Recoil
Part 6-2: Touching Base
[A/N: this chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Thursday, 11 July, 1994
Two Weeks Before the Meeting on the Highway
Cauldron Base
The conference room was dominated by a table that been carved from a giant redwood. On the far end of the room was a huge screen, currently dark. Three people were seated around the table—Doctor Mother, Contessa and Alexandria—the last of whom was currently tapping her fingernail on the tabletop with enough force to dent it.
A Doorway opened, and Eidolon stepped through into the room. The portal closed unheeded behind him as he found a chair and settled into it. Alexandria looked over at him, letting her irritation show. "You're late. Where are the other two?"
"They're
busy. As was I, up until thirty seconds ago." Eidolon pushed his hood back and dropped his glowing green mask on to the table, revealing a weary expression. "What's this about?"
"Hm." Alexandria restrained herself from any further outbursts. "I wanted to make sure that everyone's on the same page regarding a certain rising star in the PRT. A Captain Taylor Snow. I'd prefer everyone be here, but if it's just us, it's just us."
Eidolon frowned. "I don't know the name. Who is that?" A moment later, something clicked behind his eyes. "Wait, isn't that the one who …"
"She predicted the Behemoth's attack on New York, yes," Alexandria said. "I understand that she's working on the time and place of the next attack. She's also behind the protocols that have
finally secured the PRT against the parahuman infiltrators that were making off with secure information in droves." The description was slightly exaggerated, but not by much. The information leakages from the PRT had been
very irritating. "Not to mention, she was right in the middle of that incident with the Brotherhood of the Fallen."
She picked up a remote and clicked a button; three large images filled the wallscreen, all of the same slender young dark-haired woman. One in fatigues, one in standard PRT uniform, and one in full dress while having a medal pinned to her tunic. Rectangular-framed glasses and a quietly determined expression were the common features of each image. "She also came to me two days ago and made some extremely insightful and forward-thinking proposals about how the PRT should treat rogue capes. I've run them past my DC think-tank and gotten largely positive responses, so I'm going to have them implemented."
"If she's such a prodigy, why isn't she working directly for us?" asked Eidolon. "We could pay her whatever she wanted." He waved a hand. "It's not like we can't afford it."
"I would tend to agree," Doctor Mother said carefully. She studied the picture on the screen. "We could even offer her a formula. With Thinker abilities, she could really focus her insights."
"If we offered, I think she'd say no," Alexandria mused. "I've already offered her a place on the think-tank, three times. And three times she turned me down." She grimaced, recalling each incident. "I can't get a handle on her. Trying to establish leverage is like punching fog."
"Well,
that's easily fixed," Eidolon said, rolling his eyes. "Contessa, what approach would work best to get her on board?"
Contessa shook her head. "I don't think she would work well with Cauldron. Among other things, she's an idealist." She gestured downward; Alexandria knew quite well that she was indicating the many Case 53 prisoners in the base.
"Crap. Well, there goes that idea." Eidolon stood up and put his mask on before pulling his hood back up. "I've got to go. Things I have to take care of. But I think I need face time with this Captain Snow, sometime in the near future."
"Don't frighten her off," warned Alexandria. "If she predicted the Behemoth once, she can do it again. That makes her an extremely valuable resource. If staying in the PRT is what makes her happy, then we'll let her stay in the PRT." She stood up as well. "I mean it."
Eidolon gestured reassuringly. "I'll be diplomatic. I promise. Doorway." The portal opened in mid-air and he stepped through.
Alexandria watched as the hole in space closed behind him.
That's what I'm afraid of.
-ooo-
Thursday, 25 July, 1994
A Small Town in Texas
Kari looked up as Leanne jittered her foot against the coffee shop table leg. "Where is she? She said she'd be here." The slender Mover apparently had an inexhaustible supply of nervous energy, most probably because she wasn't able to run properly yet. So far she'd made six trips to the counter for more coffee; Kari wondered if and when the girl ever peed.
Dana put her hand on Leanne's shoulder. "It'll be fine. She assured me that she'd be here today. Even repeated back the address to this place." She brushed her long dark brown hair out of her eyes, then went back to fiddling with the device she was working on. It looked like a bizarre fusion between a Rubik's cube and a wind-up toy spider. With flashing LEDs.
Joanne leaned in, a full head taller than everyone else. Her hair, a few shades lighter than Dana's, was tied back in an efficient ponytail. She wore blue jeans and a man's work shirt; as far as Kari could see, this was more because she couldn't find anything in her size than for any kind of fashion statement. "She said she'd be here. She'll be here."
Kari nodded, setting her blonde hair to swaying around her head. "It's true. She said she'd be here. After all, she went in and got us out, right?" She glanced around at the others. Tori was managing to keep herself mostly visible these days, though sometimes she forgot and faded into the background. Of course, when she was
concentrating on disappearing, especially in strong light, she just vanished altogether.
On the other hand, what had been done to Vanessa and Brianna had given
them problems seeing things. Brianna's eyes could shoot something similar to a laser, and so she'd been blinded by the Brotherhood of the Fallen to prevent her from using her powers. They
hadn't known that using her power actually damaged her eyes, requiring a rest period between uses. This also meant that her eyes had been growing back, albeit slowly. Given the lack of nutrition in the Compound, this had been slower than normal, until she'd been released. She was able to see properly now, and even make use of her Blaster ability, although she usually needed glasses for close vision, especially just after she'd been using her powers.
Vanessa had likewise been blinded, because her powers also worked through her eyes. However, she was a Thinker rather than a Blaster, with odd visual capabilities. Or rather, she
had been; her eyes lacked Brianna's regeneration capability. To cover up what had been done to her, and what Dana had done to fix it, she wore oversized sunglasses nearly everywhere.
Kari glanced up as the coffee shop door
dinged musically, but it was only a customer walking in off the street. A woman, certainly, but she was wearing a brightly-coloured sundress and a broad-brimmed hat rather than the PRT uniform they were watching out for.
Leanne stared out the window, shading her eyes against the afternoon glare. "Where
is she?" Suddenly, she leaned forward. "Hey. Isn't that the big guy, the sergeant?"
Kari looked around, along with the rest of them. The guy that Leanne was indicating stood on the sidewalk, his back to the window. She thought back to the burly sergeant who'd been carrying Captain Snow when they first met her. This guy was definitely big and fit enough, and even though he wasn't in uniform, he was standing in a military kind of stance. She just wished she could see his face to make sure, one way or the other.
"If that's him," Joanne said uncertainly, "then where's
she?" She turned her head, looking up and down the street. Kari did the same, but saw nobody out of the ordinary. In fact, the only tall woman she'd seen was …
"Excuse me?" The familiar voice came from behind them. "Is this seat taken?"
-ooo-
I'd left the cane in the car because I honestly didn't need it any more. While I'd probably get twinges in that leg for the rest of my life, I could walk on it perfectly well. As such, there was nothing to draw attention to me when I entered the coffee shop and headed for the counter. I observed them out of the corner of my eye as I made my order; they were too busy talking among themselves to look too closely at me.
I might have to give them some tutorials in basic tradecraft so they don't get caught unawares by hostiles.
