Recoil (a Worm fanfic)

Recoil

Part 5-4: Debrief​

Roberto winced as the handcuffs went on to his swollen wrists, but he did not struggle or protest, even when the deputy tightened them a little more than was absolutely necessary. I aligned myself with these people. I helped them with their cause. Whatever happens to me now, I deserve.

“ … the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have attorney present during any questioning. If you can't afford an attorney, one can be provided for you if you so choose. If you are not a United States citizen, you may contact your country's consulate prior to any questioning. Do you understand your rights as I have explained them to you?”

Roberto's head drooped. Papi, I have failed you. You would be ashamed to see me now. I am a bad person. “Si. Yes, I understand my rights.”

“We'll take it from here.” Two FBI agents had been standing by; one now stepped up. This one was a man; his partner didn't look any less forbidding for being a woman.

“I'm, uh, supposed to be taking him into custody,” the deputy objected.

“And we're taking over from here,” the agent said firmly. “Kidnapping is a federal matter. I've got this.”

The deputy sighed. “Fine. Knock yourself out.” Not without a backward glance, he moved off.

While the male agent pulled out his notepad, Roberto took a moment to look around at the compound. It was swarming with law enforcement agents of every stripe; the non-combatants were being led out under guard. He saw Kari speaking with some people, a little distance away. I hope she will be all right now.

“Okay now,” the man began, breaking into Roberto's thoughts. “My name is Keegan. I'm with the FBI. But you knew that bit.”

“Yes.” Roberto had already seen the agent's badge, though he hadn't known his name.

Keegan poised his pen over the pad. “And your name is?”

Roberto raised his chin slightly. “Aguijón.”

“Agwi … okay, how do you spell that?”

He obliged, spelling the name out slowly. “It means 'Stinger'.”

“No, kid.” Keegan shook his head. “I didn't mean your codename or whatever you call it. I meant your real name.”

“No.” It was Roberto's turn to shake his head.

“Kid.” Keegan's voice hardened. “It's an offence to withhold your name from the FBI when requested. Real name, now.”

“I did not have to give it when I fought el Gigante,” objected Roberto.

“Ell what?” asked Keegan, confused.

“El Gigante,” Roberto repeated. “The Behemoth. The monster that attacked New York.”

Keegan sighed. “Well, even if you were there, which I highly doubt, this is a whole different ball game. You're up for accessory to kidnapping, rape, deprivation of liberty … you get me? The list goes on. You play ball with me here and now, it'll go a lot easier than if you decide to hide behind some supervillain bullshit codename. Because we will fingerprint you, and we will identify you, and we will find every single tiny little crime you've committed, and one heaping great pile of shit's gonna come down on your head in very short order. Unless you feel like cooperating, of course. Do you understand?”

It will be no more than I deserve. “Yes. I understand. My name is Roberto Garcia.”

“Good. Glad you could see sense.” Keegan's tone moderated slightly. “Of course, if you're willing to waive your right to remain silent and talk to us right now, give us information about what was going on here, we might be willing to cut a deal, go easy on you. I mean, shit, you're just a kid. Twenty?”

“Eighteen,” Roberto mumbled. “I did not see all that went on here. They did not tell me everything. I did not know about -”

“Roberto!” It was Kari's voice. They both looked around; she was making her way over, accompanied by a man in a PRT uniform. She was still clad in the steel that she'd taken from Joanne's bed; the only reason he even knew it was her was because there were no other living metal statues tromping around.

Keegan's heretofore-silent partner stepped in their way, hand up to bar their progress. “You can stop right there,” she ordered them. “We're in the process of questioning a suspect.”

“Why is he even in handcuffs?” asked Kari. “He's done nothing wrong.”

“Incorrect, miss,” Keegan put in. “He's an accessory to several counts of kidnapping, as well as other, more serious, crimes. He is under arrest, and he will be charged with these crimes.”

“Not by you, he won't,” the PRT man stated. “Captain Lansing, Parahuman Response Teams. Aguijón is a parahuman, and thus falls under my jurisdiction.” He even pronounced the name correctly … well, almost.

“The FBI has federal jurisdiction -” began Keegan.

“The PRT has federal jurisdiction over parahumans,” Lansing snapped, overriding him. “No matter what crimes they've committed. We also know how to secure and transport them. Are you aware that he could have attacked and disabled both of you if he so chose?”

Keegan stared at him, then his head whipped around toward Roberto. “It is true,” Roberto admitted. He shrugged awkwardly, then regretted it as the movement sent a spike of pain up both arms. “But I was not going to.”

Lansing's mouth creased in a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “Which is good. Because from what this young lady's been telling me, you've got a good case for extenuating circumstances. And that would be extremely awkward if you then attacked a Federal agent.” He gestured to Keegan. “Get those cuffs off of him.”

“He's a dangerous parahuman -” began Keegan.

“- who needs medical attention. Which you were denying him in favour of badgering him with questions. I'm strongly considering reporting this dereliction of a prisoner's rights to your superior officers. It wasn't a request. Cuffs. Now.”

“Or, you know, I could take them off of him.” Kari's voice was casual. “But I'd be keeping them if that happened. Because trust me, you wouldn't want them back.” A metal tentacle extended from her shoulder in the general direction of Roberto's wrists. Keegan stared at it, then stepped back as it suddenly veered toward him. Spikes suddenly extended from the metal, all the way along its length.

“Christ,” the FBI man blurted. “Watch what you're doing with that thing.”

“As the senior PRT officer on the scene, I've deputised, uh, code name Metal Storm to act as an adjunct to the Parahuman Response Teams,” Lansing told the FBI agents with some relish. “She acts with my authority in this regard. Metal Storm, remove the prisoner's handcuffs.”

“Okay, Captain Lansing. Hold still, Roberto.” The spikes retracted, then the tentacle wrapped around Roberto's forearms; he heard the clink as metal met metal. For a moment, the chain linking the cuffs became more rigid, then they were gone, slithering off of his wrists.

“Thank you,” Roberto told her, bringing his arms around in front of him. He didn't rub his wrists, because he was pretty sure that his hands would not cooperate. “And thank you, Capitan.”

“Thank her,” Lansing advised him. “She's the one who insisted that you were one of the good guys. Me, I have yet to be convinced. But I'm willing to listen.” He nodded toward Roberto's hands. “That looks painful, son.”

“Si. It is. Smasher broke my hands.” Roberto avoided looking down at them, because somehow he knew that he wouldn't be able to ignore the dull throbbing pain any more if he did that.

“Yes, Miss Schultz told me how it went down. That was some kind of ballsy. Well, let's get you some medical attention. Those clowns Mirandize you yet?”

Roberto glanced over his shoulder at the two FBI agents staring impotently at them. “A policeman did, yes.”

“Good.” Lansing clasped his hands together behind his back as he walked. “So, you feel like talking to me without an attorney present? Fill in some of the blanks for me?”

Kari gave him an encouraging nod. Roberto took a deep breath. “Yes. I can do that.”

“Excellent. So, let's start from the top …”

-ooo-​

Hey, no cheating.

Lisa grinned at me from the far end of the ice rink. “Cheating? Who's cheating?”

You know how these things work better than I do, I accused her. I was never very good at computer games.

“Well then, maybe you should have paid more attention.” She kicked her mech into high gear, sweeping down the rink at a breakneck pace. Clutched in the robotic hands, her oversized hockey stick batted the puck back and forth.

I pushed off as well, going to meet her. The visual display fed into my helmet HUD as I turned my head to follow her progress. The same HUD overlaid her face over the blank helmet of the mech, as hers did with mine. Around me, the fifteen-foot-tall humanoid robot responded to my every move, my own hockey stick swinging back and forth as I charged toward her.

Under us, the icy surface scored as the razor-sharp blades projecting from the feet of our mechs slid over the blue-white rink. I wondered if it really was water ice; we had to mass a ton or more in our mechs, and the rink showed no sign of cracking or breaking up under our weight.

Her footwork was better than mine; I could tell that she was going to get past me no matter how I manoeuvred.

So I had to change things up, take this out of the box. Up until now, I'd been playing hockey. Or rather, I'd been trying to play hockey, and instead I'd actually been playing catch-up. So I took my eye off the puck.

“Hey, if you're not even gonna try -”

Ignoring Lisa's attempt to distract me, I stepped to the side. As she came past, I swept my stick through her legs. The mechs were both heavy and strong, but the sticks were made to take punishment. There was a massive impact that nearly cost me my grip on the hockey stick, but she went down. A ton of human-controlled robot hit the ice with a tremendous crash, and began sliding across the slick surface.

“Hey!” she shouted, sounding winded. “I thought you said no cheating!”

Is there a rule against tripping? I retorted. Don't remember seeing one. Skating in a tight circle around her, I set out in pursuit of the puck. Fortunately, it wasn't heading straight for the goal, otherwise my ploy would have all been for nothing.

She was silent for a moment. “Darn it. No, there isn't. But I can write one in soon enough.”

Still won't apply retroactively.

“Unless I write that in too,” she pointed out.

Now, that would be cheating. I had caught up to the puck by now and fielded it with my stick. Lisa was still picking herself up off of the ice when I skated by, tapping the puck along as I went.

She gave chase, of course, but I had enough of a lead that the puck skittered into her goal while she was still seconds away from catching me. First goal I'd scored all game too; I allowed myself a victory fist-pump while the siren blared to announce the goal.

“Think you're smart, do you?” But her tone and expression belied her words; she was grinning widely, and I could hear the barely-suppressed laughter in her voice.

Kinda. I grinned back. You can focus on the puck or my stick, but not both at the same time.

“Really? Time to step this up, then.” She raised her hand; I would've thought it impossible to snap one's fingers in a mech-suit, but she managed it. Probably by cheating somehow. I wouldn't put it past her.

In response to the signal, doors on either side of the arena slid up, and we were joined by the other players. They were wearing team jerseys and carrying their own hockey sticks, but they were in no way human. I stared; despite all my experience with Lisa's bullshit world-building, I still couldn't believe my eyes.

Velociraptors? Playing hockey? Really? I had to admire the way they used their toe-claws to anchor themselves to the ice.

“Utahraptor, actually.” She waved at them as they formed up in front of us. “Bigger, a bit smarter.”

I watched as they fluffed their feathers out to deal with the chill. Still. Raptors. Really?

“And what's wrong with that?” Lisa was enjoying herself immensely. I could practically feel the level of smugness she was exuding.

If I have to tell you, you'd never understand it.

She poked her tongue out at me. “That's my line.”

Sure, sure. Uh, whose side are they on? I think there's only one pattern that they're wearing.

“Their side.” Lisa's grin widened. “Them versus us.”

Inside the mech's helmet, my eyes widened. Oh boy.

-beep-

I frowned. What was that?

“What was what?”

I heard a beep.

“I didn't hear -beep- ything.”

There it was again.

A look of realisation crossed her face. “Ah. Right. You're waking up. That's probably the heart monitor you're hearing.”

Oh. Right. I shouldn't have been surprised. Waking up had always been something that was going to happen at some point. However, I'd been enjoying myself so much that I'd been able to push the knowledge of this to the back of my mind.

-beep-

An unspoken agreement passed between us; together, we skated to the side of the rink. Behind us, the raptors divided their numbers into roughly equal sides and began to pass the puck back and forth. They were really quite good at it.

As the mech powered down, the helmet lifted off of my face and I found myself able to step down on to solid ground. Lisa climbed down out of her own mech and we stood side by side, watching the raptors darting over the ice. There was a lot of snarling and posturing, with the occasional scuffle that left feathers floating through the air.

-beep-

It's been fun, I mused. Thanks for letting me crash on your metaphorical couch while they've been working on me.

“Hey, you're welcome any time,” Lisa said. “It's your brain, after all. I'm the guest here.”

Hm. I suppose. I thought back over the adventures we had indulged in since I'd lost consciousness for good. Parasailing over Barsoom, sword and sorcery adventures with some decidedly odd companions, exploring a dead world containing exotic and sometimes deadly ultra-tech, laughing ourselves sick over those weird trade paperbacks on the Boardwalk … it could have been months or hours in the real world. I knew all too well how unreliable my sense of time was, when I was visiting Lisa. How long has it been? In real time, that is?

She shrugged. “A few days. Less than a week.”

-beep-

“You're almost awake.” Lisa hugged me, hard. “I've really enjoyed having you here.” She tilted her head back. “Kiss before you go?”

Her lips tasted of dust and blood. One of the raptors on the rink kicked off to get back into the fray, and a chip of ice almost got me in the eye. I blinked -

-ooo-​

Tuesday, June 14, 1994

… and opened my eyes in a hospital room.

Just for a moment, it seemed to be almost identical to the one that Lisa had thrown together so that we could watch what was going on. So similar, in fact, that I briefly considered the idea that Lisa had pulled a double bluff on me, slotting me back into the dream. Why she would do that, I wasn't sure, unless it was part of a subtle practical joke on her part.

A nurse was fussing over something off to the side; I couldn't see her clearly, given that I wasn't wearing my glasses, but she did have blonde hair. “Lisa?” I husked.

Dry mouth. I hated hospital dry mouth.

The nurse turned toward me. “Captain Snow,” she said warmly. “It's good to meet you at last. I'm a big fan.” As she moved toward the bed, I began to make out details that I had previously missed. Such as a doctor's ID tag. “Doctor Goldstein, at your service.”

I blinked. “Uh, sorry. I thought you were a nurse.”

She chuckled in a somewhat conspiratorial manner. “Well, it's not like we're not both in a typically male-dominated profession, Captain. I'll forgive you, this time. How are you feeling?”

“Thirsty,” I rasped. “Water, please. And my glasses.”

“Certainly. Open wide.” She took a plastic squeeze bottle and squirted a little water into my mouth. I swallowed it; there wasn't quite enough to reach my stomach, but I felt my throat opening up. Next she handed me my glasses; a little clumsily, I fitted them into place. One of the lenses was cracked. “Now, do you feel up to talking?”

I hadn't had nearly enough water, but I nodded anyway. “Yes. Thank you.” My voice was almost back to normal, though I still sounded weaker than I liked. But when I took my first good look at the doctor, I got the impression that something was off. I couldn't figure out what – it was on the tip of my metaphorical tongue – but matters were definitely askew.

It wasn't anything in her demeanour; she was of average height for a woman, perhaps ten years older than me, with shoulder-length blonde hair and strong features. She wore a lab coat over scrubs and carried a clipboard in one hand, with a pen clipped to the top.

All of that was above board. So what was it about her? But before I could figure it out, she spoke again.

“Excellent.” Her smile softened the stern lines of her face, making her seem more approachable. “Now, do you know where you are?”

“I'm guessing a hospital, or a private clinic,” I said. “I don't know where, exactly, but I'm pretty sure that I've only been out for a few days.”

This time, it was her eyes that widened slightly with surprise. “Very good. Can you tell me your full name and rank?”

“Taylor Snow, Captain, Parahuman Response Teams.” I met her gaze with mine as I recited my service number. “Now that we've got that sorted out. In order of importance: how's Sergeant Kinsey and Lieutenant Piggot; where am I and how many more casualties did we take?”

Her blink showed that she wasn't used to having her patients react in such a forceful manner, especially after having just awoken from sedation. For my part, I'd spent a good deal of my cape (and post-cape) life in a series of less than advantageous positions. My instinctive reaction in that kind of situation was always to retake the initiative, just as fast as possible. Escalate and overcome. It had saved my life more than once.

“I – well, to answer your questions in reverse order, I don't know precisely how many casualties your side took, but I'm told that it could have been a lot worse.” As she spoke, she took a thermometer from her pocket and shook it briskly. “You're in the medical bay of the Austin PRT building, and your Sergeant Kinsey is alive and well, if a little banged about. Lieutenant Piggot was also alive and well, the last I saw her.”

As I opened my mouth to ask further questions, she popped the thermometer into it, effectively silencing me. “Sergeant Kinsey,” she went on, “has suffered injuries that, while temporarily disabling, should be in no way life-threatening. He is expected to make a full recovery. Just as you are, much to the surprise of basically everyone who saw the extent of your injuries after the battle.”

I relaxed somewhat, sagging back into the pillow. It was only then that I realised that I had been trying to sit up, and that the diagonal line of fire inside my torso was a good indication that maybe I shouldn't be doing that. But Kinsey was alive and probably out of danger. And I'd live too, which was somewhat of a relief as well.

Removing the thermometer, Dr Goldstein read it off before returning it to her pocket and making a note on the clipboard. “You've got the first stirrings of a fever,” she noted, “so we'll be dropping some antibiotics into your IV to ensure that no infections catch hold. I would advise you to do as little strenuous movement as possible over the next week or two, so that you can mend properly.” She paused. “Do you have any questions?”

“Yes.” I inhaled carefully. It was, as I had suspected, painful to breathe deeply. But I managed it twice more before looking at Dr Goldstein. “When can I see Kinsey? I need to debrief him on what happened after I passed out.”

Slowly, she shook her head; it took a moment before I realised that she was expressing disbelief rather than negation. “Captain Snow, you continue to surprise me. Most people in your situation would be just happy to be alive, rather than attempting to go straight back to work. I will notify the Sergeant that you are asking after him. I will also be letting your superiors know that you seem to be entirely lucid and in command of your faculties.”

“No,” I insisted, putting every ounce of command I possessed into my voice. “I want to talk to Kinsey, make sure he's all right.”

“And you will,” she replied, equally firmly. “Just as soon as you can lie there for five minutes without falling asleep.”

“I can do that,” I assured her. Fall asleep, hah. Relaxing some more, I prepared to enjoy five minutes of rest before I spoke to Kinsey. Doctor Goldstein put the clipboard down on the bedside table and began to check the IV bags. Obligingly, I moved my arms so as to make sure the lines weren't stretched or kinked. I hope the antibiotics do their job. Last thing I need is to be laid up for too long. I've got work to do.

