I, Panacea (Worm SI Fanfic)

I, Panacea

Part Thirteen: Out of the Frying Pan



Constructed of raw concrete and steel girders, there was nothing in the base to mute the sound of the phone. Its ringtone echoed harshly from overhead, from the nearby wall. Wrists still bound to the armrests, its very recently dead owner lolled in his chair. Tattletale held the phone like a poisonous snake; she obviously didn't want to answer it again.

Fuck. This has the potential to go very bad, very fast.

What do we do?

Amy felt herself fall to her knees beside the woman Michael had referred to as 'Contessa'. Heal her all the way. Wake her up. She'll grasp what's going on. She'll know how to fix it.

What if her idea of 'fix it' is to shut us all up?

Tattletale held the phone in front of Coil's head once more. She pressed the Answer button, and gestured to Grue. He stepped forward and spoke gruffly. “What?”

She can't be sure that'll work, not with me in your head. Whatever solution she comes up with cannot involve me. And by extension, you.

A tinny voice came over the phone; Amy couldn't hear what was being said.

What if she just decides to kill you? And by extension, me?

She's used to depending on her power. You saw how we took her down before. The only way she can beat us is if you're controlling your body.

Internally, she grimaced. This does not make me any happier, at all.

Sorry, but emergency situation. Soon as we're done here, I'm out of the driver's seat.

“Why are you bothering me with this?” growled Grue. “You have protocols. Use them.”

It can't come soon enough for me.

Me neither. Trust me on this.

A pair of booted feet came to rest beside Amy; involuntarily, she glanced up. Alexandria was looking down at her. She pointed at Contessa, and her lips formed words. Heal. Her.

Please, do this, and I'll do my best to make sure that you don't have to heal anyone for as long as possible.

Give me control back.

He didn't hesitate; she felt control flowing back to her. Taking a deep breath, she laid her hands on Contessa's wrists. The damage had been closed off, the blood loss curtailed. Now she completed her repairs on the internal organs, scavenged more blood from waste products, and stimulated the nervous system to wake her up.

Contessa came awake in a blur of motion. Amy was spun around; in another instant, her hands were trapped behind her, an arm about her throat. There was no skin touching hers, only cloth. She tried to gasp, could barely get any air; the arm around her throat contracted warningly. She looked toward Grue and Lisa, but the blonde was whispering to her teammate, and not really paying attention.

Can't … breathe …

Anything you try to do, she'll counter instantly. It's what she does.

And you're the idiot who wanted me to heal her.

She's still necessary. We just have to get her on side.

Her vision was darkening; Alexandria was standing between her and the other members of the Undersiders. She tried to struggle, but it was as he said; no matter what she tried, the woman behind her was stronger and could anticipate her every action.

What do I do?

Let me back in control.

I don't want to be your helpless puppet! Her internal voice was a scream of rage.

Okay then, bash the back of your head into her nose.

Won't she anticipate that?

Would you have done it normally?

No.

Well then.

She didn't waste another second; her lungs were labouring for breath as it was. Swinging her head forward, she lashed backward, and felt it strike something that crunched. The grip came free, just for a moment, and Amy gulped oxygen. She yanked her arm clear, grabbed for a wrist, and was countered once more.

God dammit.

She's anticipating you again.

What do I do?

Kick off, fall over backward on her.

That's going to hurt.

She certainly won't expect you to do it.

Gritting her teeth, Amy shoved off from the floor. Taken off balance, Contessa couldn't hold them both upright, and they both fell backward to the grating. Once more, she felt the iron grip loosen, then begin to tighten once more.

Elbow her in the guts!

She rammed her elbow into Contessa's stomach, pulled away from the clutching grip, and rolled free. Standing, panting, pushing her hair back from her eyes, she glared at the dark-haired woman. Her shoulder hurt where it had been wrenched in the fall, but she didn't care.

“Stand down, Contessa.” Alexandria's voice was calm. “The situation has changed.”

Contessa, also getting to her feet, wiped blood from her nose, and stared steadily at Amy. “She's an anomaly,” she replied, in a matter-of-fact tone. “She disrupts my power.”

“Not her,” Alexandria explained. “Something within her.”

Hey, I resemble that remark.

Amy rubbed her throat; it was still sore from where Contessa had been compressing it. Michael hadn't taken control again, for which she was grateful. “He's a person,” she reminded the two women. “He's helped me. Saved me. Shown me things. And he wants to save the world. He says you can help him.”

Of the two, Alexandria seemed most taken aback. “He says we can help him?”

Tell them that I'd really rather they didn't get in the way.

Amy took a deep breath. Her heart still pounded in her ears, but it was starting to ease up. “It'll be a lot easier, he says, if you don't get in the way.” Could you even do it, if they did get in the way?

Extremely doubtful. But I want them wondering exactly what I can do.

Won't they just read me?

Not if they're trying to read me, instead. She caught the flash of an internal grin.

Okay then. Okay then. She fought to catch her breath, to string two thoughts together. Why didn't Alexandria help her?

Not sure. Ask her.

Drawing herself up, Amy faced Alexandria. “Why didn't you help her?”

A cool gaze surveyed her from behind the steel mask of Alexandria's helmet. “What makes you think I wanted her to win?”

“Okay, if you didn't want her to win, why did you let that fight happen?”

“I was curious,” replied the older hero. “I've never actually seen her lose a fight. But you weren't beating her as easily as you could have. He was advising you rather than controlling you, wasn't he?”

Amy nodded jerkily, then she glared at Contessa. “If you ever try that again, I'll tell him to beat you to a pulp. Got me?”

Contessa's eyes widened slightly. “I understand,” she replied. “You healed me. Saved my life. Thank you.”

Amy was still panting. “Thank him,” she replied shortly. “He was extremely insistent.”

“Amy!” It was Tattletale, holding up the phone.

“What?”

“It was one of Coil's men in an offsite location. They got a distress call that one of the guys here sent out. He asked Grue for a code. I think I got it right, but I'm not sure that he bought it. What's likely to happen?”

Shit.

What?

Worst case, self destruct. Coil had a habit of leaving behind fuck-you things like that. Which reminds me. We're gonna need a DNA sample.

What? Why?

Because we might need him back at some point.

I don't know what you think I can do, but -

“Amy?” Tattletale was still waiting.

“Uh, maybe set off the base self-destruct?”

Contessa's eyes focused. “Doorway,” she muttered. A portal opened in midair, and she stepped through. It closed behind her.

What the fuck?

It's how she gets around. As for Coil, I know you can't clone him, but that's not to say that nobody else can.

Wait, I want to talk about what she just did.

She had someone open a portal for her. Like I said, it's how she and Alexandria and the rest of that organisation get around. One step transportation.

That must be useful. Where did she go?

Probably to make sure that nobody sets off the base self-destruct.

Why didn't Alexandria go with her?

You did see her fight, yeah? With anyone but me or a very few others involved, she's like that all the time.

Ah.

She became aware that Alexandria was watching her closely.

“What?” she asked defensively.

“You're having some sort of discussion in there, aren't you?”

“I … am, yeah.” She nodded at Coil's body. “Can you put that on ice for me?”

“Why? Can you bring him back?”

“No.” She tapped the side of her head. “But he thinks we can do something similar.”

“Hm. Interesting. Yes, we can preserve the body. Who shot him?”

“I didn't see.” The evasion came easily to her.

“Did anyone say who did it?”

“I'd rather not say.”

“Why was he shot?”

