The Slippery Slope Pt 17 (Patreon)

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

Monday, February 14, 2011
Coil

He stood atop the tallest building in Brockton Bay, surveying all that he ruled. Absolute power was his, now and forever. “Bring me the head of Emily Piggot!” he commanded.

“At once, Director!” exclaimed Armsmaster in an appropriately servile tone, and scurried off to do his bidding.

Rolling over in bed, Thomas Calvert smiled. In the other timeline, Coil could see the inconsistencies in the dreamscape, but chose not to bother his sleeping self with them. It was a very nice dream after all. A dream which, in one form or another, he intended to bring to fruition. Which was why he was up before dawn on this day, managing his troops. Plan B was simple. Acquire secondary target. Interrogate secondary target for information about primary target.

There were three places that Calvert could get hold of Peter Ferguson. The first was at home, the second was in transit to Winslow High, and the third was of course at Winslow itself.

He rejected the idea of grabbing the boy at the school, due to the high likelihood of unforeseen factors coming into play. While Shadow Stalker was no longer at Winslow, there were members of the Empire there who would most certainly object. They probably wouldn't succeed in driving off his men, but the chance of Peter being cut down in the crossfire was very much a non-zero factor.

In transit was also problematic; Ferguson drove himself to and from school in a four-by-four, and there was a good chance that he varied his routes and timing so that it would be hard for anyone to pinpoint him for an assassination or abduction attempt. It was what Calvert himself would have done.

So, a home grab was best. In addition, that ensured the presence of Ferguson's father and sisters; sometimes, the best torture was applied to someone the target loved. Thinking ahead, Calvert had placed Creep on the home invasion team. Some of his soldiers might balk at being ordered to brutalise children. Others … would not.

One timeline had Thomas Calvert asleep in bed, dreaming of universal conquest. In the other, he reached forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Go,” he ordered. The van's engine roared, as did those of the two other vehicles full of his men. The entrance to the Willow Heights gated community was directly ahead; there was a sliding gate, locked with a passcode. He hadn't bothered taking the time to acquire the passcode, reasoning that this was a disposable timeline after all. Smash their way in, hit the family while they were still asleep and get the information out of the boy. It was a plan.

As the van leaped forward, Coil sent an impulse to his other self to wake up and grab a notepad. He would need this information later on, after all. Bracing himself, he waited for the impact with the sliding gate. It was harsher than he had expected; the members of the gated community had obviously paid top dollar for their security precautions. Pity it won't do them any good.

The ram-bar on the front of the van did its job, smashing the gate off its runners and flinging it aside. He already knew which address they were heading for; it would only take a minute to get there, long before any police response could be arranged. Likewise, he had the layout of the house, acquired after hours of digging through old files online. Barring unforeseen circumstances, this should be a snap.

That was when all four tyres blew.

Fortunately, he was still bracing himself; as the van screeched and swerved to a halt, he wasn't flung forward. One of his soldiers was caught off guard; losing his grip, he cannoned into Coil, crunching him up against the framework behind the driver's seat. Calvert was reasonably sure he felt a rib go, but there was no time to shoot the man, or even reprimand him. They were on the clock. I'll torture him later.

“Out!” he shouted, trying to ignore the stab of pain every time he inhaled. “We're on foot now! Go, go, go!”

The side door was wrenched open and the men tumbled out, spreading out to form a perimeter. He climbed painfully out after them, favouring his left side. Something in there grated when he turned the wrong way, and the stab of agony nearly put him on the ground. Feels like a broken rib, all right. Calvert had suffered many broken bones, nearly all in discarded timelines, and he was reasonably good at identifying them. Just because it had never happened didn't mean he couldn't remember it.

All three vans had been stopped, skewed here and there on the road, tyres flattened. Looking back, it wasn't hard to determine the cause; a series of spikes had popped up from the roadway just inside the gate at the moment that the barrier had been breached. Fucking top of the line security precautions. God damn it. It was a good thing that this was a disposable timeline, because it was starting to exhibit all the signs of a classic clusterfuck.

