The Slippery Slope Pt 15 (Patreon)

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

[A/N 2: The book The Wind in the Willows was written by Kenneth Grahame, and I own no part of it.]

Medhall Building
Friday Evening, 11 February 2011

“The Mole struck a match, and by its light the Rat saw that they were standing in an open space, neatly swept and sanded underfoot, and directly facing them was Mole’s little front door, with ‘Mole End’ painted, in Gothic lettering, over the bell-pull at the side.”

I paused in my reading as I heard a knock on the door. “Excuse me, Dad,” I murmured. He didn't respond, of course, but I was almost certain that he returned the squeeze that I gave his hand. Placing it on the covers, I let my powers wrap around me.

Assume positive control: door.

Immediately, the lock clicked open and the door swung wide at my command.

Assume positive control: book stand.

On the second day, Victor had instructed me through the process of creating an articulated book-stand with lockable joints. This was a useful and logical thing to do, as the device allowed me to practice with my powers. Now, I used it to close the book, keeping a slim piece of metal in place as a bookmark. With the book clasped in its metal jaws, the book-stand moved to the corner of the room and locked itself in place.

Peter entered the room, with my father's regular nurse beside him.

Ally 'Peter' wearing high-quality clothing. Ceremony imminent.

Dropping my powers, I stood up from the chair. “Hi, Peter. You've been busy.”

He nodded at the book-stand. “So have you. You've got it moving a lot more smoothly than the last time I was here.” We moved together, and he took my hands in his. “Victor sent me to get you. He says your armour's ready.”

“Oh, excellent,” I said. “Just give me a moment?” Turning back to Dad's bed, I took his hand in mine and squeezed it. “I've got to go, Dad. I'll be back later.” Leaning down, I kissed him on the forehead. “Love you,” I whispered.

The nurse who'd been brought in to take care of him had insisted from the first that I call her Mary. She was middle-aged, sharp-eyed, and didn't let much get past her. Broad-shouldered, dark-haired, white (of course), she cared for Dad's every need, bathing and feeding him, taking better care of him than I would have been able to.

It did help, of course, that Othala's ministrations had borne some fruit; while he hadn't opened his eyes or responded to my voice yet, he would chew and swallow food if put in his mouth, and (with some coaxing) sip on water through a straw. I didn't want to ask about bathroom matters. Mary said she had it handled, so I didn't argue.

“I'll give him his bath while you are out, ma'am,” she said deferentially. “And I'll also give him his supper, if you'd like.” I didn't know what orders had been given her from above, but she was absolutely determined to anticipate my every need when it came to Dad.

“That would be excellent,” I said gratefully. “I don't even know how long this is going to be.” Turning back to my boyfriend, I looked at him inquiringly. “Peter?”

He slid his arm over my shoulders; I stepped in close, taking comfort in his nearness. “A couple of hours,” he decided. “It's been a while since we had one like this, but it won't be a quick thing. There'll be a service, and we'll give our respects, then George and I will get recognition for what we've done for the Empire, then you'll get your official introduction to the rank and file.”

“I'm glad you'll be getting recognised,” I said sincerely. “Both of you. You guys went above and beyond.” Unbidden, my thoughts called up the memory, still engraved into my brain.

<><>

Peter walked toward where two ABB thugs were holding me between them. His eyes were utterly focused as he brought the pistol out from behind his back. I had already started to drop at this point, my arms jerking above my head. His left forearm came across, fist clenched, acting as a brace for his right wrist. The shot thundered loud, the pistol muzzle flaring, as the thug to the left of me was punched backward into the car, releasing my arm and sliding to the ground. Even as the thug to my right began to react, Peter brought the pistol across, his eyes still full of deadly intent. The second shot went off, sounding nowhere near as loud to my abused eardrums. As the second thug fell, Peter strode across to help me up. Looking into his eyes, I could see that the lethal intent was gone; all that they held was love and tenderness toward me.

<><>

“Hey, I only shot a few guys,” Peter protested with mock modesty, snapping me out of my swirling thoughts. “Not like the way George took on all those guys with just a switchblade, or how you went after Lung with just a pistol.” His mouth quirked and he lowered his voice slightly. “Uncle Max was very impressed when he found out.”

I flushed slightly as I closed the door behind us. “I forgot how tough he was. Or maybe I remembered, but I couldn't think of what else to do. I wish I'd shot Oni Lee,” I added bitterly. “He was the one who killed Bronson and Jenna, and nearly killed you.”

“A lot of people want to erase that ass-tard,” Peter agreed. “He's one of those guys who doesn't know what restraint means.” He turned to me as we walked along. “Him and Lung both. They're animals. It shows in how they operate. They don't care about innocents or collateral damage. I mean, what other cape in Brockton Bay uses grenades?”

I could see his point; while I didn't like to think of other races as being inferior, I had a very low opinion of Asians at the moment. It wasn't just Lung and Oni Lee; the gang members themselves had shown themselves to be nothing more than rapists and murderers, barely worthy of even being called human. I had set off their pistols while in the insulating embrace of my powers, but even after letting emotion rule me once more, the event had failed to affect me. While I regretted their deaths in an intellectual fashion, of actual remorse there was none. They didn't deserve remorse. For nearly killing Dad, for what they wanted to do to me … they had earned everything I did to them.

“I'm going to kill them all,” I murmured under my breath.