As I did so, I glanced idly at the clipboard. None of the notations made sense, but off to the side, she'd doodled a shape. If looked at from the correct angle, it might even have looked a little like the New Wave logo. But that's stupid. New Wave won't be a going concern for years yet.

I began to go over in my mind what I wanted to say to Kinsey. From what I recalled, he'd saved my life at least once inside the compound, and I intended to make sure he got recognised for it. Good man, Kinsey. Loyal to a fault. Never regretted taking him on as my …

-ooo-​

“George four, are you asleep? Get back in formation, you dozy sod!”

As the voice crackled in my headset, I realised that I had drifted out of the finger-four formation. Nudging my joystick and opening the throttle a hair, I slid back into position on the flank of my wingman's plane.

“Ah, Sleeping Beauty returns,” Lisa observed from behind me, where she manned the turret-mounted .75 calibre machine-guns. “You held out for two and a half minutes. Doctor Goldstein is most impressed.”

I frowned, switching my radio off. What? I was sedated again?

“Nope.” I could hear the grin in her voice. “But you've still got traces of it in your system, and your body is working hard to repair itself, so sleep wasn't exactly impossible to come by.”

My grin matched hers. As opposed to when you dragged me into sleep-state to warn me about the ambush back at the compound, yeah?

“Precisely. Now, you might want to make sure we don't get ambushed in this scenario too, huh?”

Yeah, yeah, got it. I switched my radio back on, then got back to the business of surviving as a fighter pilot.

Checking my wingman's position, I peered ahead of us, then behind. A visual scan of the sky above us gave me nothing but a few fluffy clouds. Rocking my wings slightly, I looked down at the rolling English countryside far below. Even though I was watching intently, I almost didn't spot them; three leather-winged shapes, a hundred feet from tip to tip, gliding stealthily over the farmland. Their camouflage was perfect; the only reason I saw them at all was when they passed over a stream, interrupting the glint of sunlight off of water.

George four, I reported over the radio. I have three Drachen, heading west-sou-west, three o'clock low, over!

The Germans had caught us napping at the beginning of the Second Great War. The ancient traditional dragon birthing grounds had fallen into disuse, so that the sabotage caused by their warcasters was not noticed until it was almost too late. We'd had to fall back on mundane technology to hold them off until our own draconic forces could take to the skies against the Drachenkraft.

To give Squadron Leader Hamilton his due, he didn't doubt my word for an instant. “George four, take lead. Bring us on to them, over.”

Roger, George leader. Over, I replied, heeling the plane over into a steep dive. Pushing the throttle forward, I forced the Myrddin engine into a throaty bellow, even as we stooped upon the prey from above.

Perhaps 'prey' wasn't the right word. The Drachen-riders had been undoubtedly aware of us, and the change in my engine note served warning that we now knew about them. Great wings flexed and flapped, pushing them around to face our attack. Unlike aircraft, Drachen were intelligent and could act independently of the rider's commands if the situation warranted it. They were also highly agile, and of course had their own built-in weaponry.

“George flight, George leader,” Hamilton radioed. “A single raking pass, then pick your partners and dance, over.”

“George two, roger.”

“George three, roger.”

George four, roger.

The Drachen were already beating their wings strongly for altitude. Correction; two of them were. The third had feinted the turn, but was now flying fast and strong toward what had to be their intended target; a dam set in a wooded valley, just up ahead. This dam supplied power to a factory that nestled in the valley beyond, as well as to the village where the factory workers dwelt. Demolishing the dam would destroy the factory and the village both, costing hundreds of lives and putting a not insignificant dent in Britain's war effort.

Hamilton had not missed the problem. “George four. The Drachen that's getting away – pursue and destroy, over.”

Pursue and destroy, roger. But it wouldn't be as easy as it seemed. The two Drachen and their riders were determined to run interference for their comrade. I didn't try to swing around them; that would have left the plane open to a strike from the side. Instead, I bored straight down the middle.

Distantly, I could hear Lisa's yelp as she hung on for dear life, and Hamilton yelling at me over the radio. I tuned both of them out, focusing on the Drachen before me. They were fast and agile, but they were slow in the climb, which was our only advantage over them. The one on the left was focusing on the other planes; the one I was aiming at had its eyes on me. I could see the Drachen-rider crouched over its neck, conveying instructions, as we closed at a frankly ill-advised speed.

The moment I was waiting for arrived; the Drachen opened its mouth to breathe a mass of superheated plasma at me. In doing so, it instinctively closed its eyes, as every Drachen did. Immune to their own breath they might be, but it still had to sting if it got in their delicate eyes.

Timing it to a nicety, I rolled the plane, corkscrewing away from the blast of flame that must have blistered the paint on the plane's underbelly. As I did so, I opened fire. The twin .75 calibre mounts on the wings let loose with their devastating firepower as my crosshairs tracked across the beast's body.

All draconic creatures – Drachen and dragons alike – were equipped with heavy scales that might well turn a lesser bullet. Their inhuman vitality had proven capable, time and again, of surviving wounds even from the heavy bullets devised to punch through their natural armour. But we were loaded with freezer rounds, product of the very best British alchemy, and guaranteed to chill even the superheated blood of a battle-crazy Drachen.

My bullets smashed into it, ice wreathing across its scaly hide from each impact point. The plane was still rolling as I streaked past my target, unmasking Lisa's turret so that she could have her turn. I could literally feel the hammering through the airframe as her quad-seventy-fives opened up, delivering a whole new meaning of pain to the Drachen before we were past it and gone.

Ahead of us, the last of the three was beating its wings frantically, trying to get away. But we had a massive advantage in speed due to the dive; we would overhaul it long before it reached its target. Grimly, I settled the reticule on to it.

They weren't paying me to bring any ammunition back, after all …

-ooo-​

Wednesday, June 15, 1994

It was a lovely morning in Brockton Bay; seagulls wheeled and screeched over the ocean. I sighed as I took a deep lungful of the brisk morning breeze. Lisa and I had enjoyed some more interesting scenarios since I had fallen asleep, but I had to admit that shooting down hostile dragons had topped everything out for sheer fun. Now we were just relaxing, waiting for my wake-up call.

Holding two ice cream cones, I strolled back to where Lisa sat on the bench. Here you are.

Lisa looked up from her trade paperback. “Oh, thanks. This one just came in. Have you seen it yet?”

I looked at the back cover of the book; it featured … me, but with fur on my face and wolf-type ears, leading a pack of … Is that you and the Undersiders?

“Uh huh. It's pretty good, actually.” She tapped another one. “In this one, you get all explodey.”

Explodey. I raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. You beat the crap out of Glory Girl. Then you steal her dress.”

Why would I do that?

“Because your clothes are all exploded, duh.”

I thought about that as I climbed over the back of the bench and settled down alongside her. Okay, that sounds logical.

Smirking, she took the choc chip ice cream from me and made room on the bench. “Oh, and you gotta see the one with the anvils.”

Anvils?

I didn't get an answer, unless I counted snickering as she went back to reading the graphic novel. “Okay,” I sighed, picking up the one she'd tapped. Let's see how explodey I get.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the answer to that was going to have to wait, as a wave of dizziness swept over me. Whoops.

Lisa looked up at me, ice cream rimming her lips. “Waking up again, huh?”

Seems that way. I sighed. Being injured is a pain. Just get used to being asleep, and they wake you up again.

She seemed to be much more amused than the comment warranted, but before I could wonder about it, she put down the trade paperback. “Well, I'll be here when you get back. Kiss before you go?”

-ooo-​

The taste of dust and blood and chocolate chip ice cream was just fading from my lips as I opened my eyes. My head was much more clear now, I realised. I'd been functional before, but nowhere near the top of my form. Now, everything seemed crystal clear to me.

In a manner of speaking, of course; I wasn't wearing my glasses, so everything beyond arms' reach was still fuzzy to my vision.

“Ah, Captain Snow, you're awake.” That sounded like Doctor Goldstein; my glasses were pushed into my hand. I put them on, noting that the cracked lens had been replaced, and looked around the room.

“I am,” I replied huskily. “I'm guessing that people want to talk to me?”

She smiled warmly; either she had one hell of a bedside manner, or she was a genuinely nice person. “You're tracking very well today, Captain. I have to admit that I'm impressed. Though I'm also curious.”

“Oh?” I asked, pushing myself up into a slightly more elevated position. There was a twinge from my midsection, but nowhere near as definitive as the last time I'd tried that. “If it's about classified matters, I'm afraid I won't be able to help you.” There was a paper cup full of water on the bedside table; reaching for it, I sipped, letting the cool liquid trickle down my throat.

She watched my every action keenly, her expression radiating pleased pride. It occurred to me that I was being tested, to see how much I reacted to my surroundings. This did not stop me from emptying the cup.

“No classified matters, Captain,” she assured me. “I'm just wondering about the other scars you carry. Your PRT medical records don't show you as being involved in any major combat actions before last week, and yet you bear the marks of older wounds, long healed. Including a most peculiar one on your shoulder.”

“Ah, right,” I replied, crumpling the paper cup and seeing if I could get it into the trash can that sat in the corner. My feeble throw fell a good two yards short, reminding me exactly how weak I still was. “Yeah, I know what you're talking about. Sorry, can't help you with that one.”

It was almost funny. The scars I had gotten during my previous life in Brockton Bay, I couldn't talk about. Their origins had to stay hidden behind a curtain of pretended amnesia. In the meantime, while I had participated in a couple of off-the-books 'combat actions' since joining the PRT, I couldn't talk about that either. Good thing I didn't pick up any scars from those times.

“Can't, or won't?” Had she picked up the slightest hesitation from my body language? I hated to deceive the woman; she was warm and caring and obviously wanted to do right by me.

Except that there was the oddity. I hadn't been able to pinpoint it on the last go-around, but this time I did. Somehow, I had the feeling that I knew her from somewhere. Or not her precisely, but her features were more than a little familiar. Her eyes were a deep hazel and there was something about the cheekbones, but I just couldn't place her.

Of course, this feeling wasn't exactly unusual for me since arriving in this time. Either a face or a surname or both would trigger an association; sometimes it would be false and sometimes it would actually lead somewhere. Most times, I tried to ignore it. But now, I was more than a thousand miles from home, and I was pretty sure I'd never met anyone with the last name of Goldstein. Maybe she's someone's mother?

“I'm sorry.” Shrugging hurt, but not all that much. “I'm pretty sure there's a dossier on me somewhere around the place. There's a lot of details that are probably classified, but my background before joining the PRT should be innocent enough.”

“There is, there are, and it is.” She smiled again, causing warm creases to form by her eyes. “I've already read it, as much of it as my clearance level will allow me to see, anyway. In fact, I probably know more about your background than you do.”

I fixed her with a level stare. “Either the sedative is still messing with my mind, or you're going to have to explain that statement.” I knew what she was referring to, of course.

“To put it simply, we backtracked your movements,” she explained. “An investigator found where you'd been hired on as a deckhand in Boca Raton, and traced your movements back from there. He even found out your parents' names.”

I let my jaw drop slightly. The surprise was faked, of course, given that I had painstakingly planted all the clues that she was referring to, in anticipation of just such an investigation. “Holy shit,” I breathed. “Are they still …”

“I'm sorry.” Oddly enough, despite her earlier compassionate demeanour, her next words were dry and matter-of-fact. “It was a traffic accident, when you were quite young. I can give you what details we have of them, if you want.”

I bit my lip, playing out indecision. “I … would I be a horrible person if I said not right now?”

Her chuckle was warm, forgiving. I felt bad about playing her like this. “Of course not. It's a really big thing. You're literally recovering from life-threatening injuries. It's a good idea to take things one revelation at a time, even for someone who's as good as you seem to be at data analysis.”

With a sigh, I forced myself to relax. “Well, okay then. I guess … it's in my dossier now, so all I have to do is go look, right?”

“Correct.” She pulled out her thermometer and shook it. “Well, you certainly seem to be lucid enough, apart from the memory blank. You honestly have no idea how that shoulder injury took place, or why there's a piece of aluminum lodged in the bone?”

“None whatsoever,” I assured her, lying through my teeth. “Doctor Veder, back in Brockton Bay, seemed to think that I'd led a really rough life.”

“All the evidence would seem to support that notion, yes,” she agreed dryly. “Open up, please.”

Dutifully, I let her put the thermometer in my mouth.

“And you can't recall your parents, or anywhere you lived before Brockton Bay?” she asked absently, taking my wrist and keeping her eyes on her watch. Her fingers were cool on my skin.

Lying was easier with a thermometer in my mouth; I mumbled something in the negative, and shook my head.

“Well, from all accounts, they tended to move around a bit. Almost skittering from place to place.”

Her relaxed tone caught me by surprise, that one word jumping out at me. I managed to control my reaction to some degree, but I still stiffened slightly.

“Are you all right, Captain?” she asked, her eyes intent on me.

“Yeah, sorry,” I mumbled around the thermometer. “Twinge.”

“Must have been a big one; your pulse rate jumped dramatically just then.” She let go of my wrist and retrieved her thermometer. “Temperature's excellent and your colour is looking good. Now all I have to do is dissuade you from doing jumping jacks or anything else strenuous for the next few weeks. It's a good thing we don't have any Endbringer battles coming up.”

This time, I was jolted hard. Even as I tried to explain it away – the term 'Endbringer' had been coined somewhere; I had just used it ahead of time – I knew full well that the way she was phrasing it meant that she was aware of more than one Endbringer.

Is she a precog? A mind reader? Have I been talking in my sleep? Blown everything wide open? Am I even where she said I was, or am I in some top-secret facility, preparing to have my every secret stripped from my head?

All of that went through my mind in an instant, my mouth going dry as I tried to formulate escape plans. Then I realised that she was watching me, observing my reaction to her words. Busted.

“Relax, Taylor,” she murmured, a smile curving her lips.

“Why?” If I come off the bed fast enough, if the IVs don't get in the way, if I don't just fall on my ass, I might be able to take her down …

“Because I'm on your side.” Reaching out, she placed a hand on my shoulder. Belatedly, I realised that I was half-sitting up, and the broad stroke of fire within my torso was objecting to this, rather strenuously. “Now lie back down before you hurt yourself. More than you're already hurt, that is.”

Wait. If this was a danger, then Lisa would have warned me. Allowing myself to relax by degrees, I eased back down on to the bed. I took a breath, as deep as I could allow myself without causing physical pain, and then another. “You know where I came from.”

“Yes.” Her gaze was direct.

“How? Who are you? What do you want?”

She smiled, clearly enjoying the situation. I found it far less humorous. “I want what you want. As for the rest of it, that's a discussion for another time.” Her head tilted toward the door. “You have visitors.”

Before I could respond, she stepped to the door and opened it. “She's awake,” she called out. “You can come in now.”

The door opened wider and three people entered. First in was Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown; not someone I really wanted to confront again, but the choice wasn't really in my hands any more. Next was Deputy Director Grantham of the Austin station. With Walsh's death, I assumed that he was stepping up to the Director spot, but I didn't know that for certain. Last was a mild surprise but a welcome one; Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton, wearing undress fatigues.

With their presence, the likelihood that I had been spirited away to some undisclosed location seemed less and less. A study of their expressions confirmed it. Costa-Brown was impassive and I didn't know Grantham well enough to read him, but Hamilton wore the same half-proud, half-confounded expression that I had encountered every time I pulled yet another rabbit out of the hat. His 'you are in trouble, young lady' expression was absent; that one held less pride and more exasperation.

“Uh-” I began. “Chief Director Costa-Brown, ma'am.” I started to salute, then stopped as the IV lines pulled at my wrist.

“No need for the formalities, Captain Snow,” the Chief Director said briskly. “You're an invalid and we're uncovered.”

“Uh, thank you, ma'am,” I replied, letting my arm drop to my side.

“Captain Snow,” Grantham said next. “We need your verbal report on what happened. Your own words, in your own time.”

Ah. This was looking less and less like a crucifixion all the time. I nodded. “Certainly … uh, Director … ?”

Gravely, he nodded. “That's correct. I've been confirmed as Walsh's replacement. What happened to him? How did he die?”

Carefully, I hitched myself up a little in the bed. “I'm pretty sure they were tipped off. The Blaster, Sunstrike, shot us down on the first pass. The beam nearly cut the chopper in half. Walsh was right in its path. He never stood a chance. It did cut him in half. There was blood all over the inside of the chopper.”

“We have the recordings from the pilots just before the helicopter crashed,” the Chief Director supplied. “Who survived the crash?”

“Myself, Kinsey, Hanran and Rodriguez,” I reported concisely. “I was knocked out briefly. I don't remember being wounded, just being woken up and dragged out of the chopper by Kinsey. The pilots didn't make it. There was fire, and I could smell avgas. I warned them, I think. We only got behind cover just in time.”

“According to the medical report, Kinsey suffered a broken arm, while you had a broken leg and other, more serious, injuries.” Grantham tilted his head curiously. “How did you get behind cover fast enough?”

“Kinsey was carrying me,” I told him. “Once the chopper blew, we had three options, all bad. The first one was to try to get out. The second was to surrender and hope for merciful treatment. The third was to press on. I chose that option.”

“Bad options, indeed,” murmured Hamilton. “So we are to understand that you gave the order to continue to the objective, not Hanran or Rodriguez? I just want to be clear on that.”

I eyed him, wondering where he was going with that. “Yes, sir,” I confirmed. “Rodriguez suggested surrender and Hanran was indecisive. I made the call, and Kinsey backed me. No hesitation. Once they saw we were committed, Hanran and Rodriguez followed suit.”

“You do realise that they technically outranked you, Captain.” That was the Chief Director. “Making the call like that could have been construed as mutiny.”