Because he was a manipulative arsehole who would have been as safe to handle as a bucket of warm 'foof'.

Warm what?

F-O-O-F. Look it up sometime. She's waiting for an answer.

“Uh, because he was planning to assassinate some of us. And family.”

“And you know this how?”

“I told them,” Dinah's voice sounded at her shoulder. “I saw the percentages. Coil would have been too hard to control. People would have died.”

Alexandria's lip twisted. “Still, murder is very … final.”

Tell that to his victims.

Amy's chin came up. “He says Coil had lots of victims. They would have found murder very final, as well.”

“He was potentially very useful. Killing him was a bad idea.”

In the short run, he's a hindrance. In the long run, I have an idea how to get him back before the fight against Zion.

I've been wanting to ask you about that. Scion's the bad guy in all this? I always thought he was a hero.

He's doing it out of boredom. When he decides to break things, he won't do it small.

Oh, crap. Okay. “Michael says he knows how to get him back before we have to fight Zion.”

Alexandria's gaze, even from behind the steel mask, was almost laser-like in its intensity. “You know about that as well?”

How are we going to fight him? It's impossible.

Oh, it's possible. Just very, very hard.

“I, uh, just found out,” Amy stammered. “But yes, I do now.”

Tell her I know how.

How do you know how?

Because I've seen it done. But don't tell her that bit.

“Uh, he also says he knows how to beat him. Zion.”

“And you believe this.” Alexandria's gaze was unwavering.

“He says it. I believe it.”

“You're relaying his words. I'd like to speak to him myself.”

You don't have to if you don't want to.

“I, uh, I'd prefer to stay in control, and pass on what he says.”

“Why?”

“Because he's been in my head for less than a day, and I'm already sick of being used as someone else's hand puppet!” Amy burst out. “Unless we absolutely have to do it differently, I'm going to keep control of my body. Okay?”

Alexandria gave her a long, cool appraisal. “ … very well,” she agreed. “I can work with this.”

Wow, holy crap. You just faced up to Alexandria.

God, don't remind me.

Uh, hand puppet?

That's what it feels like from time to time.

Sorry.

Well, you're giving me control now, so I'm good. For the moment. But I hope that you end up in your own body at some point.

Why?

So I can smack the crap out of you for each time you've just taken over, without asking first.

… that's fair. I think she's waiting for an answer.

Okay. Amy re-ran the conversation in her head.

“Uh, good. So, uh what else did you want to know?”

“Many things,” the older hero noted. “But some are much more important than others. May I ask as to who has control over who controls your body?”

Go ahead and tell her.

“Uh, he does. But he's letting me be in control for the moment. I … he had to grab control a few times, and I'm not pleased with him. So he's backing off.”

“You're being very matter-of-fact about this. I don't know that I would be so laissez-faire about someone controlling my body like that. Especially when I had no say in the matter.”

That's because she's a control freak. You're not.

Amy cleared her throat. “I, uh, spent a good part of my life being told what to do. He's uh, helping me. Telling me stuff. Letting me sort things out in my head. Explaining things to me. Giving me advice. And when I ask him to, he backs off. I don't like being controlled, but I can see that it's been necessary. At least some of the time.”

“And his ultimate aim is to save the world, help defeat Scion.”

The change in direction caught Amy off-guard, and she floundered a little. “Uh, yes. That's what he says. That's what I believe.”

“And after that? Does he spend the rest of your life in your head?”

No. Hopefully I get to go home after this.

“He says he wants to go home after that. He's very definite about it.”

“Where is he from?”

That's a good question. Where are you from?

It would take far too long to explain right now. For now, you can call me a 'BRB'.

BRB?

Benevolent Random Being. It's a kind of shorthand term.

Oh. Right. You're going to have to explain that one, too, sometime.

One of these days, sure.

I'll hold you to that. Aloud, she went on. “He finds it hard to explain. But he means well. I'm pretty sure about that.”

"That's good, because I'm very interested in learning how we are to defeat Scion.”

One step at a time. First, let's deal with the problem in front of us. Noelle.

Oh, the Case 53?

Yeah, her.

“Uh, first, he wants to deal with Noelle.”

“And how does he intend to do that?”

Amy listened to Michael's explanation. “Okay,” she began after he had finished, “if I get this right, Cauldron sells powers to people with enough money. But there's also usually favours involved. Because not many people have enough money for the powers they want. So there's a repo clause. Sorry, that's how he put it. If they try to renege, you remove their powers. You have a cape who does that for you.”

Alexandria's lips thinned. “I do not appreciate having Cauldron's secrets broadcast to the world.”

On Michael's urging, Amy turned to the others. “Guys, are you going to tell anyone about this?”

Rachel, involved in checking Brutus over for lingering damage, shook her head. Vicky, eyes wide, also shook her head. Each of the others signalled negation as well.

Amy turned back to Alexandria. “He says you're going to have to shut down operations anyway. And no more … abduction of people from other worlds?” She stared at the Protectorate hero. “You do that? That's horrible!”

Alexandria gritted her teeth. “I would advise you not telling any more. My colleagues may decide to take unilateral action.”

“In which case you get nothing,” Amy retorted. “He said to tell you that. We'll keep your dirty secrets, so long as you dismantle what you're doing. And you get information regarding Endbringers first.” She paused, listening to Michael. “Saturday. I – we – whatever, I'll be in touch.”

“That's two days away,” Alexandria snapped. “Unacceptable.”

“You've been flailing around trying to get a handle on the problem for the last twenty-some years,” Amy replied, repeating Michael's words with relish. “You can stand to wait another two days.” She paused again. “Also, I want Doorway privileges.”

“Out of the question!”

Amy folded her arms and waited.

Alexandria clenched her fists so tightly that skin squeaked on skin. Then she breathed deeply, inhaling slowly, exhaling smoothly. Once more centred, she gave Amy a level stare. “Why do you need this?”

Amy spread her hands. “Because he wants it. Now, are we getting access to the power remover cape?” She paused. “Did you really call him the Removalist?”

“It wasn't my decision,” Alexandria replied. “Very well. This Case 53 is as dangerous as you say? How did that happen?”

Amy listened for a moment. “Well, apparently, the power formula was shared between Noelle and one of her friends.”

Some of Alexandria's face was hidden by the mask, but her look of disquiet told Amy how bad that must really be. “Idiots,” she muttered. “How did that happen?”

“Simurgh,” Amy repeated. “Madison. They found some formulas in a lab that was broken open. Took them. Some of them were injured, so they drank them to heal up.” She shrugged. “Gamers.”

“I remember that attack,” Alexandria noted. “They were there?”

“They were,” agreed Amy. “The Simurgh set it up so that they'd do exactly what they did. Pieces put in motion. Only now I'm here to change how they move on the board.”

“Are you sure she isn't predicting you?” Alexandria looked at her closely.

Amy didn't copy Michael's chuckle, but she smiled. “Certain of it. He says that she can predict me but not him.” She raised her chin. “Do I get Doorway privileges?”

“You can earn them,” Alexandria told her shortly. “Once I know how to kill the Endbringers.”

“Fine,” Amy replied. “Now, the Removalist?”

“One moment.” Alexandria began moving off down the catwalk.

There was a loud metallic crash. Everyone turned to look down at the door that hid the Case 53. It was still vibrating, and concrete dust was settling around it.

“Make that a short moment,” Amy advised her.