Still, the overall objective was achievable if they hustled. “Move out,” he ordered. “You know the address. We need to secure it ASAP.” He gestured to Creep. “You're with me. The rest of you, go!” He watched them move off; in the predawn dusk, their urban camouflage let them blend in almost flawlessly with their surroundings. Despite their weapon loadouts and equipment webbing, they loped along tirelessly, justifying the money he spent on keeping them trained and fit.

“What do I do, sir?” Creep stayed alongside him as he hobbled along, trying not to wince at the pain in his side. The man was loyal to a fault, but he wasn't overly bright.

“You stick with me,” Coil told him. “Just in case one of these homeowners decides to defend his property with extreme prejudice.” He smiled under his mask. “Feel free to shoot to kill.” He hoped it wouldn't come to that – after all, he was wearing no body armour – but right now, he didn't want anything else going wrong.

Creep's face was hidden behind the visor to his helmet, but his voice suggested a cheerful smile. “Yes, sir.”

Calvert hobbled on a few more steps before he realised that something was wrong. All around him, in every house he could see, lights were coming on. Up and down the street, as far as the eye could see. This wasn't just one householder waking up and wondering what the noise was; it was everyone getting up, even those who couldn't possibly have heard it. Everyone in the gated community. Even the Fergusons. Fuck. They'll know something's wrong.

Still, the street was quiet. There was no rapid-response force bearing down on them right now. Which meant that there was still a possibility of success. Gritting his teeth, he hobbled on. The pain in his side was worse now, but he did his best to ignore it. He would hold on to this timeline until the very last moment, and get everything he could out of it.

It took ten long minutes to cover the distance that his men had covered in two. By the time he got there, with Creep still at his side, the man called Fish was standing out at the front, waiting for him. He eyed the house; the front door looked intact, and the men he could see were surrounding the house, not kicking their way in. And then he noticed that, while the surrounding houses were still lit up, the windows in the Ferguson residence were dark. What's going on?

“Report,” he husked. There was a coppery taste in the back of his throat now; whatever internal injuries he had were being exacerbated by the exertion. Not that he cared, right at this moment. As soon as he dropped the timeline, he'd be just fine. In the other timeline, he was still sitting on the bed with a pencil and pad in hand. Details of the Willow Heights gated community security setup were being noted down for future reference.

Fish gestured at the high fence that surrounded the property, and the gate that had apparently been forced open. “As soon as we crossed the perimeter, lights came up and shutters dropped over the windows. We dealt with the lights, but there's no easy ingress to be had. Even the front door is wood veneer over steel, as far as we can tell. We can get through the shutters easily enough,” he added, tapping the laser undermount on his rifle, “but we were waiting on you for authorisation.”

Coil nodded. Even though he had been hoping that they'd have the place secure by the time he arrived, it was a sensible move to wait for the okay before using the Tinkertech lasers. Nobody knew his men had them, after all. Of course, this being a disposable timeline, nobody would know even after this, so the point was moot. Not that Fish would know this. “Understood. You have a green light. Go.”

Keying his lapel mic, Fish gave the order. Coil watched as the men around the house employed their undermount lasers to carve holes in the windows and doors. The weird infrasonic screech put his teeth on edge, but it was worth it to see the steel plates fall away, carved through like soft butter up against a hot knife. A moment later, the barriers were kicked out and the men were in the house. He started forward, through the gate, with Creep and Fish flanking him. Over the radio, he could hear steady reports as the men cleared the house, room by room.

By the time he reached the front door, the radio had mostly fallen silent. Nobody had been shot; in fact, there was nobody to be found in the house at all. Bedrooms had been located, the beds recently slept in, but they were empty. At his order, the men began to search the house more thoroughly, checking cupboards and closets, but he was starting to get a sinking feeling.

“You were covering the rear of the house as well?” It wasn't quite a question, but he strongly suspected that he knew the answer. His men might be mercenaries, but they were well trained.

“Well, of course.” Fish's tone was almost offended. “First place I sent them.”

“And you've secured the garage?” He had to cover that base as well. The last thing he wanted was for Ferguson to come roaring out of that garage in his truck when they had no means of keeping up.

“Yes, sir. Garage is secure and the vehicles have been disabled.” Which answered that. There would be no last-minute escapes for the Fergusons.