By the time I'd finished my order, they were looking out the window at Kinsey. As per my orders, he was keeping watch in a way that drew attention; that way, anyone looking for me would have to look twice or three times to actually spot me. We were both armed, of course; this being Texas, I suspected it was illegal
not to be carrying some sort of weapon. He had his hand-cannon in a shoulder rig, while my little Glock rode in the handbag slung over my shoulder.
When I spoke, everyone looked at me. Brianna—I'd refreshed myself on their faces and names—opened her mouth, possibly to say it was taken. But then Kari jumped in. "Captain Snow!" she whispered excitedly. "It's
you! You
came!" The commingled relief and good cheer in her voice made me smile.
Pulling out the chair, I sat down with my handbag on my lap, then removed my hat and sunglasses. With my face and hair now visible, I could literally watch the recognition dawning on each of their faces.
Proof positive that the uniform makes it easier to recognise me, not harder. "I did indeed. It's good to see you all. How are you?"
"We're doing a lot better than we were," Joanne allowed. "You seem to be doing well, too. Walking and all, I mean." She nodded toward me. "Was it deliberate, coming in like that so nobody recognised you?" The tone of her voice sounded more intrigued than angry.
"That
was the idea," I said. "It's something that's good to practice. Once PASS really gets going, you
are going to make enemies. It'll be a good idea to make sure they don't know where you are at all times. Also, don't go anywhere alone."
I saw them glance at each other. They were, at least, cognizant of the dangers of being kidnapped for a second time. With some of them, the glances were apprehensive. Joanne, on the other hand, hardened her jaw. "I'll make sure of that," she promised. "Is there anything you can teach us? Show us how to be safer?"
"Yes." I let that one word sink in before I continued. "There are several strategies. Not being recognised means they can't zero in on you. But at some point, you're almost certainly going to need to either dissuade or evade an attacker. Some of you have a head start on that. And you have three big advantages that you didn't have before."
Vanessa tilted her head. I couldn't see her eyes behind her heavy sunglasses. "What's that?"
I smiled, very slightly. "You know they're coming, this time. You'll have time to prepare. And you have each other. Teamwork, properly applied, can overcome virtually any disorganised enemy." Gladys and I had proven that over and over in JROTC and ROTC, to the dismay of our opposition. All the people at this table needed was training. Which had given rise to a suggestion I was going to make; I didn't know if they'd take it, but I was hoping they would.
"Damn right." Joanne nodded. She, I was sure, would take up my suggestion. Some of the others, I wasn't so certain about. That would remain to be seen. "So what can you show us?"
"Nothing, right at this second," I said. "That needs to happen later. This isn't the time or place for that sort of thing. But we
will get back to it." I nodded across the table to Dana. "Right now, I need to look over the contract the PRT gave you. You haven't signed it yet?"
"Oh, uh, no," she said, setting down the device she'd been fiddling with. It folded into itself and seemed to go to sleep. "I mean, it
looks good, but after what you said, I thought I'd hang on to it so you could look it over." Reaching down beside the chair, she produced a zippered document folder and slid it over to me.
I nodded. "That's exactly what I meant. The PRT as a whole means well, but they
are a government organisation, and any bureaucracy anywhere will pick up dirty tricks." My mouth twisted in a wry grin. "I try to stay away from that side of things."
Footsteps sounded from behind me, and I turned to watch the waitress as she brought my order over to the table. One cup of tea, along with sugar and milk. I nodded in thanks, then poured in milk and sugar and stirred both into the beverage. Once I'd taken my first sip, I unzipped the folder and pulled out the contract.
I was cheating as I skimmed through it, of course. While I knew enough to decipher the language, Lisa had already filled me in on what to look for. So, with a pen in my right hand, I traced my way through the paragraphs and clauses, humming tunelessly as I went. Six times, I stopped to put a line through a particular clause, then I went back to the beginning and checked it through again. Just for show, of course.
"There you go," I said, putting the contract on the folder and skating it back over toward Dana. "Tell 'em that's what you want to go with. They'll scream just a little, but they won't be able to object too strenuously." I looked around at the expressions of disbelief. "What?"
"That took about
one minute!" burst out Joanne. "I looked through the damn thing for an
hour last night! What did you find, and
how did you find it?"
"Have a look," I invited her, tilting my head toward the contract. "One clause sets up a particular expectation of conduct. Another one refers to the first one; if it's violated, it nullifies all other agreements and locks Dana into an exclusive contract with the PRT. Yet another one gives the PRT control over setting prices for her tech. And so forth. Each one's more or less innocuous on its own, but taken as a whole, it'll lock her down legally if she so much as offers her tech to anyone who even gets suspected of committing a crime at any time in the future."
"Holy shit." Dana ran her hand through her hair. "And I was getting ready to sign it, too. What about the bonuses for signing, early completion of projects and all that?"
"All walked back as soon as you violate that one clause," I said. "Don't worry; I've disarmed that landmine. Taken as a whole, the contract is what you need. You just didn't need
that bit." I smiled and sipped at my tea.
"But …
you're PRT," Brianna said with a frown. "Aren't you kind of going against your own people, showing us how to beat the system?" Beside her, Tori nodded in agreement.
I chuckled and shook my head. "I learned quite early on never to trust that any bureaucracy had my best interests at heart. But it's rarely if ever personal. It's just what they've evolved over time to gain the greatest benefit from dealing with others. The trick is to never sign a damn thing unless you agree with every word in the contract."
"Right." Joanne seemed to be taking control of this meeting. "So what else can you talk to us about, today?" Beside her, Dana was paging through the contract, re-reading what I'd crossed out, and shaking her head.
"I spoke to the Chief Director." That got everyone's attention again. "She's aware of PASS, and the potential for going into other countries and causing problems there." Silence greeted my statement; I looked from face to face. Most, including Joanne's, were grim. Vanessa and Kari looked a little apprehensive. "Currently, she's willing to de-prioritise any incident that you cause, so long as you don't make it too loud. No direct attacks on the government or military of any sovereign nation." I leaned forward. "More specifically, if you can be back on American soil before things get fraught,
with whoever you were going in there to rescue, there'll be far less fallout."
"How the hell did you swing
that?" demanded Leanne. "Is she your mom or something?" She spread her hands as the others turned to look at her. "What? I admit there isn't much resemblance, but they're both badass as fuck."
I coughed to hide my smile. "Trust me, you have
no idea how badass she can be. No, she's no relation. But she seems to value my opinion as an analyst, so when I pointed out woman-to-woman that prosecuting people for rescuing the victims of sex slavery could be seen as a bad PR move, she took me at my word."
"It took an analyst to point that out to her?" Joanne shook her head. "Is she that stupid, or is she just made of stone?" The hurt and anger were clear in her voice.
I'd thought something similar of the woman myself, once upon a time. Since then, of course, my eyes had been opened to the realities of the situation. "Politics muddies everything," I noted mildly. "And sometimes when your job is to see the big picture, it's hard to focus on individuals. It's quite literally my job to cut through the bullshit and red tape to tell her what she needs to know. Myself and half a hundred other people." I drew a deep breath. "But you do have another PRT-related problem, and it's not the Chief Director."
"That sounds ominous," Brianna said. Her gaze was peculiarly intent. Behind her glasses, her irises seemed to be fluorescing slightly. It made for an almost hypnotic effect. "If it's not her, what is it?"