<><>​

Noelle was hungry. Hunger gnawed at her very being. She needed to eat, to support this gross body that had been inflicted upon her. If it didn't eat, regularly, it got restless, and did things outside of her control. Like eating things anyway. Or people. All those people in New York, and the other places. She hadn't meant for that to happen. Her body had decided that it needed to eat, and so it had eaten.

She hated feeling helpless like that, a prisoner in her own body. It reminded her of the dark days, before she met Krouse and fell in love with him, when she had the eating disorder. Convinced she was fat, she would starve herself for days to become slim, become pretty, become a better person. But there was no end goal there; every time she looked in the mirror, every bump and lump on her body – even her ribs and pelvis – constituted excess weight to be shed.

She had to keep going, to stay the course. Even when hunger pangs wracked her in the middle of the night, she couldn't bring herself to eat, because eating led to being overweight, and she wanted to be slim. Even when she did eat, she would sneak off to the bathroom as soon as possible, and bring it all up again. Food was bad.

It had taken an intervention by her parents to break her out of the destructive cycle. Her father had taken a leave of absence from work, and they had sat over her for days, making sure that she ate, preventing her from throwing up again, getting nutrition into her. She had hated them, raged against the tyranny, but she had had no choice in the matter. Gradually, she had gotten better, felt her mind clearing. And one day, she had woken up, eaten breakfast, and had felt no impulse to dash to the bathroom to get rid of it.

This wasn't to say that she was cured, of course. The feelings came back every now and again, but now that she had learned to recognise them, she was able to fight them, with or without the assistance of her parents. It had been a long, hard road, but she was making progress.

And then she had gotten into gaming, had started with the group. It had provided an interest for her, and she had met Krouse. Initially unimpressed by him, she had tolerated his advances, while rising to her own position of leader of the team. He had been an outsider with talent, while Cody, already on the team, was skilled but not advancing very fast. Cody was also interested in her, and she liked him, but the spark just wasn't there.

When she finally admitted to herself that Krouse was more than just a friend, it was like turning a corner. He liked her for herself, for her body as well as her mind. He made it clear that he found her attractive, and this put the finishing touches on her recovery; she would never starve herself again, just to try to look pretty. Krouse's compliments made sure of that.

And now … now she couldn't starve herself. Her other half, the part of her body that had a mind of its own, would seek food, whether it be garbage, animals, or even people, if she went too long without eating. The dark irony was all too clear to her; here she was, stuck in a wholly new version of a destructive eating disorder. One that she couldn't break out of. There was no fixing this.

I wish I could die. But she couldn't. She'd tried.Others had tried. It had rarely turned out well. And now, she was stuck in this claustrophobic vault, who knew how far underground, while Krouse lived elsewhere with the rest of the Travellers, and visited far too rarely. Coil brought in so-called experts, who treated her with wholly understandable wariness, but never returned with anything other than bad news and shaken heads. The crime boss tried to keep her optimistic, but her level of hope dwindled each day.

At least he feeds me. Whole pigs, fresh from what she assumed to be a slaughterhouse, would normally have made her feel squeamish. Now, her lower body took them and consumed them with almost terrifying greed. But the amount he was feeding her wasn't enough, not any more. She was still hungry after a meal, still empty inside. He wasn't cutting her rations, so her body was needing more. How much more is enough? She feared that the question had no answer.

Her lower body moved again, restlessly. She tried to still it, to calm it. It kept moving, rammed against the steel door that protected the rest of the base from her. The door rang like a bell, but held. She suspected that if she truly wanted to get through it, she could. Little could stop her if she really wanted to leave.

“Noelle.”

It was an unfamiliar voice on the intercom. She leaned down toward the pickup. “Who – who's there? Where's Coil?”

“Noelle, my name's Amy Dallon. You may have heard of me as Panacea.”

She recognised the picture on the screen now; it did look like the healer known as Panacea. Noelle had only seen glimpses of her on TV; up close, or as close as the intercom screen would show her, she looked … ordinary. Messy brown hair, a smudge of something on her nose. Her white robes were absent; she wore dark clothing.

“Panacea? Did – did Coil bring you in, to help me?” She felt a huge surge of hope. Panacea could heal anything. She'd even heard that the New Wave member could cure old age, although she tended to discount that particular idea. But wounds, amputations, even cancer; the teenage girl on the other side of the door had dealt with them all. Surely she can fix what's wrong with me.

“Uh, no, sorry. Not quite. I'm told that your power would trump mine, so things would get really nasty if I tried. But there's something else we're going to do. Something that's absolutely guaranteed to get you out of that vault, and back with Krouse.”

“Absolutely guaranteed? What are you going to do?”

“Me, personally? I'm going to save your life after he finishes taking your powers away.”

“Who what now? Take my powers away? Who's going to do that?”

“Just get to the back of the vault and close your eyes and cover your ears, okay?”

“Why do I have to close my eyes?” Noelle was starting to get a little edgy. This didn't sound right.

“So you don't attack anyone. Please?”

“How do I know you're telling the truth?”

“Noelle, please.” There was a pause. “Before this all happened, Cody was pissed because you were dropping him from the team in favour of Francis. Cody was accusing you of doing it because he's your boyfriend.”

Noelle's eyes went wide. “How do you even know this?”

“I know a great many things, Noelle. Do as I say, please?”

“Okay. I'll do it.” She left the intercom, backed away from it until she reached the far end of the hated vault. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, and then called out, “Okay!”

Distantly, she heard the vault door locks disengaging. Clamping her hands over her ears, she concentrated on keeping her eyes shut, even the ones decorating her lower body. That body wanted to move, to see what was invading her space, but she kept a careful grip on it.

There may have been a voice, but she didn't hear what the words were. And then something happened. It was the weirdest sensation, washing through her whole body. Her strength ebbed, and she felt numbness, creeping in from her extremities. At the same time, the impulses of her lower body began to fade and die.

And that was when the pain hit her. Pain worse than anything she had ever felt before. Pain worse than when she had been injured in the toppled building. Her legs, the monstrous legs that now supported her bloated, grotesque body, gave way, and she felt herself slumping to the floor.

She took her hands from her ears, opened her eyes. Panacea stood there, alone. But she could not even begin to wonder how the girl had done this, what she'd done to her. The pain ravaging her body, tearing at the internal organs that she had not needed to use for so long, precluded all else.

“Help me!” she screamed. “Help me! It hurts!”

And then the vault door opened once more, and a second figure entered. Similarly dark-clad, the newcomer picked up Panacea and flew her up to where Noelle's torso was situated atop the mass of dying flesh that had once been her lower body. Cool fingers traced her brow, and the pain went away.

The world went away.

<><>​

“Is she going to be all right?”

Amy ignored the question; she concentrated on working on Noelle. Lying on the concrete floor beside what had once been the mass of what Michael called Echidna, the girl's lower torso and legs were only vaguely roughed out. Amy's concentration was mainly on keeping her alive. Her heart and lungs were in poor shape, and her digestive system had almost totally shut down; it was obvious that the lower body had done all the eating and breathing for her once it had started to warp out of control.

Finally, she had the girl's breathing and heart rate to a point where she liked them; she started sculpting the rest of her body out of the mass of flesh that was currently standing in for her legs.

Digestive system, bladder … check. Reproductive system … check. Vagina, anus, urethra … check. She paused. Do you have any idea how tall she was?

No answer.

Hey!

What? I was, you know, carefully not paying attention.

How tall was she?

Buggered if I know. Make her, say, as tall as you are.

What if she's a different height than that?

I sincerely doubt that she will complain.

Okay, good point.

Oh, wow.

What? I thought you weren't paying attention.