“Kill who?” asked Peter curiously as we entered the conference room and headed for the lift.

I looked at him, realising that I'd said that aloud. “Um … nobody?”

Peter was a little young to be giving me an old-fashioned look, but he was still pretty good at it. “Come again?”

“Um, nothing?” I looked away, not really wanting to have this discussion.

He didn't particularly seem to care. Stepping in front of me with no apparent regard as to who was the actual cape in the room, he took my jaw in a firm grip, using his thumb and forefinger to bring my face around toward his. “Try that again, this time looking right here,” he said, pointing at his own eyes with two fingers.

I didn't want to, but it appeared I had no choice. “Maybe … Lung? Oni Lee? Every member of the ABB dumb enough to get in my way?” It wasn't a boast to make myself look tough, like I had used in the meeting. The ABB was a danger to myself and my Dad, so I had to remove that danger.

“No.” His voice brooked no argument.

I began to wilt. If even Peter is against me …

“Not without backup.” His firm statement surprised me.

I blinked, staring at him. “What?” Did I just hear …

“You heard me.” His grip on my jaw softened, then his hand moved up to cup my cheek. “I'm not going to let you run headlong into danger and get yourself killed. If you're going to do this, you'll do it with backup, or I'll tell Uncle Max myself. Neither of us wants that.”

No. Definitely not. I had immense respect for Kaiser, and he apparently held me in some regard, but I had no desire to make the man angry with me. I looked into Peter's eyes. He's only trying to protect me. And he's not going to stop me. Just make sure I have backup.

“Deal?” he asked quietly, and I realised that I hadn't answered him.

“Deal,” I agreed, and put my arms around him. “And thanks.” For being smart when I would've been stupid.

He held me close. “Any time.”

<><>

Peter and I stepped out of the lift together. Victor was standing next to a large drill press, carefully examining what looked like a set of pseudo-medieval armour secured to a rack. He looked around as we entered the room. “Taylor, good,” he called out. “Come and see how this fits. I used the measurements Othala got from you, and added a little wiggle room.”

“Sure, okay.” I walked closer, sliding my hand from Peter's. Pulling my powers up, I analysed the armour.

Sliding plates designed for quick entry and exit of armour.

Over-engineered joints designed to supply as much motive power as possible.

Adjustable dimensions on arms, legs and torso.

Telescoping rods on forearms, designed to extend reach in melee combat.

Metal-link chain coiled in drum on back. Sixty feet.

There were other components, but I decided that it would be more efficient to put on the armour and determine their use by seeing what they did.

Assume positive control over stand.

Assume positive control over armour.

Release clamps holding armour.

Move armour closer.

The clamps came loose with a clack-clack. I stepped the armour forward, then made it walk in a circle. It moved fluidly, although it stumbled and nearly fell twice.

“Nice.” Peter moved up alongside me. “Can you make it do a dance routine?”

“Not yet.” I drew the chain from the drum on the armour's back, sliding it down guides on the underside of the arm. “I do not know how to do a dance routine.” The chain extended from below where the left hand of the armour would be. I let out a fifteen-foot length, then turned the armour so that it was facing one of the metal pillars which supported the ceiling. Moving the arm in a throwing motion, I transferred the kinetic energy into the chain; it lashed out, striking the pillar and wrapping around it. Between the armour and the pillar, the chain made a solid horizontal bar.

Peter whistled. “Okay, before? I was kind of impressed. Now? I'm really impressed.” He pointed at the chain. “May I?”

“Yes.” I observed the inner workings of the chain; it was composed of two different types of links. One could rotate around the axis of the chain, while the other swivelled against that axis. Together, they allowed the chain to be as flexible as possible while maintaining significant metal-to-metal contact. The links were secured together with spring-loaded clamps that fit together like a handshake. If the chain was damaged, I could release the faulty links and join the chain together again without them.

Peter took hold of the chain and attempted to move it. He was unable to exert anywhere near the force necessary, of course. I disconnected the chain from near the wrist of the armour, leaving it standing straight out from the pillar. The armour I guided around to face me while Peter attempted once more to make the chain move.

The plates slid aside, exposing the interior of the armour to me, while the helmet split in two down the middle and opened to each side. It was padded with silicon gel for both comfort and insulation. This was only logical; the first question for anyone wearing metal armour should be 'does it conduct electricity?'.

Turning, I stepped back on to the 'feet' of the armour. It moved forward under my control, fitting itself to me. I paused, adjusting the size slightly, then leaned back fully into the armour. It closed around me, the plates sliding smoothly into place. The arms extended outward slightly then retracted, sliding silicon-gel gloves on to my hands. Only the backs of my hands and fingers had metal attached. This allowed me to use my hands for delicate tasks. I clenched my fist; metal plates slid into place and locked together, protecting my hand in its entirety.

As the two halves of the helmet came together, I found that my hair was being gathered together by an oddly intricate mechanism at the back of my neck. Activating it, I observed as my hair was wound into a tight bun and secured behind my head.

Carefully, I took a step forward, then another. At first, my movement was tentative, but as I adapted to the new situation, I found my power guiding the armour more and more smoothly. Peter had ceased attempting to move the chain and was watching me. Holding out my arm, I extended the chain once more and reconnected the ends to make it whole once more. Releasing the pillar, the chain retracted, sliding through the guides until it was safely stored in the drum.