I sighed and pulled a notepad from my handbag. "Remember how I said earlier that the problems that bureaucracy throws your way are rarely personal? Well, this is a personal problem. There's a guy—I know him better than he knows me—who's taken it on himself to have all your phones wiretapped. This isn't an official operation, or even an officially unofficial one. He wants to be right there when you break the law, so he can come down hard on you."
"The
fuck he does!" snapped Joanne. "Why aren't you arresting the asshole?" Her expression showed the same outrage that she expressed in her voice.
"I wish I could." I told the lie as firmly as I knew how. As much as I hated it, I needed Calvert in the PRT for a few more years. "The trouble is, he's good at separating himself from potential trouble. Pinning this on him will be almost impossible. However." As I spoke, I wrote on the top page of the pad, then tore it off. "This is the direct line for the Director of the local branch of the PRT." Folding it once, I handed it over to Joanne. "Call him—not on any of your phones, but a separate line—and tell him that Captain Snow would like the wiretaps removed from your lines post-haste. He will, of course, deny that any such wiretaps exist. But your phones will be clear from then on. Especially if you say that I told you I'd be checking."
Joanne unfolded the paper and looked at the number written inside. "And why's he gonna do what you say? I mean, he outranks you, right?"
I shrugged modestly. "What can I say? The man owes me a favour." Grantham owed me more than that. I'd amplified the PRT's reputation during the Compound incident, and some of that had reflected back on him and his station. "And our friend will keep. Sooner or later he'll put a foot wrong and he'll get what he deserves."
"Was he one of the assholes stopping people from coming in to get us out?" asked Kari. "Because if that's the case, I wanna be
there when you take him down." She clenched her fist, and I saw a streamer of metal slide out of her sleeve and wrap around her wrist.
Ah. So she still carries metal on her. Somehow, not surprised. "No, he's not," I told her truthfully. "But he'll get what's coming to him. People I knew got hurt by him, once upon a time. I
will be taking him down." Laying my pen on the table, I clasped my hands on the table in front of me. "Next item of business. As I said earlier, once PASS gets up and running, you'll be at risk from people—non-capes and capes alike—who don't like what you're doing and what you stand for. These will range from those who merely feel threatened by women standing up for themselves all the way down the line to men who want to hurt women and see you as an obstacle. You're going to be attacked socially, politically and possibly even personally, just for daring to stand up and make a difference."
"Fuckin'
let 'em." Joanne's fists were clenched on the table in front of her. "I did
not go through that shit to sit back now and let it happen to others when we could be doing something."
I sipped at my tea as a murmur of agreement swept around the table, then nodded in acknowledgement. "Well, you're dedicated. That's good. You're going to need that. And I'm going to help you prepare for it. Because all the dedication in the world doesn't help if you don't know what you're doing."
Brianna frowned. "How are you going to help us prepare? What you said, earlier, about evading and dissuading attackers?" Her irises were fluorescing again.
"There's a lot you need to learn," I told her. "All of you. More than I can teach in an hour, or even a day." I looked around the table, meeting each set of eyes in turn. With Vanessa, I just looked at her sunglasses. "Those of you whose powers don't lend themselves to physical confrontation need to learn how to handle themselves in a fight. And even those who do can stand to fight more effectively. Also, tradecraft; going unnoticed, getting information, passing messages unseen, communicating in public. If you're going to do this, you need to do it
right."
"You're talking about making us into spies," Dana said, looking a little concerned. "I don't want to do that. I just want to help other women."
"This
is about helping them," I told her. "It's about intelligence gathering. Accurate intel can be the difference between a successful op and a clusterfuck. Intel gathering is how I knew you were in the Compound. How I knew
where you were in the Compound." I was bullshitting here just a little; Lisa had given me all of that, from her inexhaustible stockpile of knowledge, but the principle was sound.
"Right." Joanne nodded firmly. "I hear what you're saying." Her eyes met mine, and I heard the challenge in her voice. She knew that what I was proposing wasn't going to be easy. Meanwhile, her entire attitude said:
Bring it.
"Excellent," I said. Taking up the pen, I wrote a number. "Once you've cleared your phones, call this number. It will connect you with people who can train you in what you need to know. It won't be easy and it won't be fun, but it
will give you skills that might just save your lives, or the lives of the people next to you. Understood?"
"Wait, you're not going to be training us?" That was Leanne. "I thought you were going to be training us."
I shook my head slightly. "I would if I could. Unfortunately, duty calls. The best I can do is make these arrangements and let you follow through." Andrea's mercenaries, I knew, could train them better than I ever could, merely by virtue of having more man-hours available to do the training with. I tore off the page with the number on it and passed it over to Joanne. Then I took a deep breath. This was going to be unpleasant. "One more thing I wanted to talk about. Something that concerns everyone but Kari and Joanne."
From the looks that they shared, I surmised that most of them knew immediately what I was talking about. Unsurprisingly, the only ones who didn't were the two I'd named. Joanne stared at me. "What the hell are you talking about?"
I wanted to look down at the table, but they'd earned my honesty and directness. "Joanne … every girl who came out of the Compound, except you and Kari, is pregnant."
"Oh," said Kari in tones of enlightenment. "Right." She looked around at the others. "Oh, shit.
Everyone?"
Dana wrapped her arms around Leanne, who had begun to cry silently into her hands. She looked over at me. "So, you got a miracle fix for this, too?" I was pretty sure that she didn't mean the cutting tone. But even if she did, she'd kind of earned it.
I shook my head. "No. Not a miracle fix. But you've got two main options. Each of you. You can carry the baby to term, or you can end the pregnancy." I patted my own toned stomach. "I've never been where you are, so I don't have the right to tell you what to do. It's your body, your womb. But either way, I can arrange finance for what you want to do. If you want to have the baby, raise it as your own or give it up for adoption, I can arrange that. If you want to have it aborted, and I can understand your reasons, I can arrange that instead. I promise you, I will. Not. Judge."
Dana, one arm around Leanne, with the other around her own stomach, stared at me through teary eyes. "How could anyone want to keep a child of those … those
monsters?"
I kept my tone as flat and unemotional as I could. "Yes, they were monsters. Any babies you choose to have won't be. The only thing you get from the fathers would be their DNA. Who they were, what they were, it's gone by the wayside."
"What about their powers?" Vanessa had her arm around Brianna's shoulders. "Won't their children have their powers, too? I read something about that once." She shuddered. "I don't want
anything that reminds me of them."
"No." I shook my head. "Powers aren't genetic. If they get powers from anyone, it'll be from their mothers. The monsters are dead; not even their powers will live on." I put my hands flat on the table. "Now, I know of one case where a woman took in the daughter of a villain. He hadn't fathered the girl on her, but she didn't have much of a choice in the matter. She raised the girl, but she could never forget who the father was, and the girl ended up having a nervous breakdown. With powers. You can imagine how badly that went."
Joanne's eyes widened. "Shit. What happened? Did many people die?"
I grimaced. "No, but her foster sister spent the rest of her life in care. The girl herself went into supermax. Voluntarily. The point of what I'm saying is that you shouldn't force yourself to keep the baby to raise for yourself if you really don't think you can. Giving them up for adoption is a very real option. As is abortion, if you want to take that path instead. It's your choice. Each and every one of you."
