it than the bullet wound,” Amy pointed out. “I had scraped hands too, from when I fell over.” Vicky felt a pang of guilt. She hadn't even known about that bit. But then, scraped hands are not a threat to life. Being shot in the leg is. Especially if you're the guy who shot my sister in the leg.

“They're fine now. Was that you?” Amy leaned back in the bed again, showing both of her palms to him. They were, as she said, unmarred.

With an almost comical tone of surprise in his voice, Scapegoat examined his own palms. “Nope. Nothing. You didn't heal me?”

Amy's look of confusion intensified, which didn't surprise Vicky. She was trying to figure out what was going on as well. “No. I was gonna wait until we were finished.”

“Uh …” Every eye turned toward Vicky, but she ploughed on. Why hasn't anyone else suggested this? “Maybe we should, you know, check the injury. If your powers are acting up over it, we need to know why.”

Amy turned to Scapegoat, who shrugged. “Well, my power keeps insisting that you are fully healthy,” he admitted, spreading his hands. “If it's your power jamming it, then it's something I'll have to keep in mind.”

There was a moment of silence, then Eric started chuckling. Crystal stared at him. “What's the matter with you, dork?”

Eric snorted with amusement. “Here we are, a room full of superheroes, all wondering who's supposed to take Amy's bandage off. And Amy's the most qualified one to do it.” He barely managed to finish what he was saying before his laughter got the better of him. He doubled over, leaning against the bed, tears of mirth running down his face.

Uncle Neil, who had chosen to loom in the background up until then, also chuckled. “He's right, you know. I'll go find a doctor.” Manoeuvring around the bed, he nodded to Spire – the San Diego Ward wasn't short, but Manpower still towered over him – and left the room.

“So, uh, what's it like as a Ward in San Diego?” asked Vicky, wanting to avoid another awkward silence. Not that this was much of a danger; Eric was now sitting on the floor, still laughing.

“Oh, pretty good,” Spire said cheerfully. “We've more than a dozen on the roster at the moment. Alexandria keeps trying to poach some for Los Angeles, but the Director's pretty good at telling her no.” Vicky was a little taken aback; both at the idea of someone telling Alexandria 'no' over anything, and the fact that Spire was so matter of fact about it.

“It gets a bit boring,” Scapegoat put in, still leaning back in his chair. He had taken to wriggling his toes, apparently at random. “We get to accompany the Protectorate proper on patrols, but I haven't faced off against an actual cape in, oh, months. Do you get to do anything like that here?”

Vicky's eyes widened and she met Crystal's gaze. “Umm …” She was almost certain that neither of the visiting Wards was aware of what had gone down on the Boardwalk last night. “Well, the guy who shot Amy is a member of the Empire Eighty-Eight. You've heard of them?”

“Kaiser's gang, right?” Spire looked thoughtful. “They're the white supremacists? They sound pretty nasty.” He gestured toward Amy as an illustration of his point. “If one of our villains shot S.G., I'm reasonably sure we'd round 'em up pretty damn quick. So, this guy in custody yet?”

Aunt Sarah compressed her lips together. “No. And he's not likely to be, any time soon.”

“What?” Scapegoat stared up at her, his voice filled with astonishment. He even stopped wiggling his toes. “But guys like that have gotta go down.”

“And if the gang you're trying to take down outnumbers the capes you're able to muster against them?” Vicky tried not to let her anger show in her voice – it wasn't these guys' fault, after all – but it wasn't easy.

“What, all the villains in town? They're all standing up for this guy?” Spire sounded disbelieving, as if this was a situation that he'd never encountered before. Vicky felt a certain amount of sympathy for him. Not much, but some. He doesn't know any better.

“No.” Aunt Sarah's voice was as clipped as Mom's got on occasion. It was obvious that she was still deeply unhappy about the whole situation. “One gang.”

The largest gang in town, but yeah. Just one gang.

Scapegoat spoke in the tones of someone who has solved the problem, and can't believe that nobody else has worked it out first. “So call in the Protectorate if this gang outnumbers you. They should be happy to give New Wave a hand.”

Aunt Sarah gave him a measured look. Her tone was no less firm than before. “That's counting the Protectorate.”

Vicky knew full well that true telepathy was impossible for the human brain to handle. Her college-level Parahumans 101 class had been clear on that. So she was pretty sure that she was imagining the rueful thoughts of oh, shit and well, fuck from the two out-of-town Wards.

At that moment, saving the newcomers from what may have been terminal embarrassment, the door opened. Manpower entered, ducking his head under the door frame. He was followed by a doctor, who looked more than a little taken aback at the sheer preponderance of costumes in the room.

Unlike Scapegoat, however, the doctor neither recoiled nor freaked out. Stepping forward, he moved to Amy's bedside. “I'm told you need my assistance, Panacea. How can I help?”

Amy pulled back the covers, revealing the bandage on her left calf. “I need to check the injury. We're trying to remove it, but it seems to be resisting the treatment, and we need to know why.”

The doctor blinked, apparently taken aback by her frank statement. “You're trying to … remove … the injury? By that, do you mean … heal?” He looked from cape to cape as if seeking a coherent explanation. Finally, his eyes lit on Scapegoat. “And why is your leg bandaged in the same place? Have you been attended to yet?”

Aunt Sarah cleared her throat. “It's difficult to explain.” Vicky resisted the urge to roll her eyes at such a blatant understatement. “But we just need to remove the bandage from Amy's leg, and we'd be happier if an actual medical professional was here to do the job.”

The doctor frowned. “Well, ordinarily, the wound wouldn't have really commenced the healing process, but I suppose if you need the bandage removed, I'll have it removed. In any case, it's a good idea to change the dressing before we discharge you. Let me call a nurse -” He took two steps toward the door, before finding Uncle Neil in the way. “Uh -”

“You don't understand,” the seven-foot tall man explained almost confidentially. He pointed at Amy's leg. “You need to remove that bandage. Nothing more. If it turns out that it needs a new dressing, you can arrange that then. But for now, just the bandage. Please.”

As if in a daze, the doctor turned around. “Well, why not. I can certainly do that. Be aware, however, that it's not a good idea to leave open wounds exposed to the air.” He moved to Amy's bedside; pulling a pair of gloves from a box on the nightstand, he put them on and deftly began to remove the bandage.

Vicky watched as layer after layer of elastic cloth was unwound from Amy's calf. Finally, it was down to the absorbent pad that had been laid over the entry and exit wounds. Carefully, the doctor peeled this off. And stared. “Okay, fine. No new dressing. You win. Miss Dallon, you may see the duty nurse for the discharge paperwork.” Muttering something to himself about 'goddamn capes and their stupid practical jokes', the doctor turned toward the door, peeling off his gloves as he went.

Vicky wasn't paying too much attention, given what she was seeing. “Uh, Mom?”

“Yes, Victoria?” Mom leaned forward and looked more closely. “I see no wound. You were shot.” It was more a statement than a question.

“Yes, Carol. I was shot.” Vicky grinned internally as Amy gave way to her inner snark. “In the leg. It hurt, rather a lot. I'm pretty sure that there's a dozen videos online that show the blood.” Also, Vicky knew, the medical records that described the injury in detail. Not to mention the fact that she'd been there and seen it herself.

“But you've got no injury there.” Scapegoat began pulling the bandage off his leg. “I thought you couldn't heal yourself.”

“I can't.” Amy sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Systematically, she began to pull the lines out of her wrist, and unpeeling the sticky patches from her skin. She was wearing a nightgown that Vicky had fetched her, in lieu of the usual hospital gown. The machines that the lines were attached to began to beep mournfully, until she reached over and switched them off.

“Maybe you second-triggered when you were shot, but didn't know it?” That was Spire. Vicky shook her head; the guy had no idea how second triggers went. To be honest, she didn't have much of an idea herself, but she knew how they didn't go, and 'not knowing that you triggered' was definitely not how that sort of thing went.