I met her gaze unflinchingly. “Ma'am, neither of them had military training. Hanran had no idea what to do, and Rodriguez wanted to surrender. You know what they were doing to those girls in there. I was not going to give myself up to those people without a fight. So I made the call, and I will stand by it.”

Was that a slight smile on Costa-Brown's face? Had I just made her more determined to poach me for her think-tank?

“Surrender was certainly the wrong option,” agreed Hamilton. “With you four as hostages, it would have gotten very bad indeed. And unless they had a top-notch surgeon on hand, your injuries would have killed you in less than a day. In my professional opinion, you did precisely the right thing.”

“I don't have a military background,” Grantham offered, “but when you put it like that, I can't see that you had any other option.”

“Agreed,” the Chief Director said. “Now, as for Aguijón. What's your opinion of him?”

The sudden shift in direction caught me a little by surprise, but I did my best to answer quickly. “I didn't see him do much. But he got hurt defending the girl Kari. And he distracted Rodriguez when he was about to shoot Kinsey and me. Kari stood up for him. She said that he could've followed orders and raped her, but he chose to protect her instead. That makes him all right in my book.”

“Indeed,” Grantham agreed. “Now for the really tricky one. Rodriguez. You said he was about to shoot you?”

“Well, yes,” I said. “He had a rifle and he was pointing it at Kinsey and me. Finger on the trigger.”

Hamilton coughed, looking unhappy. “You understand, Snow, that we have to be certain that was a righteous kill. The ATF is very unhappy that the PRT shot one of theirs, and they want to nail someone's hide to the wall. They're calling for an inquiry, and all indications are that they're going to come at you with everything they've got.”

Costa-Brown took over. “Sergeant Kinsey says that you stated outright that Rodriguez was a mole. How did you know this?”

I was careful to look the Chief Director right in the eye. “It was a combination of factors. He had dragged his heels on the whole operation, done his best to sow doubt that it was the best thing to do. Once we were behind enemy lines, he tried to advocate surrender. And even when we were in cover, he was consistently defeatist. I was injured and drifting from the pain, when all the pieces dropped into place. Then, of course, once I actually said it, he was going to kill us. Hanran was down at that point, and Joanne and Kari were outside keeping the Fallen at bay. Aguijón gave me an opening, and I took it.”

“And Sergeant Kinsey?” asked Grantham. “What was he doing?”

“He'd handed over his weapon to Hanran,” I explained. “When the bomb went off, it threw us against the wall. He took the impact for me. I think he got hurt again, doing that. He didn't have any options for taking out Rodriguez. I did.” I took as deep a breath as I dared. “Sergeant Kinsey's actions throughout this whole thing were exemplary. He deserves the highest recognition that we can give him. And Hanran deserves something as well. He stepped up.”

Hamilton chuckled briefly. “The good Sergeant said almost exactly the same thing about you. And in case you're wondering, his account backs yours, almost word for word.”

“I wasn't actually wondering about that, sir,” I said. Kinsey's always had my back. “But now that you mention him, how is he? What sort of shape is he in? Can I talk to him?” He's alive. But I want to make sure he's all right.

“We can definitely arrange a visit,” Grantham agreed. “If you don't have a problem with that, Doctor Goldstein?”

We looked over at the doctor, who had managed to fade into the background during the debriefing. I did not miss that she hadn't been ordered from the room. I bet she's cleared for this and more.

“I can't see a problem with that,” Goldstein said. She managed to project almost a motherly air. “If the Captain can avoid becoming over-excited, that is.”

“I think I can manage that,” I responded dryly. I still had my questions about her, but she wasn't overtly working against me, so I decided to shelve them until I could answer them. In private, that is; those were not questions that I intended to ask with Alexandria in the room. But I wasn't going to trust her an inch until I had my answers.

“For that matter,” the doctor went on, “I've had the rescuees also asking if they could see Captain Snow. Something about a small matter of saying thank you. Will that be a problem for anyone?”

Grantham glanced at the Chief Director, who shook her head. “I have no issue with that,” she said.

“Neither do I,” Grantham agreed. “Go ahead, Doctor.” The Chief Director went to the door and opened it; Grantham followed her, but paused on the threshold. “Captain Snow.”

“Yes, Director?” I asked.

He looked me in the eye. “In case you didn't get the memo, we think you did a magnificent job. We're not going to let the ATF pin a goddamned thing on you.”

“Thank you, Director,” I replied. “Uh … one more thing?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Lieutenant Piggot. Emily. Is she all right?”

He grimaced. “Physically, yes. Legally, not so much.”

I blinked. “Legally?”

The lines on his face deepened. “After your chopper went down, she more or less held a tent-full of captains at gunpoint until they'd agreed to follow the PRT's lead on the rescue mission. She'll be facing a court-martial.”

“Oh. Shit.”

“That's an accurate summation of the situation, yes.” He tilted his hand. “There are extenuating circumstances; she volunteered to go in with the first wave, and she was the first one to fight her way through to you, but she's made a lot of people unhappy.”

I nodded soberly. “I can see that. Request permission to attend and provide a character witness for her.”

“Certainly, Captain.” He bestowed a look of grim approval on me. “I'll see that it's done.”

“Thank you, Director.”

He left; I sagged back into the pillows as the door closed behind him. Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton stepped forward. “How are you feeling, Snow? Really, I mean?”

I looked up into his concerned eyes. “Well, sir, I ache pretty well all over, and any time I try to move too fast, it feels like someone's trying to dig out my internal organs with a rusty spoon, but I feel a lot better than I figure I should, under the circumstances. Did you dig up a parahuman healer from somewhere?”

“I only wish,” he snorted. “I don't know if Eidolon can heal people, but he's doing something important at the other end of the country. No, we owe your continued existence to this lady here. She volunteered for the medical team when it was formed for this mission.”

He indicated Doctor Goldstein, who assumed an expression of mild attentiveness. I looked at her as well. Nobody spoke for a long moment.

“Okay, I'll bite,” I conceded. “If you're not a parahuman healer, then how did you save my sorry ass?”

Doctor Goldstein smiled. “Well, it's lucky that you're a universal recipient. We were pouring blood into you as soon as they got you out of the compound. Even your Sergeant Kinsey insisted on contributing, despite his own injuries. As did Lieutenant Piggot.”

I rolled my eyes. “Kinsey would.” I'm going to have to have words with that man.

“Hey, don't knock it,” she reproved me. “His blood may have been what kept you alive. As it was, we were touch and go. You had a titanium strut from the chopper all the way through your abdomen and into your chest, and by the time we got to you, you were losing blood faster than we could put it into you. We had no way to get it out of you and operate to fix the damage fast enough to save your life. Well, I had no way, anyway.”

“Wait,” I interrupted. “Titanium strut. Are you saying … Kari saved my life?”

This was the first time that I'd seen the doctor taken aback. She looked at Hamilton in some surprise, and he gave her a shrug and a smile. “I did warn you. She's very quick.”

“Evidently,” she agreed. “Short story: yes. Long story … well, I got her in to see if she could get the metal out of you quickly enough to let me operate, and she went one better. It appears that whatever metal she is controlling gives her tactile sensations. She could feel what was going on around the spar. So I put you under an X-ray machine, and coached her through closing off your blood vessels. Basically, she stitched you up from the inside. Pulled the metal back and fixed the damage as she went.”

“Using titanium?” I asked. “Is that a thing?”

“It's already used as a surgery-safe metal for implants,” she pointed out. “We're just lucky that it's also used in helicopters. So yes, she cleared out all the incidental pieces, and you've got hundreds of tiny – and not so tiny – titanium sutures holding you together on the inside. Weirdest surgical procedure I ever directed. Kid's got a great future as a surgeon, if she can find a medical school that'll accept her for what she is.”

I nodded slowly. “I'm alive, so I'll accept that. Thank you, doctor.”

“Hey, I just told her what to do,” Doctor Goldstein pointed out. “She's the one who did the heavy lifting.”

“Well, I'll be thanking her just as soon as I see her,” I said. “Right now, I'm thanking you.”

“You also have my thanks, doctor,” Hamilton added. “Captain Snow is one of my very best people, and I would have hated to lose her to a bunch of parahuman hillbilly cultists.” He directed a mock glare my way. “Do you hear me, Captain? No more leaping into danger for you. I don't think my heart could stand it.”

“But, sir, I didn't leap,” I protested. “I was shot down, remember?”

He waved a hand airily. “Excuses, excuses.”

Doctor Goldstein chuckled. “I can see you two have worked together for a while.”

“Trust me,” I told her, “I've had worse bosses.”

“And I've had less insubordinate … subordinates,” he growled, although there was a smile playing on his face. “But nobody who gets me the results that you do.”

“Thank you, sir.” I smiled at him. “But, uh, before we bring the visitors in, would I be able to have a word in private with Doctor Goldstein?”

He cleared his throat. “Of course, Captain. Let me know when you're ready for the onslaught.”

“Copy that, sir.” I gave him a firm nod in lieu of a salute.

Once the door had closed behind him, I turned to the doctor, who gazed back at me impassively. “Okay, time to clear the air,” I told her flatly.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Oh, it is, is it?”

“You know it is.” I felt acutely hampered by the fact that I was flat on my back, with titanium stitches holding me together, and several IVs dribbling god-knew-what into my veins. “You don't just get to drop a bomb like that and then walk away. Who are you?”

“Let me tell you a story,” Doctor Goldstein replied, pulling a chair up to the side of the bed. “Once upon a time, there was a little girl. A good little girl, in a bad, bad world. She loved her mommy, and her mommy loved her back. She had a brother too, older than her. He used to take care of her. She loved him too.”

She paused, perhaps choosing her next words carefully. I let her take her time. So far, her words had not rung a bell with me. Is this why Lisa was smiling just before I woke up?

"But then Behemoth happened," she went on abruptly, dropping the storybook tone. "Mom wasn't attending, but my brother was. Everyone died, or so we thought. Behemoth was out of control. A living atomic explosion, blasting his way across the face of the earth. Heading for America. For Brockton Bay. For me. Mom joined the defenders, trying to hold him off while they evacuated the rest of us. When that went to hell, Miss Militia grabbed me and ran for it. We got away, but Behemoth just kept coming. Somewhere in that hell, in that chaos, I triggered. And then the man in the robes appeared."

"The man in the robes?" My mind went back five years. "An Indian man? Ornate robes?"

She nodded. "Yes. He said twenty-one words, and then sent me away. I appeared on the front seat of a police car in Seattle. They couldn't find my parents, which wasn't surprising. So I got adopted. The Goldsteins are lovely people, but I've never forgotten my mother. Or the words that the man said to me. I can't forget anything, you see."

"Your trigger."

"My trigger," she agreed. "And so I was baptised Ruth Goldstein. Grew up. Went to medical school. Became a surgeon. And now I'm here."

"Wait, wait," I protested. "What were the twenty-one words?"

She closed her eyes; when she spoke, her voice was flat. "Brockton Bay. Nineteen eighty-nine. Find Weaver. She knows how to save the world. Help her. Do not use your powers."

"Um." I paused. "That doesn't tell me how you know -"

"Your unmasking as Skitter and rebranding as Weaver were on TV," she pointed out. "I didn't understand it when I saw it, but I remembered. Years later, I made sense out of it. I knew your first name and what you looked like, what powers you had, everything. It wasn't hard to keep track of you, especially after you joined the PRT." She tilted her head. "Though you've been low-key with your powers. Did he tell you not to use them, as well?"

"No," I muttered. "I lost them when I came back here." I looked up at her. "I could've done with some assistance when I first arrived." My tone was sharp, but I didn't care. "Where the hell were you?"

"I knew that you'd show up," she replied, showing no sign of resentment. "But I couldn't get there. Unavoidable circumstances. So I sent word to a colleague of mine, to keep an eye out for you and take care of you if she could."

"Nina Veder," I guessed.

She grinned. "Got it in one. Did you tell her who you really are?"

"Mostly," I admitted. "Didn't tell her everything about everything. But she didn't pry. She's a good person. Though she never told me about you."

"She's good at keeping people's secrets," Doctor Goldstein noted.

"Okay," I said. "You've told me your story. But you haven't said how long you've been here and who the hell you are. Because your face is familiar. I just can't place it."

"I'm not surprised." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "We've never met before yesterday. I knew your face but you didn't know mine. You have, however, met my mother and father. I was sent back to the year nineteen sixty-one. I'm thirty-four years old.

"And my birth name is Aster Anders."

End of Part 5-4

Part 5-5

To skip Aster's story, go here.​

 

Recoil​

Part 5-5: (Aster's Story, Part One) Escape from Brockton Bay​

26 July 2011
New Delhi
Phir Sē

It did not work. It should have worked.

Phir Sē turned his head. A shadow emerged from the darkness at the far end of the room.

The time manipulator spoke in Punjabi. “Go. Tell me what is happening.” But he already knew, from the juddering of the rock beneath his feet. It was not going well.

The teleporter vanished, and Phir Sē began trying to get his screens up and running again. Those that were not dark were showing static, and he was reasonably certain that he knew why. The cameras have been destroyed.

A flicker in the corner of his eye heralded the return of the teleporter. With him came the stench of burnt hair, overlaying another smell, one he knew all too well. Human flesh. Third degree burns. The man staggered, his costume half-melted to his body, then fell to one knee. Phir Sē was beside him in an instant, supporting him. The teleporter turned to look up at him, eyes sharp with pain.

“Talk to me,” Phir Sē urged. “What happened? I thought you were too fast to be targeted.”

“All around him were dead or dying,” gasped the teleporter. “A hundred times I teleported, looking for someone alive, someone to save. Ninety-nine times, he failed to attack me. The hundredth time, he was waiting.”

“I have medical supplies,” Phir Sē urged. “Come, I will attend to your injuries.”

“No,” panted the teleporter. “We have to go. He is coming here. Now.”

As if awaiting his words, the shaking and juddering increased a hundredfold; one of the screens shook loose of its mountings on the wall. It shattered when it hit the floor. The teleporter grabbed Phir Sē, and grimaced in concentration. Rocks began to fall from the ceiling; at first these came in ones and twos, then the entire roof caved in.

-ooo-​

Phir Sē felt the shift in perspective that came from being teleported; the blink of an eye later, he was standing on bare sand. It was dark, but a cool breeze brought the scent of salt spray to his nostrils.

He was also alone.

“No!” he shouted, although he knew what must have happened. “No! Don't do this to me!” He ran to the top of a small dune and peered about, straining his eyes in the light of the crescent moon above. There was nobody there. The only footprints marring the pristine sand were the ones that he was leaving behind.

Still, he searched for a good fifteen minutes. His eyes adjusted to the dimness, the bright starfield augmenting the moon's weak light, and he quartered the area around where he had first arrived. He considered stepping back to the base, but the window between his departure and the collapse of the base was too narrow. The only safe time to arrive would be before he left, and he had long since learned that to even attempt to share a timeframe with himself was to invite excruciating and debilitating agony.

Eventually, he slumped to a seated position atop the dune. Staring out at the faint track the moonlight was leaving on the surface of the ocean, he reluctantly accepted that his friend was gone. He gave his life to save mine.

It was a sobering thought. The Thanda were powerful, almost unbeatable. But Behemoth's power was on a whole new level. I was arrogant, to think that my time bomb would kill him. To destroy him, I would have to go back and prevent him from becoming so powerful. But I cannot do that. He came into existence after I was born.

The logic was inescapable. Unchecked, unchained, the monster will lay waste to the world in his rage. If something is to be done about this, it has to be someone else. Someone young. He tilted his head in thought. The American cape girl, Weaver, had struck him as someone who didn't ever stop fighting. If she still lives … we will see.

Standing up, he brushed off his robes. I think it is time that I looked over the battlefield. Concentrating, he worked at creating a portal through both time and space. It cost him more effort than he had expected. My powers have been taxed. But I can't stop now. The monster has to die. Time has to be reset so that this never happens. The portal formed at last and he stepped through it, barely avoiding a stumble. Two weeks should be enough time for him to either vacate the area or be brought down.

-ooo-​

10 August 2011
New Delhi

It was indeed enough; the landscape that Phir Sē stepped on to was blasted and desolate, devoid of any moving thing larger than a cockroach. Fifteen days ago, this had been a thriving metropolis, home to fourteen million people. Now, it was a grave. A tomb. Not even India's traditional scavengers would survive here; the bodies had been either buried too deep to disturb or burned away to ash and greasy smoke.

He topped a small rise and saw it ahead. The body, slumped against a fallen monolith. His power was still weakened, so he spent the time to walk down to where the girl lay.

It would not have mattered if he had hurried. The girl, unmasked but dressed in Weaver's costume, was dead. She lay with one hand resting on a mound of rocks, the other loose on the ground. The skin on her face was desiccated, cracked lips drawn back from her teeth. Sightless eyes, sunken into their sockets, stared up at the sky from behind round-lensed glasses. Dark hair, made dull by the everpresent dust, blew loose in the warm breeze.

Curious, he expended a modicum of his power to gain minute glimpses of what had gone before. The flickering images, the snatches of sound, did not convey much in the way of meaning to him, but he understood the gestalt of it. Her friend died in her arms. She chose to die here as well rather than live on.

He knew exactly what that sort of loss and pain felt like. It was something that he himself had suffered through. She is strong-willed. She only gave up because she believed that all hope had been extinguished. Given a chance to fight back, she would turn the world inside out to ensure that her friend lived instead of died. A grim smile creased his face. I believe that I might give her that chance.

Caution intruded. But she will not be able to do it alone. An ally is what is needed. A powerful ally, but one who will go undetected.

This was almost a paradox, a dichotomy. He mulled over it as he opened another portal. Time to see where the monster went.

-ooo-​

2 August 2011
Brockton Bay
Miss Militia

“He's coming here,” insisted the Alcott girl. “In three days, everyone in Brockton Bay will be dead. You can't fight him. You can't beat him. He'll steamroll over the best you can do.”