Tori shook her head. She'd been silent up till now, but I could see the pain in her eyes. "I got no choice," she said softly. "Ma'd have a fit. An' I'm seventeen. She'll never say yes to an abortion. Ain't gonna happen."
Reaching out, I took her hand. "You had no choice in what they did to you, but you've got a choice about what happens now. I can arrange for discreet transport to a reputable hospital in Seattle where you can talk to a counsellor and decide for yourself what you want to do. No pressure, no judgement. What do you say?" I lifted my eyes and looked around the table at the other girls. "That goes for all of you, of course."
"Um … shit." Brianna bit her lip. "I'm pretty sure I want to have the baby, but it couldn't hurt to just go along and talk to someone, yeah?" She shrugged. "I'm pretty young to be making this kinda life decision on my own."
"Getting a second opinion is never a bad idea," I agreed. "Also, talking to your parents might help, too, to understand your options. Who's already told them?"
Joanne coughed into her hand. "Uh, we all got tested. Or at least, I did. It was kinda common knowledge what they were doing to us in the Compound. My folks got told that I was fine. I'm guessing the others got the bad news at the same time."
That made sense.
Should've checked with Lisa. "Ah. Right. Well, the point of going to Seattle is that parental consent isn't a requirement there. If any of you
don't want to carry the baby to term, that is. I can arrange the transport. What happens when you get there is up to you."
Dana nodded slowly. "Um, do we have to make up our minds straight away? This is kinda sudden. Knowing we got a choice and all, I mean."
"No, you don't." I scribbled yet another number on the notepad. "This is the number for my boss in Chicago. His name's Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton. Just ask him to pass on a message to contact you. He'll do the rest." I passed that one to Joanne as well; I trusted her to hold on to it for the others. "Just make up your minds in the next week or two, okay?"
-ooo-
Joanne and Kari followed me outside as I left the cafe to rejoin Kinsey. Inside, the rest of the girls were lost in conversation over what I'd said to them, and the offer I'd made. It wouldn't be a huge deal for me, given that I had Andrea to call on, but it would lift a huge burden from their collective shoulders. Whether they kept the babies or didn't, the point was that they now had a
choice.
"That … what you said inside, that was amazing." Joanne put her hand on my shoulder. "Thank you. For helping us. For helping them." She bit her lip. "When you started talking about PASS, I was ready to jump down your throat if you told us we couldn't do it. I misjudged you. I'm sorry."
I shook my head. "No apology necessary. I told you before that the idea of PASS is amazing, and I meant it. I'd support it more openly if I didn't have a lot of other irons in the fire. But I've got places to go, jobs to do and people to kill. Not necessarily in that order. To quote Robert Frost, I've got miles to go before I sleep."
Neither Kari nor Joanne reacted visibly to my reference to killing. Thanks to Lisa's effective omniscience, I knew the full details of Hadrian Lange's death, and I had no problem at all with it. I'd also learned more about the man than I really wanted to know; if they hadn't killed him, I certainly would have. Mad dogs had to be put down.
"Yeah, somehow that doesn't surprise me," Kari said with a smile. "You and the rules don't always get along, do you?"
"The correct term, Ms Schultz, is 'initiative'," Kinsey said from behind her. Ignoring her yelp and start, he continued blandly. "The Captain happens to possess a healthy dose of it."
I blinked; this was the closest I'd heard Kinsey come to saying that he'd have my back even if I took the regulations and broke them over my knee. But before I could react, Kari wrapped me in a hug. I returned it, noting that her control over the metal she was undoubtedly wearing was getting better all the time. "Thank you," she whispered, before she let go.
"What for, this time?" I murmured, though I suspected I knew.
She rolled her eyes. "The
scholarship, duh." There was a giddy grin on her face. "I just know it was you."
I'd been right. At my behest, Andrea had funnelled cash through several cut-outs to endow the Amanda King Memorial Medical Scholarship. Oddly enough, the first recipient for this scholarship happened to be one Kari Schultz. There was enough money there for her mother to be taken care of while she attended her schooling. In addition, this would take place at a college close enough that she could see her mother on weekends. While I'd done my best to hide my tracks, Kari had apparently connected two and two to make four.
"I have no idea what you're talking about." I put on my best poker face.
"Uh
huh." Her grin flashed in the sunlight.
"Sure."
Internally, I sighed; while I could apparently fool veteran superheroes, teenage girls could still see right through me. "So had you thought about a cape name, if you're not going to go with Metal Storm?"
She nodded. "I'm going to go with Suture."
Which was, I decided, entirely appropriate. "I like it."
She beamed, and hugged me again.
-ooo-
Saturday, 27 July, 1994
Cauldron Base
"Doorway to Cauldron." Contessa was feeling less than thrilled as she said the words. The summons had come when she was in the middle of a Path toward preventing the nuclear annihilation of Detroit, and the number of steps to complete it was increasing steadily. Normally, this would not be a problem; her power allowed her to take such things in her stride. But the summons had come from Eidolon, which threw everything off kilter.
Four extra steps.
The Doorway opened into a large conference room; the same room, she gathered, where Alexandria had held the previous meeting, sixteen days ago. This gave her some hint as to what Eidolon wanted. She stepped through and looked around to find that everyone was in attendance, this time. Doctor Mother and the Number Man were there from the uncostumed side, and all four members of the core Protectorate from the costumed side. All were unmasked.
Six extra steps.
"Ah, good. You're here." Legend gestured at a seat. "Please, sit down. Eidolon apparently has some remarkable news for us."
She sat, wanting to make a sharp comment, but not wanting to draw out these proceedings any more than she had to.
Nine extra steps.
Eidolon stood, looking more animated than he had in … months. Years? His hair was awry and there was a glint in his eye that she hadn't seen in a while. "Legend, Hero, you were told about the meeting we had a couple of weeks ago?"
Legend nodded. "We were informed of it. I was unable to attend, but I got the run-down off of Alexandria." He spread his hands. "Crises happen."
"Yeah," Hero agreed. "There's a Tinkerbot thing happening in Tennessee. I've got it shut it down for the moment, but it took me most of the day. Sorry about that. What's this about, anyway?"
"I spoke to Taylor Snow," Eidolon stated. He looked around as Alexandria covered her eyes with her hand. "What?"
Fifteen extra steps.
"I
told you not to frighten her off," Alexandria snapped. "So what did you do? You went and
spoke with her!" Her tone was cutting. "Why did you
do that, and how many people saw you?"
"For the record, I
waited till she left DC," Eidolon retorted. "She was on the highway out in Texas somewhere. The only other person who saw us talking was that big sergeant that goes around with her. She sent him out of earshot." He threw up his hands. "But you're right. She knows what she's talking about. Holy
Christ, does she know what she's talking about."
Silence fell over the room for a moment. Contessa wanted to cut to the end of the meeting, but she didn't know what Eidolon was going to say.
Seventeen extra steps.
This time, it was Legend who spoke. "I think you should tell us what you mean by that."