You know, you could make her into a mermaid right now.

Not funny.

Yeah, but the look on her face.

Okay, a little bit funny, but I'm not going there. Now go back to not paying attention.

Going.

Taking a deep breath, she kept on going. The legs separated, bones forming, then muscles over the top. Fat deposits, then skin. The feet were a little difficult to get exact – when she grew someone's limb back, she usually had the other one to use as a template. “Vicky.”

“Uh, what?” Vicky looked up from where she'd been watching the process with an expression of horrified fascination.

“Give me your hand.”

“What? Why?”

“I need to copy your feet.”

Vicky blinked. “Oh. Okay.” She extended her hand, and Amy took it. Immediately, the knowledge of her body flooded into Amy's mind. She zeroed in on the feet, and began reworking Noelle's feet to match. With Vicky's anatomy as a template, she went back and checked on her other work, fixing a few minor errors, then checked all the way through. Everything looked good.

“Okay,” she decided, standing up and stretching mightily. “Let's see how she goes. Vicky, you got the pants?”

“I did indeed,” Vicky replied, pulling the garment in question from her shoulder. Amy didn't ask where she'd gotten a pair in Noelle's size; she simply presumed that there was a relatively slim guard on the base, now missing pants. Not my problem.

Together, they managed to work the pants on to Noelle's legs.

“This is harder than it looks,” grunted Vicky, rolling Noelle's limp body on to her side so that Amy could pull the pants all the way up. “I can bench a cement mixer, and I have trouble putting pants on an unconscious person. How weird is that?”

“'Dead weight' isn't just a phrase,” Amy informed her, fastening the waistband. “It's the difference between carrying a hundred pound iron weight, and a hundred pound flexible sack of water.”

She reached out and placed her hand on Noelle's forehead; a minor exertion of her power, and Noelle's eyes opened. She gasped.

“What – what's going on?” she asked. “I can't move.”

“I turned off the neural impulses that let you move on your own, so you wouldn't twitch while I was fixing you,” Amy told her. “I'm turning them back on now.”

Slowly, she reinstated Noelle's voluntary movements, and at her request, the girl lifted her right and left arms. And then, hesitantly, she began to move her legs; a little at first, and then with more and more confidence.

“Why is it so hard to move them properly?” she asked, as Amy and Vicky helped her to her feet.

“Because you didn't have legs,” Amy explained. “I made these ones for you. All the nerves are connected up, and the muscles are in the right place. You've just got to learn how to use them again.”

“Oh. Okay.” Noelle tried to stand properly, and tottered. “Wow. I think I'll be a while.”

“You'll get there,” Amy advised her.

Vicky pushed open the vault door, and they exited, with Noelle supported between them. Amy handed off the girl to Vicky, and approached Alexandria, who was waiting with the Undersiders outside the vault.

“Well done,” the older hero told her. “She's healthy?”

“Probably do with a few good meals,” Amy replied. “But healthy enough. You remember the list of people I gave you?”

“I do,” agreed Alexandria, with the slightest flaring of her nostrils.

“There's an American citizen in China. His name's Cody. He was inducted into the Yàngbǎn. He also harbours a hatred of Accord. We want Accord alive.”

“If he's in the Yàngbǎn, he's not coming here any time soon,” Alexandria noted.

“Endbringer battle,” Amy pointed out.

“He'd be so stupid?”

“He would.”

“Do you want him rescued or eliminated?”

“Rescued is better. He could be helpful against Zion.”

“And so could Accord,” agreed Alexandria.

“Once you pull him from China, he becomes much less of a threat.”

“How does that work?”

Amy paused as Michael explained. “Okay, he apparently … there's a cape who can spread powers among the whole squad, and another who can amplify them. If he defects during the fight, he'll have all their powers for a while, even after he leaves the squad. And he'll use this to kill Accord. And Trickster and Noelle too, if he gets the chance.”

“I'll see what I can do.”

You mean, see what Contessa can do.

Shush.

“Oh, and one more thing.”

Alexandria's lips tightened. “I'm getting a little unhappy with your demands.”

“Okay, fine. Later, then.”

At Michael's urging, she turned away from Alexandria.

What are we doing?

She doesn't show a damn thing that she doesn't want anyone to see. She's putting on a bluff of anger to get us to apologise, to back down.

She is?

She's really good at playing the political game. Keep walking.

Amy kept walking. She was almost up to Tattletale when Alexandria called out from behind her. “Wait!”

Slowly, she stopped and turned. “Yes?”

“What is it that you want?”

Amy spoke slowly, pausing between sentences to let Michael catch up. “The ABB, in custody. You already have Lung. Bakuda is gearing up for a terror strike on the city. Oni Lee will be helping. It's all aimed toward busting Lung from where he's being held. She's also got the wherewithal to build a bomb that could EMP about a fifth of the United States. And probably some of Canada as well. Once Lung gets out, he'll tell her to build it. So you might want to look into that as well.”

“Do you need them alive?” Alexandria's lip curled.

She hesitated. “Bakuda, yes. Oni Lee, he really doesn't care.”

“Good. Doorway to Bakuda.”

The doorway opened, and she stepped through; it closed behind her.

Did you just sentence Oni Lee to death?

He's a murderous bastard. Do you really have a problem with this?

I … need to think about this for a bit.

Trust me, there are those who improve the world, those who make no difference, and those who are better off not being part of it. Oni Lee fits the third category.

Yes, but … I still don't even like the idea of kill orders. I've spent far too much of my time helping heal people.

Sorry, but I can't take the chance that he won't try to screw up saving the world. Because some people are dicks that way.

You're kidding, right?

I wish I was.

So what do we do now?

Go home, I guess.

What about Noelle? And Dinah?

Oh, right. Um. Okay then. Let's get Dinah back to her parents. You've got her cleaned up?

Amy knew he wasn't referring to the precog's outer appearance. Yes. A few cravings, maybe, but they'll pass in a day or two. She paused. And Noelle?

We should get her back to the Travellers, but I have no idea where they are.

Why don't we ask Tattletale?

A moment of silence. Okay, new rule? You're the brains of this operation.

She felt herself smiling; it wasn't his influence, but a genuine impulse. Thanks.

<><>​

At this time of night, the street was deserted. Lonely streetlights left pools of illumination on the pavement. The Undersiders stood together, the oversized dogs behind Bitch, their breath steaming gently in the cool night air.

“I really appreciate this,” Amy told Tattletale. She looked at Skitter. “Thanks for putting your weight behind this, too.”

The bug controller was quiet. Finally, she muttered, “I can't believe I … “

Amy put her arms around Skitter and hugged her. “Trust me, the man was a danger to you. I'm told that if things went as normal, he would try to kill you at least once, and put your father in danger as well. That's even without assassination attempts.”

“Still doesn't make me feel much better.”

“Well, any time you want to talk about it, I'm here, okay?”

“Hey, hey, me too,” Tattletale reminded them.

“You're not much help,” Skitter told her with a burst of her old spirit. “You wanted to shoot him too.”

“I'm glad I didn't know he was dead,” Noelle remarked. “I might have gotten angry then.”

“Yes,” agreed Amy. “You would have. It wouldn't have been pretty.”

“How do you know?” asked Noelle, frowning.

Tattletale chuckled. “It's a thing she does.” She turned her head. “I think this might be yours.”

The station wagon slowed as it neared them, then pulled to a halt some ten yards away. Both front doors opened, and costumed figures stepped out. One was just placing a top hat on his head, and the other wore a square mask.