Hannah put her hands on the desk, palm down. At her side, unbidden, her weapon morphed from a heavy warhammer to an Uzi, to a Desert Eagle, to a kukri. She drew a deep, calming breath. “What are the chances of successfully evacuating everyone in the city?”

Dinah's eyes went unfocused as her lips moved, then she looked at the acting Director of the PRT ENE once more. “Seventy-three point nine seven six three percent, if you start right now.”

“Those aren't great odds,” Hannah observed. She was about to go on, when Dinah interrupted.

“That goes up to ninety-one point three six three four percent if the city's capes fought a rearguard action.”

Hannah grimaced. “I thought you said he'd steamroll over the top of us.”

“He will, but it won't be quite as fast.” Dinah shrugged. “He has a target. I don't know what it is. In all the scenarios where I hang around to try to find out, I die before I do. But if we can get everyone out of the city and disperse them, then we may be able to save most of them. I think.”

“That's a lot of maybes.” Hannah rubbed her chin. “I didn't know that precogs were able to predict Endbringer attacks.”

“I can't, or rather, I couldn't,” Dinah admitted. “I never picked up on Leviathan's attack. But it's occurred to me that if I check for the state of the city after the fact, I'm predicting the aftermath, not the attack itself. My power doesn't like being used that way, and I get horrific headaches from it, but I can make it work. Even if I have to go and lie down in a dark room for about a week afterward.”

“Hm. Well, I can't afford not to take your warning seriously.” Hannah opened a very special desk drawer and flipped back a protective cover. Hesitating just for one moment, she jammed the heel of her hand down on the broad red button. Almost immediately, the wail of the Endbringer siren began to sound throughout the city.

“Thank you.” Dinah nodded seriously. “That's taken a weight off my mind.”

“Where will you go?” asked Hannah. “Have you made arrangements?”

Dinah snorted. “Are you kidding? My parents are waiting at the curb with the car packed and the engine running. We're getting out while the getting is good.”

“I don't blame you,” Hannah agreed.

“If I find anything else out, I'll let you know.” Dinah got up and headed for the door.

Hannah nodded. “Thanks. Now go. I've got an evacuation to arrange.”

The office door closed behind the precog.

-ooo-​

Evening, 4 August 2011
Brockton Bay
Purity

Kayden sat on the bed in the spare room of her small apartment, Aster strapped into the baby carrier beside her, and tried to decide what she should do.

She had only intended to return to Brockton Bay briefly, to pick up some things she had left behind, and then leave the city forever. But the Endbringer sirens had begun howling just hours after she got there, and then there were PRT troops in the streets.

She had been stuck in the city for two days now. Every day, Kayden saw more and more people flooding from the city. On the upside, Brockton Bay had lost a lot of its population following the Leviathan attack in May; on the downside, much of the remaining infrastructure was still damaged. People didn't have cars, or if they had cars, they couldn't get the gasoline to drive those cars out of the city.

The National Guard and the PRT had stepped up to the challenge, and convoys of trucks were ferrying refugees south to Boston or west to Concord. Nobody was allowed more than one suitcase, which was why more people weren't showing up at the Evacuation Depots.

Armed guards were also patrolling the city and the outbound roads; they were ruthless in ensuring that the steady stream of traffic was not interrupted by anything. The evening of the first day had seen an impromptu tollgate thrown across the highway to the west, with ABB members extorting drivers of everything they could lay their hands on before allowing them to continue. The PRT officer on site had not hesitated; the offenders were summarily executed and the toll-gate removed from the road. That had been the only such event.

However, this was not what Kayden was agonising over. She had a car, and gasoline as well. She could try to simply drive out again – after all, they were trying to evacuate the city – but all it would take would be one overzealous PRT officer recognising her face, and Aster would be in danger. Again.

Although at a pinch, she could drop everything and fly Aster out of the city on her own.

The problem was that she was not one hundred percent sure that this was the right thing to do.

Aster needed to be safe. That was a fact, as simple and basic as a stone wall. Kayden could not and would not accept anything less. But the PRT was calling out for volunteers to oppose Behemoth, to help delay the monster so that more refugees could escape the doomed city.

Behemoth, it was understood, wasn't playing games any more. Not that he ever had been, really, but the total destruction of the force facing him demonstrated a whole new level of ferocity. Worse, nobody really knew what was going on over there right at the moment, and what the PRT knew, they were probably keeping to themselves.

If I'm going to be truthful, it's probably best that we don't know the full story. The Endbringers were bad enough when there was a twenty-five percent casualty chance. For Behemoth to wipe everyone out … that's beyond terrifying.

Absently, she smoothed the covers of the bed on which she was sitting. Theo had used this bed, until she had given him up to the PRT. It hadn't been her idea, exactly; Crusader had thought of it, after being told that feelings of isolation and loneliness were integral to many trigger events. It was imperative that Theo trigger, so Justin had abandoned Kayden's stepson to the authorities, and Kayden … had let it happen.

It worked. Theo triggered. He became a cape and joined the Wards. He became a hero. And then he attended the Behemoth fight in New Delhi, and was killed with all the rest.

He was supposed to challenge Jack Slash, to kill the man before he could slaughter everyone Theo had ever known. But now my son is dead. I let this happen to him. He died because of my decisions. Because I was terrified of Jack Slash killing Aster.

Aster shifted in her sleep, making a vague whimpering noise. Kayden leaned down and undid the straps, then lifted her carefully out of the carrier, cradling the infant close to her. As always, Aster's nearness soothed her; the warmth as the baby snuggled into her arms awoke an answering warmth in her heart.

I want to be a hero. Before Leviathan, even, I was striking at the ABB, not because they were Asian, but because they were criminals. She had offered several times to team up with the heroes, but the PRT had always turned her down. They couldn't be seen to be working alongside a member of the Empire Eighty-Eight. Turning herself in would have been a bad idea; she had committed more than one crime during her tenure with the Empire, and a prison term would have resulted. Aster would have been taken from her. I could not allow that.

I could leave Brockton Bay with Aster, right now. If anyone tried to stop me, they would regret it. The temptation was strong.

But Theo had been a hero. The type of hero that she wanted to be. He had stepped up and volunteered for the fight against Behemoth, knowing full well that he could be one of the twenty-five percent. He couldn't have known that it was going to be one hundred percent. But even if he had …

She shook her head, unable to shake the conviction that he would have volunteered anyway. Because that's the sort of person he was.

I could leave, or I could stay. Join the defence of the city. Hold back Behemoth long enough to allow a few more innocents to get away. It's not a one hundred percent chance of death.

She wished she sounded more convincing, even in her own head.

What's more important? To prove that I can be a hero, or to get Aster well away from here?

It was harder than she had imagined it would be, but eventually she arrived at her decision. I'll save Aster now. I can be a hero later. It'll be easier in another city, where they don't know me.

That was when the knock came at the front door of the apartment.

-ooo-​

Kayden stood up, then carefully deposited the sleeping baby back in the carrier. Is this a soldier urging me to evacuate, or an opportunistic thief? She hoped that it would be a thief; she needed to take out her fear and anger on something. Or someone.

Leaving the baby carrier out of the way of the door, she stepped up and called out, “Who is it?”

“It's Miss Militia!” came the unexpected answer. “Open the door, please. I'm alone and I'm not looking for a fight.”

“Go away!” Kayden called back. I really don't need this. And how the hell did she know I was here?

“Please!” The hero's voice was strained. “Kayden, I need to speak with you. It's about Aster.”

She nearly unleashed a blast through the door at the mention of her daughter's name. “Leave my daughter out of this! Remember what happened to the last people who took her!”

“Kayden,” Miss Militia replied. “Behemoth is coming for her.”

-ooo-​

Hannah sat opposite Kayden at the small table. The youngest member of the Anders bloodline lay in her carrier, blissfully asleep. Kayden glared at Hannah, a deep glow in her eyes intimating that she was ready to power up at a moment's notice. Hannah noted faint lines on the other woman's face, lines that had not been there in the photos that had been posted online.

“You're going to have to explain that,” Kayden stated flatly. “The only reason I let you in was so that you wouldn't broadcast it far and wide. What do you mean, Behemoth is coming for Aster?”

“Endbringer behaviour has been a subject of intense scrutiny since they first started appearing,” Hannah began. “One very strong theory hold that every time they show up, they have an objective. Once they've achieved the objective, they can let themselves be driven away. One such objective seems to be to find and kill people with … power. Lots of power.”

Kayden's face barely twitched. “And so Behemoth is targeting my baby.” The disbelief was strong in her voice. “If that's true, why did he emerge in India? We're thousands of miles away.”

“We think he had a different target there, but he wasn't able to get to them in time,” Hannah explained. “So then he switched to his secondary target.”

“Which is Aster.” Kayden's voice wasn't any more receptive than her expression.

“Which is Aster,” Hannah agreed.

Kayden stared at her, and Hannah could see how close to the edge the petite brunette was. How little it would take to cause her to go into protective-mother mode all over again. The trouble was that with Purity, protective-mother mode came with a minimum safe distance. Several city blocks seemed about right. “I'm going to need a little more than that to believe a word that you're saying.”

Hannah tilted her head. “About the power thing, or about how I know?” The knife was sheathed at her hip, but it could become a gun at any second. She just hoped that she wouldn't have to try to beat Purity to the draw.

Kayden grimaced. “Okay, I get it. Aster's third generation. There's a baby in Toronto who's supposed to have triggered as a third gen, so I can't dispute the power aspect.” The fact that Aster had not yet triggered was only a detail; they both knew full well that trigger events required stress, and an Endbringer attack was more or less the definition of 'stressful situation'.

“All right, then.” Hannah took her phone from her belt and placed it on the table between them. “I recorded a phone call today. You need to hear it.”

From the look on Kayden's face, she had not been expecting this. “What does a phone call have to do with Aster?”

“Everything.” Hannah swiped the phone awake, then clicked through the options until the voice recorder was ready to run. “You're going to have to listen carefully. The sound isn't great.” She pressed the Play button.

-ooo-​

Midday, 4 August 2011
Brockton Bay
Miss Militia

Hannah was a founding member of the Wards, and in fact had been going out as a superhero before they were formed. In her time wearing the costume, she had participated in many exercises to do with getting everyone out of a certain area. She'd cleared buildings, assisted with the evacuation of shopping malls, and once even helped ensure that three city blocks were clear of all civilians following a bomb scare.

None of it compared even a little with attempting to evacuate an entire city in advance of Behemoth's arrival. No matter how fast she delegated chores, more people were demanding her time on an hourly basis. She was just fortunate that she didn't really have to sleep, and that she never forgot a thing, otherwise she would have been utterly overwhelmed rather than just severely overworked.

Still, when her desk phone rang, it took her a moment to register that the call was coming from a payphone. “PRT Director's office, Miss Militia speaking.”

The voice on the other end was one she had heard before. “I hope you're proud of yourself.”

It was Dinah's mother. She sounded bitter. “I beg your pardon, Mrs Alcott. I'm not sure what you're talking about. Is Dinah all right?” With her free hand, she pulled out her mobile, activated it, then tapped the icon for voice recording. Then she put the desk phone on speaker.

“No. She is not. Do you know why that is? Because she just worked her way into a total physical collapse to try to get you some more information. That's why.”

Hannah blinked. “I'm sorry to hear that, Mrs Alcott. If there's anything the PRT can do -”

“The PRT has done quite enough, Miss Militia. You didn't stop that man from taking my daughter and you weren't the ones to get her back. You're just lucky that she made me promise to make this call.”

There was nothing to say to that. Anna Alcott was perfectly correct in that the PRT and the Protectorate had done nothing to help Dinah. It had fallen to the villains to correct that wrong and return the girl to her family.

“For what it's worth, I'm sorry -”

“Save it. Before she passed out, Dinah wrote down a message for me to give to you. There are four parts to it. Are you listening?”

“Yes. Yes, I'm listening.”

“Good. Because I'm not going to repeat myself. The first part is, Behemoth is hunting Purity's child. Who is in Brockton Bay, right now, with Purity. At their old address. Repeat that back.”

Hannah stared at the phone. “Behemoth … is hunting Purity's child. Who is in Brockton Bay, right now, with Purity. At their old address.”

“Good. Second part is, if Behemoth catches her, or if she dies, the consequences will be dire. For everyone. Repeat that back.”

“If Behemoth catches her, or if she dies, the consequences will be dire for everyone.”

“Good. Third part is, if Purity flees with her child, they have a four point one three six one percent chance of escaping. Repeat that back.”

A deep breath. “If Purity flees with her child, their chance of escaping is four point one three six one percent.”

“Good. Fourth part is, if you take the child, she has an eighty-seven point four one three six percent chance of escaping safely. Repeat that back.”

Mechanically, she parroted the words. “If I take the child, she has an eighty-seven point four one three six percent chance of escaping safely.” Her thoughts were awhirl; I can't abandon the battle!

“Good.” There was a click, and she was listening to the dial tone.

-ooo-​

Evening, 4 August 2011
Purity

Kayden sat motionless even after the recording ended. “And Dinah is …?”

“The best precog I've ever seen,” Miss Militia supplied. “When she gives probabilities in the fraction of a percentile, she means it. If she says something will happen, it means that there is not even the slightest chance that it won't.”

Kayden's knuckles had gone white with tension. “Why did you bring this recording to me? To order me to hand over my child?”

Miss Militia shook her head. “No.”

The blunt answer took Kayden by surprise. “What? But …”

“Listen.” The superhero leaned forward over the table. “I don't want to do this. I don't want to leave people to fight in my stead, even if it's to save the life of a child. The only reason I'm here at all is because it's Dinah Alcott saying it.”

To her surprise, Kayden found herself protesting. “But she said that if you don't take Aster, then Behemoth will catch her, and bad things will happen to the world. You can't ignore that. Can you?” Unsaid yet clearly audible to all were the words: You're a hero. Heroes do the right thing.

Miss Militia's voice was low and controlled. “I am not, repeat not going to take your child away from you without your permission. In fact, I will only take her if you ask me to do so. If you're not willing to do that, then take her yourself and go. You might even hit that four percent chance. I'll be staying and organising the defence of my city, to give you the best possible chance of getting away.”

And there's the sticking point. At last, Kayden saw to the core of the matter. Miss Militia had been made acting Director of the PRT in Brockton Bay. In a very real sense, she saw herself as being responsible for the city and everyone in it. To leave others to defend the city from Behemoth, even for such a good reason as this, ran counter to everything she stood for.

But on the other hand, Dinah's message spelled out Miss Militia's duty to the world. She had to take Aster, to save her from Behemoth. The conflict between duty and honour were tearing her right down the middle.

It was with a shock of epiphany that Kayden recognised that very same struggle in herself. We aren't so different. For her, however, saving Aster was the primary goal; proving herself a hero was secondary. But now, with Dinah's message, those two goals were swinging into alignment.

If I stay and fight, can I do more to save Aster than if I take her and flee? It was an odd idea.

Slowly, she leaned down and took Aster from the carrier. Gently, she cradled the sleeping infant in her arms. “I love her more than I love anyone or anything in my life,” she murmured. “Please, take good care of her. Keep her safe.”

Miss Militia nodded. “I promise, Kayden.” Reaching up, she pulled down her scarf. “And my name is Hannah.”

Kayden couldn't bring herself to smile. “Thank you, Hannah.”

“No. Thank you.” Miss Militia pulled her scarf back into place. “There's one more favour I'd like to ask of you.”

-ooo-​

Just After Midnight, 5 August 2011
Brockton Bay
Miss Militia

“You have to be shitting us!” Crusader's voice rang harshly across the forecourt of what had once been the Forsberg Gallery, drawing nods and murmurs from the other capes that were gathered there.

More parahumans had shown up to Hannah's makeshift council of war than she had dared hope for, but the numbers were still dismayingly low. Worse, the Brute contingent was almost non-existent. Nearly all of those who were able to face someone like Behemoth, and who were willing to do so, had attended that last battle. None of those had returned.

“I shit you not.” Her retort, as blunt as it was, silenced Crusader at least temporarily. “I'm not going to soft-soap this. There's a better than even chance that you'll die today if you face Behemoth.” She looked from face to face from atop the stone block that she was using as a podium. “There's a slightly lower chance that you'll die if you just decide to run. But not much lower. Behemoth played hopscotch across Eastern Europe before Scion forced him underground in Finland. He's even more indiscriminate than he was before.”

“So why shouldn't we just cut and run now?” demanded Crusader. “It's not our fight. Give us one good reason.”

Not all the capes there were of the remnant of the Empire that followed Purity. There were even a few heroes among them. But Hannah could see that his words had an effect on them. There was doubt there. People were wavering.

“I'll give you three,” Hannah said flatly. “First. Anyone who steps up today gets their record wiped clean. Blanket pardon for everything you've ever done. Second. The civilian population still hasn't been totally evacuated. Every minute you delay him is another few people who get away. Third.” She nodded to the baby-carrier that Kayden held. “Purity's daughter is his target. I've been specifically asked to get her to safety. But I can't do it alone.”

“Wait.” Crusader stepped forward. “Where's everyone else? Where's the rest of the PRT? The Protectorate?”

“We're it,” Hannah admitted bleakly. “We lost the bulk of our fighting capes in New Delhi. The rest are making excuses or just not returning our calls. Every PRT soldier this side of Boston is a volunteer.”

“So let me get this straight.” Heads turned as the new speaker pushed her way through the crowd. She was young, cloaked, carried herself with an air of confidence. The scowling-woman mask did not detract from her general demeanour or her tone of voice. “Behemoth's after the kid, yeah?”

Hannah's lips tightened behind the scarf. It had been her decision to release Shadow Stalker from juvenile detention; after all, they needed every cape they could muster for this occasion. But now she was beginning to rethink that idea. The heroes had an idea of what the ex-Ward had done, and the villains didn't like her at all.