“How does it fit?” asked Victor. He walked around me, observing the armour from all sides.

“It fits well,” I said. “The design is good. My range of movement is adequate. What attachments do you have for the chain?” I extended a yard of it and ran it through various shapes, testing the flexibility.

Victor put his hand to his chin. Gesture: ally 'Victor' is considering options. “Well, I was thinking maybe a grappling hook and a spearhead. Do you have any requests?”

I brought the end of the chain up before my eyes and studied it as I replied. “A grasping claw. A drill. A circular-saw blade. A knife blade.” I paused. “Would it be possible to make a sword of some type?”

“You want to put a sword on the end of the chain?” Ally 'Victor' does not sound certain about this.

“Not on the end of the chain.” I raised my hand and closed the fist, locking the armour into place around it. “On the arm. Retractable, or flexible for easier storage, like the chain.”

“Or both.” Victor and I both looked at Peter. He continued to speak rapidly. “In one arm, you've got a pair of blades that sit side by side. Serrated. They can be extended or retracted. Once they're out, you can make them move back and forward really fast, and literally saw through whatever they're cutting.”

Ally 'Victor' expression: smile.

Conclusion: Ally 'Victor' approves of concept.

“I like it,” said Victor. “And in the other arm?” He picked up a notepad and began to write.

“I'm not thinking so much 'in' as 'on',” Peter said. “Think of a flexible metal strap, like a watchband, but bigger. About four feet long. When it's pulled in tight, it's rigid, like that chain was. Give it edges and a point, and it's a sword. But when it's stretched, it can be wrapped around her arm like a leather strap.”

The links of the chain were relatively small, allowing considerable flexibility. I examined them closely. “Could devices be incorporated into the chain itself?” I asked.

Victor tilted his head. Gesture: interest and thoughtfulness. “They could, yes,” he said. “Did you have anything in mind?”

“Blades,” I said. “Spinning blades. Graspers. Joints to allow a network.” The logic was inescapable. Why settle for a simple length of chain when it was possible to have so much more? “The ability to pass electricity along the chain.”

Expression: excitement. “Electricity generation,” Victor said. “Not on the chain, but a series of magnets … we could make that chain into a homing taser.” That sounded very useful.

“Good,” I said. “How long will that take?”

“Longer than we've got right now,” Victor replied. “We've got that service to go to, remember?”

I remembered.

Analysis: failure to attend will disappoint/anger Kaiser. Sub-optimal situation.

In addition: defunct allies 'Bronson' and 'Jenna' require a show of respect to maintain solidarity.

Conclusion: Armour can be upgraded at any time. Attending service is more important.

“Let's go,” I said, turning and walking toward the elevator. Peter flanked me on one side, with Victor on the other.

<><>

The chapel seating was arranged in three distinct blocks; the largest section was directly in front of the altar, with two smaller sections facing the altar from the left and right. In front of the altar there was a podium; before that, two coffins had been set up, lids open, so that Bronson and Jenna were lying in state. As I entered alongside Victor, I saw that the majority of the seating was already filled with rank-and-file members of the Empire Eighty-Eight. The front half, closest to the two coffins, held the people I had seen wearing gold pins at the Gathering. All wore black clothing, or at least dark clothing with black ribbons around their arms. The back half of the central seating held the street grunts. It was obvious that they had made some effort to clean themselves up; their clothing was neat, and beards were combed and trimmed. Nearly all the men in this section had freshly shaven heads.

I had not known that Medhall even had a chapel, but it was a logical move. If and when the Empire needed to hold such a memorial as this, it was much more sensible than hiring out a chapel where anyone could see. Music was playing softly as I went with Victor to where the Empire capes were sitting on the left-hand side of the chapel. Peter, following us in, made his way to the right-hand side, where his friends from Winslow were waiting for him. I saw George sitting at one end, his crutch at his side.

There were two spaces free in the front row of the cape seats; Victor took one, next to Othala, and gestured me toward the other, between Othala and Rune. The teen cape turned to watch me approach; I thought her eyes widened a little behind her mask.

Expression: surprised, perhaps impressed.

I lowered myself on to the seat beside her, trying to ensure that my armour did not damage it. This did not happen, quite possibly because the seats were designed to take such burdens. As I sat down, Kaiser rose from his seat and made his way to the podium before the altar. Once I was sure that my seating was stable, I dropped my powers.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr Anders said smoothly. The speakers reached every corner of the room easily, so he toned his voice down a little. “Thank you for attending this memorial service today. We are gathered here today to remind ourselves that sometimes it's not the adults who fall in service to the Empire. Sometimes, just sometimes, it's the children who are tested too early. It is the children, who we endeavour to train as well as we can, that are called upon all too soon to test what we have taught them. And sometimes … the test is too great for them.”

He took a deep breath, audible on the microphone, and gestured at the two open coffins before him. “I will not say this about the two young heroes who lie here before me. Let none say that they failed their test.” His voice increased in intensity. “Let none say that Bronson diAngelo faced his test and failed, or that Jenna Parsons was not equal to the task. For if any say that, then they have no idea what happened that night.”

He paused then; the only sound was the faintest crackle from the speakers. For my part, I was filled with admiration for the man who stood before us. With just a few powerful words, he had captivated us all.