“Okay, you've got us here,” called the one in the top hat. “State your business.”

In answer, Noelle tottered out from the group. She was still having trouble walking, but she was doing her best. “Krouse!” she called. “It's me! I'm healed! I'm better!”

The top-hatted figure stared, then started running. The two came together in a hug that was more of a controlled collision than anything else. At first they just held one another, and then they kissed, fiercely and passionately. Amy turned away, uncomfortable.

Yeah, it's kinda like that, isn't it?

I have no idea what you mean.

Sure you don't. Might want to blow your nose.

Pulling out a handkerchief, Amy did so. Doesn't mean anything. I probably picked up a cold tonight. It's not exactly warm out.

Pull the other one. I know about your immune system. The cold virus is your bitch.

Oh, shush.

There was a tap on her shoulder; she turned. Trickster, the man in the top hat, stood with one arm supporting Noelle. His face was hidden behind a mask; hers had tears running down it.

“Thanks,” he told her hoarsely. “You've – we owe you. Big time.”

Amy smiled. “It's nothing. I prefer Noelle like this to what she was before.” She paused. “I, uh, didn't have anything to compare her to, uh, down there, so I basically winged it.”

They looked at each other, then Noelle giggled nervously. “Well, we've got time to work it out now. Again.”

Trickster nodded. “We do.” He held out his hand; Amy clasped it. “We'll see you around.”

“See you then.” Amy watched them walk back toward the car.

Uh, didn't you -

Shut up! I'm not going to tell him that I modeled some parts on my sister when I had to guess!

Shutting up now.

Thank you.

<><>​

“We can take it from here, guys.”

Grue nodded at her. “Okay then. It's been a night, all right.”

Amy nodded to him, then turned to Tattletale and Skitter. “Thanks again. I appreciate it.”

“Hey, don't I get thanks too?” asked Regent. “I turned up too!”

“Reluctantly, yes, but you turned up,” Amy agreed. “So thanks. And Bitch?”

The auburn-haired girl looked up. “What?”

“Thanks for letting me ride your dogs.”

Bitch looked away with a grunt.

Pretty sure that meant 'you're welcome'.

Probably.

She stood back with Vicky and Dinah as the Undersiders mounted their dogs. Tattletale leaned down from Brutus. “Sure we can't keep the base?”

Amy shook her head. “Already made the call to the PRT. Be happy you got the hard drive.”

The blonde wrinkled her nose. “You're no fun.”

“I'm here to save the world, not have fun.”

“Whatever.” Tattletale rolled her eyes. “See you around. Let me know if you want any more supervillains taken down.”

“Well, Skidmark's been causing problems recently … “

“Never mind, I retract the offer.”

Briefly, they shared a chuckle, and then Bitch clicked her tongue. The dogs started moving, loping off down the road at a remarkable turn of pace. Amy turned to Dinah. “So, ready to go inside now?”

“You sure my parents will want me?” The tone tore at her heart.

They will. I guarantee it.

“I know they will.” Taking the younger girl by the hand, she led her to what looked like a recently-repaired front door, and knocked, using the heavy iron knocker.

There was no answer, so she knocked again.

“Maybe they're not home,” quavered Dinah.

“Of course they are,” Amy assured her. This time, for variety, she pressed the doorbell.

Eventually, footsteps could be heard approaching the door, and then there was a fumbling at the lock. The door opened on what looked like a heavy chain, and a suspicious voice called out through the crack. “Who's there?”

“Daddy?” asked Dinah.

A moment of frozen silence passed.

“ … Dinah?”

“Daddy, it's me. I'm all right. The superheroes have brought me back.”

“If this is some sort of trick, by god, I'll … “ With a click, the porch light came on. Dinah stood full in the brightness.

The door closed, and then opened once more, devoid of the chain. A man in his late thirties, or early forties, looked out at us. “My god, Dinah, it's you,” he gasped.

“Who is it?” Amy heard from back in the house.

“Anna!” he called. “Come quick! Dinah's back!”

“Dinah?” Hurrying footsteps culminated in a nightgown-clad woman, who engulfed Dinah in a hug; her father hugged them both. Amy smiled at the reunion, then tilted her head, signalling Vicky that they should go.

However, they only made it a little way down the path before Dinah's father came out to them; her mother was leading her inside, telling her that she'd make her favourite cocoa drink …

“Who are you?” he asked. “What happened to her? Who kidnapped her?”

Amy blinked. “I'm Panacea,” she told him. “This is Glory Girl.”

“You're not in costume,” he pointed out, his voice just a little suspicious.

“We had to go undercover,” Vicky put in, apparently enjoying herself immensely.

“ … right,” he replied. “So … what happened to her?” Behind his voice was the dread that every father feels about something happening to his daughter.

“She was not molested, or physically mistreated,” Amy told him firmly. “The man who took her was seeking to use her powers for himself, so he was in the process of addicting her to several powerful drugs. I cleaned those out of her system. She may feel odd cravings over the next few days, but that will pass, and there should be no strongly adverse symptoms. It should be all over by Monday.”

“ … powers?” he asked. “So she does have powers?”

Amy nodded. “Yes. She's a powerful precog. Her headaches come on when she tries to get images of the future, lies about her predictions, or tries to get too many predictions in a day. Tell her to stick to percentages only. Also, try to avoid asking her questions about the future. Her power cannot help but answer them, and this may strain her.”

He blinked, but nodded. “Okay. Percentages, no images. Don't lie about it. Certain number a day. Got it.”

Amy smiled. “You have a strong girl there, Mr Alcott. Take care of her.”

“I will. Thank you both for bringing her back.” He reached out and shook her hand, then Vicky's.

“Trust me,” Amy told him. “It was our genuine pleasure.”

Turning, he went back to the porch; Dinah came out, mug of cocoa in hand, and waved goodbye. “Thank you both,” she called.

Amy waved back, then turned to Vicky. “Can we go home now?” she asked. “I am so dead on my feet.”

“Thought you'd never ask,” Vicky replied with a grin. “Though I have to say, it's been an interesting night.”

She scooped Amy into her arms, and they lifted off into the night air.

<><>​

“That's funny,” Vicky noted as they coasted in toward their neighbourhood. “One of those houses is all lit up.”

“Uh, Vicky, I think that's our house.” Amy began to get a bad feeling.

“Holy shit, I think you're right.”

“What do we do?”

“I think we should land and bluff it out.”

“That's what you always do.”

“And it works for me, so why change a winning formula?”

Amy sighed. “Okay then, let's do it your way.”

This might be a mistake.

Can you think of an alternative?

Remember when I suggested you move out?

I can't do that, not to Vicky.

So yeah, land and face the music, I guess.

As they came in for a landing, it became obvious that the Dallon household had a visitor. The identity of said visitor was equally obvious; no-one else in Brockton Bay rode a motorcycle quite like the one that was parked in front of the house.

“Armsmaster's here.” Amy's voice was hushed.

“Want to see if we can't sneak in through the upstairs windows, and maybe pretend to have been in bed all this time?”

Amy shook her head. “They'll have checked.” She pulled out her phone and turned it on; Vicky did the same. Each device chimed multiple times as missed calls popped up. All in the last half hour. “Oh yeah. We are so busted.”

“Busss-ted,” Vicky echoed her.

As they advanced toward the front door, it opened. Armsmaster stood there.

“I thought it was you,” he observed, stepping forward. “Why aren't you in costume?”

“Uh, we've been out and about, enjoying the night air?” ventured Vicky. “Why, is that a crime?”