“Yes.” Purity replied to the question when nobody else seemed to want to. “Which is why we have to get her to safety. I've asked Miss Militia to do that for me.”

“Got a better idea. No kid, no Behemoth.” Shadow Stalker's hand came out from beneath her cloak holding a crossbow; it slanted in the direction of Aster's baby carrier.

Time slowed to a crawl. Hannah had a weapon to hand, but Shadow Stalker could trigger her crossbow before Hannah could aim and fire. All around here were capes who had similarly lethal abilities. They only needed a second to bring them into action.

The trouble was, Shadow Stalker needed less time than that.

“Shadow Stalker,” Hannah said carefully. “Don't do this.” She wished that she'd had time to apprise them all of the full content of Dinah's message.

“Seriously, am I the only one who's thought of this?” demanded Shadow Stalker, her aim never wavering. “The rug-rat dies, Behemoth fucks off somewhere else, the city lives. What part of this do we not understand? I'm saving our lives here, guys. You'll thank -”

There was a loud whine; her upper body exploded messily. The crossbow, mercifully untriggered, clattered to the paving stones. Everyone looked around at L33t, who sheepishly hefted a massive rifle that almost looked bigger than him. Acrid smoke curled out of its barrel. “Whoops?” he ventured. “That was supposed to be set on stun.”

Purity crouched over Aster's baby carrier, making sure that she was all right. Hannah approached the Tinker, ensuring that the three inch wide barrel didn't point in her direction. Things squished under her feet; she didn't let herself think too closely about it.

“On the one hand,” she stated quietly, “that was terrible weapon discipline. On the other, you may just have saved us all. So I'll give you a pass on that one. How high do the settings on that thing go?”

“Uh, that was it. I meant to put it on 'stun', but I think I might've got the polarisation settings reversed. So I would've been firing stun beams at Behemoth.” He looked ill at the thought.

“Not a great idea,” Hannah agreed. “Just leave it on that setting, put the safety catch on, and don't fire it again until Behemoth arrives.”

“Safety catch?” L33t looked thoughtful. “I knew I forgot something.”

“Look, just … don't point it at anyone, all right?” Hannah nudged the enormous muzzle skyward. “Or at any buildings. At all. Please.”

“Okay, okay, geez.” L33t kept the gun pointing in the air. “Uh, is the kid okay?”

Hannah looked over toward where Purity was cooing into the carrier. “I presume so.”

“Good.” He grimaced. “I don't even know how she coulda done that. Killing kids … there's a line, y'know?”

Über, next to him, pointed at Hannah's shoulder. “You've, uh, you've got some Shadow Stalker on you.”

“Thanks.” Feeling remarkably surreal, she peeled the shred of flesh from her shoulder and let it fall to the ground. Then she turned to the rest of the capes. Some were looking rather pale around the gills; she thought she heard someone throwing up, at the edge of the crowd. “All right!” she called out. “If you're staying, stay! If you're going, go! I'm not asking the impossible of you. Just hold out for as long as you can! Any questions?”

“Uh, yes?” That was Flashbang, holding up his hand as if he were back in school. “When's Behemoth due to arrive?”

As if in answer, the ground shuddered. All but a few of the assembled capes staggered. Hannah's earpiece crackled to life. “Dragon here. Behemoth incoming. ETA three minutes.”

“Three minutes!” she called out. “Get ready!”

Crusader shot Flashbang a dirty look. “You had to ask.”

Hannah dashed over to where Purity held Aster's carrier. “We have to go now.”

Kayden nodded. “Promise me, you won't let her forget me.” She thrust the carrier into Hannah's hands.

Hannah was already turning away. “I won't.” Purity sent one last agonised look after the baby carrier, then turned away herself, shouting orders. The ex-Empire capes snapped to obey, as did a couple of the others. Faultline was already organising her Crew. The remains of New Wave were integrating themselves with the mercenaries. Endbringers make for strange bedfellows.

Holding the carrier carefully, Hannah hurried to the helicopter that perched in the middle of the street. Its rotors were already turning as she climbed in. With a start, she realised that Über was sitting in the pilot's seat.

“What -?” But she didn't need to finish the question. We need the very best pilot we can get. He's it.

“Buckle up, sweetheart!” he called over the rising roar of the engine. The ground shook again, harder, transmitting through the skids into the chopper itself, distinct from the vibration of the engine itself. “Gonna be a rough ride!”

Hastily, she strapped herself in, then clamped the carrier down between the seats. The roar of the engine rose to a thunder and the helicopter danced on its skids. Beneath them, the ground shook a third time, and wide cracks raced across the pavement. Über yanked back on the collective; the chopper rocketed skyward like a startled quail. Hannah was too busy hanging on to see what was happening below, but she was sure it was nothing good.

Banking the aircraft, Über swung it around to head past the Forsberg Gallery. “Which way?” he bellowed.

Hannah had been thinking about this. “Northwest!” she screamed back. They had to thread the gaps between communities so as to minimise civilian casualties.

“Got it! Oh, shit!”

Aster had chosen that moment to wail even louder; Hannah looked up from tightening the restraints on the baby to see the Gallery tilting toward them. Below, the ground was undulating like a rug being shaken out; there were blasts of energy of different types lashing back and forth. But right now, a building was falling on them.

Leviathan had done the Forsberg no favours; Shatterbird's attack, less than a month later, had completed the devastation. Gone were the floor-to-ceiling windows. The ceiling height was technically enough to fly the chopper through, if it weren't for the inconvenient pillars within. Given the choice, Hannah would have decided to go around. But they weren't being given that choice; it was either fly through or let it land on them.

Taking a firm grip on a hand-hold, Hannah leaned out of the chopper. A multi-barrel rocket launcher formed in her free hand; she fired as fast as the ammunition could form in the launcher. One pillar exploded, then another; Über dodged and jinked the chopper, avoiding the worst of the debris.

Around them, the entire building tilted upward as it leaned farther over. Hannah swore under her breath as she targeted more pillars. Über overcorrected and the skids bounced off of the floor, then did it again to prevent the tail rotor from gouging into the ceiling.

Hannah blasted another pillar, then yet another. They flew through the yellow-black explosion, rocketing into the open air at a forty-five degree angle as the Forsberg fell away below them.

Aster was shrieking at a tone that carried clearly to Hannah's ears, despite the engine noise. Über was yelling too, but in exhilaration.

-ooo-​

And then … nothing.

No helicopter, no noise, no screaming. No Endbringer.

Hannah drifted in space, at peace.

I've been here before. Aster just triggered. The conclusions formed slowly in her mind.

She looked around for Aster or Über, but could not see them. They're having their own visions. I wonder if they'll remember them?

Ahead of her, she saw an alien landscape. Creatures crawled, scuttled, oozed over it. They weren't human, or anywhere near it. Clouds formed, looming ominously. A storm began, lightning lashing the landscape. Some creatures were struck, dying instantly. Others survived.

Before she could ask herself of the significance of this scene, reality returned.

-ooo-​

The helicopter was shaking; Hannah could smell burning plastic. “What happened?” she screamed.

“Behemoth!” shouted Über. He wrestled with the controls. “I blacked out for a bit! He must have struck us with lightning!”

He was fighting to keep the aircraft aloft, but it was a losing battle. There was an ominous grinding noise coming from somewhere behind and above them; the engine was beginning to stutter in and out. Behind them, they heard the unmistakeable bellow of Behemoth; the sound wave struck the helicopter and flipped it end for end like a paper airplane in a gale. Hannah saw the rotors come off and fly past the craft. The engine screamed for a moment, then tore itself to pieces in an orgy of destruction.

“Brace yourself!” yelled Über, just before the helicopter hit the ground.

They were lucky that the engine had already been failing; as it was, when they lost all lift, they were only about thirty feet off the ground. The tail touched down first, crumpling under the weight of the fuselage, then the chopper flipped into the air and landed on its nose. Metal shrieked and fibreglass crumpled, but they still had enough angular momentum to keep going.

The skids went next; the chopper landed on them, but there was no finesse to that landing. They crumpled, and the stricken aircraft ended up skidding on its belly. Then, just because Murphy likes a good laugh, it turned sideways and rolled several times. Something struck Hannah's head, and she blacked out.

-ooo-​

Phir Sē stepped from the portal and stumbled. This was possibly due to the near-constant juddering of the ground, but more likely because his powers were drawing more strength from him than he was comfortable with. But he was where he needed to be. Directly in front of him were the crumpled remains of a crashed helicopter; within the downed aircraft was the person he was looking for. If Behemoth was hunting her, then she must be powerful indeed.

“Hello?” he called in English. “Hello? I am friend!”

On the side of the helicopter, where the metal was crumpled back on itself, a bright orange dot appeared. He smelled burning metal. Quickly, the orange dot transcribed a rough oval, almost as if someone with an oxyacetylene torch were burning a hole from within. When the metal separated, he stepped back to allow it to fall past him, then moved forward again.

Within the helicopter, there were three people. One was the famous hero Miss Militia; she seemed to be unconscious and possibly injured. The second was a muscular man that Phir Sē did not know. That man lolled in his straps, with his head hanging at an odd angle; Phir Sē did not believe that he would ever be waking up. And the third was a baby in a carrier between the two.

At first, he was at a loss as to who had cut the access hole, until his eyes fell on the infant, who was giving him the most thoroughly appraising stare he had ever gotten from someone so young. The tip of her finger was still glowing. As he watched, she raised the chubby digit and blew on it; the glow faded. He had seen the same gesture a thousand times in Westerns; to see it on such a young child was incongruous in the extreme. There could be only one explanation.

“Hello, little one,” he said softly. “You have triggered, yes?”

She did not speak; it was quite possible that she was too young for her mouth to form words. But the well, duh look she gave him made up for her silence. It was obvious she understood his words all too well.

Miss Militia began to murmur something, then her eyes snapped open. She made the transition from unconscious to awake in an instant; in the next moment, Phir Sē found the muzzle of a large-bore pistol nudging into his left nostril.

“Back off, buddy,” she snapped. “Hands off the baby.”

He was very careful not to move his hands. “Is all right. I take her to safety. Yes?”

She tried to move, and grimaced in pain. Looking more closely, he could see that her legs were pinned by the instrument panel; they were also quite possibly broken.

“Can you save her?” she gritted. “Behemoth can't get his claws on her.”

“He will not,” Phir Sē assured her, fully aware of the growing tremors in the ground. “She safe.”

With a sigh, she let the pistol fall and unclipped the clamps holding the carrier in place. “Aster,” she murmured. “I don't know if you can understand me, but you have to remember this. Your mother's name was Kayden Anders, and she was a hero.”

Aster – that was a pretty name for a child – turned to Miss Militia. She gave the flag-wearing hero a serious nod. “Ga,” she enunciated.

Another tremor shook the ground. Phir Sē nearly lost his balance, then steadied himself. Reaching in, he scooped the carrier from Miss Militia's lap. “Goodbye,” he said, then decided that more had to be said. “You great hero. Big fan.”

-ooo-​

Hannah nodded; although she felt flattered, this wasn't the time or the place. “Go,” she grunted. “Get her out of here.”

“Getting,” he assured her. An oddly wavering space began to form beside him as rubble tumbled from nearby buildings. “Will fix all this.”

Hannah dragged her phone out and found a particular number; she dialled it and made the call.

“Yes?”

“Mrs Alcott. Tell Dinah. Aster is safe.”

There was a long pause. “Thank you. I will.”

Just before the robed man stepped through the portal, Aster raised her hand in a wave. Hannah waved back, then watched the portal close behind him.

-ooo-​

27 July 2011
The Ruins of New Delhi
Phir Sē

His entry was clumsy, causing much disturbance in the surrounding environment. The fault was completely his; he was weary, almost at the end of his tether. His control was slipping. But I have just this to do, and I can stop.

“-sly?” he heard the girl, Weaver, cry out as he emerged fully into the timestream. Taking advantage of a cloud of dust, he placed Aster behind a rock so that Weaver would not see her. The fewer questions, the better.

He stepped forward; she stared belligerently at him from where she was seated beside the grave of her friend.

"What the fuck are you doing here?” Her voice was harsh, and not only from the dust in the air. “What happened? Did your one big shot not work as well as advertised?"

It pained him to admit that she was right. "Should have worked," he replied dully. "But monster was stronger. Took power, used it. Nearly killed me. Narrow escape."

Her expression was accusing. "So you made him stronger, and more able to kill.”

There was nothing to say to that; he settled for a nod.

They both fell silent; he could tell that she was angry at him. For his part, he was trying to decide on the best way to raise the subject of sending her back in time. If I just say so, she may say no, out of spite.

"Well?" she asked at last.

He tried to put on a neutral expression. "Well, what?"

"What the fuck are you going to do to fix your fucking mess?" Her voice echoed across the blasted landscape. He mentally blessed all the gods that he believed in that Aster was intelligent enough to remain quiet.

"Have used much power,” he explained, spreading his hands. That much was true, anyway. “Need to recoup.” This wasn't quite a lie, but he didn't intend to wait that long. “Stepping through time … not easy." Now, there was an understatement.

"So you can't just build another fucking time bomb and scorch his ass to small pieces, then?"

Even if I could, I would not. Not after the last debacle.

"Not know how to locate him,” he told her, lying through his teeth. “Base, equipment, all gone." That part was true, anyway. "Rocks fell. My friend is dead."

"Fuck.”

It was now or never. "Can do one thing." Dangle the bait …

"What's that?” Predictably, she leaped at it.

He tried not to make his smile too wide. "Time. Can send someone back. Warn about this, so never happens."

She frowned. "You mean me."

He gestured to the horizon of blasted, scorched rock, barely visible in the shadowed night. "No other volunteers, yes?"

"What makes you think I'm going to fucking volunteer to get sent on a one-way trip back in time?” Her tone was still hostile, but even though she didn't know it, she was walking straight into … well, it wasn't quite a trap. More of a one-way door.

Time to sink the hook. He leaned forward. "Back then …" he said gently. "Your friends all still alive."

She climbed to her feet; the look in her eyes told him exactly what he wanted to know. The despair had been shaken off, replaced by determination. Yes. She is the one. I chose well.

"Right. Do I need to do anything special?" Her tone was all business now.

He shook his head. "No. Just stand there. Effect will take little while to take hold. Might help to breathe deeply." Especially where I'm sending you.

He gritted his teeth as he began to work on the portal. This was going to be a tough one. Theoretically, he knew how it would work, but even at the height of his powers, it would have taxed him. Sending two people back so far, to two different points in the timestream …

I don't know if I can do this.

I have to.

I don't have a choice.

This was going to be another clumsy portal. There wasn't anything he could do about it. There was a lot of energy going into it, and while Weaver's end could easily stand for a little more chaos, Aster's had to be as quiet as possible. Which meant that on this end, he was creating a beacon that would be visible for miles.

The twenty-two year connection was made, and he was working on the fifty-year one when she called out to him again.

"How far back am I going?" Her voice was thin against the roaring in his ears. "Couple of months, a year?"

"Oh my, no," he replied, trying to make his grimace look like a smile. He tasted blood in his mouth. "Sending you back twenty years."

The second connection snapped into place, and he did not waste a moment. He could hold this for a minute, perhaps a little less. With the first connection, he reached out and gathered in Weaver; she froze, separate from the timestream, ready to be rocketed to where she needed to be. He hoped that she had been breathing deeply.

Holding the power, feeling a warm trickle down his face as he began to bleed from both nostrils at once, he leaned down and lifted Aster Anders out of the carrier.

“Listen to me,” he gasped in English. “Remember these words. Brockton Bay. Nineteen eighty-nine. Find Weaver. She knows how to save the world. Do not use your powers.”

It was time. His strength was waning fast. The second connection snapped on to Aster, and he let her go. For just a moment, she hung immobile in the air.

Once they re-enter the timestream, the changes will propagate instantly, rewriting everything. I will never know what I have done. There are no second chances. I just hope I have done enough.

He released his hold on both portals. Both girls, older and younger, vanished from mortal sight.

End of Part 5-5

Part 5-6​

 

Recoil​

Part 5-6: (Aster's Story, Part Two) The Long Way Home​

3 June 1961
Seattle, WA
Aster Anders

It was somewhat of a paradox; up until Aster's mind had expanded dramatically and she understood so much more, she wasn't aware of her lack of understanding. Thus, she wasn't confused or concerned about odd occurrences, because basically everything was inexplicable to a one year old baby.

But now that matters had changed, she was actually making an effort to follow events. And it was hard. Who was the man in the robes? Where had he taken her? How had he taken her there? And where was she now?

One moment, she had been in her carrier, in a place where it was dark and smelled of dust and smoke. Then she had been lifted out, he had looked at her seriously … and then the world had changed. No more dust and smoke, no more robed man. She was lying on something. Perhaps a car seat? It was warm, and smelled of leather. Not as comfortable as her carrier, but it wasn't bad.

A moment later, her guess was confirmed as she heard the distinctive sound of a car door opening. Cool air rolled over her, and she heard voices. “So I said, Phil, I said - holy shit!”

“What?” It was a different voice, also masculine. “What the heck? What's a baby doing in our squad car?”

Aster turned her head to look at the men who were even now peering into the car. Now was the time for a little crying, she decided. After all, she was fairly sure that her mother was dead, and so was her brother. Tears came easily as she filled the car with her wails.

“Oh god,” said one of the … police officers? Yes, they had badges on their shirts. “Can you keep her quiet, Goldstein? I gotta call this in.”

“Sure thing, buddy.” There was a warm chuckle in the voice of the police officer who gathered her up. “Hey there, little lady. My name's Phil. What's your name?” She stopped crying and gurgled happily as he tickled her; some things were always fun. And it's never too soon to start training them. That was something that one of the adults in her life had said. She wasn't quite sure who.