“Yes, they fell,” he said, his tone more gentle. “But they did not die because they were abandoned by their fellows. Nor did they die because they showed cowardice or weakness against their enemies. They were attacked by capes, by Lung and Oni Lee, and they stood and died against impossible odds because that is who we are.” By the end, his voice was a blade, carving away at the last of my self-doubts. Kaiser's words had me spellbound. They wove a story of an Empire that I wanted to be a part of – needed to be a part of. Peter's words came back to me; The Empire looks out for its own.

“Bronson diAngelo was a true member of the Empire Eighty-Eight,” he said, gesturing down at the left-hand coffin. “He was just sixteen years old, a sophomore at Winslow High. He was so devoted to his friends that he was forced to go into hiding from the police after he 'repaid' a black bitch for attacking one of our sisters.” A sob came from the front row of seats; I saw an older man comforting a crying woman. Kaiser waited for a moment, then went on. “When Oni Lee saw fit to toss a grenade into the middle of a group of Bronson's friends, he threw himself upon it. In dying, he selflessly saved the lives of four other people.”

A murmur passed through the rank and file; I heard comments like that's the way, boy and balls of pure steel. Tears were trickling down my cheeks inside the helmet. I sniffled, trying to keep it quiet, but Cassie's hand crept into mine anyway and I squeezed it. I was a part of the Empire now, and I could feel the solidarity, taste the loyalty that each and every one of us held for one another, and for the man who led it.

“Jenna Parsons,” Kaiser said, gesturing at the right-hand coffin, “was a high school senior at Winslow High. She was fearless in defending her friends and facing her enemies. She died standing alone, giving her all to defend an unarmed Friend of the Empire, when Oni Lee performed his usual cowardly trick and shot her twice in the back. The Friend of the Empire, let it be known, survives to this day, due to Jenna's heroic actions.”

Well, I didn't exactly think that Jenna's actions had really saved my life, but that didn't matter. She'd been there for me when I needed her. I was the one who had failed her; I could not help but think that if I'd done things a little differently, been a little smarter, then maybe she'd still be alive. By now I was sobbing quietly, the tears streaming down my face. But I did my best to keep it quiet; I had an image to uphold, after all. The last thing I wanted was for the Empire to think that any of their capes were soft or weak. Cassie squeezed my hand harder, and Othala took my hand from the other side. It helped, a little.

Kaiser was speaking again. “I would like you to hold in your thoughts David and Judith diAngelo, and Paul and Kathryn Parsons.” He looked down toward the people in the front row, most of whom seemed to be either crying or trying hard not to. Stepping out from behind the podium, he walked around the coffins and leaned over toward the people I presumed were the grieving parents. He spoke softly to them; part of what he said was drowned out by the music, but I thought I heard the phrases in your trying time and will be remembered. I tried to get my crying under control, with only a little success.

Straightening up, Kaiser went back to the podium. “Now we will hear from someone who knew Bronson and Jenna on a personal level.”

For a moment, I thought that he meant me, and panic threatened overwhelm my grief. What do I say? I don't know what to say!

But then Peter got up and moved toward the podium. I could see the strain around his eyes, the glint of the unshed tears within. His self-control was far better than mine, but I could tell from the way his nails were biting into his palms that it wasn't easy for him, either.

“I've known Bronson and Jenna for years,” he began. “Jenna was two years older than me, and she always impressed me with how tough she was. She was the one who first taught me how to throw a punch. I will admit, when I was younger I had quite a crush on her. I'm pretty sure she knew, but she never let on. At least, she never let it stop her from kicking my ass when we sparred.” He managed a smile at that; more than a few people in the chapel returned it. “I grew out of the crush, eventually, but I never lost my admiration for her.”

For a long moment, he stood there, hands on the podium, as if steadying himself to continue. I was still trying to get over that startling revelation – not that Peter had had a crush on Jenna, but that he'd stopped crushing on her. He picked me over her? I wasn't even factoring Julie into this.

Taking a deep breath, he let it out, then started speaking again. “Bronson was … my right hand. He was there for me, through thick and thin, no matter what happened. Before I was transferred to Winslow, he was my eyes and ears there. Afterward, if I needed something done, I'd usually find out that he was already doing it by the time I got around to asking. When I met … when I met a girl there, he was there for her just as much as he was for me. He went above and beyond. I'll never forget him. I'll never forget either of them.” He paused for just a moment. “Jenna … Bronson … rest in peace.”

Subdued applause broke out then, as he stepped down from the dais and went back toward where his friends were sitting. In the second row of the central seats, I saw Mr Ferguson clapping harder than most. Peter's sisters were not in attendance, for which I was glad. They shouldn't have to go through something like this. I saw Kelly put his arm over Peter's shoulders; I couldn't be certain but I thought that there might have been tears on Peter's face. They certainly were on Kelly's.

Kaiser stepped up to the microphone again. “Thank you, Peter. We will always remember Bronson and Jenna. Their names will be carved with pride on the roll of those who have stood fast for the Empire. They will serve as an inspiration for us all as we move forward.” He stepped down from the podium and walked to Bronson's coffin. Laying his hand on the open lid, he seemed to say a few words, but I couldn't hear them. He moved on to Jenna's coffin and did the same.

As the music swelled, I tried to hold my sobbing in check, but it was just too difficult. I knew that if I drew on my powers, I would be able to repress my emotions and bring myself back under control, but I didn't want to do that. I needed to feel this, to say goodbye to Jenna and Bronson with my true emotions.