Armsmaster's lips thinned. “No, but aiding and abetting in a crime is. And so is being an accessory to murder.”

Oh shit.

Oh shit indeed.



End of Part Thirteen

Part Fourteen

 

I, Panacea

Part Fourteen: Moving Right Along



What do we do?

We say nothing. Lie detector, remember. Also, less chance of incriminating ourselves.

Vicky, it seemed, had less in the way of restraint. “What, seriously?”

“Seriously.” Armsmaster's voice was hard. “We have footage of you associating with known criminals and not attempting to arrest them.”

Oh shit, this could be bad. Amy felt herself beginning to hyperventilate, but then her breathing smoothed out again; she realised a moment later that he was doing it, helping to calm her down.

Mm, I don't know. He's not actually attempting to arrest us. So it might not be as cut and dried as he's making out. His tone was almost detached.

“Jeez,” Vicky retorted at the same time. “It's almost as if heroes never team up with villains ever, in any way.”

Where would they get footage of us with the Undersiders?

His reply was interrupted by Carol Dallon, who had joined them on the pavement. “Vicky, not another word. Armsmaster, are you accusing my daughter of a crime without presenting proof? Are you interrogating her about that alleged crime without reading her her rights? What's she supposed to have done, and what proof do you have?”

Yay, and she's defending Vicky and not me.

With luck, any defence that covers Vicky will cover you too. You might want to mention the lie detector.

Armsmaster seemed about to say something, when Amy cleared her throat. “Uh … Carol, Vicky? Just so you know?”

Carol ignored Amy, but Vicky turned to her. “What is it, Ames?”

Amy nodded toward Armsmaster. “He's got a lie detector in his helmet.”

Carol's head came up, and her glare at Armsmaster notched up a few levels. “Is that true? Are you subjecting my daughter to an illegal lie detector test?”

“It's an invaluable tool for -” He cut himself off.

Brandish pounced. “Interrogating criminals? Is that what you were going to say? Do you consider my daughter to be a common criminal, to be interrogated with no regard for the law? For her rights? For the right to not self-incriminate?”

“Mrs Dallon,” Armsmaster stated, “there has been a murder committed. Your daughters were present when it happened. This is a fact.”

“That may well be,” Carol responded. “But if and when my daughter is questioned about this matter, I will be present, and you will not be. If you do attempt to sit in on the questioning, I will require independent verification to ensure that any lie-detection apparatus in your helmet has been disabled. Do I make myself absolutely clear?”

Wow, she's really going at him hard.

Do you blame her? Vicky's under threat. But he should agree. It won't cost him anything.

Why is that?

Because he can get almost the same reading from watching a recording.

Oh. Wow. His lie detector's that good?

Repeat after me: bullshit Tinker based technology is bullshit. Did you know his halberd teleports back to him if he loses it?

I … did not know that. Okay, you've convinced me.

But don't relax quite yet. She might have him on the run ...

He paused as they watched Armsmaster swing his leg over his motorcycle; it started with a deep-throated rumble. Smoothly, it moved off down the road.

Damn, I never get tired of watching that thing.

You were saying about having him on the run?

Yeah. Now that he's gone – you're next.

What?

She looked back at Carol, who was indeed glaring at her. "Vicky. Amy. Inside, now."

"But, Mom -" began Vicky.

Are you going to stay or go? Last chance to bail out before the interrogation.

"Don't you 'but Mom' me, young lady! Get inside this instant, both of you."

I – Amy wavered for a long moment, but the old habits of obedience were too strong. Crap. I'll stay. It would be unfair on Vicky to bail on her now.

Then get inside now, before she has to tell you a third time.

There was more than the hint of a parental tone to his voice; either he was a father, she guessed, or he'd associated with teenagers more than once. She didn't argue, trotting up the path to the house with Vicky not far behind her.

Carol followed on, closing the front door with a certain level of finality. She pointed at the sofa. “Sit. Both of you.”

Vicky glanced at Amy, who saw the seeds of concern in that look.

Wow, if Vicky is worried … maybe I should've gone.

I think Vicky's got much the same idea. Still think you don't need another place to stay?

Urgh. Maybe.

But yeah, you might be right. Let's see how this turns out.

<><>​

Carol was pacing back and forth, glancing from Vicky to Amy and back again; she wasn't quite tearing her hair out by the roots, but Amy wondered if she wasn't far off it. Abruptly, she stopped, and put her hands on her hips. “How could you be so stupid?”

Amy wasn't sure if Carol was addressing her or not, but she felt her mouth open anyway, to defend herself, to offer an explanation.

Uh uh. That was a general question. She's throwing guilt at you, in the hopes that you'll confess all.

It's working. I feel guilty already.

Well, don't. We did a good job tonight.

And got Coil killed.

“Uh, what do you mean, Mom?” asked Vicky.

That's not on you. Taylor made the choice, and I think it was the correct one.

You can't be serious.

Carol glared at Vicky. “You tell me. You let Amy talk you into a midnight excursion, out of costume, and before you're even done, I have Armsmaster on my front doorstep, enquiring into your whereabouts.”

Well, you tell me. If someone you have at your mercy is threatening your life and those of your loved ones, do you trust that he's changed his mind by the time he's in a position to do just that, or do you end the threat first?

I – I could've checked -

Vicky set her jaw stubbornly. “It was for a good cause, Mom. It was something that we had to do, and we succeeded.”

And what would you have done if you'd found the unshakeable intent to do what he said he was going to do?

I … I'm not sure.

“A good cause?” Carol shook her head. “I don't think you realise how much trouble you're in, young lady. Armsmaster is angry – very angry – about what's happened. He hasn't filled me in on exactly what's happened -” She didn't seem at all pleased about that. “- but he's talking aiding and abetting, and accessory to murder. Plus other potential charges. What you've done is obviously very serious. We've got to get ahead of it, and to do that, you've got to tell me exactly what happened.”

Amy turned her attention back to Mike's voice. Suppose the threat wasn't toward Taylor and her dad – who's a pretty nice guy, and damned honest, for someone in city politics – but toward Vicky and you? Would you have stood by and let him threaten you? Accepted that he wasn't going to follow through? Or made sure of it?

I couldn't just kill him … Her thought trailed off, because she wasn't so sure that she wouldn't kill to save Vicky's life. The realisation brought her up short.

“Mom, it's not so simple as that.” Vicky's voice was earnest. “This is important. I can't go telling just anyone.” She glanced toward Amy.

As I see it, you have three options in that scenario. First, turn him over to the authorities and hope to God they don't chuck him in a revolving-door jail. Second, alter his brain so he can't ever think that way about you and yours. Third, kill him. He paused. Let me know if I've missed any.

“Don't look at her,” snapped Carol. “She's the one who got you into this mess in the first place!”

I don't know. I've never thought of killing with my powers before, not seriously. I've never had to go there. And I've always avoided working with brains … well, because.

Well, at some point, you're going to have to decide whether or not changing someone's mind is worse than killing them. Your choice. Anyway. This argument's getting interesting.

“Don't blame Amy for this,” Vicky snapped right back. “It's bigger than both of us!”

“Why shouldn't I blame Amy?” Carol wanted to know. She turned to face Amy. “I want to know what's going on, and why you dragged Vicky into this!”

Well, at least she didn't say 'my daughter'.

Shush.

Amy cleared her throat. “We were doing something really important.”

That's probably not going to be enough.