“No, and I can prove it.” Amy pointed at the small puncture marks where she had pulled out the IV lines. She touched her wrist; when she took her fingers away, the marks remained. “See? Still doesn't work on me.”

“Oh, okay.” Scapegoat wadded the bandage up and held it out to Spire, who took it with an air of resignation. “Thanks, dude. Okay then. So you were shot, but now you don't have an injury. And you can't heal yourself. Which means what? Someone, who wasn't as dashing and handsome as me, came in and healed you, depriving me of the cachet of saying that I healed Panacea once upon a time?” He even managed to sound disappointed as he pulled his boot on once more.

“That's what it looks like.” Amy stood up, heading for the cupboard where Vicky had stashed what she had dubbed Amy's 'going-home' clothes. “The trouble is, we just don't have any capes in Brockton Bay capable of healing someone. Aside from a villain or two, of course.” Grabbing the backpack full of clothes, she entered the tiny bathroom. The door clicked shut behind her.

Aunt Sarah caught Mom's eye. Mom's return gaze was grim. “Something is definitely up,” Brandish said. “We need to know what happened, as soon as possible.”

Sarah nodded. “I tend to agree.” She eyed the empty bed, then her gaze quartered the room as she turned slowly. When she stopped, she was looking up into the corner of the room. “And I know exactly where to go to get answers.”

Puzzled, Vicky followed her line of sight. When she saw the security camera, she smiled.

<><>

Medhall Building

The metal disc, one inch thick and six in diameter, lay on the baseplate. Rune reached across and touched it, then stood back.

Assume positive control: test device.

Victor stood at the whiteboard, which was half-covered in notations by now. Four graphs, each bearing a series of marks, vied for space amid the equations which he had scribbled here and there. “When you're ready,” he called.

Rune eyed me over the device, her teeth bared. “You're going down this time.”

Observation: ally 'Rune' does not believe statement. Attempting to present brave front. Antagonism pretended, rather than real.

Conclusion: success will not result in interpersonal difficulties.

Apply motive force to device.

The disc began to rotate, then stopped. Rune gripped the edge of the table. “No, you don't. Not this time.”

Increase motive force to device.

Rune's power is maintaining stasis.

Increase motive force.

Increase motive force.

Full force being applied. No result.

The disc was quivering very slightly, but not rotating, when I raised my hand. “I can not apply any more force.”

“What?” For an instant, Rune's control slipped; the disc moved an inch, then stopped again. “No shit? You mean I win?”

“You can apply more force to the disc than I can,” I confirmed. I reduced the force being applied to the disc, and felt her do the same.

Observation: ally 'Rune' rather excited. Potential for hug in near future.

“Woo!” she shouted. Rounding the table, she flung her arms around me. I dropped my powers and hugged her back. “Holy shit, I didn't think I could do it -” Pausing, she adopted a deeper tone of voice. “- I mean, I always knew I had it in me.”

I laughed and gave her an extra squeeze. “You're an idiot,” I told her fondly. “But yeah, you beat me fair and square.”

Laughing, she grabbed me in a mock headlock and gave me a light noogie. “Of course I did. I always knew I could beat you.”

“In your dreams,” I mocked her, pulling free of her grasp and putting my arm around her shoulders. With my extra reach, I was able to push her downward slightly. As she had done, I put on a fake dramatic voice as I gestured to the ceiling with my other arm. “The power of Rune is nothing next to the power of … mmph!” Flailing around, she had managed to slap her hand over my mouth. I licked her palm.

“Excellent!” Victor turned to us from the whiteboard, interrupting our horseplay. “Now, Rune, you try to turn it while Remote holds it still.” He looked almost as excited as Rune, but possibly for different reasons. “We're getting all sorts of useful data here.”

Slightly flushed, we pulled apart. I pushed my hair back out of my eyes and straightened my skewed glasses while Tammi wiped her hand on her jeans. Taking a deep breath, I submerged myself in my powers once more.

Vocal expression: giggle. “So, you ready to feel the pain?”

Observation: ally 'Rune' believes she is prepared.

Assume positive control: test device. “Yes. Are you?”

Apply motive force. Maintain current position of disc.

The disc began to rotate. “All-righty!” crowed Rune. “Let's do this!”

Increase motive force.

Increase motive force.

Increase motive force.

Motive force insufficient for task.

Conclusion: ally 'Rune' can apply more power in this instance.

The disc was rotating at a steady rate. Rune was concentrating on it, expression intent.

Conclusion: ally 'Rune' suspects that she will still lose.

I raised my hand. “I cannot apply any more force. Rune, you win.” As an expression of surrender, I ceased applying force to the disc and let my powers lapse. It began to spin much faster before she brought it to a halt.

“That's marvellous!” Victor drew lines, extending the graphs downward below their bottom edges. “Rune, how much force do you think you needed to beat Remote that time?”

She tilted her head. “Oh, about ninety to ninety-five percent. It wasn't easy, but I got there. I owned that puppy.” She gave the disc a look of intense satisfaction; I wouldn't have been overly surprised if she'd picked it up and cuddled it. Turning to me, she added, “Uh, no hard feelings, Taylor?”

I smiled. “We're here to test my powers, not make you look bad. It's good that you actually beat me this time, right, Victor?” My eyes went to the whiteboard, where Victor was still scribbling.

It wasn't surprising that Tammi was so elated at beating me with the six-inch disc; our trials with the two and three foot diameter discs had been utterly, even hilariously, weighted in my favour. She had barely even been able to slow the latter down, causing Victor to frown and bite the end of his marker in thought.

“Oh, of course, of course,” he agreed. For a non-Tinker, he certainly seemed to be enthusiastic about science, once he had a problem he could sink his teeth into. “This gives me a really good set of data points. Rough ones, of course, but now it's time to firm up the numbers.” He shot a mildly irritated glance at the whiteboard. “Because those curves just don't make sense.”

I had a feeling that I would regret the question, but I asked it anyway. “How are we going to do that?”

He grinned. This time, he did crack his knuckles. “You know how.”

Well, duh. 'Science'.

<><>

Brockton Bay General Hospital

Amy stood next to Vicky in the hospital's security room. It wasn't a large room, made less so by chairs, tables, consoles and refrigerator-size servers humming away in the corner. When all interested parties had tried to crowd inside at once, Carol had put her foot down.

The hospital administrator was there, along with the head nurse. Seated in the chair between them was a nervous-looking security guard. Amy could understand his point of view; his job was to keep things secure and stay in the background. When people started noticing him, that was actually a bad thing.

Carol was there, of course; she was the one who had set this whole thing in motion. Everyone in Brockton Bay knew that Brandish of New Wave was also Carol Dallon, lawyer. Nobody wanted to be on the wrong side of a lawsuit brought by that firm. This was why, Amy figured, the administrator wasn't putting up much of a protest.

Amy had made the case that she needed to be there because whatever had happened, had happened to her. Carol had accepted this, but had frowned when Vicky had refused to be moved from her sister's side. In the end, she had let it slide, but she had drawn the line at Eric and Crystal trying to play the cousin card.

Manpower had accepted his eviction in good grace, although Aunt Sarah got in on the strength of the fact that she was team leader. Neither Scapegoat nor Spire got a look-in, though Vicky promised to share pertinent details with them later. Mark hadn't wanted to go, given that he had spent the latter half of the night in Amy's hospital room, but he was too tired to make a good case of it.

“All right,” announced Carol. “We left at ten. Glory Girl volunteered to stay on until two AM, when she was relieved by Flashbang, who was there until this morning. I think we can safely assume that nothing untoward happened before we left.” Her expression matched her tone; she was quite obviously less than impressed by the level of security in the hospital.