As Othala moved closer to me and put her arm around my shoulders – not that I could feel it, but the sentiment was appreciated – people started getting up and moving forward. One by one, they passed by the coffins; one by one, they touched the wood or said something quietly. I couldn't hear them and I wasn't sure that I wanted to; what they were saying was for them, and them alone.

More than a few people had noticed me by now, and I was aware that more than one person was looking curiously in my direction. But nobody approached us or said a word about my presence; this was kind of understandable, given that I was wearing armour and sitting with the other capes. I was grateful all the same.

By the time the last of the non-capes had paid their respects and filed from the room, I had stopped crying, but I was still sniffling from time to time. I really, really needed to blow my nose, but the only free cloth I possessed right then was the cog bandanna that Victor had made for me, and I wasn't about to use that.

The trouble was, even if I was willing, it would still have been inaccessible inside my armour. I resolved to mention this problem to Victor at the first opportunity; it seemed like something that needed to be addressed.

In the meantime, I turned to Othala. “Can I borrow a tissue or something? Please?”

“Of course,” she said at once. Reaching into one of the pouches on her belt, she pulled out not one but two tissues and handed them to me.

“Oh, thank you, thank you,” I babbled, then drew on my powers for just a moment to retract the metal plates protecting my face. Just for that moment, all the emotions went away, then came back twice as bad when I dropped the powers once more.

Crying does not look good on me; I was pretty sure my face was all blotchy, and I knew that my nose was running. I couldn't do anything about the blotchiness, but I could blow my nose, repeatedly. Then I used the other tissue (because the first wasn't much good for anything any more) to wipe the tears (and other stuff) from my face.

“How are you holding up?” asked Othala, even though the answer should have been painfully clear.

“Shittily,” I said in a low voice. “About the only good thing about crying inside a metal helmet is that nobody can really see you. Not being able to wipe my nose was horrible.”

“We know,” Cassie broke in from my other side. “We could hear you sniffling. You sounded like a Merchant trying to snort a whole key at once.”

“Seriously, Rune?” Othala sounded vaguely disappointed. “These people were Remote's friends. Bronson saved her life. Have just a little respect here.”

“Dammit,” muttered Rune. “Sorry. I hate funerals. They suck so hard, is all. I keep wanting to say something weird to make people laugh.” She offered me a half-hearted smile and a shrug. “No hard feelings?”

“No hard feelings,” I agreed. “Here, take care of this for me?” Before she knew what I was doing, I had tucked the thoroughly used tissues into her hand. “Thank you, much appreciated.”

“Oh, what the? Ew. Ewww. Eugh.” Rune looked down at the tissues. “Oh, god. This is disgusting.”

“So find a trash can,” Othala advised cheerfully. “And if you even think of dropping them in one of the coffins, I will personally tell Kaiser.” She stood up and offered her hand to me. “Do you feel up to viewing the bodies, Remote?”

“No, but I will in a second.” I brought my powers up, allowing pure logic to flush useless emotion from my thoughts. Assume positive control: armour.

Gesture: hand-holding. Non-romantic. Supportive.

Analysis: support not needed due to zero emotional requirement.

Secondary analysis: ally 'Othala' is aware of this.

Conclusion: ally 'Othala' requires emotional support.

Taking Othala's hand, I stood up; while I considered it a good idea to practice moving in the armour without my power moving it, this was not an ideal time or place for experimentation. We stepped forward to the coffins. Kaiser was off to the side, conversing in low tones with Krieg and Hookwolf. The latter glanced at me and then said something to Kaiser, which I didn't catch.

Flanked by Justin and Rune, Othala and I stepped up to the side of Bronson's coffin. He looked as though he were asleep, although I knew that this was not the case.

“He was a good ally,” I said quietly to Othala. “They both were. I liked them. They did not question Peter's decisions where I could hear them. They treated me well.”

Allowing ABB to kill allies is sub-optimal.

ABB believes that killing Empire allies is acceptable.

ABB must be apprised of error in a timely fashion.

“They were good people, honey,” she said softly. I felt her hand squeeze mine. “But I don't want you doing anything stupid, like going out alone to get revenge.”

“Peter has already spoken to me about that,” I replied. “I will not go out alone. When I do go against Lung and the ABB, I will take appropriate backup with me.” I would need better armour, of course. Lung was quite powerful, and Oni Lee was scarcely less so. While I did not feel fear when using my powers, a certain amount of pragmatic caution was always a good idea.

“Good,” she said, and squeezed my hand again.

I moved over to Jenna's coffin, with Othala beside me. Again, Jenna looked as though she was simply asleep. I recalled the stickiness and warmth of her blood on my hand as I attempted to stop her bleeding. It was likely, with my ignorance of such training, that I had not helped very much, if at all. I turned to Othala. “If I had known first aid, would she be alive?”

Expression: grimace. Conclusion: Unpleasant topic.

“I doubt it, honey.” Othala looked down at Jenna. “She was shot before you gained your powers. Aside from the blood loss, I'm pretty sure that something vital was hit. If I'd had the chance to give her uninterrupted regeneration, she probably would have pulled through. Anything less than that, though …” She trailed off.

Vocalisation: sigh. Conclusion: sadness.

Option: Provide emotional support.

I squeezed her hand. “You did all you could. It's not your fault.”

She squeezed back. “So did you. Never forget that.”

Analysis: non-zero chance that she is lying for the purposes of emotional support.