By Carol's expression, he was correct. “You're going to have to do a hell of a lot better than that, young lady, or -”

“Or what?” retorted Amy, stung. “You'll ground me? Fine. It'll be up to you to explain why Panacea's not out and about any more.”

Carol rallied quickly. “You'll still be coming out as part of the team,” she stated. “But when we're not patrolling -”

“Hah, no,” Amy told her. “You don't get to pick and choose.” She felt her resentment rising, and she rode it, let it give her words strength. “Either I'm part of this team, part of this family, or I'm not. Either I'm trusted or I'm not. Either you give me a fair hearing, or you don't. But you don't get to decide that I'm subject to your authority without giving me a fair deal. Not any more.”

Holy shit, where did that come from?

It's what you've been telling me … isn't it?

Uh, yeah, but … wow. That was as awesome as the mouthful you gave them this afternoon.

Before Amy could reply, Carol broke herself out of the stunned state that Amy's defiance had apparently put her into. “You're a child. You don't get to dictate -”

“I'm sixteen,” Amy told her. “I had my birthday last year, if you hadn't noticed. I can leave home now. I could join the Wards. They'd fall all over themselves to accept me. And can you imagine the newspaper headlines? 'Panacea rejects New Wave'. How would the team look then?”

Carol's face twisted. It seemed that she could imagine it all too well. “We could tell them the truth about how you're the child of a supervillain -”

“Who you attacked in his own home, and abducted his child to raise as your own? That'll go down well.”

Carol's mouth fell open; Vicky's didn't, but she came close. “That's not how it was -” began the older woman.

“Actually, yeah, it more or less is,” Amy went on relentlessly. “I could give a tearful interview where I reveal how you've barely ever treated me the same as Vicky … believe me, I've got a lot of ammunition here.”

“You'd destroy the team,” Carol protested. “Do you want to do that? To Mark? To Sarah and Neil? To Eric and Crystal? To Vicky?”

Amy shook her head. “It's not me who'd destroy the team. You've already done everything that's needed to do that. All I'd do would be showing people the truth about New Wave.”

“Ames -” began Vicky, putting her hand on her sister's arm.

“What?” Amy looked at her. “It's true. You know it's true.”

“Yeah … but do we need to bring the team down over it?”

“No, we don't.” Amy shook her head. “But I'm not going to let Carol get away with dictating my life, either. Not any more. Especially not about this.”

“But the criminal charges -”

“Aren't going to stick.” Amy grinned at her sister. “Or did you forget who we spoke to, tonight?”

“Oh. Right.” Vicky's face cleared. “But surely even she can't make something like that go away." A pause. "Can she?"

Inside her mind, Amy echoed the question. Can she?

Yes, actually she can.

Really?

Let's just say, Alexandria's secret identity has serious throw weight.

Oh. Okay.

“She can.” Amy's voice was firm.

“Okay, what the hell are you two talking about?” demanded Carol. “Who did you speak to? What do you mean, the charges aren't going to stick?”

“I mean that the charges aren't going to stick,” Amy enunciated carefully. “And where we went and who we spoke to is absolutely none of your business, unless you're ready to accept that we know what we're talking about.”

Carol's expression darkened, but Vicky intervened hastily. “Mom, look. Amy's right. There's a whole lot more going on than you know about, and if you keep prying, you're going to find out more than you wanted to know.”

“You're taking her side?” Carol sounded as though she couldn't believe it.

“Hell yes, I'm taking her side.” Vicky indicated Amy. “Tonight, I saw just how awesome my sister can be. I kind of like it. Plus, I got to team up with people I never thought I'd team up with, which was also several kinds of cool.”

“I'm presuming that's the 'aiding and abetting' that Armsmaster was talking about.” Carol's voice was still chilly.

"Mom, look." Vicky's voice was impatient. "A girl was kidnapped. The bank robbery was a cover. We went and rescued her."

Carol looked dubious. "What girl? What's her name?"

"Dinah Alcott," Amy supplied. "She's Mayor Christner's niece."

"I know of her." Carol frowned. "She was kidnapped?"

"Ring her folks and find out," Vicky suggested. "We spoke to her dad. He knows we were there."

"So why didn't you just tell us?" demanded Carol. "New Wave would have pitched in."

Amy blinked as both Carol and Vicky looked at her. Actually, that's a good question. Why didn't we?

Two reasons. First reason was, I wanted the Undersiders involved, and you can't deny that they did a good job.

Well, granted, but what's the second reason?

He told her; she repeated it to Carol. "Because at best, you would have questioned me at every step of the way. Worse, you might have pushed me aside and taken charge, and gotten people hurt. At the very worst, you would have simply refused to even try, and kept me from doing it as well."

"Mom wouldn't have done that," Vicky stated. "Would you, Mom?" She looked at her mother; Carol stared back, jaw set. "You wouldn't ... would you?"

The damning silence stretched on, then Carol spoke; her tone was grudging. “Not necessarily.”

Which is yes, she would've, but she's not going to admit it.

Amy's mental voice was very dry. I got that, thanks.

Vicky had also apparently gotten it. “Mom!” Her voice was full of pain.

“It's over,” Carol's voice was curt. “We'll never know now. What I want to know is, what about this accessory to murder business? Who got murdered, and why in God's name did you allow it to happen?”

May as well tell her.

“Coil,” Amy stated flatly. “He was the one who had the bank robbed, and Dinah kidnapped. We took his base, and took him prisoner. He was … executed, by one of the villains.”

“A helpless prisoner?” snapped Carol. “Murdered? Why did you even let this happen?”

“We didn't know it was going to happen!” Vicky retorted. “Ames was saving R- saving one of the villains, and we heard the shot. To be honest, we though it was someone else who got shot.”

“Who?”

Amy shook her head hastily. “No, that's something that we're not going to talk about. But Coil was an idiot. He was talking, making false promises, with a precog in the room. He as good as threatened to have one of the villains killed. Maybe more than one.”

More forgiving of the impulse now, huh?

Well, you've helped me understand it a little more, I'll admit.

Carol frowned. “You don't kill helpless prisoners. It's just not done.”

“He wasn't helpless.” Amy spoke as firmly as he knew how. “Coil had powers. He was a precog, very specialised. He could take two timelines and pick the best one.”

“Which puzzles me,” Vicky noted. “If he could pick between timelines – what happened on the other one that made him pick this one?”

Amy shrugged. “Pretty sure we'll never know. Maybe it was going to happen in both timelines.”

“Surely he wouldn't be so stupid as to bait them in both timelines,” Vicky protested.

That's a good point, actually. Any idea what happened?

Buggered if I know. Though he was probably trying to angle for freedom, making promises. Maybe he made the wrong promise on the other timeline and one of the others popped him.

Yeah, probably.

“So who killed him?” asked Carol practically.

Amy saw Vicky glancing at her, and shrugged elaborately. “Didn't see it happen.”

Vicky took the cue. “No, nor did I.”

Oh, thank you God. That could have been awkward. Especially for Taylor. Skitter doesn't need a murder charge over her head right now. Or even one for justifiable homicide.

Carol folded her arms. “I refuse to believe that neither of you has any idea of who did it.”

“Mom, you're a lawyer,” Vicky pointed out. “We could say who we thought was the one who did it. But as we didn't witness the actual shooting … “ She trailed off meaningfully.

“Why are you protecting this villain?” her mother demanded.

“Because I think it was justified,” Amy snapped. “If you had a villain down and at your mercy, and he was vowing to come back and murder Mark and Vicky, and you knew you wouldn't see him coming, how would you handle it?”