The hospital administrator, a distinguished-looking older man by the name of Friedrich, nodded. He looked more than a little frazzled by the morning's events. And so you should be, thought Amy sardonically. Having ninja healers sneak in and help your patients out can't be good for your image.

“Do you have the correct footage?” Friedrich asked the security guard. The man, more than a little overweight but apparently not unskilled with the console, looked up and nodded. “Good. Play it forward at ten times speed.”

“Uh, I can't do ten times,” the security guard said. “Sorry. It's powers of two. I can do eight times or sixteen times, but not ten.” He sounded less happy all the time; whether that was from the fact that he couldn't carry out the required instruction or because he'd just contradicted his boss, Amy could not tell.

“Sixteen, then,” Carol snapped, not bothering to moderate her tone. “Just so long as you play it.”

“Yes, ma'am.” The guard tapped buttons and clicked a mouse. On the screen, the image flickered forward at speed. Vicky wandered jerkily around the hospital room while Amy twitched and occasionally moved on the bed. Finally, Vicky sat down and turned the pages of a magazine so fast that they were a blur.

The door opened, and a nurse flickered into the room. She was all the way over to the bed before Carol blurted out, “Stop.”

The security guard must have already been reaching for the console, because he stopped the footage almost as she spoke. Carol leaned closer to the screen. “Mr Friedrich, do you recognise that nurse?”

Friedrich frowned, adjusting his bifocals. “I believe that I do, though I couldn't put a name to her. Do you know her, Nurse Kelly?”

Head Nurse Kelly nodded firmly. “I know her. That's Henderson. She was assigned to Panacea's room.” She leaned in to look at the screen as well. “Thirty seconds late, but that's well within standards.”

“Good.” Carol tapped the console with one fingernail. “Keep going.”

The security guard didn't hesitate; he clicked the mouse again. The picture jerked into motion; after what seemed an absurdly short time, the nurse vanished out through the door once more. Amy found herself watching the image of her on the bed. Do I really look like that? Weird.

At the bottom corner of the screen, the timestamp numbers scrolled almost faster than Amy could follow them. One minute passed in just under four seconds; an hour went by in somewhat less than four minutes. Nurse Henderson flickered in and out of the room a few more times; by now, the guard only needed to pause the image for them to identify her. Amy began to feel hungry. Maybe Vicky and I could stop by the Boardwalk for something to eat on the way home?

“Stop!” snapped Carol, making Amy jump. “Who's that?”

Amy blinked; she'd been woolgathering, and nearly hadn't noticed the nurse entering the room. The guard tapped the button, freezing the frame.

Friedrich frowned. “I don't know her. I can't see her face properly.” He turned to the head nurse, who was already leaning forward. “Nurse Kelly?”

“That's not one of my nurses.” But the head nurse's voice was unsure. “I think. Can you run it through at normal speed?”

“Sure, I can do that.” The security guard did something to the console, and the picture reversed, the nurse strolling backward out of the room, closing the door in her own face. The mouse clicked and the door opened again, allowing the nurse entry once more. “Let me know when you need it paused.”

“Just let it run.” Carol's voice was tense, her gaze fixed on the screen. “Come on,” she murmured. “Look at the camera …”

Amy looked at the time stamp. “That was about a quarter after one,” she noted. “I was asleep by then, I think.” She nudged Vicky. “I think you were too.”

Vicky rolled her eyes, the light from the screen reflecting from her eyeballs. “I was still awake. You were snoring like a rhinoceros.”

“Girls.” It took just one word from Carol to quiet them. “Victoria, do you recall this nurse?”

“Um … maybe?” Vicky peered at the screen, frowning in concentration. “I wasn't really paying attention. A nurse is a nurse. I remember she tidied up a bit before she left. But she didn't try to stab Ames or anything.”

On the screen, the faux nurse wandered over to the far corner of the room, apparently straightening the covers of the empty bed there. At no time, Amy noticed, did she look even peripherally at the camera. When she walked away from the bed, there was a dark spot on it.

“What's that?” Amy asked. Without being prompted, the guard paused the footage. “That spot, right there.” She frowned; there hadn't been any such spot on the bed when she woke up in the morning.

Vicky leaned in. “I don't remember that. What is it?” She sounded more than a little worried; even as her image spoke with the 'nurse' on the screen, that spot remained accusingly on the bed.

Carol's lips thinned. “I think I know. Keep it rolling.” She didn't say any more, and Amy didn't want to ask. Besides, she had suspicions of her own.

The 'nurse' ended up at Amy's bedside and fiddled with her chart. After that, she took Amy's pulse, peering at her watch for what seemed a very long time. Then she put her hand on Amy's forehead for another fifteen seconds or so.

“That's not correct procedure,” Nurse Kelly stated flatly. “Her watch was on her wrist instead of being pinned to her uniform, and if she wanted Panacea's temperature, she should have used a thermometer.” She crossed her arms, the very image of offended sensibilities. “Whoever that was, she's no nurse.” Not in my hospital, she didn't have to say.

“I think we get that,” murmured Friedrich. “But who is she?” He looked around at the capes assembled in the security room. “And what's she doing, exactly?” He sounded as puzzled as Amy had been earlier.

I think I know. I think we've just been royally had. From the expression on Carol's face, she was coming to the same conclusion.

Amy watched as the 'nurse' meandered around the room once more, still managing to not look toward the camera. After she passed by the bed in the far corner, the dark spot was gone. But then she was approaching the security camera, on the way to the door. Unless she twisted her head around at an awkward angle, it would get a perfect image of her face.

“Slow it down,” Carol ordered tightly. “Half speed. I want to see this.” She gripped the edge of the table. Amy was glad that Vicky wasn't doing the same thing. They might need a new table.

“Yes, ma'am.” The security guard clicked the mouse and scrolled the button, slowing the footage down to a crawl. Every eye was fixed on the screen; just before the moment of truth, the 'nurse' brought her hand up, palm out, obscuring her face. Amy caught fleeting glimpses of an eye and her nose, but she wasn't looking at that. She was looking at what was written on the woman's palm.

In thick black marker, she could clearly see the notation 'E88'.

And then the moment was past, and the woman was out the door.

In the silence that followed, Vicky expressed what was on everyone's minds. “Fucking Othala.”

<><>

Medhall Building

Max Anders leaned back in his chair as the capes on his computer screen dispersed from the Brockton Bay General Hospital's security office. He allowed himself a self-satisfied smile. It had taken Victor some time and effort to get access to this feed, but the looks of pure frustration on their faces gave him a warm feeling deep inside. Always two steps ahead, dear Brandish. He had no idea why she hated being addressed like that, but she did, so he made sure to do it as often as possible.

There was a knock on his office door. He raised his voice slightly. “Come in.”

The door opened; Victor entered, dressed in civilian clothing and carrying two folders. Approaching the desk, he placed the first one down, keeping the second one. “Test results for Remote's power, sir.”

Max took the folder and opened it, scanning the graphed results. Flipping through the pages, he located the summary and held it up. His eyebrows rose as he took in the contents. “Really?”

Victor nodded, looking quite satisfied with himself. “Yes, sir. Any device we construct for her will be limited only by the material strength of the metal we build it with. Put in robust enough joints, and the devices will break before she runs out of power.”

“Well, that is good news.” Max placed the folder on the desk and spread out the pages, looking at them with interest. Something caught his eye and he looked more closely. “Wait; it's not based on surface area?”

Victor nodded. “I made that assumption, too. But the data points refused to line up properly.” His voice echoed the frustration he must have been feeling. “Right up until I tried using the square root of the surface area, rather than the area itself. Then everything fell into place.”

Max tapped one of the sheets. “Seven hundred pounds of force per inch? You're sure of that?” His mind whirled at the possibilities. If all she needs is metal moving parts …

“Absolutely certain, sir.” Victor put his finger on another sheet. “Here are the test results between her and Rune. And then I repeated them, using a friction brake. They all pan out.” He stood back, hands on his hips. “And as far as I can tell, it all scales up.”