“Sir. Sirens.” That was Creep. He had turned and was looking toward the entrance to Willow Heights. That entrance was blocked, but there was another one, which the police would certainly know about. From the sound of the sirens, they were coming closer.

Fuck. He tried to think. How would I pull off a disappearing act like that? Option one was a panic room. That was a distinct possibility; it was a big house, after all. It wouldn't be hard to conceal a reasonably-sized bolt-hole in all that. And if the entrance was camouflaged, which seemed likely, then they could search the house forever until they found it. However, there was another option. What if the Ferguson boy is a parahuman? It was not beyond the realms of possibility, after all. For all he knew, the kid's father was Kaiser himself. It had been known for years that kids of parahumans tended to get powers.

I need more information. Which I'm not going to have time to collect right now. Fuck.

The sirens were much closer now. He estimated that it was only a few minutes before they got there. Looking around, he saw that the sun was just starting to rise. I'm done here. He dropped the timeline.

<><>

Medhall Building

Max Anders was watching the sun rise through the floor-to-ceiling window of his office, a glass of exquisitely expensive bourbon in his hand, when he heard the tap on the door. “Come in,” he called over his shoulder, but didn't turn. He knew who it would be; James knocked the same way, every time.

The door opened, then closed again. He heard the soft footfalls as James crossed to the small table that held the glass that Max had left for him. There was the faintest of scrapes as his lieutenant took up the glass, then James joined him in admiring the sunrise. As the light became brighter, the glass – actually, an expensive polycarbonate – automatically polarised, becoming darker to match.

“Good morning,” Max greeted him, then took a sip of his drink. It was perfect, as was everything else he arranged in his life. If things weren't perfect, then he made sure that they became perfect. He didn't believe that he was quite as obsessive over it as Accord, but the man did have a point; everything had its place, and if force occasionally had to be applied to make sure that things went where they were supposed to go, then that was just the way things were.

“Good morning, Max.” James also sipped. To Max's approval, he took a moment to savour the alcohol. “Is there a problem?”

James Fleischer was a good lieutenant. Correct and punctilious, he had initiative and drive. Max was fully aware that the man's loyalties were more with Gesellschaft than with the Empire, but so long as the two organisations had goals that ran in tandem, it would not cause him to lose sleep. If a problem should arise, he knew James would give him adequate warning of any impending clash of interests.

“A minor one, at the moment. But it may become more serious,” Max said. “Remote's father – Daniel Hebert. I find myself unsure as to which direction to go with him.” He took another drink. It really was very good bourbon.

“What options are you considering?” asked James. Short, and to the point. Also, he had not yet asked what Max thought of the options, so as to offer an unbiased opinion.

“Three options, really.” Max sighed. He hated being pushed into a corner. “One; he is allowed to recover under Othala's ministrations. She reports that he is improving a little every day. Two; she ceases to treat him, but pretends otherwise, thus keeping him in a sustained vegetative state. Three; he dies.” He half-turned his head toward his second in command. “As you can see, all three options have their pros and cons. I've been holding off on making this decision for several reasons, but the point of no return is rapidly approaching.”

James nodded. “The crux, of course, is to maintain the goodwill and loyalty of Remote.” He took a sip of his drink. “She's loyal to a fault. And powerful. Very powerful, under the right circumstances. She would be a great asset to the Empire. Except that her father, once recovered, would oppose this directly.”

“Yes.” Max rubbed his chin. As always, James could cut to the meat of the matter. “He would. There is one favourable outcome. One which I’ve already enhanced by priming Peter with hints concerning her future in the Empire. If we play our cards just right, she’ll choose to remain with us after his recovery.”

“Hmm.” James finished his drink. Moving aside, he placed the glass on the same small table that he had taken it from. “Could he be paid off?”

Now Max chuckled, amused. “It is said that every man has his price. Daniel Hebert's cannot be measured in money; or at least, not in amounts that it would be feasible to pay him. He is fixed in his loyalties and his duties; if he is half as devoted to his daughter as she is to him, he would find any amount you could offer him to be a direct insult.” He finished his drink off, as well. “Why do you think we've never been able to get a foothold in the Dock Workers, with him in place as head of hiring?”