I did not dwell on the possibility. What had happened, had happened.

Projection: Preparation for future endeavours is an optimal course of action.

“I need to learn first aid,” I said. “In case there is a situation where giving first aid will save a life. Also, I need to learn how to fight. Jenna was going to teach me.” I looked down at the dead girl again. Analysis: she would have been a good teacher.

Othala took her hand from mine and put her arm around my shoulders. As before, I felt nothing from the contact, but I believed that I understood her purpose.

Analysis: attempting to provide emotional support.

“Of course you can,” she said, using her free hand to wipe at her eyes. “I'll talk to Victor.”

“Thank you,” I said. Observation: Positive reinforcement between allies helps maintain an optimal working environment.

Kaiser was leaving the chapel, along with Krieg and Hookwolf. Victor moved toward us. “We're needed in the main area,” he said.

Othala took her arm away from my shoulders and turned toward him. “Can we have a moment?”

“Sure,” Victor said. “But Kaiser wants to make the announcements.”

“Only when Taylor's ready,” Othala said.

Tone: serious. Ally 'Othala' concerned about emotional distress.

Conclusion: Ally 'Othala' has forgotten about emotional disconnect.

“I'm fine,” I said. I was feeling no emotions at the moment. They would return, of course, once I released my powers. However, if I made certain that I was in private when I did this, I would not make the team look bad. “Let's go.”

“All right then, honey.” Othala wiped her eyes again, and blew her nose. “This is never easy.”

Analysis: Ally 'Othala' feels responsibility for loss of Jenna.

Option: Provide emotional support.

I placed my arm around her shoulders. Even without the armour, I was taller than her; with it, I was definitely so. She leaned against me.

“We should go.” I spoke quietly.

Vocalisation: sigh. “All right.” She looked down into Jenna's coffin one last time, then trailed her fingers along the wood at the edge.

Taking my arm from her shoulders, I closed my faceplate and turned toward the door into the other room. Victor took up position on Othala's left; with me at her right, and Rune and Crusader behind us, we went into the other room.

The people from the chapel were standing here and there in small groups. I noted that the higher-ranking members of the Empire were separate from the lower ranks. It was not immediately apparent as to whether this was deliberate or by chance. Two long tables held refreshments.

At the far end of the room was another podium; this one was somewhat more substantial than the one in the chapel. Kaiser was standing at it, talking once more to Krieg. Hookwolf was not with them this time; looking around, I saw him standing with some of the lower-ranked Empire members, along with Cricket.

As we entered, Kaiser turned toward the microphone and switched it on. Krieg stepped back and to the side. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Kaiser said, his voice booming from the speakers. “We have paid our respects to our fallen. Now, let us show our appreciation to those who survived to tell the tale.”

By the time he finished speaking, all eyes were on him. The low-voiced conversations throughout the room had ceased. He paused for a moment, then spoke clearly. “I call upon George Alfred and Peter Ferguson.”

Peter moved away from where he had been standing with his father, while George limped forward from a group of the Winslow crowd. When they got to the bottom of the steps, Peter paused to assist George; together, they climbed up on to the podium, George's crutch clunking on each step.

Kaiser waited until they were standing alongside him before he began speaking once more. “George Alfred was assigned to protect a Friend of the Empire who had pledged to join our ranks. The ABB decided that this was not to be, and attempted to kidnap or kill her.”

He paused; I heard mutters such as fucking chinks and motherfucking assholes pass through the crowd. These voices quieted, and he kept talking. “Thanks to George's dedication to duty, this did not happen. Alone, he took arms against a dozen ABB, sending the potential recruit to safety while he stood rearguard. With just a switchblade, he killed at least one of them and wounded many more, suffering grievous injuries in the process. When the recruit returned with help, he was near death, but they got him to medical attention and he is recovering well.” He put his hand on George's shoulder. “Well done, Mr Alfred. You are a pride and a credit to us all.”

Applause broke out through the crowd; it was much louder than it had been in the chapel, and some added whistles and shouts of congratulation to the din. George ducked his head a little. I saw Peter lean over toward him; he may have said something, but I could not hear it. Whatever it was, it caused George to raise his head again, tears glinting in his eyes.

Kaiser let the clapping go on for a few moments before he cleared his throat. Silence fell quickly, and he spoke into the microphone. “Peter Ferguson was there when Bronson diAngelo and Jenna Parsons were killed. He was attempting to defend a family member of the Friend of the Empire whom Jenna was protecting, when Oni Lee shot him in the chest. Even wounded, he was defiant to the end. He never gave up and never surrendered.” He placed his hand on Peter's shoulder. “Peter, you are a pride and a credit to us all.”

Once more, the applause arose. I attempted to clap, but the silicon-gel gloves made an odd sound, so I stopped.

At some unseen signal, Peter bowed to the crowd. Beside him, George did the same, albeit somewhat more clumsily, and then they descended from the podium. I watched as George rejoined his friends, while Peter went to his father. The older man put his arm around Peter's shoulders and squeezed.

Analysis: Peter and his father respect one another.

“And finally,” Kaiser's voice boomed from the speakers, “we have one last person to recognise. Our newest cape recruit. Remote, if you can come up here, please?”

I recognised that as an order rather than a request. Not that I would have rejected it as a request, but I could see that it was a good thing to respond immediately. Leaving Victor and Othala, I moved forward as the crowd made way for me. The stares were more intense now that I had been given a name.