“I see.” Max Anders allowed himself to smile. It felt good. “So, have you been able to apply this to armour designs for her?”

Victor dropped the second folder on the desk. “I thought you'd never ask.”

Kaiser's smile widened.

<><>

Director Piggot's Office, PRT Building

“Othala.” Emily Piggot spat the word out like a rotten piece of fruit.

“We're reasonably sure that it was her, yes.” Lady Photon stood before Piggot's desk, with the rest of New Wave in attendance behind her. Foremost was Panacea, back in costume. The girl was standing strongly on both feet, obviously uninjured.

Emily took a deep breath. “So if I'm to understand this, Othala infiltrated the Brockton Bay General Hospital specifically to heal Panacea of the injury caused her by Victor.” She felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. I do not need days like this. On the one hand, Panacea was on her feet again. On the other … “Is there any way they can prove that they did this?”

Lady Photon's expression was not a happy one. “We think so.” She indicated the folder of photos in front of Piggot. “Those are screenshots from the hospital's security cameras. Othala managed to evade most of them, and covered her face from the rest. But look at that one.” It showed a hospital bed, with a black spot on it.

Piggot picked up the photo and peered at it. The image had already been enlarged beyond the capability of getting any more detail. “I can't make it out.”

“We're of the consensus that she left a small camera on the bed, then retrieved it before she left,” Lady Photon informed her. “It would have been out of Glory Girl's sight, but would have recorded everything that Othala said and did in that room.” She didn't have to say any more; Emily could easily connect the dots from there.

“Which means that if we try to press the Empire on this, they can turn it around on us with zero effort,” the Director noted. She gritted her teeth; it was a bold move, infuriatingly clever. While it wouldn't save Victor from the consequences of his crime, when and if he was ever brought to trial, the public relations bonanza for the Empire Eighty-Eight would be immense. Which brought the next question to mind. “Have they released this yet?”

Lady Photon shook her head. “Not that we know of, yet.” Which meant, of course, that they still could do it, at any time. As blackmail currency went, it would decrease in value with time, but the embarrassment to the PRT and to New Wave would be considerable, even if they waited some time to reveal it.

Not that Emily Piggot would let it stop her doing what she considered to be the right thing. However, she decided, it's probably a good idea not to press too hard on the Empire right at this very second.

Looking at Lady Photon, she could see the same conclusion in the other woman's eyes. They shared a nod of understanding. If the Empire Eighty-Eight did something egregious, then the PRT and New Wave would descend upon them with all the force at their disposal. But if they kept things quiet, it was better to let sleeping dogs lie.

For the time being, anyway.


End of Part Thirteen

Part Fourteen

 

The Slippery Slope

Part Fourteen: Families and Foreshadowing



[A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

[A/N 2: The interludes occur just before the end of the last chapter.]

[A/N 3: The book 'The Wind in the Willows' was written by Kenneth Grahame, and I make no claim to any part of it.]



Friday, February 3, 2011
Interlude One: Medhall Building

“Oh, hey,” said Peter as I went to meet him. “I thought you were going to be in there all day.” His tone was teasing and his eyes were amused at his joke. He also looked pleased to see me. Well, that was all right. I was pleased to see him, too.

“Sorry it took so long,” I said. “I learned a bit about my powers. And Victor says he's going to teach me how to make stuff with the manufacturing lab, so I can build my own machines.” As we came together, I laced my fingers with his, then leaned against him. He put his free arm around my shoulders.

“I would be extremely interested in hearing all about it,” he informed me solemnly. “But I think there's someone here that you might want to say hi to first.” The teasing tone was more evident now, and I realised that it had to be more than just about me spending time away from him.

“Oh?” I asked, blinking at him curiously. “Who is it?” I couldn't think of anyone, except -

“Hey, Taylor. You're looking good.” Excitement bloomed through me and I spun around at the familiar voice. Despite the bandages and the crutch that he was leaning on, I had no trouble recognising the guy who had saved my ass.

“George!” I squealed. Pulling free from Peter, I dashed across the distance between us and flung my arms around his neck. “Omigod, it's so good to see you!”

One strong arm wrapped around my waist. I had last felt that strength when it was pulling me free from a bunch of ABB and sending me on my way. Saving my life. I hugged him back, fervently.

He chuckled. “Oof, wow. Are you sure you didn't trigger with super-strength as well?” His tone was amused, but not teasing; from the sound of it, he was in the loop when it came to knowing about my powers. To be honest, that wasn't very surprising. Peter had already trusted him with my well-being; the fight and its aftermath had basically set that in stone.

“I'm just glad to see you.” Stepping back, I let him catch his balance while I looked him over. His dressings were nowhere near as numerous as they had been in the beginning. It looked like he was only suffering from a few distinct injuries, and … “Oh. Your eye. Othala couldn't fix that?”

He shrugged. “It is what it is. Eyes are very complicated. She says that she'll keep working with me to bring it all the way back, but it will take a while.” A grin split his broad face. “And in the meantime, I get to wear a bitchin' eyepatch.”

I had to laugh as I reached backward. Peter's hand slipped into mine as if we had rehearsed it. He stepped forward to stand beside me as I smiled at George. “Well, all I can say is, I'm totally grateful for what you did for me. And I'm glad you know about my powers. And … well, I'm just glad you're alive.”

George's eyes fell. “Yeah, I heard about Jenna and Bronson. That really bites. Those slanty-eyed fucks. I just wish I'd been there to help.” His free hand clenched, the skin whitening around his knuckles.

Peter shook his head. “You'd be dead for real, then. Fucking Oni Lee took us out in seconds. Taylor's dad and I only survived by the skin of our teeth, and the fact that Taylor's a total badass. Even with Othala giving us round-robin with her regeneration to keep us alive, Jenna still died.” He reached forward and patted George on the shoulder. “You did your bit, man. And I'm going to make sure people know about it.”

“When's the service for Bronson and Jenna?” I asked. “I'm going to want to get something appropriate to wear for it. All my stuff was in the car when it crashed.” I remembered the terror of the seconds before the crash, and wondered if I could've done something different that would have prevented it.

“Friday evening,” Peter said quietly. He put his arm around me. “You won't need to worry about a nice dress. For this sort of thing, capes show up in costume, as a sign of respect.” It made a certain amount of sense. The Empire put a lot of stock in symbolism and gestures, after all.

I turned to him and held him close. “I think that's a good idea. But for right now, could I ask a huge favour of you?” There was something I wanted to do, and I didn't have what I needed to do it with.

He put his arms around me. “Anything at all. Just ask me.” His voice was soft in my ear.

So I told him what I needed.

He pulled back and looked at me, his brow wrinkled. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” I said. “Seriously.” I pulled him close again. “It would mean so much to me.”

“Then I'll get it.” There was no compromise, no uncertainty. He meant every word.

I smiled, then gave him the lightest of kisses. “Thank you.”

<><>​

Interlude Two: Brockton Bay General Hospital

“Holy crap!” Vicky's voice echoed from the hospital room into the tiny bathroom where Amy was packing the last of her toiletries.

Amy looked up enquiringly at the outrage in her sister's voice. Grabbing the toiletry bag, she exited the bathroom. “What's the matter?” she asked. “And where's everyone else?”

Only the two Wards and the other junior members of New Wave were present; Scapegoat and Spire had been chatting with Eric and Crystal. Now, they were looking over with interest to where Vicky stood next to the bed, the clipboard in her hand.

Vicky turned to her. “Mom and Dad and Aunt Sarah and Uncle Neil are dealing with your checkout papers.” She held the clipboard out accusingly. “Have you seen this?”

Amy frowned, not sure where she was going with this. “My chart? No, I wasn't really interested. I can't heal myself. You know this.”