“Well, then.” James sounded a little irritated. Max could understand why; the Empire rarely encountered people who could not be moved by the twin inducements of fear and greed. “He doesn't wake up. Othala simply ceases to lend him the capability to regenerate. He lives on, but never recovers fully.”

Max pursed his lips. He didn’t shy away from doing what was necessary, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed screwing over a teenager who thought the sun shone out of his ass. “That's possible.” Max moved toward the sitting area in the far corner of the office, and lowered himself into a comfortable leather-covered armchair. “Of course, it involves bringing Othala into this, and having her waste her time pretending to heal him for the foreseeable future. That's two points of failure.” He held up two fingers away from his glass to emphasise this.

James sat down opposite Max and crossed one leg over the other, observing him intently. “Was this your intention? To have me agree with the decision that you've already made?”

Max chuckled, but there was little humour in it. “Far from it. As it stands, I'm reluctant to commit to any course of action which could put Remote at odds with us. She has a history of being let down or outright betrayed by friends and authority figures. To be seen to harm her father would place us squarely in the category of 'enemy' for her. I'm good at talking to people, but I doubt that she would allow herself to be persuaded back around from that.” Quite the opposite, he suspected.

“So what then?” James was beginning to sound frustrated. Max felt a certain amount of schadenfreude-fuelled amusement; he had been through all this before. “Something mimicking a viral infection, perhaps? A slow decline, a gentle slide into death. Poison would do it, administered in subtle quantities. Call it an 'unexpected complication'. Real medicine has enough of those.”

This was why Max had called James in on this. He hadn't actually thought of poison. “It's a possibility,” he conceded. “But it would have to be a poison that's not noticeable by outward symptoms. Peter would have to be kept out of the loop, along with Othala. The nurse would have to do the dosing.”

James sat forward, sounding almost excited for the first time. “This is actually possible to do. We have access to any number of rare and exotic poisons here, and any we don't have, we could probably synthesise.”

“We could,” Max agreed. “The problem here is that the girl is quite intelligent. Peter's no slouch, and he freely admits that she's smarter than him. She's capable of thinking well outside the box, and while she is currently fiercely loyal to us, she's also the type to question suspicious circumstances. I doubt we could pull off 'unexpected complications' as a cause of death without causing her to harbour unpleasant suspicions. Panacea left him in the peak of health, after all.”

“Verdammt.” James grimaced. This was a sign of tension; he rarely relapsed into his native German without an excellent reason. “And you're sure that Othala and Peter would side with her?”

“Not under ordinary circumstances, no.” Max knew this for certain. “Peter and Othala are both as loyal as they come. But while Peter wasn't quite as hopelessly smitten with Taylor as she with him in the beginning, his feelings for her have become quite genuine. I’ve taken advantage of their budding romance to ensure that she sees him as her white knight and the Empire as her real family, including Othala in the role of a surrogate mother. However, because I've encouraged this to happen, that bond now goes both ways and it's likely that they’ll become conflicted if they find out that we're actively doing something to harm her father – or that we've already done it.” Oh, hello, Law of Unintended Consequences. I didn't see you there.

“She does seem to have engaged quite effectively with Victor, Crusader and Rune as well,” James mused, leaning back and looking at the ceiling. “If they decided that she was being treated badly, and chose to turn against the Empire, we face the distinct possibility of losing not just one very powerful cape, but four moderately powerful ones as well. A good third of our strength.”

“Which is something that we want to avoid,” Max agreed, with admirable understatement. “I would also like very much to not have to waste all the effort we've already put into bringing her into the fold.” He was shading the truth just a little; they’d done very little to gain Taylor Hebert’s loyalty. On the contrary, she had more or less fallen into their laps, only needing a few minor nudges to be set on the right path. The fact that she had then triggered as a powerful cape merely served to justify their work in bringing her on board. “Or to fight her, if it came to that.”

James' gaze sharpened; a lesser man might have looked startled. “You believe her to be so formidable, without her armour?”

“You don't?” Max riposted. “Imagine if she decided to turn against us without warning, today. Right at this very moment. Her range encompasses the entire building, and beyond. Do you know how many things there are in this building that she can manipulate to her advantage, against us? No? I don't either. But she does. No lock is capable of holding her out; every step that we took would be contested against us.” He permitted himself a shudder at the thought. To attempt to carry on a conflict in a landscape where every machine worth the name was a weapon for the enemy … it was a sobering thought.