"Okay, to cover the bullet points," Eidolon said, ticking off his fingers one at a time. "She's making progress on the Behemoth's next appearance, she knows that Scion's not what he seems to be -"
Exclamations burst from the throats of the others, but Contessa took it in her stride. While Doctor Goldstein and Captain Snow had originated from the same year, Ruth had no idea about Scion while it appeared Taylor … did.
That'd be right. She had no way of telling
how the PRT captain knew about Scion; any time she tried to apply a Path to the irritating woman, the version of Taylor Snow modelled in that Path
did something different.
"How can she
know that?" demanded Alexandria. The costumed woman turned and pointed at Contessa. "You don't look surprised. What's going on? What do you know?"
"No more than you do," Contessa said, almost truthfully. "Captain Snow has ceased to surprise me, that's all." She wasn't sure why she hadn't told anyone that she couldn't predict Taylor Snow's behaviour. Knowing that both Captain Snow and Doctor Goldstein were time travellers was one thing; hiding that fact from the rest of Cauldron was quite another. She would have been willing to chalk the unpredictability up to being a time traveller, except that Doctor Ruth Goldstein was eminently predictable. Also, amazingly useful when Contessa needed high-powered backup from time to time. It was very impressive how a white-hot jet of molten steel made
so many problems go away.
"I don't know for sure how she knows it, but I have an idea," Eidolon said. "Bear with me, here." He continued ticking off points. "She also said that there's something like a seventy-five percent chance that there's more out there like the Behemoth, and that they might show up in one to four years -"
Again, the uproar at the table excluded Contessa.
This one is definitely up to time travel. Ruth was the one who told me about the Behemoth, and she also knew about the one called Leviathan and Simurgh. It stood to reason that Taylor also knew.
"And she couldn't tell us this
before?" demanded Doctor Mother. She looked at Alexandria. "Did she even
hint at this when she was talking to you?"
This was taking
forever. Contessa leaned back in her chair.
Twenty extra steps.
"No." Alexandria's face was set like stone. "She didn't."
"Which tells me that her little guessing games could put us at the risk of missing out on crucial information until it's too late." Doctor Mother looked around at each of the other people in the room. "We can slip her a formula designed to boost her mental capability, then question her -"
"No." Eidolon's voice brooked no argument. "I think it would be a bad idea to give her a formula."
"Well,
yes." Legend didn't look or sound pleased. "I'm pretty sure that grabbing a serving PRT officer and force-feeding her a formula falls into the 'villainous acts' category, even without the interrogation. We need to find another way."
"I'm not talking about
that." Eidolon's voice was impatient. "If she gets powers, she loses the talent."
Alexandria blinked. Contessa was impressed; it took a lot to faze Rebecca. "How can you even
know that?" demanded the caped woman.
Eidolon sighed, and rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. "It's one of the things we talked about. She can only work these things out because she doesn't have powers. Our powers are blocking us, actively or passively or both, from noticing these patterns she sees and coming to the right conclusions. So trying to apply a Thinker power to the problem would be worse than useless."
"That's the stupidest thing I ever heard!" snapped Doctor Mother hotly. "Thinker powers
enhance intellect! They don't -"
Contessa really hated to interrupt her, but this diatribe was likely to go on for far too long.
Twenty-three extra steps. "Actually, I think he's right. About powers being useless. For this, I mean."
Doctor Mother turned to her with a look of betrayal on her face. "What do you mean? Surely
you of all people can see how ridiculous that sounds."
"No." Contessa shook her head. "I'm sorry, but we both know that I can't make Paths involving Scion or the Behemoth, even if they were right there in front of me."
Also Eidolon, but that probably isn't relevant to this situation. "My agent was deliberately limited. If other agents have also been limited in that way, that would make a lot of sense. So, as counter-intuitive as it might seem, only humans
without agents are likely to be able to figure this sort of thing out."
And time travellers, of course.
She knew that what she was doing was technically a betrayal of Cauldron, but it was in a good cause.
If Taylor Snow can save the world where I can't, then it's my job to help her do it. No matter how many lies I have to tell. "I think … we should take what this Captain Snow says seriously."
Twenty-five extra steps.
Legend nodded seriously. "I think you're correct. Eidolon, I'm going to need you to write up a report on what you spoke about with her." He looked up at the pictures of the PRT captain on the screen. "And if she's as prone to danger as she seems, she might need some extra protection. Contessa?"
Contessa nodded. "I'm on it." Not really expecting any sort of positive result, she essayed a Path toward protecting Taylor Snow from death. To her surprise, it went through without a hitch.
What the hell? Can she no-sell my Paths selectively?
"Good, then." Legend stood up. "I assume that we're done here?"
"Sure." Hero rose to his feet and stretched. "I've got to get back to making sure those Tinkerbots haven't managed to re-engineer themselves. We might have to evacuate Eagleton if this keeps up." He slapped Eidolon on the shoulder. "Good work, Dave. Make sure you forward me a copy of that report."
Alexandria picked up her visor and put it on. "I'll definitely want a copy too. Captain Snow's been an enigma since she finished boot camp. If she's been working off insights that we don't have access to, it will explain a great deal."
"It will indeed." Contessa smiled.
Finally! Only twenty-seven extra steps to go! "Doorway."
Once I've saved Detroit, then I can go back to trying to figure out how she's pulling that shit.
-ooo-
Seattle, WA
Monday, August 8, 1994
"Not that I don't like Seattle, ma'am, but why are we here?" As he asked the question, Kinsey climbed out of the car and rotated his torso to pop his spine back into place. I did much the same on my side of the car; I'd spent far too much time sitting down over the last few days.
"Two reasons, Kinsey," I said. "Major Goldstein's got some leave to visit family and friends, and I wanted to catch up. Also, I need to make sure that the Seattle PRT base is compliant with the computer protocols."
He snorted at that last bit, and I didn't disagree. Over the last two weeks and change, it seemed that we'd been doing nothing but go from one PRT building to the next, and fix things that were going wrong. Of course, I had a
third reason. According to Lisa, Crawler had been living in Seattle before he triggered. Given what he triggered
into, we figured it was best to kill him before he gained his powers and began to evolve into the nigh-unstoppable monster from my time.
Besides, it would be nice to see Ruth again, and have some R&R before we set out for New England. I had an appointment in Brockton Bay I didn't want to miss.
-ooo-
We'd left Austin at first light and pushed hard to get to Tucson, reaching it just as the sun was dipping on to the horizon. The sunset was gorgeous, but neither I nor Kinsey had been looking forward to driving into that glare. We signed in with the PRT duty officer, were given temporary room assignments, and I collapsed into my bunk.
After a brief spar the next morning to loosen our muscles—I managed to put Kinsey on the mat two falls out of four—I set to work tightening up the computer systems. It wasn't actually all that hard; they didn't have as many problems as I'd anticipated. As it was, we were out of there by midday, on the road to Phoenix. Between the Phoenix base and the ancillary Mesa building, I was busy until well after dark, but I did find and plug a back door that'd seen use more than once. The security chief went very quiet when he saw the printouts, and I wondered if he'd keep his job after this.
The next leg of the trip took us to San Diego; we hit the city limits around midday. I had the computer systems sorted out by three, and we were in LA by six.
For the next twelve days, we zig-zagged up the west coast, one PRT building blurring into the next. I'd dealt with the eleventh one—in Sacramento—by mid-morning on the seventh, and we'd pushed hard to get to Portland by sunset. It still managed to irritate me slightly that in all this time, Kinsey still refused to let me drive while he was in the car.