“Not unless you have a devastatingly handsome Ward who can pull your injuries on to himself so that you can heal them,” Scapegoat broke in. Amy couldn't see his face due to the goat mask, but she could imagine a Clockblocker-esque grin lurking there. Scapegoat seemed to have that sense of humour.

“We still haven't settled that, one way or the other,” Amy reminded him. “So what's with the chart, anyway? I'm pretty sure that Othala fixed my leg up.” It was a pretty good job, too, she had to admit. There wasn't even a scar, and she could walk without a twinge.

Vicky rolled her eyes. “I'm not talking about your chart. I'm talking about this.” She gestured with the clipboard, and Amy noticed that she had all but the last sheet folded back. “On the tape, Othala was fiddling with this, right? I thought she might've written something down. But there was nothing there from that time. So I started looking.” Her expression became sour. “And look what I found.”

Amy looked closer. The last sheet wasn't a hospital chart at all. It was a letter, written in flawless copperplate.

My dear Panacea,

I wish once more to express my deepest regrets and disquiet at having to employ violence against you. You provide a wonderful beacon of humanity and hope against the all too regular cape violence in the city. If there had been any other way to effect our escape, I would have utilized it; unfortunately, being all too human, I could see no alternative.

Therefore, by way of reparations, my dear Othala is entering the hospital with the purest of motives; specifically, to heal your wound and ensure that you are once more fit and healthy. We ask no payment for this, nor hold any leverage over your head for it. I just want you to remain safe and healthy. All of us here at the Empire Eighty-Eight do.

Until we meet again, hopefully under happier circumstances,

Victor

PS: In case you are worried that Othala has exposed her face to the security cameras, and that unscrupulous persons may overlook the unspoken rules in order to unmask her, fear not. My skills in the arts of disguise are considerable, and I will have personally ensured that any cameras in the hospital that got a good look at her are now missing that footage.

PPS: Kindly give your sister my regards, and inform her that rushing in blindly is not necessarily the best strategy for all situations. Also, please assure her that there are no hard feelings for the murder attempt. I did rather ask for it.

PPPS: In case the authorities do ask, Daniel Hebert is alive, although unconscious, and under our care. His daughter Taylor has asked for sanctuary with us. Given that the ABB has attempted to abduct or kill her on two separate occasions, and that the authorities have rather sadly let her down in many regards, we've decided to let her stay.

Amy finished reading and looked up. By this time, Crystal had crowded in on one side, while Eric was on the other. “Wow,” Eric said. “That's the first time I've ever seen an apology letter from a villain for hurting someone.”

“Yeah,” Amy said. “Kinda wish he needed to apologise to someone else, though. Anyone else, by preference.” Even though the injury had been healed, she still recalled how much it had hurt. It had not been a pleasant evening or night.

“I think Mom and Dad need to see this, right now.” Vicky headed for the door, still holding the clipboard. Crystal followed, with Eric and Spire trailing after. Amy didn't feel like getting into the middle of that, so she grabbed the plastic chair and sat down in it. A moment later, she sighed. The day's only just started, and already I want it to be over.

“Wow, that sounded deep,” Scapegoat commented from where he was holding up the wall. “Life hassles, huh? Want to talk about it?”

She looked over at him, not sure if he was being sincere or sarcastic; with the lack of facial cues, it wasn't easy to tell from his tone. Still, he'd at least said the words, which was more than most people did these days. “Nothing much,” she mumbled. “Just one more thing I have to deal with, that's all.”

“Hey,” he said quietly, heading over to where she was sitting, and perching on the edge of the bed. “We're capes. Shit happens to us. I mean, I hate my powers, but at least yours don't inflict the damage on you, right? You just tell the injury to fuck off and it does?”

“No, mine doesn't do that,” she agreed. “But …” She hesitated for a long moment, then took the plunge. “Do you ever get tired of healing people?” About one second later, she realised what she'd said, and wished she could take the whole thing back.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. “Like, about every ten minutes. I take a bullet-wound away from someone, I've gotta carry that thing around until I can pass it on. I take away someone's allergy to cats, I'm sneezing non-stop around the little furballs until I can give it away to some deserving villain or other. And don't talk to me about phobias.” From the sound of his voice, he was rolling his eyes.

“Phobias?” Amy frowned. “You can … affect the brain?” This was new information, and she wanted to be certain she had it right.

“Well, yeah,” he said, as if surprised at her words. “Any condition that's a deviation from baseline. Scratches, bruises, injuries, mental problems, physical problems. Scared of cats? I can fix that, so long as I can find someone else to pass it on to.” His voice was matter of fact, as if he was reciting from a brochure.

“And this isn't a problem for you?” She was still having trouble getting her head around it.

“What, you mean do I like it?” He shook his head violently. “Hell, no. I literally take other peoples' problems on myself until I can hand them over to someone else. Which means I experience them first-hand till I can pass them on. No fun. Trust me, you've got it easy.” His voice was confident and certain of his facts.

“Well, that's where you're wrong,” Amy assured him. “It's not that easy being Panacea. I mean, I ...” Her voice trailed off. Up until now, she'd been running on automatic, but as she reached into the familiar pit of resentment and unhappiness, she found … nothing. No reason to be unhappy. In fact, she felt pretty good. I must be tired. Normally I can be well into self-loathing by now. “ … anyway, never mind,” she finished lamely.

He flopped backward on to the bed, staring at the ceiling. “Fine by me. I'm totally over this shit, anyway. I can't even imagine why I let Spire talk me into this. Talk about a wasted trip. This fucking sucks.”

“Actually,” Amy said, an idea occurring to her, “would you be okay with doing me a favour?”

“What, in return for totally failing to heal your leg?” Scapegoat sounded more sour than ever. “I suck as a healer. My powers suck.” He rolled over on to one elbow; Amy presumed that he was looking at her. “Ask me and I'll think about it.”

<><>​

Interlude One, Part Two: Medhall Building

I slipped into the room with Peter at my side. Othala sat at Dad's bedside, his hand in hers. She had a radio tuned to classical music, turned down low.

The room itself was quite nice. Apart from the medical monitor discreetly tucked in at the side of the bed, it bore little to no resemblance to a hospital room. The carpet was nice, the room was airy and the brightly-coloured curtains were pulled partly aside to admit sunlight and a gentle breeze. There was an ensuite bathroom, a more than adequate kitchenette, and a second bed on the other side of the room. All in all, it looked like a very classy motel room.

“How is he?” I asked, a shade of hope in my voice. I knew that he would not be awake yet, or any time soon, but I could always ask.

“Better than he was,” Othala said encouragingly. She pointed at the monitor. “See those two top lines? Those are his brainwave readings. Currently, as you can see, they're fairly depressed. But the regeneration is gradually putting the pieces back where they're supposed to be, and they're showing more improvement.”

I looked at the monitor, but the lines she was pointing at looked no different from what I might see on monitors in a thousand different TV shows. “Okay,” I said uncertainly. “So, is he still, uh, in there?”

She smiled sadly. “I'd have to be a medical Tinker, or maybe Panacea, to know that one for sure,” she said, her voice compassionate. “But I think he is. If he's not fully aware, then he may be drifting in and out. Sitting with him and talking to him or playing music, is a good idea.”

“That's what I thought,” I said, showing her the book I held. “This was one of my Mom's favourites. He used to read it himself, from time to time.” Not that the copy in my hand had actually come from home; that had been packed in my luggage, which was probably now being held as evidence by the BBPD or the PRT. This was what I'd asked Peter for, and he'd delivered. How he had located a copy of The Wind in the Willows at such short notice in the Medhall building, I would never know. But then, my boyfriend was very resourceful; I wasn't about to argue.

Pulling up a comfortable chair alongside the bed, I took Dad's hand in one of mine and opened the book on my lap with the other. Before I commenced reading, I squeezed his hand, and fancied that I felt a return squeeze.