“There is another option.” James's voice broke into Max's thoughts. His tone was light, but with an undertone of seriousness. “I could take her for … re-education. When she returns, she will be unshakeably loyal to you, and will care little about her father, or anyone else except whom you tell her to care about.”

Re-education. This, Max knew, meant 'brainwashing'. Gesellschaft did this on occasion, to turn enemy capes into allies or to turn those capes whose loyalty was suspect into fanatics to the cause. It also, if Max chose to use the profanity, totally fucked with their heads. Max was a pragmatist. Getting things done his way was how he ticked. But not like this. Not when – if he read his nephew correctly – he would soon be calling Taylor niece. He recalled Geoff and Dorothy, and how the couple had not a single shred of non-synthetic personality between them. Nor did they possess much in the way of imagination and creativity, save that which had been programmed into them.

“No,” he decided at length, if only to pretend to give it a full measure of thought.. “I don't think so.” Getting up, he went to the wet bar and set about pouring himself another drink.

“But why not?” James went and retrieved his own glass and brought it over. “I would think it solves your problems neatly.”

“To be honest,” Max said, “I doubt she'd agree to go, even if she just thought it was a field trip of sorts.” Recalling her comments about the Empire being an American group and not German, it wasn’t just a doubt. He already knew of her stance on the matter.

James shrugged, sipping at his new drink. “So we don't give her a choice in the matter.”

Max huffed out a dry laugh. “Causing her to decide that we're turning on her, and treating us in the same way as she treated Lung and Oni Lee. Only, they never pretended to be her friends first.” He recalled Peter's description of the girls bullying Taylor. “I'm reasonably certain that if she tried hard enough, with no regard for her own life, she could bring this whole building tumbling down into the sub-basement, and us with it. I don't ever want to bring her to that state. Not while I'm within range of her power.” And that wasn't even factoring Peter and Othala into the situation.

“So we lie to her.” James' voice was impatient. “Tell her we're taking her somewhere else.” He raised an eyebrow. “Surely you haven't forgotten how to lie, Max.”

“Indeed I have not, James.” Max let a little impatience into his tone. “But what happens once she's gone? Peter is her boyfriend. He'll want to know where she is, and why she can't contact him. Once he decides he doesn't like what he's hearing, he will start to ask questions. That alerts Victor, Othala, and Ferguson senior – who has, by the way, met Taylor, and quite likes her. So then he raises a fuss. In short? If she goes, we can't keep it a secret.”

“I refuse to believe that,” James returned. “First, we prime them both with a story that she will accept – perhaps a retreat involving the higher echelons of the Empire, or tell her that she's going for 'advanced power testing'. Your nephew understands information security; he won't be unduly surprised that she's being given special treatment, or that she'll be out of contact for a while.” He gestured with his glass for emphasis. “On the day, she is sedated before she knows what's going on. That shouldn't be hard to achieve. We spirit her away. She undergoes re-education. Her powers are not all-encompassing; it would not be impossible to set up a situation where she has nothing to work with. Once she's been remoulded into a soldier totally loyal to the Empire, she is returned. In the meantime, her father has declined and died. She doesn't care. And we have what we want.” His tone was matter-of-fact, as if daring Max to pull apart his scenario.

Max took a sip of the new drink, in lieu of counting to ten. “And then what? She's a bright, caring, vivacious girl; someone who was once brutalised emotionally and is only now starting to re-emerge from her shell. Re-education destroys all that; you know this. They will never be able to put back anything more than a caricature of what she once was. You and I might not care, but Peter will certainly care when his girlfriend goes away and is replaced by a stuffed dummy with no more real emotion than a wind-up toy.” And contrary to that thought, I most certainly will care. I do not want my nephew’s children raised by a Night or a Fog. He also had serious doubts as to how much of her instinctive tactical awareness would survive the process. Or whether Gesellschaft would even return her after the so-called re-education; after all, a powerful cape in Germany was worth two in America (to them, anyway).