With Portland secured, we made one last effort, pulling into Seattle just after midday. However, I decided that enough was enough. I wanted to associate with people wearing something
other than PRT uniforms, at least for a few hours.
-ooo-
Ruth Goldstein
"Comfy, honey?"
Ruth smiled up at her father as she stretched her bare feet out and wriggled her toes. Now in his late sixties, Phil Goldstein was almost completely bald and somewhat stouter than he had been during his patrolman days. Thanks to Taylor, she now knew who her genetic parents were, which made her more grateful than ever that this man had chosen to be her father. Likewise, Deborah had provided all the maternal care and attention that Ruth could have wanted while growing up.
"Yes thanks, Dad," she said warmly. "Totally comfortable. You know, you didn't have to give me
your armchair." Old and battered, the leather-covered reclining armchair had been a fixture in the living room for as long as Ruth could remember—which, in practice, had been since Phil first brought her home to Deborah. As a child, she'd tried to claim it many times, only to be ousted when her father wanted to relax and read the paper. Now she was actually being
invited to sit in it.
"Just a temporary loan, Ruthie," he said with a chuckle. Carefully, he let himself down on to the sofa. "It's been so long since we saw you. You've grown up so much. I figure if we show you what you've been missing, you'll come home more often."
"I'm not quite sure it works exactly like that," she said dubiously. Truth be told, she
was feeling more than a little guilty at having stayed away for so long. But now she was back. Looking around the living room, she saw the same old things with new eyes, understanding more about her parents' lives than she had before she left. Though there were two new pictures hanging over the menorah; the first was the picture of her graduation from medical school, and the second … "You never told me you got a photo of my PRT graduation ceremony!" She'd notified them, of course, but they hadn't been able to attend.
"What's that?" Deborah emerged from the kitchen, bearing a tray of cookies. "Oh, we asked that dear friend of yours, Nina. She took extra photos for us." She carried the tray over to where Ruth reclined in the armchair. "So, have you met any nice Jewish boys in uniform yet?"
Ruth rolled her eyes, but took two cookies anyway. "Mom, you do realise that the PRT is a paramilitary organisation. We aren't there for the purpose of finding dates for Saturday night."
"Oh, well." Deborah carried the tray over to her husband. "You aren't getting any younger, you know. Whatever happened to that doctor you were seeing in Los Angeles? I thought he was very handsome, from the photo you sent us."
"Now, Debbie, leave the girl alone," Phil said gruffly. "You know very well he broke her heart. If I'd been twenty years younger, I would've gone and broken his jaw." As she turned away, he looked at Ruth and revolved his finger beside his ear.
"I saw that, Mr Goldstein!" she snapped. "And I hadn't forgotten. But I remember when Manny Casewitz cheated on my sister Mary. Papa went over there and had a word with him, and they've been happily married for forty years now." She put the tray on the table and came back to Ruth. "Men are born idiots who don't know what's good for them. Sometimes they just need to learn before they can become good husbands." Her tone was acerbic as she looked at Phil. "And some, of course, take longer than others."
Ruth grinned at her father's derisive snort. She looked up at her mother and shook her head. "That one wouldn't ever learn, Mom. I'm well rid of him." She reached up and took her mother's hand. "But I do appreciate the advice."
The knocking on the front door resounded through the house. Deborah looked over at Phil. "Were we expecting anyone, dear?"
"Not that I know of, sweetheart." With a grunt, he levered himself to his feet. "You just stay right there, Ruth. I'll see who it is." Muttering something under his breath about 'visitors who don't call ahead', he stumped from the living room into the entrance hall. Ruth, whose curiosity was piqued, pushed her heels down on the foot-rest, to bring herself up to a seated position.
"Well, hello," she heard him say. "Do I know you folks?" There was a muted reply, then he said, "You don't say. Come in, come in." The front door closed. "Ruthie!" he called out. "Visitors for you."
Visitors? For me? Ruth stood up, sharing a puzzled glance with her mother. The rugs were warm on her bare feet as she went toward the entrance hall. Her father was the first to emerge, followed by …
"
Taylor?" she said, disbelief warring with happiness. "What are you doing
here?" Behind Taylor—Captain Snow, here and now—bulked the form of Sergeant Kinsey. Both of them, she noted, were in civilian attire.
"Oh, you know how it is," Taylor said with just the hint of a grin. "We were in the neighbourhood and decided to drop in. I hope that's all right?"
-ooo-
Taylor
The Goldstein family home was old. Probably older than the one I'd grown up in, back in Brockton Bay. Dark wooden walls with brightly-coloured rugs underfoot gave an ambiance of warmth and cosiness. Following the bespectacled older man, Kinsey and I emerged into a living room that was warmly lit by electric standing lamps, more so than by the weak sunlight that struggled through the day's overcast.
More rugs decorated the floor here, though they were kept a careful distance from the brick fireplace set into the far wall. In deference to the fact that it was technically summer, the fireplace wasn't currently in use.
On the mantlepiece over the fireplace, I saw a menorah flanked by two rows of framed photos. Above it, hanging on the wall, were two larger ones in pride of place. Not very much to my surprise, I recognised one as a somewhat-younger Aster graduating from college, and the other showing her dressed in a PRT uniform. Most of the photos on the mantlepiece proper were of people unknown to me, although there was a black and white wedding photo that I guessed was of her parents. Another showed Phil wearing the uniform of a police officer. There was one difference between the two rows of photos; each one to the right of the menorah had a small black ribbon folded over one corner of the frame. Each of the latter was in black and white, not to mention rather faded.
If Kaiser could see this, I mused,
he'd have an absolute fit. Not because he was such a rabid racist—he wasn't, not really—but because his only daughter had been raised by a Jewish police officer, and was now a productive member of the PRT. I couldn't help grinning at the idea as I came face to face with Aster—Ruth, here and now—herself.
"
Taylor? What are you doing
here?" She sounded like she couldn't believe that I was standing in her family home. To my relief, a smile was spreading across her face.
Oh, good.
"Oh, you know how it is." I couldn't hold back the remnants of the grin. "We were in the neighbourhood and decided to drop in. I hope that's all right?"
She didn't hesitate at all. "Of course it's all right. I just didn't expect you to show up on my doorstep in
Seattle, of all places. As I recall, you're from Brockton Bay." As she spoke, she gestured toward a battered old sofa. "Come in, sit down. Mom, Dad, this is Captain Taylor Snow and Sergeant James Kinsey. They're also in the PRT."
"My goodness, hello!" A grey-haired lady, on the short side but somewhat plump, offered us a tray of cookies. "Any friend of Ruthie's is welcome in our home. Have a cookie. They're fresh baked." They smelled like it too; the combination of apple and cinnamon beat hell out of the PRT rations we'd been living on.
I took a cookie; Kinsey followed suit. "Thank you, ma'am," I said politely as we sat down. Taking a bite from the cookie, I widened my eyes in appreciation; she'd added a dusting of sugar which went down amazingly well. "This is very good," I added after swallowing the bite.