Peter perched on the armrest and reached over, helping to hold the book steady. I smiled at him, then turned to the book and began to read.

“Chapter One,” I began. “The River.” Taking a deep breath, I leaned against Peter. He put his arm around me, giving me a warm feeling deep inside. I began to read. “The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home. First with brooms, then with dusters …”

<><>​

Interlude Two, Part Two: Brockton Bay General Hospital

Mark stared at Amy. “Are you sure about this?” he asked. “I mean, really sure?” His whole attitude seemed to waver between hope and uncertainty. “I mean, you can't do it, right?”

Amy shook her head. “No. I don't do brains. But Scapegoat doesn't have that problem. From what he says, he can take your depression clean away. Like it never existed.” She stopped, hoping she wasn't coming on too strong for his comfort. This was something that she'd known about for years, especially given that he sometimes forgot to take his medication. Unfortunately, it also landed square in the middle of her self-imposed restriction. I don't do brains. So she'd done nothing about it, even while she could have. But it was a line she'd sworn she would never cross.

“Has this even been properly tested for side-effects and drawbacks?” That was Carol, of course. She would be focused on the legal side of things. “I don't know much about medicine, but I know you don't just take away depression. There are underlying causes …”

“Yeah, Mrs Dallon, there are,” Scapegoat said, perhaps a little sharply. “But my power doesn't care about that sort of thing. It swaps mental problems out, and puts things back the way they would've been if you'd never had them.” He shrugged, obviously not particularly concerned over her worries. “Done it to dozens of people. Nobody's had a problem. Except the villains I've given shit to, of course, but they don't count.”

“But how does it work?” That was Aunt Sarah. “I can see you swapping a leg wound from one person to the other – sort of. A leg is a leg. There's not a huge difference between one and another. But swapping bits of the mind? Are you going to end up with some of Mark's personality, and him with yours? Because let me tell you, that's kind of terrifying.” She folded her arms, her body language showing just how little she liked the idea.

“Jesus, talk about swapping one little mental problem over, and people get all antsy.” Scapegoat was becoming more impatient by the second. “Look, bits of me don't get swapped around. No DNA changes place, no body mass. It's more like it's the idea of the wound, or the mental problem, that gets moved from person to person. Like it's a template that was applied to one person, and now it's applied to another. Take away that template, and what's underneath is pure vanilla Joe Normal.”

“Huh,” grunted Manpower. “Do you need to know what you're getting?” He scratched his chin. “Or can you see it when you touch them?” Amy could see why he asked that; those were good questions. “And what can you change about someone?”

“Actually, no and no,” Scapegoat told the towering cape. “I can't modify someone's body, but I put them back to baseline just by touching them. Diseases, yeah. Body size and shape, no. Gender, hell no. Physical and mental problems, yes.” He still sounded mildly irritated, Amy would not have been surprised to find that he recited this sort of thing several times a day.

“Hmm,” Aunt Sarah murmured. “Okay, then. I'll be your test case. When I was fourteen, I was kidnapped and held captive for months. I believe that I might still be suffering PTSD from that. Can you help me with that?” She looked him unflinchingly in the … well, in the mask eyeholes.

“Mom?” Crystal stared at her. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to improve my quality of life, sweetheart,” Aunt Sarah told her, and held out her hand. “Well?”

Scapegoat nodded. “Sure. One case of PTSD, to go.” He reached out and clasped Sarah's hand in his. Sarah blinked, her eyes going unfocused for a few moments.

“Okay, whew, that was weird,” she said, letting go his hand. “Whoa.” She reached up and touched her temple.

“What? What is it?” Manpower had his arm around her, supporting her, in an instant. “What's the matter, honey?”

She smiled up at him, and pulled his face down for a kiss. “Nothing, darling,” she told him fondly. “Goodness me, I didn't think I had that much baggage going on. I feel like my feet aren't even touching the ground.”

Amy looked down. “That's because you're flying, Aunt Sarah,” she said dryly. “Your feet really aren't touching the ground.” It was true; Sarah's toes were a good inch off the hospital linoleum.

“Whoo, ha ha,” Lady Photon sounded more than a little euphoric as she slowly lowered herself to ground level again. “I feel like … I've been wearing dark sunglasses and I've just taken them off for the first time in forever. This is wonderful.”

“Yeah, yeah, enjoy,” grunted Scapegoat. “You've been lugging this around with you all the time? I can't wait to pass it on to someone who really deserves it.” He rubbed at his arm. “Any more? I'm still not totally mentally fucked up yet.”

“Carol, you have got to do this,” Sarah said, her face alight with emotion. “You have no idea how good it feels to be me, right now.”

“No!” Carol's voice was sharp. Apparently realising that she was the focus of all eyes, she moderated her tone. “Uh, no, not at the moment. We need to make sure that there are no deleterious side-effects.”

Sarah shook her head. “You have no idea what you're missing.”

“Mark?” prompted Amy. He was the reason she'd brought it up with Scapegoat, after all.

Mark grimaced with indecision, then looked at Sarah. “It's that easy?”

“For you, yeah,” Scapegoat told him bluntly. “For me, I've got your mental problems stashed away in my head until I can find a deserving recipient.” He shrugged, somehow managing to put across the concept that he really didn't care one way or the other what Mark chose.

“Screw it,” Mark said abruptly. “Let's do this.” He stepped forward, toward Scapegoat.

“Mark – no!” shouted Carol. “You can't just let him mess with your brain! We don't know that it's safe!” Amy heard echoes of her own thoughts in those words, and a sudden suspicion arose. Did I pick that resolution, or was it picked for me?

Slowly, Mark turned toward his wife. “Carol,” he said slowly. “I love you. You and the girls mean more to me than anything in the world. But I'm tired of the world being grey all the time.” Taking a deep breath, he held out his hand toward Scapegoat. “In your own time, son.”

“Yeah, why do I get the sudden idea that this is gonna suck?” Scapegoat visibly hesitated once, twice, then darted his hand out and took a firm grip of Mark's. Amy watched her foster father's face carefully. It was twitching, flickering through expressions faster than she could follow.

Abruptly, the contact was broken; Mark stepped back, panting, leaning over with his hands on his knees. Scapegoat was swaying slightly.

The goat-masked Ward recovered first. “Holy shit, how have you even been functioning with this?” he asked. “I just want to go lie down somewhere and write bad poetry about death and gloom and Endbringers.” He rubbed hard at his temples with the fingertips of both hands. “Yeah, I think I'm done for the day. The week. The whole damn month.”

For his part, Mark's eyes were open wide. “Whoa ...” he murmured. He blinked, looking around the room as if he were seeing it for the first time. His gaze fell on Carol, and he took a step toward her.

“Mark!” she said sharply. “Talk to me! Are you all right?” She eyed him almost suspiciously.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Oh, hell yes. I feel great.” Amy watched him smile, broad and genuine. “Damn. I do not know why I didn't do this before.”

“Maybe because I've only been doing this for a few years?” suggested Scapegoat. “Damn, you guys were seriously -” He broke off when Spire nudged him hard in the ribs. “Hey! Dude, what the hell?”

“I think it's time you stopped talking, S.G.,” his team leader said firmly. “Now, folks, there's one detail that Scapegoat didn't make totally clear to you, which he should have. There's a cooldown period between him taking on your problems, and you being able to walk away from him.” He paused, apparently aware that all eyes were on him. “Specifically, between one and six hours. During that time, you've got to stay within fifty yards of him, and not give your bodies any kind of shock; exertion, damage, stuff like that. Now, given that his fixes were all mental, I'd guess about one or two hours, tops.”

“What about you having to return to San Diego?” asked Amy. “Surely you've got a deadline there.” Then she realised where she was going wrong. “Oh, wait. You'd have the cooldown period if you'd healed me anyway.”