“Yeah, Central, a baby. No idea who left it there.” Phil's partner leaned on the door as he spoke into the microphone. “We only stepped out for a second to get coffee, and there she was.” A crackle of voices. “Look, I dunno. Geez, the paperwork we're gonna have to fill out on this one.”

Ignoring his partner's complaining tone, Phil poked Aster in the stomach, making her gurgle again. “Don't listen to him. If you got nowhere else to go, my wife Debbie would just love to take care of you till we can find your folks. How's that sound to you? Huh?”

Aster thought that sounded perfectly fine. Having someone to take care of her meant that there was one more obstacle out of the way. In the meantime, she had other things to think about.

Brockton Bay. Nineteen eighty-nine. Find Weaver. She knows how to save the world. Do not use your powers.

“Goo goo ga ga,” she said, apropos of nothing. Let's get this show on the road.

-ooo-​

3 June 1972

“Happy birthday dear Ru-uth

“Happy birthday to you.”

The cake was carefully carried out from the kitchen; once her mother had placed it on the table, her father pulled out his Zippo and set about lighting the candles. There were, of course, twelve on the cake. Once they were all well alight, she took a deep breath and blew them out.

She knew, of course, that her real name was Aster Anders. My mother's name was Kayden Anders, and she was a hero. But here and now, it was important to keep up the masquerade of being Ruth Goldstein.

Her foster parents, unable to have children themselves, had done their best to give her a nurturing, caring home environment, and she loved them for it. For her part, she had made sure that they didn't see the more unusual aspects of their daughter. While she didn't know much about future events – there is only so much that a one year old can be expected to see and hear – she did know about things like mobile phones, high-definition colour TVs … and the advent of powers.

She had also very carefully not let them know that she herself had powers, although the sheer potential of her capabilities sometimes kept her awake at night. Neither did they know about her unusually high intelligence, or her photographic memory. While the latter was invaluable for study at school, the former seemed (in her informed opinion) to be levelling off; she imagined that by the time she finished school, she would be no smarter than the brightest of her peers.

Still, all of this ensured that she was determined not to settle for second best when it came to life. While she might begin paying attention to boys someday (and she was starting to notice them), she wasn't going to be silly about it. Besides, there were her other duties. Specifically, helping Weaver to save the world. Seventeen years to go.

“Apollo to Ruth. Apollo to Ruth. Come in, Ruth.”

Sergeant Phil Goldstein might have become a little older and a little greyer since the day he and his partner had discovered Aster in the front seat of their police cruiser, but he had never lost his sense of wonder. Aster had been nine when the first lunar landing had taken place, and they had followed every mission since. She giggled as he 'orbited' her head with a fork full of cake, making beeping noises, before allowing her to take over what he referred to as 'docking procedures'.

The cake was nice, and she had presents to unwrap. Nearly all the friends she had invited for the party had turned up, and she was looking forward to the party games. Being smarter than anyone else your age was all right, she figured, but it was also fun just being a kid once in a while. Even if her Bat Mitzvah was next week.

-ooo-​

23 May 1982

“Well, will you look at that.”

“Look at what, dear?” asked Deborah, coming through from the kitchen.

“They're calling him the Golden Man.” Phil sat up in his armchair, adjusting his bifocals to get a better look at the screen. “Just floating there in midair, out in the middle of the ocean.” He raised his voice. “Ruth, come down here a moment. There's something you might want to see.”

“Coming, Dad.” In a moment, her door opened and closed, and Ruth came trotting downstairs. “What's the – oh.”

“Phillip!” squawked Deborah at the same time. “Turn that off! He has no clothes on!” She turned to her daughter. “Don't look! It's indecent!”

“Come on, Debbie,” Phil protested. “The girl's training to be a doctor. She's going to university. She'll see far worse than by the time she's finished.”

Ruth stared at the screen. “That's not a trick, is it?” she asked. “He's really flying?”

“Of course it's a trick,” protested Deborah. “How could a man be flying? You watch, it'll be a hoax.”

Phil shook his head. “I'm not so sure, Debbie,” he said slowly. “It doesn't look like a trick to me.”

“It's not.” Ruth still hadn't taken her eyes from the screen. “It's real. And there'll be more of them someday.” She turned to see both of her parents staring at her. “What?”

“You sound really sure of yourself there, Ruth,” Phil ventured. “Do you know something that we don't?”

Ruth grinned at them disarmingly. “No, Dad. I've just got this feeling, is all.” Turning, she started up the stairs to her room again. Halfway up, she paused. “Thanks for calling me down to see that. It was really cool.”

-ooo-​

Once back in her room, Aster closed her door and leaned against it. The excitement buzzing in her bloodstream was almost more than she could bear. That was Scion. It's begun. It's really begun.

Drawing a deep breath, she recited again the mantra that had been part of her daily routine ever since she had been able to talk. “Brockton Bay. Nineteen eighty-nine. Find Weaver. She knows how to save the world. Do not use your powers.”

Seven years to go, she told herself. Seven years.

It seemed like forever.

-ooo-​

Monday, 5 December 1988
Seattle, WA

Yum, yum. Aster turned her head to watch as the visiting surgeon passed by. She couldn't help it; he was both good-looking and skilled at his job. Tall, distinguished appearance, a touch of silver at the temples …

“Girl, you better tuck that tongue back in, or it's gonna be draggin' on the floor.”

She spun around at the amused voice, blushing furiously. “I don't know what you're talking about, Darlene.”

Darlene Hobbs, head nurse and Aster's best friend at the hospital, burst out laughing. Her skin was as dark as Aster's was white, but that hadn't stopped her from befriending the hospital's newest – and only female – surgeon. “You wanna convince me of that, honey, you better wipe the drool off your chin first.”

Aster's hand went to her face by sheer reflex; finding no drool there, she shot her friend a dirty look. “I was just, you know, looking. He's so darn scrumptious.”

“Uh huh.” About three sentences worth of disbelief were packed into those two words. “I bet if you found yourself stuck in a lift with him, you'd do a lot more than just look.”

Aster imagined the idea, and blushed all over again. “Uh, maybe?”

“No maybe about it, Ruth.” Darlene looked her in the eye. “Thing you gotta remember about men like that. They's dangerous.”

Aster frowned. “Dangerous? He wouldn't hurt a fly.”

Darlene snorted. “Hurt it, no. Do a heart transplant on it, sure.” She paused as Aster chuckled. “But what I'm talkin' about is how men like that know they got the power. They can lead women on all they like, an' if they decide they ain't interested, they just plain move on.”

“Henry's not like that,” Aster insisted. “He's a warm, gentle, wonderful man.”

“Henry, huh?” Darlene raised an eyebrow. “You havin' one on one conversations with him now? Spill, girl.”

Aster shook her head. “I mean, uh, Doctor Friedrich. I've spoken to him a few times. He's been nothing but nice to me.”

“Well, of course he has,” Darlene pointed out. “You're younger'n him, you're kinda pretty in th' right light, an' of course, you ain't married.” She shook her head. “You nice Jewish girls gotta learn that just 'cause a guy acts nice don't mean he is nice.”

Aster sighed. “Okay, maybe you're right. I'll be careful.”

Darlene slapped her on the shoulder. “That's the spirit, girl. Don't expect nothin' you don't see with your own eyes.”

“Thanks. I'll keep that in mind.”

-ooo-​

Friday, 16 December 1988

“Why, Doctor Goldstein, isn't it?”

Aster turned her head in well-simulated surprise. “Doctor Friedrich! Fancy meeting you here.”

His warm chuckle set her heart fluttering. “Please, call me Henry.”

“Then you must call me Ruth,” she countered, feeling very daring.

It had taken all of her nerve, but she had watched his comings and goings from the hospital, finding that he tended to frequent the same small bar most nights. So she had put on her best 'going out' dress, applied makeup, and gone to the bar, arriving a short while before he usually got there.

Of course, she hadn't been quite sure how she was going to approach him, but he had solved that problem by walking right up to her. And now they were talking. In a bar. Like two ordinary people.

I have no idea how to handle this.

She was no virgin. That little detail had been taken care of while she was attending the university, with one of her classmates. They had both been interested in what 'it' was like, so they had worked out a time and place to do the deed. While not the earth-shattering event that she had been led to expect, it had been interesting and not at all unpleasant. Although she could have stood to repeat the experiment until they both got it right, he had decided to move on to better things. Not wanting to pick up the stigma of being a girl who 'slept around', she went back to her more or less solitary lifestyle.

Which meant that she had very little experience in talking to men in bars, even men whom she wanted to talk to.

“Very well, Ruth, but you must allow me to buy you a drink,” he agreed. “Shall we get a table?”

“I … yes, please.” Standing up from her stool, she allowed him to guide her over to a corner table. Taking a seat, she watched him go to the bar and order. A moment later, she realised that she hadn't told him what she wanted.

It didn't seem to matter; he brought back two drinks anyway. They had olives in them, so she decided that they had to be martinis. “Now, before I ply you with drinks,” he told her with a roguish twinkle in his eye, “are you on duty tomorrow?”

“I'm off until Monday,” she assured him. She picked up one of the drinks and sipped it. Alcohol was another thing she had experimented with in her university years; at least with that, she could keep coming back until she got it right. She had a good idea of her capacity and what types of alcohol she liked; she just wasn't all that familiar with the various mixes of drinks. She decided that she liked martinis, if that was what he'd gotten her.

“Excellent,” he murmured. “So, tell me. What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

She gave him a direct look. “Who says I'm a nice girl?”

His chuckle sent a thrill right through her. “Well, basically everyone. I like to find out who I'm working with, and everyone I've spoken to has said the same thing. You're a nice girl from a nice family.”

She rolled her eyes. “And let me guess. When they say 'nice', you hear 'boring'. Right?”

His gaze was appraising; she felt her cheeks go warm. “Well, up until now … maybe. But I could be persuaded to re-examine my position on the matter.”

The dress she was wearing wasn't really meant to show cleavage, but she leaned forward over the table to give it the best chance she could. “I would appreciate the chance to change your mind.” Holding his gaze, she drank off about half the martini in one swallow; the alcohol heated her blood nicely.

Later, she could recount their conversation word for word, but she could not understand why it kept her so spellbound. He made her laugh more than once with comments that would have left her flat if she was sober. When he suggested that they withdraw to his hotel room, she made no demur. Once within the four walls that he was temporarily calling home, they talked some more, his voice becoming lower and more confidential, moving closer to her. She was not averse.

It was with little surprise and no alarm that she felt his lips on hers, and she returned the kiss with more enthusiasm than expertise. His hand found the zipper to her dress and began to slide it down. That was when she kicked her shoes off and gave herself over to the inevitable.

-ooo-​

She awoke with the unfamiliar feeling of someone else in the bed with her. Then she realised that the bed was unfamiliar as well. Opening her eyes triggered a chain of recollections, culminating in: Oh my god, I slept with him.

Nice girls did not go home with men they barely knew. They certainly did not go home with them after a few drinks and …

The gift of perfect recall, most times very useful, seemed to be a curse right at that moment as her treacherous memory replayed everything in lurid detail. Her cheeks heated in mortification. Did I do that? Did I say that? Oh, god.

This was not to say that she had not enjoyed what had happened. He had been most attentive, and she had learned so much, and enjoyed herself immensely. But this would inevitably cause a change in how she and Doctor Friedrich saw each other. I was so shameless last night. Whatever must he think of me? He was a man whom she admired intensely; his disapproval was more than she thought she could bear.

A weight rolled against her back and an arm snaked around her waist. “Morning, beautiful,” he murmured. “Was last night as good as I recall, or was I dreaming? Please tell me I wasn't dreaming.”

At the reassuring sound of his voice, and the warmth of his touch, all of her fears melted away.

-ooo-​

Monday, 19 December 1988

“Good morning, Doctor Goldstein.” Henry held open the door for her as they entered the hospital, just as if they had not spent the weekend together.

“Why thank you, Doctor Friedrich. And good morning to you too.” Aster didn't look too closely at Henry's eyes, for fear that she might never look away. She didn't think that she was quite in love yet, but the precipice was close, and all she needed was one push. Or an excuse to jump.

“Mornin', doctors,” Darlene announced, sweeping into the lobby. Her gaze flicked over Aster, then over Henry. Aster saw her eyes widen fractionally and her eyebrows hitch up. “Did ya have a good weekend?”

Henry spoke first, for which Aster was glad. It gave her a chance to calm herself. Darlene suspects something. But she can't be sure.

“Actually, yes, Nurse Hobbs.” Henry bent a charming smile her way. “I spent quite a bit of time resting and relaxing. And yourself?”

“Eh, so-so,” Darlene said, waggling a hand. “Grandson got a new bicycle, so I been patchin' skinned knees an' elbows all weekend. Just a blessin' my idiot son in law got 'im a helmet, too. Elsewise we'd be dealin' with a cracked skull. His too, if I had my way.”

“Oh, that's not good,” Aster commiserated. “You should have called me. I would've been glad to come out and lend a hand.”

Darlene shot her a shrewd glance. “I 'preciate that, Doctor Goldstein. Can I have a quick word with you?”

Henry's expression was unconcerned, which merely meant that he didn't know how sharp Darlene was just yet. “Uh, of course, Darlene,” Aster agreed. “What's the matter?”

The head nurse drew her away down the corridor, then into an examination room. Closing the door, she locked it, then bent an accusatory eye on Aster. “You done it, didn't you, girl.” It wasn't even a question.

Aster floundered. “I, uh, don't know -”

Darlene shook her head. “Don't even try it, swee'pea. We been friends too long for that. You let Friedrich get into your pants. Yeah?”

“It wasn't like that,” protested Aster. “It was – we were -”

The older woman put her hand to her forehead. “Aw shee-it. You went there. You went there ta talk to him, an' you let him talk ya into bed.”

“Darlene!” Aster put her hands to her head. “It wasn't like that either! I wanted to – I enjoyed -”

“So you went to meet him, knowin' that your dress was like ta end up on his bedroom floor, is that it?” Darlene's gaze was direct, her tone as blunt as her words.

Aster's voice was very small. “Yes?”

Darlene fixed her with a stern gaze. “'Least tell me you're usin' birth control.”

“Oh, definitely,” Aster assured her. “I've been on the Pill since I started medical school. Dad's idea.” Mom would have a fit if she found out. But she'd have a bigger fit if I got pregnant, so …

“Well, good.” Darlene folded her arms. “But a girl as smart as you can still be right dumb when it comes to men. I said he was dangerous, an' I stand by that. You figure the sun an' moon shine out of his ass, yeah?”

“He's wonderful and sweet and talented -”

“Which means he knows what ta say to a woman, an' he's good in the sack. Doesn't say anythin' about him as a person, y'know.” Darlene's voice was hard and cynical.

“He's asked me to move to California with him.” Aster clapped her hand over her mouth. She hadn't meant to say that, she truly hadn't.

Darlene stopped for a long moment. “An' you said?”

“I said I'd think about it.”

“You're too good for your own good, honey. When you says that, you means yes, sure as shootin'. What're you gonna do for work?”

“He said he'd talk to the administration at the hospital he works at. See if they can't open a slot for me.”

Her friend's voice was dark with suspicion. “Just make sure it's real 'fore you go traipsin' off inta th' wild blue yonder, honey. I don't want you gettin' hurt.”

Aster hugged Darlene. “I know, and I appreciate that so much. Of course I'll make sure there's a position there before I go. I'm not stupid.”

Darlene shook her head. “Remains ta be seen. But I ain't gonna stand in your way. I'm your friend, not your momma.”

“Thanks. Mind you, I've still got to sweet-talk Gianopolis into letting me go early. My contract doesn't run out till the end of January.”

Darlene tilted her head. “Weren't ya gonna be transferring ta Brockton Bay or some ass-end place like that? You only been talkin' about that for the last year or more.”

“Oh. God.” Aster ran her hands through her hair. “I totally, totally forgot.”

Which was untrue. Aster literally could not forget anything. But she was well-practised at not thinking about certain things, such as some of the more gruesome details of the cases she had dealt with. Such was her infatuation with Henry that she had been carefully suppressing things that she should have been paying attention to.

Brockton Bay. Nineteen eighty-nine. Find Weaver.

She knew who Weaver was. A teenage supervillain called Taylor Hebert. Tall, with long dark curly hair, round-lensed glasses. A bug-themed costume in either grey and black or blue and white. It had been on the news more than once. As a baby, she had seen it but not understood it. Over the intervening years, she had gone through her recollections and correlated them into an understandable framework.

If a bug controlling cape shows up in Brockton Bay, I'll know who she is. It's not like bug control was very common. And it's even less common now.

In any case, a teenager from two thousand eleven will be well out of place in 'eighty-nine. She'll make the news. I'll show up, be 'aunt Ruth', help her get her feet under her. It'll be all good.

And then she had the brainwave. Wait. Hah. Nina Veder's working there now. I can ask her to keep an eye out, and then let me know.

She made her decision. “I need to talk to Henry.”

-ooo-​

That Evening

“Henry?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“If I come to California with you …?”

She sensed the quickening of his interest. “Yes?”

“I might need to take extra vacation time. I have a friend on the east coast I want to keep in touch with.”

“Really?” His voice held amusement. “Do I sense a rival for your affections?”

“It's not like that.” She snuggled against him. “Her name's Nina Veder. We attended the university together. She went into psychology. We've been friends for years.”

“Oh, well, that's different.” His lips found hers in the darkness. “Certainly. Any time you want extra vacation time, just come to me and say pretty please, and I'll sign off on it.”

She giggled. “And how do I say pretty please?”

He ran his hand up her flank. “I'm sure you can think of a way. Or two.”

This time her laugh was low and throaty. “I'm sure I can as well.”