The man who'd answered the door, whom I knew to be Aster's adoptive father Phil, eyed us speculatively. He didn't seem suspicious of any wrongdoing, just curious. However, I was fully aware that he'd been a police officer for more than forty years. Some instincts just never went away. "Are you based in Seattle, or just on leave too?"
I shook my head. "Well, actually, sir, neither. Sergeant Kinsey and I are on an extended trouble-shooting mission. I've decided that we're off-duty at this particular point in time. As I said, we were in the city and I recalled that Major Goldstein lived here. She saved my life not so long ago, so I thought I'd drop by and show her how well I'm mending."
At that moment, Aster cleared her throat, looking meaningfully at me. "Ma'am?" I asked, coming to a seated variety of attention on the sofa; once again, Kinsey followed my lead.
"Taylor, neither one of us is in uniform," she said quietly. "I'm currently off-duty and on leave. I don't particularly mind if you call me 'ma'am', as I'm certain Sergeant Kinsey will. But I will request that you do not refer to my rank at the moment."
"Of course, ma'am," I agreed. I watched her eyes for any sign of anger, but only came away with an impression of weariness.
I wonder when she last took leave. "If you don't mind me asking, is everything okay?"
"I'm still working that one out," she said. "It seems that more and more villains show up every year, and more and more of our troopers end up wounded and dead because of them. To be honest, this is the first time I've been home in six years." She gave a little half-shrug, as if to make light of the situation.
But I'd heard that tune before, and there was no way I was going to let it play out this time. "No."
She stared at me, possibly just as much for the implacable tone of my voice as for the word itself. "I
beg your pardon?"
"I said
no, ma'am." I paused, trying to figure out how to say what I needed to without sounding stupid or giving away important details. Finally, I came to a decision, and stood up. "Ma'am, I need to speak to you in private."
Her eyes narrowed, and she stood up slowly. "Is it not something that you can say here in front of everyone?"
I could feel the pressure of everyone looking at me. "Ma'am, it's classified." Turning to Kinsey as he began to stand up as well, I shook my head. "Sergeant, I'm going to need you to stay here. Maj- the maj-
Doctor Goldstein and I are just going out on to the porch."
He gradually subsided on to the sofa once more. "Yes, ma'am."
Mrs Goldstein was staring at us. "Ruthie, what's going on?" The tray of cookies, unheeded, was still in her hands.
"Military secrets." Her husband's voice was gruff as he looked me over. "Military intelligence, right?"
"PRT intelligence division, yes, sir," I confirmed. "And what I'm about to tell your daughter is very much between her and me, but it's something she needs to know."
His grunt could've meant anything. "Go on then, ladies. Your Sergeant Kinsey can keep us honest."
I led the way out through the entrance hall on to the front porch. After Aster joined me, I closed the door and moved to the side. A cool breeze blew down the street, sending a wind-chime tinkling. Raising my head, I inhaled the fresh air, enjoying the scent of oncoming autumn.
"Is this something from before?" asked Aster. She leaned up against the rail beside me; I saw that her eyes were closed. "Some sort of object lesson from your dark future?"
"You came from there, too," I pointed out. "Just as much as I did."
She turned her face to look at me. "I never took over a city. Or killed a superhero." Some sort of shock must have registered on my face, because she nodded fractionally. "I saw a lot of TV. Never knew what it meant till I triggered. I also remember Jack Slash invading our home, once. My brother was there. He was very scared, but he still stood up to him."
I was impressed.
Go, Theo. I'd have to ask Lisa about that one, later. "What I've got to tell you about is Panacea. Amy Dallon. Do you remember much about her?"
She raised her eyes to look at the city skyline. "She was a healer. A member of the unmasked group New Wave. There was something about her not being able to heal brains. Then she dropped out of sight, not long before it all went to hell." Her gaze swept back to me. "I suspect that you're going to be drawing a parallel here. One that I'm not going to like."
"That's the general idea, yes." I wrapped my fingers around the top rail of the porch. "You see, Amy used to hold unreasonably high expectations of herself. To the point that she'd walk to the hospital in the middle of the night just so she could heal a few more people. All because she was the daughter of a villain, and her hero stepmother never really trusted or liked her, so she used to push herself to be more 'heroic'." It struck me that I was using Amy as an object lesson quite a bit, these days.
"I see what you're saying," she said. I sensed a 'but'. Those five words rarely showed up without a 'but' in tow. "But … who's to say she wasn't right? She could cure cancer. Who else could do that?"
"Nobody," I said bluntly. "Well, maybe one or two others. But my point is that she used to go there just to heal
normal crap. For free. Stuff that doctors could probably take care of themselves, given time. And in the meantime, you're a good surgeon, but you're not the only surgeon in the PRT, or even the very best one." She shot me a wounded glance, and I shrugged. "Law of statistics. The chance of
every single other surgeon employed by the PRT not being up to your standard? Pretty low. So when they let you go on leave, it was with the full knowledge that they could pull someone in to sub for you, and not suffer in the process."
"Hm." She frowned. "I suppose you're correct. Brutal, but correct." Grimly, she chuckled. "Which
is kind of your thing, I guess." Turning to face me, she raised her eyebrows. "What happened to Panacea after she vanished?"
"Nervous breakdown," I said. "Turned Glory Girl into a living puddle of flesh. Last I heard, she was in the Birdcage of her own accord." I decided to leave out the fact that Amy had been in love with Victoria. It was probably one detail too many.
Aster nodded slowly. "Message received and understood, Captain Snow." She shot me a sharp glance. "And no, that's not permission to call me 'Major'." She moved toward the front door, a thoughtful expression on her face.
"Understood, ma'am." I followed her back inside.
Deborah met us as we emerged from the entrance hall. "Captain Snow, I blame
you for this," she said severely, looking at me.
I blinked.
Oh, shit. What's happened? Nothing seemed to be going wrong. The only thing that was different was that Phil was sitting on the sofa alongside Kinsey, and they were talking nineteen to the dozen. In fact, this was the most engaged I'd seen Kinsey for a long time.
"Ah." I hid a smile. "I may have neglected to mention that Kinsey used to be a military policeman." It seemed that he'd found common ground with Phil Goldstein remarkably quickly. From their hand motions, they were discussing techniques of taking down perps.
Aster's mother sighed in a long-suffering fashion. "I have enough trouble when Philip starts talking with his ex-colleagues about the old days. Now he's got someone with a fresh point of view. Next they'll start trading stories about their glory days."
"It'll be more than he ever talks about with me," I mused. "Then again, I don't think I've ever asked." Which was kind of my fault. Of course, I'd never been truly interested in police procedure. But seeing the animation in Kinsey's face as he absent-mindedly took a cookie from the tray next to them, I could tell that he hadn't just discarded that part of himself.
I'm going to have to be more perceptive in the future. If Kinsey needs someone to talk to about this, I should be listening.
Deborah's eyes twinkled. "Somehow, I think the problem will be getting them to shut up." She guided me to a chair. "Sit down and tell me about yourself. Ruth, dear, you too. I'm sure you both have fascinating stories to tell."
Oh, boy. 'Fascinating' wasn't exactly the word I would've used.
Where do I start?
"Uh, Mom?" Aster hadn't taken her seat yet. "I think I need to lie down for a while. Think about some things. I'll be down in a while."