Hang on, I think I've heard this line of reasoning before somewhere. Wait a minute, it'll come to me … The impression of a sly grin illuminated his thoughts.

Shush, you. But she was grinning back.

Carol gritted her teeth. “Murder is never an appropriate answer.”

“So tell me what is,” Amy shot back. “In that case, what's an appropriate answer? One that'll let you sleep at night?”

The look she got from Carol was one of pure dislike. “Sometimes there is no right answer.”

“I don't know,” mused Vicky. “Coil's not going to be a problem for anyone after tonight, yeah?”

Carol rounded on her. “That was insensitive and inappropriate.” She drew a deep breath, apparently trying to rein in her temper, with indifferent results. “Fine. Get to bed, the both of you. And I expect you to be up in time for school tomorrow.”

Amy raised her chin. “Am I still grounded?”

“We'll talk about that later. Bed. Now.”

Much later, if I'm any judge.

She suppressed an inappropriate giggle. Shush, you.

<><>​

Amy came out of the bathroom towelling her hair – Carol had unbent enough to allow each of them to have a quick shower, during which time Amy had learned some more lyrics of one of the songs Mike had memorised – to find Vicky waiting for her.

“So what's going to happen now?” asked her sister, in an undertone; their parents' bedroom door was closed, but there was still a line of light under it.

“I have no idea,” Amy replied. “They might kick me out. I might move out. I might join the Wards. I think I'll be sleeping on it.”

“If they kick you out, I'm coming too,” declared Vicky.

Amy frowned. “No. Stay, please.” Vicky opened her mouth to protest, but Amy raised a hand. “I'd love you to come along, you know I would. But if you come with me, Carol will come after me twice as hard. If I'm gone, then I'm just gone. And we can keep in touch. Right?”

“Right.” Vicky grimaced, displeased. “It'll be totally unfair if she does kick you out.”

“Yeah,” Amy commented dryly. “And my life's been totally fair up till now.”

Vicky snorted, but did not dispute that. “Night, Ames.” She held out her arms for a hug.

“Night, Vicky.” Amy hugged her; the voice in her head kept a diplomatic silence.

She went to her room and climbed into bed – back into bed, her memory reminded her – revelling in the warmth, the comfort, the cessation of effort.

It's been a big night.

Pretty big, yeah. A pause. You want to talk about anything?

No, thanks. I'd just like to sleep, please.

Yeah, no problem. Night, roomie.

A sliver of amusement tinged her return thought. Night, Michael.

It didn't take her long to get to sleep at all.

<><>​

Friday Morning

“Are you sure this is all the data that you were able to get out of the base security system?”

Armsmaster nodded in reply to Piggot's query. “Yes, ma'am.”

Frowning, she tapped in a command, and her desk computer began to replay the footage of the area around where Coil had been murdered. At first the playback was flawless, but then strange blips and jumps started creeping in. A camera pointing from one angle caught Panacea and Glory Girl and the Undersiders, looking off-screen, but the camera covering that angle showed nothing but static.

The picture loss became more pronounced, until it was rapid jumps, until it finally cleared, to show Coil slumped in the chair, a red stain on the white snake showing that he had been shot. She ran it back and forth a few times, but nothing eventuated.

“So Glory Girl, Panacea and the Undersiders hit Coil's base last night,” she growled in frustration. “Something was in that vault on the lower level, that left behind a pile of some organic slurry or other. Someone, possibly Glory Girl, hit Commander Calvert's house, possibly abducting him, dressing him in Coil's costume, and bringing him to the base during one of the security footage blips before someone shoots him.”

Armsmaster's lips pursed thoughtfully. “Director … I might be out of order … “

She looked up at him. “Spill it.”

“How well did you know Commander Calvert?”

“Not well.” She shook her head. “I didn't like the man. Altogether too self-serving for me.”

“Self-serving enough to be Coil?”

She paused for a very long moment. Her initial estimation of Ridiculous! died before her mouth even had the chance to form the word. “He hadn't triggered when I first met him … “ After Ellisburg, she didn't tell him; Armsmaster still wasn't cleared for that particular debacle. “But it's possible that he could have triggered since. He certainly would have welcomed it.”

“Should we investigate the possibility?” Do you think it's possible enough to check out?

“Definitely,” she decided without hesitation. It was starting to sound more and more plausible in her own mind. If it's true, there'll be egg on the faces of everyone who vetted him. Including mine; I let him back into the strike squads.

“Okay, so if Calvert was Coil, does this change what happened?”

She shook her head. “Not by much. Not by nearly enough. He was still murdered. By a low-calibre bullet, they say. Pistol, not rifle. And it's either Panacea, Glory Girl or one of the Undersiders who squeezed the trigger.”

“Unlikely to be Panacea or Glory Girl,” he decided. “Two of the Undersiders already have outstanding murder charges.”

“Nothing to do with guns,” she pointed out. “Tattletale carries a pistol. I'm waiting on the ballistic report; we can match with the slug we got from the bank.”

“Still won't prove she did it,” Armsmaster pointed out. “Anyone could have handled that pistol during the camera blackouts.”

She made a frustrated noise of agreement. “Did you get anywhere with the Dallons, last night?”

“No.” His voice was almost as frustrated. “I spoke to Brandish; she told me that Flashbang had declined to get up. She also made it clear that she would stand by the girls if it came to any sort of legal proceedings. I got a little information out of them, but not much.”

“If we end up prosecuting them, it would be huge,” Piggot mused. “It would be publicised, maybe nationwide. Crazies crawling out of the woodwork all over.”

“Are you saying we shouldn't follow it up, ma'am?” asked Armsmaster dubiously.

“No.” Her voice was firm. “I'm going to boot this up the chain. I'll send all the evidence we have, footage, the lot, to Chief Director Costa-Brown. She can look it over and advise me on how we're going to play this; quiet or loud.”

“Good idea.” He fell silent then, as she began the work of doing just that; dropping the various files into one folder. It took less time than she would have imagined. For a moment, she hesitated on clicking the Send button; the action, she knew, could not be taken back. For better or for worse, it would inform Rebecca Costa-Brown of exactly what had happened.

With the feeling of someone stepping off of a cliff, she clicked the button. The computer displayed its 'operating' icon for a moment or two, then declared that the message had been sent.

“Well, that's that,” Piggot decided. “I'll keep you in the loop about what we're going to do about this, of course.”

Armsmaster nodded. “Thank you, ma'am.”

He let himself out, and she allowed herself to be enfolded by the day-to-day minutiae of her job. Many things, big and small, demanded her attention; not all of these were as attention-arresting as a dead crime lord in the middle of his own base, but they all had to be dealt with.

And then her phone rang; picking it up, she stated, “Piggot.”

“Emily, this is Chief Director Costa-Brown.”

Unconsciously, she straightened in her seat. “Uh, Director. Did you get my email?”

“Yes, I did. I'm calling about that now.”

“I only expected an email. What did you want me to do?”

“Nothing.”

“ … what?”

“Leave Panacea and Glory Girl out of it.”

“But … at the very least, they're witnesses -”

“No. They are not. You can investigate, collect the evidence, but do not involve those two.”

She drew a deep breath. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Good.” The call ended; there was a faint dial tone in her ear.

Carefully placing the phone down, she sat staring at it for several minutes.

Now what the hell was that all about?

Misgivings or no, she had her orders; she set to work carrying them out.

One of these days, I'll have my answers, she promised herself. Just not today.



End of Part Fourteen

Part Fifteen