-ooo-​

20 December 1988
Brockton Bay
Nina Veder's Apartment

“Are you sure you won't come to our Christmas party?”

Smiling, Nina shook her head. “I know how your parties turn out. Last year, one of your guests propositioned me and wouldn't take no for an answer. I think it's best if I don't come along.”

Sally pouted. “Aww.”

“You just want to get Nina drunk and proposition her yourself,” accused Rose cheerfully, putting Sally into a mock headlock.

“And what's wrong with that?”

“The fact that I'm on to you and I'm saying no when I'm sober,” pointed out Nina. “I love you both and I love staying here, but that's one thing that's not on the table. Not interested. Okay?”

“Plus, we need her to be our token straight when we're talking to the landlord,” Rose pointed out.

“You're both no fun,” sniffed Sally.

At that moment, the phone rang. Sally and Rose were occupied with each other, so Nina reached out and got it. “Hello?”

“Neens, how are you?”

There was only one person who shortened her name even further than it usually was. “Arjee, my God. How long's it been?”

“One year, two months, one week, four days,” Ruth replied promptly. “Give or take a few hours.”

“Hah!” Nina loved how Ruth could keep track of dates so easily. “Still got it, huh?”

“Still got it. Listen, can I ask you for a huge, huge favour?”

Nina didn't take long to consider. Ruth had been her absolute best friend when they were attending the university in Seattle. Nina had been living on campus while Ruth commuted from home, but they had shared everything except boyfriends (of which Nina had had more than Ruth).

It turned out that as well as her date trick, Ruth was a speed-reader and could quote anything back from any book she had ever read. Nina was pretty sure that she wouldn't have aced her psych finals without Ruth's patient coaching. And then, of course, there had been that regrettable incident in Mexico …

“Sure thing. If I can, I will. What is it?”

“Okay, this is going to sound kind of weird, but I need you to keep an eye out for a particular girl. She's fifteen or sixteen. I need to find out where she is and what she's doing, and I'm pretty sure she'll pop up in Brockton Bay.”

Nina blinked. “What is she, some kind of runaway?”

There was a slight hesitation. “Something of that sort, yes. Um, okay, first name Taylor. Not sure what last name she'll be using. Pretty tall. Taller than me, taller than you. Skinny, though. Long dark curly hair. Short-sighted. She wears round-lensed glasses. Serious expression, brown eyes, wide mouth.”

“Wow.” Nina laughed uncertainly. “Sounds like you know her pretty well. Got her star sign too?”

“Sorry, no. If someone like that shows up in Brockton Bay in the next twelve months or so, can you get in touch with me? I'll show up and take her off your hands.”

“Um, sure, I can do that.” Nina was scribbling on a pad as she spoke. “I'll pass the word around -”

“No. No, don't do that. This is just between me and you, okay?”

Nina blinked. Ruth's voice had been deadly serious. “Um, really?”

“Really. This is important. I don't want anyone else knowing.”

With anyone else, Nina would have protested that it was too hard. But this was Ruth. “Well, that's going to make it a bit harder. Got anything else for me to go on with?”

There was a pause. “Yes. She might try to slip into the city during an upheaval of some sort. Something that'll make it harder to find out where she came from.”

Nina got it at once. “So I look for someone who looks like that in the aftermath of something big. Not just walking down the street, minding her own business.”

“Yes, basically.”

“Okay, I can do that. I can't guarantee results, but I can definitely do that.”

“Thanks, Neens. I will owe you so, so much.”

“More than I owe you for coming down to Mexico and bailing me out of jail?”

“ … maybe.”

Nina chuckled. “Well, I'll do my best. I'll keep an eye out till you show up. February, right?”

Now Ruth sounded positively embarrassed. “Um … I won't be showing up?”

“What?” Nina shook her head. “You've been planning this forever. Your contract runs out, you get a spot at Brockton General. What changed?”

“I, uh, kinda met a guy?”

“And what's that got to do with anything?”

“I'm, um, kinda moving to LA to be with him.”

Nina's head flopped back to hit the sofa with a soft thump. “You're shitting me. You're standing me up, and dropping this on me, for a guy?”

“Nina, he's … he's wonderful. I've never known anyone like him. I think … he really might be the one.”

“Hmm.” Nina had, of course, been privy to Ruth's experimentation in college. Not being one to let herself get tied down herself, she had never been one of those girls who tried to set her friends up with boys. But she did think that Ruth ought to get out and see more people.

And apparently, she had.

“So he's that nice?”

“Yes.” There was a dreamy quality to Ruth's voice. “He's so sweet and wonderful and talented.”

Oh boy. She's got it bad. “Well, okay. I'm not going to tell you not to be happy. He does make you happy, right?”

“Oh, in so many ways.”

Nina recognised that immediately as code for “he's great in bed”. Good. “Well, I'm happy for you, Arjee. Let me know how it turns out. And come see me sometime. It's been ages since we saw each other. And yes, I'll keep an eye out for your wayward teenager.”

“You find her, I'll be on the first flight over. You don't find her, I'll still come over and say hi.”

“Okay, see you then.”

“See you. And thanks.”

“No problem. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Nina hung up the phone, then sat there staring at the notepad and the details she had written down.

So, she's met a guy. Okay then. But what's this about the girl. I know she's not into girls. Especially not this young. So what have I gotten myself into now?

The pad gave her no answers. Shrugging, Nina Veder got up and went to make herself a snack. Either she'd find the girl and Ruth would fill her in … or she wouldn't. Either way, she'd do her best.

It was only when she was smoothing the peanut butter on to the bread that the thought struck her.

This girl she wants me to look out for is going to be showing up right about the time that she was supposed to be moving out here. Is that some kind of crazy coincidence? Or something else?

She had no way of telling.

-ooo-​

15 January 1989
Los Angeles
Aster Anders

The taxicab smelled a little weird, but taxis did that all over. The streets were wider than in Seattle as well, with a lot more palm trees. Aster had spent most of the taxi ride with her nose glued to the window, trying to see if she could catch a glimpse of a celebrity. Once, in the far distance, she had seen part of the Hollywood sign.

I'm in LA, I'm in LA, I'm in LA! She hugged herself, squeezing the key that lay in the palm of her hand until it pressed uncomfortably into her flesh. Henry had given her a key to his apartment the day he left to get back to Los Angeles. At the same time, the paperwork had come through from the hospital in which he was chief of surgery. Starting on the first of February, she had a two-year placement there.

Darlene had been happy for her … she supposed. The older woman had spent a lot of time going over the paperwork, making sure that it was genuine. Eventually, she'd been forced to admit that Henry had come through. “So he'll be putting you up in his own apartment?”

“Gave me a key and all.” Aster had shown it to her.

“Hmph. Somethin' smells about this, is all.”

“Oh, come on, Darlene. He's a wonderful man. Why can't you be happy for me?”

“'Cause if he so wonderful, how come some other lucky girl ain't got him first?”

“Maybe it's just love?”

“Hmph.” But Darlene hadn't tried to talk her out of it any more. She had loaded Aster down with a lot of useful information about LA, including hints and tips for getting along in the city.

Aster had filed it all away. “I'm going to miss you, Darlene.”

“Gonna miss you too, girl. Come visit sometime, okay?”

“Always.”

That parting hadn't been easy. It had been even less easy to convince the hospital administration to let her out of her contract two weeks early. There had been a lot of back and forth and dark muttering, but finally they had signed the papers and she was free to go. Henry thinks I won't be there till February. I can't wait to surprise him!

-ooo-​

She paid off the cabbie, then waited till her cases had been deposited on the pavement before tipping him. Darlene had taught her that little trick. As the bright yellow vehicle drove off, she hefted her luggage and started up the stairs into the apartment building. A man coming out held the door for her; she smiled and thanked him.

Aster was pleased to discover that the elevator worked; Henry lived on the tenth floor, and she would have hated to have to climb all those stairs with her cases in hand. Soft music played as she rode up to the correct floor; checking the note he'd given her yet again, she hefted the suitcases and carried them down the corridor to the correct door.

So what if you gets there, an' the key's a fake? Don't open nothin'?

Why would he give me a fake key? He wants me to move in, right?

Hmph.

Still, there was a quiver in her heart as she slid the key into the lock. It fitted, at least. And when she turned it … the lock clicked open. A smile spread across her face. I never doubted for a second.

Easing the door open, she brought her cases in, then carefully shut it again. She could hear his voice in the other room; it sounded like he was talking on the phone. That'll make it easier to surprise him. Slipping off her shoes, trying not to giggle, she tiptoed across the soft, plush carpet to the open doorway.

“Yeah, yeah, she gets here in February,” he said, just as she was about to step out and reveal herself. “She's some girl.”

Aww. She stopped to hug herself. And, although she wasn't going to admit it to herself, to listen in on Henry talking about her.

“I tell you what, Pete, I just love screwing Jewish girls. They're so goddamn grateful, you know? It's like Jewish guys don't know what to do with their pricks. And Ruth … fuck, man, she's a keeper. She's all prim and proper in the hospital, but get her clothes off and she's nothing but a raging slut. You wouldn't believe what she lets me do to her.”

The smile slid off Aster's face. She wasn't even aware of the key falling from nerveless fingers to bounce soundlessly on the thick carpet. Her carefully constructed romantic dreams crumbled around her until she was left all alone in the cold. He doesn't love me. He thinks of me like … that.

She wanted to throw up. She wanted to yell and scream.

But most of all, she wanted to break one of her primary rules.

Do not use your powers.

Ignoring the streaks of tears on her face, Aster leaned up against the wall, teeth clenched, grimacing until her face hurt. Her nails pressed into her palms, almost drawing blood, but she dared not open her hands. Not with the heat she could feel building in there.

I want to kill him.

The accented voice rose up in her mind, as it had so many times over the years. Do not use your powers.

She had obeyed it in the past, but now she rebelled. It would be so easy.

Do. Not. Use. Your. Powers.

Darlene was right. He's just using me.

DO NOT USE YOUR POWERS.

I want to kill him. Please let me kill him.

DO NOT USE YOUR POWERS.

Why. Not?

A different voice intruded then, one from another memory. A woman with a flag-print scarf across her face. Your mother's name was Kayden Anders, and she was a hero.

She slumped, very slightly. I can't kill him. If Mom-from-before was a hero … I have to be a hero, too.

I have to be the bigger person.

Okay, Aster, you can do this.

-ooo-​

Henry looked up as Ruth appeared in the doorway. “Ruth!” he exclaimed. “Sorry, Pete, I'll call you back.”

Putting the phone down, he jumped up from the armchair. “Did you just get in? I didn't expect you to be so early.” Hurrying across the room, he went to embrace her, but she stepped back and brought up her hands to fend him off. “Ruth?”

Looking into her eyes, he got a hint as to what was wrong. There was nothing of the life that had been in them before. Nothing of the joy that he was used to seeing in them.

“I heard.” Her voice was just as flat and dead as her gaze. “It's over, Henry.”

He frowned. “What? What did you hear?” Rapidly, he thought back over the phone conversation, and a few incautious phrases popped to mind. “I, uh, probably said something that you heard out of context. Tell me what you heard and I can explain.”

Taking a deep breath, she began to speak. “I tell you what, Pete, I just love screwing Jewish girls. They're so goddamn grateful, you know? It's like Jewish guys don't know what to do with their pricks. And Ruth … fuck, man, she's a keeper. She's all prim and proper in the hospital, but get her clothes off and she's nothing but a raging slut. You wouldn't believe what she lets me do to her.”

He blinked. She had just repeated his words perfectly, with all the intonations thrown in. And unless she was a lot dumber than he thought she was, there was no explaining that away. “Uh …”

“So,” she pressed. “What context should I put that into, exactly?”

Fuck it. He decided to go for broke. “Okay, so you know the truth now.” He searched her face. “That's a good thing, right? We don't have to lie to each other any more. You like it in bed, and I like it in bed with you. We have fun, yeah? You can't tell me that you don't enjoy it. So why don't we just call this a learning experience and go on from here? Just keep going the way we are? I mean, it's not like anything's changed between us, yeah?”

-ooo-​

Henry Friedrich would never know exactly how close he came to a fiery death. Aster held her power in while it surged beneath her skin. If her control had broken even once, it would not have relented until everything she could see resembled the blasted wasteland that was her soul. As it was, she had to do her best to stop molten steel from oozing through the easiest points of contact, which happened to be the palms of her hands. With a tremendous effort of will, she managed to keep her left hand cool enough that the metal did not come out through her pores.

She knew she had been less than successful with her right hand – perhaps because she was more used to shooting it from that hand – when she felt it pooling in her clenched fist. It did its best to ooze out between her fingers, but she kept them tightly closed; the last thing she wanted was for him to wonder why there were burnt patches on his carpet. She knew that her hands would be glowing slightly, and she willed him not to look down.

Do not use your powers.

It wasn't a stricture that she had always followed – youthful curiosity is a thing, after all – but for the most part, she had. And once she had a good idea of what she could do with her abilities, she had been very careful not to go overboard. Especially after almost starting that forest fire.

Twenty-seven years of keeping herself under strict control came to her aid here; she took a deep breath, and then another, trying not to exhale heated-metal vapours in his direction. It was that close to the surface. Never before had she been so close to letting loose. But she couldn't. She had to remain unremarkable. I have to help save the world, and using my powers now could change matters in some really bad ways.

“Everything's changed, Doctor Friedrich,” she corrected him, working hard at keeping her voice under control. “We're through as of right now. I won't be moving in with you. In fact, I won't be staying in Los Angeles. I only wish that I'd learned what sort of a man you were before I let you sleep with me.”

He seemed to be trying to figure out her attitudes. “Ruth, the offer's still open. Okay, so I'm not your knight in shining armour. Who the hell is, in this day and age? Suppose we forget what I said, and just keep on going the way we were? What do you lose?”

Another deep breath. Control. The steel pooling in her right hand was starting to cool down now. “Self-respect. That's what I'd lose if I went back to you after learning what you really think of me.”

“Self-respect? Hah!” His bark of laughter was harsh. “Where was your self-respect when you let me bend you over and -”

Her right fist was still full of slowly cooling metal, but her left was free, so she slapped him. She had enough control to prevent him from being toasted by white-hot molten metal, but the flesh of her hand was still infused with it. When she hit him, her hand was still almost as hard – and as heavy – as steel. Also, it was somewhat hotter than human flesh tends to be; she wasn't quite sure how hot, and she didn't really care. In any case, the impact spun him around and sprawled him across the carpet.

She didn't wait for him to get up. “Your key's on the floor,” she told him. “I'm leaving. Goodbye.” Turning, she made for the door.

He called out just as she opened it. His voice was muffled, as though he was holding his face. “You can't.”

“I can and I will,” she retorted, not turning around. She didn't want to look at his face even once more.

“You signed a contract,” he reminded her. “You're working for my hospital now. You're working for me.”

“So fire me,” she shot back. “I won't contest it. Pretty sure that assaulting my boss is a sackable offence.”

“No.” His voice was steady, in control. “I wouldn't just fire you. I would ensure that you're blacklisted from every hospital in America. You'd never hold a scalpel again … Doctor Goldstein.”

She turned around then. “You wouldn't.” A chill down her spine told her that she was wrong.

“Oh, I would.” He was standing in the doorway, the light behind him. She couldn't see the mark where she had struck him, but he was touching his cheek carefully, as if wondering why it hurt so much. I may have burned him by accident. Or maybe on purpose.

“So you're going to force me to work for you anyway? What else? Are you going to make me sleep with you as well?” She put all the acid she could into her tone.

“Tempting,” he conceded, “but I think not. I prefer my bedmates willing and eager. Though if you came to me, I might see my way clear to reducing your sentence, I mean, the time on your contract. Depending, of course, on how convincing you were.” He spread his hands. “And you already know how much you enjoy what I can do for you.”

He was right; she enjoyed it. Or rather, she had enjoyed it while she thought he loved her, or at least respected her. But knowing now what went through his mind when he thought of her, the idea of his touching her, taking her to bed, repulsed her. I would rather be celibate than … that.

“Goodbye.” It was all she could trust herself to say.

-ooo-​

Once she was outside, awkwardly carrying both cases with one hand, she found a gutter drain. Glancing around to make sure nobody was watching, she carefully opened her right hand to reveal a lump of steel that was shaped just right to fit inside her closed fist. If I had punched him with that, I think I might have broken his jaw.

Maybe I should have.

Taking the piece of steel, she tossed it into the drain, hearing the echoing clatter as it bounced on the concrete in the sewer below the street. Hopefully nobody will find it, and if they do, they won't know what it is.

Moving on, she began to search for a cab. I need to get to the hospital and sort this out.

-ooo-​

" ... so, as you can see, I won't be able to work at the hospital after all."

Aster sat back in her chair with a hopeful smile. She had made her points without directly referring to the relationship between her and Friedrich, but she was fairly sure that Director Goodman could connect the dots. No scandal, we sweep this under the carpet, everyone wins.

Goodman steepled her fingers as she contemplated Aster. The Director was a severely dressed brunette with looks that owed a lot to either plastic surgery or good genetics. Aster wondered whether her neutral expression reflected her mood or was merely the default that she showed the world.

"Doctor Goldstein," she began. "Am I to understand that you are telling me that you are incapable of working with Doctor Friedrich?"

Aster took a deep breath. "That, Director, is exactly what I am telling you."

"Does Doctor Friedrich share your ..." Goodman hesitated for a moment. "... your aversion to working together?"

If I say yes, she can check. "Uhhh ..."

"I'll take that as a 'no', Doctor Goldstein." The Director's expression was definitely disapproving now. "Which presents me with a problem."

"Uh, a problem?"