Analysis: they are curious. Strange cape, no information. Armour gives little clue to age or gender.

Conclusion: this is deliberate.

I mounted the steps to stand beside Kaiser. Within the armour, I was perhaps a little taller than him, though I could not be sure. Without any other cues, I adopted the same stance as Peter had; standing foursquare, facing the audience, hands clasped behind my back.

“Our newest cape,” Kaiser said, “is called Remote. It is due to her actions that Peter is alive today, as she was the Friend and pledged recruit whom Jenna was protecting. During that battle, she triggered with powers, and proceeded to wipe the battlefield with both Lung and Oni Lee. She has since joined us as a full member. As you can see, she has a costume and a name, and I expect great things of her in the future.”

The applause was not entirely unexpected. Had I been in possession of my emotions, I would likely have been flustered or even embarrassed, but that was a non-issue. I had already seen that the Empire held its capes in great regard, and no doubt considered my defeat of the ABB capes to be a significant feat. I disagreed; driving Lung off had been relatively easy, considering my powerset and the number of cars, that had been available. Procuring the grenades from Oni Lee had simply made the job that much simpler.

Waiting for the applause to die down, I inclined my head in the same sort of bow that Peter had used. However, before I could step down, someone called out “Speech!” Others took up the cry; within seconds, it was resounding throughout the room.

I turned to look at Kaiser; while I could not see his face behind the metal faceplate – any more than he could see mine – he stepped back from the microphone.

Gesture: shrug. Analysis: Tentative approval.

Conclusion: do not say anything controversial or inflammatory.

Secondary conclusion: Keep it short.

I stepped up to the microphone. “Hello.” There was more clapping, but it quickly died down. “I am Remote. I want to thank Peter, Bronson, Jenna, Victor, Othala and Kaiser for all having faith in me. If it were not for them, then I wouldn't be here.” It was the simple truth, but they applauded anyway. I suspected that they would have applauded anything I said. “I will not let you down. Thank you all.”

Bowing again, I stepped away from the microphone. Kaiser did not move or speak to stop me, so I stepped down from the podium. However, Crusader met me at the bottom of the steps with his hand outstretched to shake. I shook it; he stepped aside, and I found myself facing Peter's father. He also shook my hand, then leaned in toward me. “You've done well, baby girl,” he said very quietly.

“Thank you, sir,” I said. He stepped aside, and I shook hands with another member of the Empire. Then it was Rune, grinning broadly. She crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out, which I noted but did not react to.

Before long, a line had formed before me and a pattern was emerging. I would get my hand shaken, the person would say something brief and I would respond. Then the next person would step in and shake my hand. I learned to turn my hand so that the metal backing on my gloves took the force of the handshake, but even so my hand was sore before it was over.

Not everyone stepped up to shake my hand – Hookwolf and Cricket didn't, although most of the skinheads did – and Krieg had left the room on some errand before I finished my speech. However, enough did that it was some time before the line petered out. Toasts were called for; I was given a glass by Othala and raised it, but did not drink as that would have required me to open my faceplate.

After we had toasted the fallen heroes, the living heroes, and the Empire itself, there was a pause in the announcements.

Othala took this opportunity to pull me aside. “Is your hand all right? I notice you're holding your glass in your left hand.”

“It is a little sore,” I admitted. “Some of those men do not know their own strength.” Or perhaps they had been trying to prove their worth to a cape of the Empire; I neither knew nor cared.

Othala nodded. “Men.”

Gesture: rolling of eyes. Tone: displeased.

Conclusion: Ally 'Othala' believes that Empire members were squeezing harder than necessary.

“It will be all right,” I said. “I just need to soak it for a while.”

“Well, nobody's going to object if you leave the proceedings now,” she pointed out. “I'll fix your hand, and you can get back to your dad.”

I nodded. “That would be a good thing.”

“Excellent. I'll just go and tell Victor.” She looked around for her husband.

I spotted him first and pointed. “Over there.”

“Oh, thank you.” Expression: smile. Analysis: ally 'Othala' pleased. She moved off toward him.

“Hey, there.” The voice was Peter's. I turned around to find him standing near me. “Nice speech.”

“Thank you. You didn't shake hands with me.” I was reasonably sure that I knew why, but I made the observation anyway.

“Hey, you already know I think you're awesome.” This was true, whether or not the belief itself was accurate. It also matched my earlier conclusion.

“Othala and I will be leaving the gathering,” I said. “Should I tell Kaiser?” It seemed to be a sensible question, as I did not wish to offend the man.

“No need,” Peter said. “He already knows.” A tilt of his head showed me which way to look. He was correct, of course; Victor and Kaiser were in the same group, so that Kaiser could hear what Othala was saying.

Othala came back over to us. “Hello, Peter. Has Remote told you that we're leaving?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said. Tone: respectful. “Would you mind if I met you where you're going to?”

“Well, that depends on Remote.” Othala turned to me. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all.” While my powers were on, I could not fathom the emotional attachment between myself and Peter, but Peter was a confirmed ally, and thus his good opinion of me was worth preserving.

“Good.” She took my hand in hers. “Let's go.”

<><>

It didn't take long for us to travel down in the elevator and leave the armour on its stand. This iteration had served its purpose, but Victor had said that he wanted to improve on it before I took it into the field. “Don't drop your powers,” Othala warned me as I stepped out of the armour. “Not yet. I'll tell you when.”