Spire nodded. “That's correct,” he agreed. “We've got till this evening, then we've got to get back to the PRT building.” He spread his hands and looked at the assembled capes. “What do you guys do for fun around here that doesn't involve punching mooks?”

Mark smiled again. He looked like a new man, Amy decided. Already, he was standing straighter and showing more energy. “What do you say, kids?” he asked. “Should we take 'em to Fugly Bob's?”

Eric and Crystal shared a high-five. “Oh, heck yes!” they chorused. Amy grinned; she liked Fugly Bob's.

“I'm gonna try for the Challenger!” Vicky stated, as if daring anyone to stop her.

Aunt Sarah grinned suddenly. “Why the heck not? I'll join you.”

Manpower stared at her. Amy could understand why; Aunt Sarah had never done something this crazy before. “Uh, honey? Are you sure about this?”

“Hey, why not? You only live once,” Sarah pointed out. She linked arms with her niece. “To Fugly Bob's!”

“To Fugly Bob's!” Crystal and Eric echoed, then burst out laughing. Amy joined in, feeling more light-hearted than she had in … oh, years.

“Uh … what's Fugly Bob's?” asked Spire cautiously, as if worried that a prank of some sort was being played on them.

Amy took pity on him. “It's a burger place on the Boardwalk,” she explained. “More cholesterol than you can poke a stick at. Really popular.”

“Sure, why not?” Scapegoat said. “May as well.” His voice lacked a certain amount of animation; Amy got the impression that if she'd said they were going home to stare at the wall, he would have agreed just as readily. Wow, Mark's depression has really hit him hard. I hope he can get rid of it soon.

And if that wasn't one of the weirdest notions to pass through her head in the last few days, she didn't know what was.

<><>​

Later

I have to do it, Amy told herself firmly. I have to ask Scapegoat if he can do it.

With the possible exception of Carol, they had all indulged a little too much on fast food, and had enjoyed themselves immensely. Mark had been the life of the party, telling jokes so bad that even Uncle Neil had disavowed him. Scapegoat had eaten only fries, but Spire had gotten into an eating contest with Eric, which the out-of-towner had won. While Vicky hadn't quite finished her Challenger, Aunt Sarah had devoured hers in style, to general applause. Amy, despite the question she was itching to ask Scapegoat, had actually had a lot of fun.

Now they were all walking back to the cars; Aunt Sarah had decided that the incident at the hospital needed to be reported to the PRT. Vicky, Eric and Crystal were flying overhead with Aunt Sarah, while Spire walked ahead with Mark, Uncle Neil and Carol. Amy found herself trailing at the back with Scapegoat; this was due to indolence on his part and intent on hers.

“I've got a question for you,” she said in a low voice, hoping no-one else heard her.

“That's a coincidence, because I've got one for you,” he said, equally quietly. He glanced around. “Uh, you go first.”

“Um …” She paused, blushing. “Can … can you, uh … make-me-not-a-lesbian?”

He stared at her, apparently not sure what she'd said. Not surprising, really. “Uh … can you run that past me again? Not at warp twelve, this time?”

Gritting her teeth, she glanced around. Nobody was listening, that she could tell. “Can you make me not a, uh, lesbian?”

“What?” It seemed that she'd managed to break through his depression-acquired lethargy. “Panacea, I can't do that. Sexual orientation isn't a mental disease. It's how you are.”

“Oh.” Great, I'm stuck this way, then. Pining after my sister and hoping nobody finds out. “Please don't tell anyone I asked, okay?”

He shrugged. “Wouldn't be the weirdest request I ever got.” After a moment, he tilted his head. “Anyway, you can do me a solid and we're square.”

She couldn't have cared less at the moment. “Sure, what is it?”

He turned his head, and she realised that he was sneaking a look at the flyers overhead. “Uh, get me your sister's phone number?”

At that moment, several large pennies dropped, all at once.

He's seriously attracted to Vicky. She'd thought he was stealing glances at her sister when they were at Fugly Bob's, but she hadn't been sure. Now, she was.

The next realisation burst on her like a bombshell. I'm not feeling jealous that he's stuck on Vicky. In fact, I'm not feeling stressed about, well, anything right now.

I actually like myself and my powers.

She had actually forgotten the fact that he'd touched her earlier, in an attempt to heal her leg. That hadn't happened – due to Othala's actions – but she had felt a weird disorientation. He didn't get the injury, but he did get all my mental issues.

Holy crap. And I didn't even notice at the time. Talk about oblivious.

Shading her hand, she looked up at Vicky. Her sister, spiralling through the air in a complicated game of tag, was beautiful. Anyone could see that. Amy liked Vicky; the blonde was fun, vivacious, chirpy and endlessly enthusiastic. But am I in love with her?

There was always the acid test. She briefly envisioned Vicky hugging and kissing Dean and waited for the accompanying stab of jealousy.

Nothing.

Wow, really?

Holy crap.

With a broad smile, she turned to Scapegoat. “Sure. Got a pen and paper?”

Wait till he finds out she's going into the Wards.

<><>​

Director Piggot's Office
Later that Day

“Shadow Stalker. You needn't sit down. This won't take long.”

Sophia glared across the desk at the fat bloated whale that dared sit in judgement of her – her! Piggy didn't even have powers! She had no idea of how harsh it was out there, how far out of control the gangs would go if there wasn't someone in their face, all the time.

This whole thing was stupid. She was worth more as a hero to the Protectorate than the PR hit of a few schoolyard pranks. And anyway, Hebert needed to be shown who was boss, and why she shouldn't hang around with those racist Empire fucks.

She had no idea why Emma had suddenly just turned on her, after everything they'd been through together. After everything Sophia had taught her about how to be strong. You didn't fold like a wet paper towel at the first sign of trouble. You toughed it out and laughed in their faces. Dared them to do their worst. They always folded first, because when you're a goddamn bonafide fucking hero who goes out there and gets the job done, that's what happens.

Anyway, while Emma didn't have powers, she had the next best thing. A rich dad who was also a lawyer. Sophia had seen how it worked; the teachers were happy to let the popular girl with the lawyer dad skate by, because nobody wanted to be on the wrong side of a lawsuit. And she was pretty sure that they were told not to mess with her too, because being a Ward meant that pretty well anything slid off your back.

Oh, the school had still punished her for messing up, but it was never bad. It was never more than Sophia had really, actually deserved. Never enough to keep her from her sacred duties as a superhero. She got to run track (which was about the one thing she really enjoyed about school, apart from the never-ending sport called Fucking with Hebert) and pretty well rule her year alongside Emma. Life had been good.

Until now.

She still wasn't sure what the fuck had actually happened. How things had fucked up so badly. All Emma had to do was stand firm; sure, the locker looked bad, but Hebert was a fucking racist Empire slag cunt, and once everyone understood that, then nobody would really have given a shit.

But … they did. And Emma had folded. She'd sold Sophia out. Sophia hadn't believed her ears at first, when she heard Emma talking about the things that they'd done. She'd even told them about the guy who had died when she went out on patrol with Sophia that one time. How could I have not seen the weakness in her? I thought she was stronger than that!

The last month hadn't been great, but she'd had worse. When she recovered from the stun-gun hit – and once she got out of this, she was gonna track down the bitch who'd zapped her and arrange a little 'accident' – she'd found herself in the local precinct station. Like a fucking criminal. The worst bit was being shoved in a holding cell like she was someone who belonged there, instead of being one of the people who beat shit out of them and left them tied up for the cops.

Beating up Emma had been cathartic, but only to a certain degree. It didn't answer the question why. And it didn't fix the bigger matter. Marched in front of Piggy, she had found the boom being lowered on her. She wasn't going on patrol, and she had to wear a fucking tracking bracelet until her fucking court date. Where they'd probably sling her straight back into fucking juvey. Since the thing with Emma and Alan Barnes back in October, she'd thought she was past all that.