Deborah nodded. "That's all right, dear. Just remember,
Rosh Chodesh Elul begins at sunset." She patted her daughter's hand. "Have a nice rest."
Aster gave her mother a smile, then leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. "I hadn't forgotten, Mom. It's why I opted to take leave at this time, after all. I'll be down before then." She turned and left the room; moments later, I heard her footsteps going upstairs.
"I'm sorry, I don't know what that is," I said politely. From the name, I figured it was something to do with their religion, but I had no idea what it actually meant. Personally, I'd never paid much attention to the Christian faith, much less Judaism.
"It marks the beginning of the month of
Elul in the Jewish calendar," Deborah explained. "It's a time of introspection and looking inward. Figuring out where you've been going wrong and what to do about it." She shot me a beaming smile. "But enough about that. You mentioned that our Ruthie saved your life. I would be delighted to hear all about it."
I hesitated. "Uh … it's kind of gory." Not many details about the events in the Compound were actually
classified, but I wasn't sure about inflicting them on a sweet old lady like Deborah. To be honest, something like that belonged in my time, not hers.
She snorted and shook her head. "My dear, I was born in Munich in nineteen thirty-two." She pulled up her sleeve and I saw a row of six digits, faded and distorted from age, imprinted on the inside of her wrist. Beneath the row was a small triangle. "Whatever you've got to say, I've endured worse."
My eyes widened, and I realised just how wrong I'd been about her.
Holy shit. She survived Auschwitz. This sweet old lady had been through horrors that I could only begin to imagine. A number of things went through my head at this point, but I voiced none of them. For Deborah to have lived through what she had, her words had to be the simple truth. She
had endured worse. My respect for her went up dramatically.
I took a deep breath. "It started when an apocalypse cult in Texas began kidnapping female parahumans for use as breeding stock …"
-ooo-
Ruth
Her parents hadn't changed anything about her bedroom since she went away to medical school. Lying back on her bed, Ruth looked up at the mobile that she and her dad had spent hours constructing and painting. In the wind gusts that came in through the open window, the models of the lunar lander and the command module revolved and spun past the globes of the Earth and Moon. She closed her eyes, recalling once more the black and white image of Neil Armstrong stepping on to the lunar surface, his immortal words crackling out of the speaker.
"That's one small step …"
Equally vividly, she remembered sitting next to her father at the living room table, carefully cutting out and painting each piece of the mobile, then gluing the dry pieces into place. She'd known she was someone special even back then—how could she not?—but she'd also had a sense of wonder about the larger world. An awareness that things were bigger and more amazing than she could possibly guess.
If she'd had any doubt about this, Taylor's arrival would've proven that to her once and for all. Meeting Taylor and being able to talk to her face-to-face had done so once again. Gaps in her knowledge had been filled in … but at a price. Not all of what she'd learned was wonderful. Some of it had been downright disturbing.
Have I been pushing myself, punishing myself like Amy Dallon, because my father was a villain too? That particular parallel with Panacea wasn't something she'd thought about, but now it was out in the open, her mind kept circling back to it. She loved her mother and father dearly, and the knowledge that they weren't her biological parents made that love none the less intense. As for Kaiser …
He and Purity gave life to me. Purity loved me dearly; all of her actions spell that out. She even gave me up to Miss Militia, knowing she would die, so that I would live.
Kaiser's most heroic act had been to die in battle with Leviathan. Apart from that, he'd run a neo-Nazi organisation which specialised in beating up minorities and running dog-fighting rings. He'd been handsome and charismatic, but Purity had left him after Ruth had been born.
If I met him face to face, I doubt that either one of us would approve of the other.
She took a deep breath, trying to clear her mind. It seemed Taylor's instincts were correct. She
was pushing herself to be better than she was, trying to exorcise the ghost of the father who had yet to grow up and commit his racist crimes.
I need to talk to someone. Get some perspective on this.
Rolling over, she reached for the phone on the bedside table. It was another addition to the room that her parents hadn't changed. When she'd been on call at the hospital—before she met Friedrich—she'd needed to be able to come out of a sound sleep and take the call to come in, night or day. Nina's number was fresh in her mind, just as everyone else's number was; the benefit of a perfect memory.
If anyone can understand what I'm going through, she will.
Just as her hand touched the receiver, the phone rang. Reflexively, she snatched it up and put it to her ear. "Hello?"
The voice that came over the line was as familiar as it was welcome, even if it wasn't Nina Veder.
"Mrs Goldstein? It's Darlene Hobbs here. Dunno if you 'member me, but I'm head nurse at the hospital your daughter Ruth useta work at. I really hate ta bother you like this, but would I be able ta speak to your husband, please?"
Ruth blinked. What in the
world was Darlene ringing her home for? "Uh, hi, Darlene," she said. "It's not Mom, it's me. Ruth. What do you need Dad for?"
There was dead silence on the line for so long Ruth thought the call might've been cut off. But then Darlene spoke again. "
Ruth honey," she exclaimed.
"That really you? I ain't heard from you in forever."
Ruth smiled. "It hasn't been
that long, Darlene. I ring you when I can." Hearing the older woman's voice always made her feel better. "Is everything okay?"
"
Well, the truth is, no it ain't." Darlene's voice held relief.
"I need help an' the cops ain't doin' shit."
"Wait, what now?" Ruth frowned. "Cops? Help with what? What's going on?"
Darlene audibly took a deep breath.
"It started a few weeks back. Some guy started harassin' some o' my girls what live in one of the bad neighbourhoods." By 'girls', Ruth knew Darlene meant nurses. Darlene had always been fiercely protective of her charges.
"Shit." Ruth grimaced; she hadn't meant for the expletive to slip out. "Are they okay?"
"
Couple of 'em got beat up. He done took their purses. I tole 'em an' tole 'em ta go in groups. Or let someone drive 'em home. But just the other day, one never made it home. Her name was Patricia Weller." Darlene's voice showed the strain she was under.
"I figure he either killed her an' dumped the body or took her someplace. But I can't prove it. Can't even find a body. Cops keep brushin' me off."
Ruth clenched her hand on the receiver.
Goddamn it. She knew that if she met the mugger, she could easily overcome him. Of course, finding him was the trick. "So how can I help?" she asked carefully.
"
Now you know I ain't never asked for no favour before," Darlene said severely.
"An' I wouldn't be askin' now, except that lives is on the line. If you could talk to your pa, mebbe git him to tell his old buddies to get their heads outta their asses, I'd be right appreciative."
Ruth opened her mouth to agree, then paused as an epiphany unfolded behind her eyes. If the Seattle PD weren't getting anywhere, it was because they simply weren't able. She didn't hold it against them; even with all the will in the world, if they couldn't lay hands on the man responsible, they couldn't make an arrest.
On the other hand, Taylor was
right here. Even not counting the Behemoth prediction—cheating via time travel knowledge was still cheating—she'd still managed to pull off half a dozen other feats of sheer brilliance in the course of her PRT career to date. If anyone could locate poor Patricia—dead or alive—it would be her.
Back in her time, she took over a city, killed Alexandria, and impressed the Protectorate so much that they hired her on rather than send her to the Birdcage. This sort of thing should be right up her alley.
"You know," she said. "I think I might just have a better idea."