"Yes. A problem. Because if it were the other way around, if Doctor Friedrich decided that he could not work with you, then this conversation would not have lasted this long." Director Goodman gave her a tight smile. "However, as he has expressed a definitive preference for working with you – has in fact praised your surgical skills to the skies – then you stay. The problem arises because you don't want to be here.” She paused for a long moment. “The point I am trying to make is that I have the power to make all problems become your problems. So I suggest that you adjust your attitude and learn to like working with Doctor Friedrich."

"Or we can just solve the problem by releasing me from my contract," Aster suggested. "After all, I don't officially start until February. Doctor Friedrich happened to inform me that there was a list of potential applicants for my slot, and that I was placed at the head of it. It shouldn't be too hard to tear up my contract and give the spot to the next person in line, should it?”

Director Goodman nodded austerely. “We can do that, yes.”

Aster brightened. Oh. Good. For a moment, I thought this was going to be difficult. “So what do we need to do?”

The tight smile was back. “Well, first we have to review the penalty clauses in the contract you signed. You do recall those, don't you?”

Ah. Aster did indeed recall the penalty clauses. The best word to describe them was 'draconian'. She had been rather hoping that they wouldn't come up – applying them was at the Director's discretion, after all – but up they had indeed come. The financial penalties that would accrue out of a surgeon choosing to default on a contract after signing it were rather steep. So steep, in fact, that she wasn't sure if she could meet them. Especially as she wouldn't be living on a surgeon's salary if Friedrich chose to carry out his threat of blacklisting her. Not 'if' – 'when'.

Her face froze. As she looked at the Director, she caught the tiniest spark of triumph in the woman's eyes. Friedrich called her up before I got here. He probably put her up to this. She was trapped.

“Uh, I don't believe that I can actually pay those penalties. Not all at once, anyway.”

The Director's voice was mock-sympathetic. “Well, I'm afraid that once the contract is cancelled, you will be required to pay out a lump sum. You will have another job to go to, won't you?”

She knows full well that I won't. Friedrich will see to that.

Aster swallowed her hurt pride. “I … would like to revise my decision to walk away from my contract. It seems that I will be working for you after all.”

“And Doctor Friedrich?” The Director seemed intent on rubbing salt into the wound.

There wasn't much else she could say. “I'm just going to have to learn to work with him.”

The Director smiled coldly. “Good decision, Doctor Goldstein. Glad to have you on board.”

They shook hands as Aster stood. As she left the Director's office, one thought was uppermost in her mind.

Two years. I can handle two years.

Another one intruded.

I have to make some phone calls.

-ooo-​

Seattle, WA

“Gramma, gramma, watch me!”

Darlene Hobbs smiled indulgently as she leaned back on the porch chair. Her six-year-old grandson was proudly riding his brand-new bicycle up and down the road, looking over to make sure that he had his grandmother's attention. “You watch yourself now!” she called out. “Don't want no more skinned knees!”

“Won't get none!” he called back. “I can ride now!”

Darlene snorted; she was just thinking of a suitable retort when her daughter tapped her on the elbow. “Momma, it's the phone. Ruth Goldstein's callin' from LA, she says.”

“Well, it's about damn time.” Darlene heaved herself out of the chair. “You watch young Sammy now, make sure he don't break his neck.”

“All right, Momma.”

Hustling inside, Darlene picked up the receiver from the counter. “Ruth honey, is that you? I thought you done forgot me.”

The line quality wasn't the best, but she could tell that Ruth wasn't happy about something. “I didn't forget you, Darlene. I just called to say that I'm sorry. You were right. You were right about everything.”

Darlene's eyes widened. “Hell, girl. You a'right? That man hurt you? If he has, I'm gonna come on down there an' -”

“No, I'm fine. It's basically my fault, anyway. He didn't break up with me. I broke up with him.”

“Well, good, but why? What made ya see sense?”

“Because he's a … a …”

“A what? A jerk?”

“An asshole.” Darlene blinked. She'd never heard Ruth cuss before. “He just liked sleeping with me because of the, uh -”

“The sex?” Darlene chuckled. “You can say the word, swee'pea. You ain't twelve, ya know.”

“Yeah, that. The sex. He never loved me. He just liked sleeping with me because … because I'm Jewish and because I let him do stuff, and … oh god, I feel so dirty.” She sounded like she was going to cry.

“So when are ya comin' back to Seattle? I'll take ya out an' about an' we can bitch about men an' how worthless they are.”

There was a long pause. “I'm … uh, I'm not coming back. I can't. I wanted to quit, but they won't let me out of my contract.”

Darlene whistled. “Two years. Under a boss ya don't like.”

“And even if I did get out, he said he could blacklist me so I didn't get another surgeon's position anywhere in the country.”

“God damn, girl! How hard did you break up with him, anyways?”

“I … uh, I might have kind of slapped him. So hard he fell over.”

“Sounds ta me he's th' worst kinda boss. Th' kind that holds a grudge.”

“Basically, yes.” She paused. “He did say I could maybe shorten it, by going back to him. But I'm not going to do that. Not ever.”

Despite the fact that Ruth couldn't see her, Darlene shook her head. “Yeah, no, bad idea. He could string ya on for ages, always promisin' an' never deliverin'. You just sit tight, do your job, an' wait him out. Contract runs out, you outta there.”

“Yeah, that's the plan.” She heard the sound of a sigh. “Well, thanks for listening. I just wanted to let you know what was happening. And to make sure that I wasn't being stupidly stubborn.”

“That's okay, honey.” Darlene searched for something comforting to say. “If you was the type ta go back ta him in spite of what he said, you an' me wouldn't be friends.”

“Thanks. That means a lot to me. I've got to go. Bye.”

“Bye, honey. Thanks for callin'. You take care now, hear?”

“I'll do that. Thanks. Bye.”

Darlene hung up the phone and went back out on to the porch, muttering darkly to herself. Wisely, her daughter gave her a wide berth for the rest of the afternoon. When Momma was in a 'mood', it was a good idea to walk carefully around her.

-ooo-​

Los Angeles

Aster hung up the phone, then picked it up again and fed more coins into the slot. This time she dialled a number in New Hampshire. The phone at the other end rang several times, then someone answered breathlessly. “Hi, Sally speaking, who is this?”

“Uh, hi, Sally. You're Nina's roommate, aren't you? This is Ruth Goldstein.”

“Oh, uh, Ruth. Hi. Yeah, Nina's here. Nina! Ruth's on the phone. Whoops, gotta go.”

The phone was dropped, on to a sofa by the sound of it. Aster heard a faint “give me back my dress!” before the phone was picked up again. “Arjee, hi. What's up?”

Despite her own troubles, Aster had to ask the question. “Do I want to know what's going on at that end?”

Nina chuckled. “Rose was getting ready to go out. Sally stole her favourite party dress. Rose has been chasing her around the apartment, trying to get it back. It's getting silly.”

“Oh. Right.” Aster had to chuckle. “And you're in the middle of it all.”

“Lucky me. So what's the matter?”

“You know that favour you're doing me, Neens? Well, it turns out that I might not be able to make it out to Brockton Bay once you locate her. At least for a little while.”

“ … okay. I guess. What happened?”

“Well, long story short, you know how I was seeing the guy who's kinda gonna be my boss?”

“ … you didn't tell me about the boss part.”

Aster blinked. “Uh. Sorry. I meant to. Anyway. Turns out that he's an asshole. The bedroom stuff was great, but then I got an earful of what he really thought of me, and it's turned me right off him. But he's not letting me out of the contract. So I'm stuck in LA for two years.” Somehow, it felt easier to vent to Nina than to Darlene.

“Shit. Fuck me, you manage to pick 'em, don't you?”

“Don't remind me.” She hadn't been heartbroken when the guy she lost her virginity to had decided to immediately expand his horizons, but it did kind of hurt, a bit. “Anyway, I should still be open for vacation days to get out there when and if you locate her, but …”

“But don't count on it?”

Aster sighed. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“It's okay. I'll manage.”

“I'll get out there as soon as I can. Promise.”

“Sure. But once this is all sorted out, you'll owe me an explanation of what the hell's going on.”

Which would be a good trick, given that Aster only knew about half the story. She had no idea what Weaver's side of it would be. “ … I'll see what I can do.”

“You better.”

“Thanks, Neens. You're the best.”

“I know. Bye. Take care.”

“You too. Bye.”

Aster hung up the phone once more, and sagged against the side of the booth. Okay. What do I do now?

By some miracle, there was still a phone book in the booth. She opened it, looking for real estate companies. Time to start looking for apartments.

-ooo-​

Monday, 6 February 1989

“Why, Doctor Goldstein, what a nice surprise!”

Aster turned at the sound of his voice, schooling her features into an expression of mild interest. She had managed to avoid Friedrich for the first three days, but it appeared that he had tracked her down.

“Doctor Friedrich,” she replied coolly. “Imagine seeing you here.”

“Well, as it happens,” he said cheerfully, “I work here.” He paused for a beat, the continued in a mock-surprised tone. “Oh, wait. So do you.”

“Indeed.” She gave him what might have been mistaken for a smile in poor light. “Sorry I can't stay and chat, but Nurse Hendricks is giving me the tour.”

“Oh, that's all right.” He gestured to himself. “I'm happy to take over.”

And I bet you give me a tour of all the deserted supply rooms. “No, no, we're good. Nurse Hendricks is an excellent guide.”

His smile didn't quite reach his eyes. “No, I insist. Hendricks, you can go now.”

The nurse, who had been observing the back-and-forth between the two doctors with a slightly puzzled air, made her escape. Aster watched her go, then glanced back at Friedrich. There was nobody else around at that moment, so she felt free to say what was on her mind.

“I hope you realise that just because I'm working for you, it doesn't mean that I'm going to be sleeping with you.”

“Oh, I'd never ask that of anyone,” he protested. “Not unless they wanted to, of course.”

Well, I was willing to begin with, I have to admit. Right up until I found out what sort of a person he really was.

“Good.” It was the most neutral thing she could think of to say.

“Of course, we both know that you want to,” he murmured, stepping closer to her. “So why don't we locate an empty examination room and find out how much we've missed each other?”

Right. Examination room, not supply room.

“Why don't we not?” she retorted. “And what makes you think I want to be anywhere near you, after the stunt you pulled with the contract?”

“Contract?” he asked, his expression so innocent that she knew he was faking it. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

I swear, if he so much as touches me, I'm giving him a third degree burn.

“Okay, let's go with that.” She gave him a level stare. “But lay one hand on me, and I'll see exactly how far I can get with a lawsuit for sexual harassment.”

“Well, then -” he began, but the PA system chose that moment to cut in.

“Doctor Friedrich to the ER. Code Blue. Doctor Friedrich to the ER.”

“Sounds like they're playing your song,” she pointed out.

He shot her a dark glance. “This isn't over.”

No, she told herself as he hustled away. It's not.

-ooo-​

Tuesday, 16 May 1989

“Isn't Doctor Friedrich just gorgeous?” murmured the trainee nurse, turning her head to watch as the chief of surgery sauntered past. Aster was so strongly reminded of herself that she had to fight down a wince.

“Don't believe everything you see, Marilee,” she cautioned the girl. And girl she was; she couldn't be a day over eighteen.

Marilee turned wide, cornflower-blue eyes to her. “But he's so nice,” she protested. “Nurse Hendricks was giving me a hard time over not being able to make a bed properly, and he stopped her from being so mean to me.”

Aster pressed her lips together. “And did he have a talk to you? Then or later?” She wanted to blurt out more, but she kept herself under control.

“Oh, yes,” breathed Marilee. “He was so understanding.”

“I'll just bet he was,” Aster replied. How was I ever this naïve? “Marilee, there's something you need to know.”

“What?” asked the trainee, turning that wide, innocent gaze on her. “Is there something going on between you and Doctor Friedrich? Because if there is, I totally understand.”

Aster sighed. “No. There isn't. There was, but I broke it off. Because he's a user.”

Marilee looked confused. “What, drugs? Doctor Friedrich?”

“No. Not drugs.” It would be a lot easier if it was drugs. “He uses women. He's good at making them feel like they're the absolute centre of his universe, but it's all an act. He doesn't love them. I don't think he knows how to love. Except himself, of course,” she added, more to herself than to the trainee. “He's good at that.”

“No.” Marilee shook her head. “No, I won't believe that. Not about Henry.” A moment later, realising her slip, she slapped her hand over her mouth.

“'Henry', hmm?” Aster smiled wryly. “Okay, don't believe me. That's your option. But listen carefully. Here are the lines he uses on women. Stop me if any of these sound familiar.” Slowly and carefully, she began quoting some of the phrases that Friedrich had used to great effect on her, both before and after he had gotten her into bed. As she spoke, Marilee's eyes grew wider and wider.

“Ohmigawd, ohmigawd,” she gasped, through the muffling hand she still held over her mouth. “That's what he said! That's what he said! All of it!” Dropping her hand, she lowered her voice to a whisper that was possibly louder than her normal voice. “How did you know?”

Aster smiled sadly. “Because I've been where you are. And I didn't believe the person who told me that he couldn't be trusted. I only found out the truth after I slept with him.”

“Oh.” Marilee seemed lost for words, so Aster pressed on.

“Tell the other trainees. Friedrich is a good doctor and a fine surgeon, but there's one thing he'll never do, and that's respect you in the morning. Or ever.”

Marilee nodded seriously. “Okay, I'll do that. And thanks, Doctor Goldstein.”

Aster smiled. “That's fine.” She watched the girl walk away, and chuckled quietly to herself.

Let's see how he likes that.

-ooo-​

Wednesday, 2 August 1989

“Ruth, we need to talk.”

Turning to face Friedrich, Aster mentally counted the rest of the bags of saline in the fridge – she had a perfect mental picture of them, of course – and wrote down the number on the clipboard. “I'm sorry, Doctor Friedrich, did you need me for something?”

“Yes. We need to talk. Now.” His jaw had that particular tension that told Aster he was upset. She had been seeing that on him a lot, recently. Good.

“Can it wait?” she asked innocently. “I'm just in the middle of inventory -”

“Screw inventory!” he snapped in a harsh whisper. “You're spreading tales behind my back and it stops right now!”

“Tales?” She stared at him. “Is someone spreading lies about you? That's terrible!” Recalling Marilee, she opened her eyes wide in pretended bewilderment.

He clenched his teeth. “I know it's you.”

“Really?” She dropped the act. “Tell me what I'm supposed to have done, and I'll tell you if I did it.”

“Talking about me behind my back,” he ground out.

She snorted in amusement. “Everyone talks about everyone else behind their backs. Have you heard the gossip in this place?”

A vein was beginning to pulse in his forehead. “You've been saying damaging things about me in front of the trainee nurses!”

“Damaging things?” She tilted her head. “What sort of damaging things? I mean, I've been talking to them, yes. But it's not like I can't talk to them. I'm a doctor, they're nurses. It's kind of a thing.”

He looked like he wanted to hit her. Go ahead, buster. I won't even hurt you. I'll just sue you into the ground. “You've been … telling them … things.”

“Doctor Friedrich, I'm afraid you're not being clear,” she said as innocently as she could manage. “What sort of things have I been telling them? Are they untrue?”

She was pretty sure that if he ground his teeth together any harder, his orthodontist was going to be making a fortune. “Christ fuck, Ruth. You've been telling them about me and you! That's inappropriate at the best of times! Boasting about having slept with the chief of surgery, that's just … wrong!”

“You're wrong, Doctor Friedrich,” she told him softly. “I wasn't boasting.”

“Well, however you're doing it, stop it!”

“You could always fire me,” she suggested sweetly. “I won't fight it. But there's enough people who've seen you talking to me that I could make a very strong case that you're trying to get back together with me, and that you're firing me because I won't let you.”

“And so?” he demanded.

“And so the penalty clause for defaulting on the contract won't apply,” she pointed out.

“But you'll still be blacklisted.”

She smiled bitterly. “It'll be worth it. Am I fired?”

For a long moment, he stared at her. “No. But I don't want you talking to the trainee nurses about me, either.”

She showed him her teeth. “I'll want that in writing, Doctor Friedrich. Now, if you're done, I have inventory to get back to.”

Leaving him staring at her back, she walked away down the corridor. There was no way in hell that he would give her such an order in writing, she knew. Doctors needed to talk to nurses.

Of course, she was still stuck working for him, so it was at best a stalemate.

For now.

-ooo-​

Wednesday, 18 October 1989

Oh, my aching feet.

Aster stumbled in through the front door of her apartment, making sure to lock it behind her – super-powers or not, there was such a thing as tempting fate – then collapsed into the armchair she'd found at a thrift store. One arm-rest leaked stuffing everywhere, but it was still the most comfortable chair she'd ever owned.

Three fourteen-hour shifts, back to back. I'm pretty sure that's illegal.

Carefully, she eased her shoes off, then stretched out her feet and wiggled her toes. Now that the weight was off them, she knew that they'd hurt worse for a while before they got better. But at least the cool air was on them now.

I must be putting a crimp in Friedrich's love life. I can't think of any other reason for him to be changing my shifts around all the time. The overtime's nice, but my feet still ache.

Resting her feet on the ottoman, she leaned the armchair back and let the tension drain out of her. Just a five minute rest, then a shower, then dinner, then bed.

The five minutes turned into ten and then fifteen, but she was so comfortable that she didn't care. Her eyelids began to drift shut. It wasn't the first time she'd slept in that chair, and it probably wouldn't be the last -

Thunder crashed and lightning flared. Torrential rain poured into a heaving, storm-wracked ocean. Amid wreckage and wind-driven spray, a teenage girl in a blue and white costume struggled to swim, to stay afloat -

Aster came awake with a gasping cry, her eyes wide. It was so real! What was it?

Memory caught up with the dream, and she realised. “That was Taylor Hebert. She's here. Now.”

It's been twenty-eight years, but she's finally arrived.

Now all I've got to do is find her. And save the world.

End of Part 5-6

Part 5-7​