The Slippery Slope Pt 13 (Patreon)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Analysis: Tone does not match expression.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gesture: nod. Expression: uncertain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tone: regretful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Increase motive force.

No movement.

Increase motive force.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiled. “Science.”

<><>

Director Piggot's Office

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She took a deep breath. “Wards.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

<><>

Brockton Bay General Hospital

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At a rough guess, this is Scapegoat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

<><>

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

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

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

Spire shrugged. “He has a unique outlook.”

Whatever that means, decided Vicky.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

<><>

Medhall Building

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

Assume positive control: test device.

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

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

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

Conclusion: success will not result in interpersonal difficulties.

Apply motive force to device.

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

Increase motive force to device.

Rune's power is maintaining stasis.

Increase motive force.

Increase motive force.

Full force being applied. No result.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Observation: ally 'Rune' believes she is prepared.

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

Apply motive force. Maintain current position of disc.

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

Increase motive force.

Increase motive force.

Increase motive force.

Motive force insufficient for task.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, duh. 'Science'.

<><>

Brockton Bay General Hospital

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

<><>

Medhall Building

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kaiser's smile widened.

<><>

Director Piggot's Office, PRT Building

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For the time being, anyway.

Part 14