And now … now she was standing in Piggy's office, wearing the electrical fucking cuffs that Assmaster or someone had built for her, being told that she needn't sit down by the fat fuck herself. The Halbeard was standing to one side, and Try-hard on the other, with two PRT guards at the door. Right beside her was the lawyer they'd dredged up for her. Sophia despised him even more than she hated everyone else in the office; he wasn't a hero, he didn't have powers or a costume. He didn't know what it was like, out there on the streets. He had no fucking idea what it was like for her. Defend me, will you? Bet you've never had to 'defend' anything real in your life.

“What's this about?” she asked, sullenly. “I haven't gone over the fence. I've worn your fu … your tracking bracelet. Haven't done anything wrong.” That wasn't to say that she hadn't planned anything, but she hadn't actually been caught in her preparations. Which was basically the same as not doing anything wrong; if they couldn't prove it, it wasn't true.

Piggy looked pissed. That was to say, she looked the same as she ever did. Except today, Sophia could have sworn she looked even more pissed than ever. She looked like she wanted to flip the desk over on top of Sophia and then dance on top of it. Waddle, really. But, same thing. Who shat in her feed trough?

“I just thought that I'd fill you in on a few new aspects of your case,” Piggy grunted. “Just so that you weren't caught unawares.” There was a gleam in the fat woman's eyes that Sophia didn't like in the fucking slightest. “It needs to be a fair trial, after all.”

The ambulance-chaser cleared his throat. “Uh, Director Piggot, is Shadow Stalker being charged with anything new? Because I'll need time to go over the paperwork.” He sounded nervous; Sophia was caught between disgust for his wimpiness and being vaguely happy that someone seemed to be on her side. Even if he was being paid to be there.

“Not precisely,” the Director said. “There's been a development in the Taylor Hebert situation. You recall that name, don't you, Shadow Stalker?” Her piggy little gaze was directed straight at Sophia.

Sophia didn't answer at first. If she said no, then everyone would know she was lying her ass off. But she didn't want to answer yes straight away, because that would be doing what Piggot wanted. And she was fucked if she'd do anything that bloated fucking bitch ever told her to do again.

After what she considered to be a reasonable pause, she nodded. “Yeah. What about her?” The contempt in her tone, she figured, would convey what she actually thought of the racist cow.

Piggy narrowed her eyes, which made her look even more piggy. “Well, it turns out that your campaign of lies against her finally bore fruit. Congratulations.”

The wimp in the suit broke in again. “Uh, Director, until that accusation's been proven in a court of law, you can't state it outright, or my client will have a case for slander.” Sophia was mildly surprised. He was almost acting as if he had a spine. If I saw him being mugged in a dark alley, I might even rescue him.

“Very well,” Piggy grunted. “Your alleged campaign of lies. Which saw the ABB take up the fight against her after you were removed from the school. And also poisoned Glory Girl against the girl, due to what she allegedly overheard you saying in the Wards base not so long ago.” She fixed Sophia with a glare. “Which, I suspect, she'll be happy to testify about, if and when it comes down to it.”

“Wait, what?” Sophia shook her head. “What's Glory Girl got to do with all of this?” She barely knew the girl. There were rumours that New Wave's golden child had kicked the shit out of more thugs than people knew about, for which Sophia gave her props, but that whole 'bright and shining hero' thing just wasn't Sophia's cup of whatever. As for what she'd said in the Wards base, she had said any amount of shit there, especially since her arrest. If she wasn't allowed to go out on patrol, she had to blow off steam somehow.

“We'll get to that,” Piggy said. She steepled her flabby fingers in front of her. “Let's start with the fact that there was a gang fight out at the front of Winslow High, just the other day. At the time, I thought nothing of it. But evidence has since come to light that it may have been an abduction attempt by the ABB, on Taylor Hebert. She was rescued, it seems, by the Empire Eighty-Eight.”

“I had nothing to do with that!” protested Sophia; the funny thing was, it was true. “And anyway, this just proves my point. Hebert's a fu … a racist. She's Empire.”

“You might wish to be careful making unsubstantiated claims like that,” Piggy said. “There are slander laws, after all.” The gleam in her eyes told Sophia that yes, she was enjoying throwing this back in Sophia's face.

“She hangs around with skinheads all the time!” Sophia snapped. “How does that not prove that she's Empire?” Or at least fucking them, she amended. Ew. That's even worse.

“I associate with capes all day,” Piggy reminded her freezingly. “That doesn't make me one, thank God. However.” She tapped a file on her desk. “According to this, her father also disliked the idea of her associating with the Empire. So he planned a move out of town. They tried to leave last night. The ABB had other ideas, and it turned into a chase. They crashed their car, and Daniel Hebert was badly injured.”

That would be a Hebert, all right. Run away from your problems instead of standing up for yourself and beating them. “So what's that got to do with me?” asked Sophia blankly. “I'm guessing Hebert and her father are dead, or the ABB's got them?” Which means that she can't testify against me. Even if she had the guts to do it. An image came to her of Taylor Hebert, covered in crap, standing in front of Principal Blackwell's desk, demanding that Sophia and Emma be arrested. And Blackwell backing down. Well, maybe she might.

“You'd think so, wouldn't you?” Piggy's voice was dry. Something not dissimilar to a smile crossed her face. “But no. It seems that there was a trigger event, that night. Lung and Oni Lee were on site; apparently this new cape was strong enough drive them off before the Empire showed up in force.”

Sophia blinked. This was a twist that she hadn't been expecting. “A new cape? You mean …” Oh, no way. No way fucking Hebert triggered. No way she drove off Lung and Oni Lee. She shook her head. “No way,” she said out loud, without really meaning to.

“On the contrary, it's a very strong possibility,” Piggot said, apparently reading her mind. “Later, Taylor Hebert was seen in the company of Victor and Othala by none other than Glory Girl and Panacea. Panacea healed Daniel Hebert of serious injuries. When they left, she accompanied them of her own free will.” She put her hands flat on the desk. “Which means that there is now a very real possibility that Taylor Hebert is now a cape, strong enough to go toe to toe with Lung and Oni Lee, and she's working with the Empire.” She let the silence linger for a few moments; when she spoke again, her voice was heavily laden with sarcasm. “Congratulations, Shadow Stalker. Your little vendetta against Taylor Hebert drove her straight into the Empire's arms. But you couldn't be satisfied with that, could you? You had to push it. And now it looks like you've made them stronger by one very powerful cape.”

Sophia felt the icy knife twist, deep in her guts. Her rock-solid view of the world wobbled on its axis. She had always been able to depend on things being a certain way, and this wasn't it. Dimly, she heard her lawyer protesting that Sophia could not be blamed for something a gang did, but she knew, deep down, that it was her doing. It had all been her doing. Without her pushing matters, the ABB would've just let things slide.

But no. This can't be right. Hebert's a wimp. She can't be strong. I'd have known if she could be strong.

“Shadow Stalker.” It was Piggy's voice; sharp, demanding.

Shaking her head, Sophia came back to herself. It was one of her strengths; no matter how hard the hit, she was always able to recover, to get back up and come in swinging. She focused on the fat woman across the desk from her. “What?”

“You will discuss this with nobody,” Piggot stated. Her eyes bored into Sophia's, in a way that made the unspoken or else seem like more than a casual threat.

Sophia did her best to muster a sneer. “As if I'd tell anyone.”

“Good. Get out of my office. Armsmaster, Triumph, stay.” Piggot's attention dropped away from Sophia as if she had ceased to exist.

As the PRT guards flanked Sophia and escorted her from the Director's office, Sophia felt her head start to whirl again. How the fuck did Hebert get strong?

There was only one possible answer, only one way that this could fit with her personal worldview. Piggy's wrong. Hebert's faking it. And I'm the only one who can prove otherwise.

They're all scared to act.

It looks like it's up to me.



End of Part Fourteen

Part Fifteen