I didn't understand why, but I accepted her judgement. All the way up in the elevator, I continued to observe the secret workings of the building around us. Every door, every elevator, every gun. Every other machine, large or small.

The apartment that I shared with my father was on a different floor to the wake being held for Bronson and Jenna, so we did not have to worry about being seen. I followed her to my front door, where Peter was waiting for us. The key to the apartment was in my pocket, but I simply took control of the door and the lock and manipulated them to let us in.

Within was the front room, set out like a combination lounge/dining area. I waited until Othala and Peter had entered, then locked the door once more. Othala pointed me at the sofa. “Sit there. Peter, you sit on that side of her, and I'll sit this side.”

I wasn't sure what she was attempting to achieve, but I did as I was told. Peter sat beside me. “Uh, Othala, what …?”

“Peter, shh.” She did not raise her voice but he stopped talking anyway. “All right, Taylor. You can drop your powers now.”

Just for an instant after I did so, nothing happened, then a tidal wave of emotional backlash hit me and carried me away. I began to cry again, bawling my eyes out, as the pain and loss and grief of the farewell service hit me all at once. Peter held me in his arms, soothing me, his voice soft and gentle in my ear.

I became aware that Othala was also talking to me, her hand rubbing gentle circles on my back. Her power was also flooding through me; my sore hand had stopped aching, and all the other little itches and pains had gone away. I also realised that my face was pressed into Peter's chest; not that I particularly minded this, but my streaming eyes and runny nose had wiped themselves all over his good shirt.

Slowly, I pulled away from Peter a little. Not so much that he let go of me – I never wanted him to let go of me – but just so that I wasn't making a mess of his shirt any more. Although it was a little late in that regard, I noted with just a smidge of embarrassment.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, then sniffled. Entirely without surprise, I felt a tissue being pushed into my hand. I wiped my eyes and blew my nose, and felt somewhat better.

“What for?” asked Peter gently. His fingers ran up the back of my neck and slid through my hair. I felt a shivery sensation run down my spine, but it was a nice shivery sensation, so I didn't object in the slightest.

“Being a blubbery mess,” I said, indicating where my tears and snot were soaking into his shirt. “Falling apart at the first provocation.”

“One, you're my girlfriend, so you're allowed to be a blubbery mess on every single one of my shirts if you like,” he said, smiling fondly at me. Pulling me close, he kissed me gently on the forehead; I closed my eyes and smiled a little damply. “Two, we both know damn well that your powers bottle up your emotions. So if you've been through an emotionally-charged experience, of course you're going to fall apart. If you didn't, it would mean that you're some kind of sociopath, and I'd hate to fall head over heels for a sociopath.”

He loves me. He really does. The warm feeling started in my chest and spread out in all directions, flushing from my face through to my toes and out to my fingertips. I snuggled into him, feeling his arm strong around me, and lifted my face to his. His lips lowered to meet mine, and I kissed him.

The last time we had kissed, I had been in charge. This time, it was all him. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the feeling, letting myself be swept away again; this time, by a good emotion. Awash in happiness, I floated, feeling the last of the pain and suffering fade away.

When I came to myself once more, Othala was across the room, carefully studying a watercolour landscape on the wall. I was grateful for her discretion, and slightly embarrassed that she had been there while Peter and I kissed. After a moment of hesitation, I cleared my throat.

“Oh, sorry,” she said as she turned. “I was just looking at this painting. How are you feeling now?” I caught the twinkle in her eye as she smiled.

Did she arrange this with Peter to make me feel better? No, I don't want to know. “I, uh, good,” I mumbled. “Thanks.” A flush started to mount in my cheeks. “Thanks for … well, for being here for me.”

“That's okay,” she said quietly. “You're one of us. We take care of our own.” Crossing the room, she held out her hand. “I'm going to go sit with your father. Do you want to read to him while I do it?”

“Oh. Oh, yeah. Definitely.” I felt a stab of guilt that I hadn't remembered that for myself, but then, I'd been through a trying evening. Accepting her help, I got up from the sofa. My legs had been folded under me, and I hobbled on pins and needles. Peter, the rat, got up with no problems at all.

We went through into the back room of the apartment, where Dad lay in bed. He was wearing different pyjamas and Mary had combed his hair; beside the bed, the monitors showed their reassuring readouts. I settled into my favourite chair and Peter perched on the arm, while Othala sat across the bed from us.

Taking up my powers, I assumed direct control of the book-stand. It walked over to us and adjusted itself to be at a comfortable reading height. Once it was locked into place, I dropped my powers again; while it was useful on occasion to be unaffected by emotion, the evening's events had shown how bad it could be for me.

Reaching out, I took Peter's hand in my right and Dad's in my left. “Hi, Dad,” I said cheerfully. “How have you been? You should see the armour that Victor made me. It's pretty badass, but he says he can improve on it. Othala says you're improving a little more each day, which is awesome.” I squeezed his hand, and fancied that I felt his fingers tighten in return. “Anyway, I suppose you're waiting to see what happens next in the book.” Settling back, I glanced up at Peter and shared a smile with him. Then I turned my eyes to the waiting page.

“Mole reached down a lantern from a nail on the wail and lit it, and the Rat, looking round him, saw that they were in a sort of fore-court …”

Part 16