“So we ensure that she is amenable to his advances,” James sounded as though he could not quite understand why Max was objecting to this. “He's a teenage boy; having been one once, I would imagine that this would nullify most of his objections.”

“My nephew is more than just a teenage boy,” Max interjected coldly. “He is also in line to inherit the Empire, once he gains powers and I am ready to hand over the legacy. He has been groomed for this ever since I recognised the potential in him. If he were to fall for that, then I would no longer consider him worthy for the role.” He finished his second drink and put the glass down. “Re-education is not an option.”

“So what do you want from me?” James put his own glass down a little sharply; the alcohol remaining within slopped up the sides a little but did not spill. “You call me in here, present the problem, then shoot down every idea I come up with. What use has this been?”

What use, indeed. “It has assisted me in clearing my head, and considering the options that are still valid,” Max informed him. “While your suggestions have merit, we are more tightly hemmed about with limitations than would normally be the case. Thank you for your assistance in this matter.” He went back toward the windows overlooking Brockton Bay, turning his attention to the cityscape beyond.

James obviously took this as his cue to leave; he paused at the door. “So what will you be doing?” Or are you still lacking an answer? he didn't quite ask.

“I will be cementing her loyalty and dedication to the cause,” Max replied without turning. “The Merchants are a suitably despicable opponent. Giving her a good solid win against scum like that will give her a rush that she will not quickly forget. It will prove to her that the victory against Lung was not an accident, and that she can do real good in the Empire. I know I can count on Peter, Othala and Victor to provide her with adequate positive reinforcement in this matter. By the time her father wakes, she will be ours.”

“And if he objects to this state of affairs?” asked James. “Do we kill him?” Is your solution so elegant as you think?

“We will handle that aspect when we come to it,” Max decided. “The PRT will assuredly have linked her face and name to Remote by the time this happens. There will almost certainly be a warrant out for her arrest. He will not want her to go to jail. I believe that we should be able to reach an arrangement.”

“I hope so, for all of our sakes.” James waited for a moment, but when Max did not reply, he opened the door and exited. The door closed quietly behind him.

Max refused to allow himself to doubt. It would work. He would make it work. More than just the Empire was at stake, here. His family depended on it.

He resumed his study of the Brockton Bay skyline.

<><>

Winslow High School

Peter took a moment to step into a quiet corridor and pulled out his phone. Taylor should have found them by now. He pressed speed-dial and '1', then waited for the phone to be answered. This did not take long.

“Hi, Peter!”

“Good morning, beautiful.” Peter smiled at the sound of his girlfriend's voice. The sheer joy she exhibited when talking to him, even over the phone, awoke an answering warmth in his heart. She loves me for me. Not for my family, not for my prospects. Just me. It made him want to be better for her, to prove to her that he was the sort of person she saw him to be. “Happy Valentine's day, sweetheart. Wish I could be there with you, but school, right?” He looked around at the grimy off-white paint of the corridor wall. Oh, I could so be with Taylor right now.

“School. Bleh.” Then she giggled. “I got your present. You really didn't have to.” He had suspected as much; she sounded slightly giddier than normal. A chocolate high will do that.

“Oh, okay,” he pretended to agree. “So I should send the whole box back, then?” A smirk spread across his face as he waited for her reply. A triple-decker box of the most expensive chocolates he could find? Explosion in three … two … one …

“Don't you dare,” she laughed. “I love them. Nobody's given me chocolate for ages. And besides, I've eaten half of them already.” In fact, her voice sounded slightly sticky. He was pretty sure she was eating one right at that moment.

“Wow, that many?” It was fun to tease; something Julie didn't understand. She wanted everything to go her way. With Taylor, it's a two way street. “You realise they'll go straight to your hips.”

“Well, Cassie might have helped a little,” she admitted. “But so what if they go to my hips? I could do with having hips.” This was something that she might have said when they first met, but now her voice was filled with cheerful self-mockery rather than depression or unhappiness.

“Hey, I like your hips just fine,” he replied, and he did. Just because Taylor didn't have the extravagant curves of other women didn't mean that she had no curves at all. “They're just … tastefully understated.”

“So you have been checking me out,” she mused. “I thought so.” She spoiled the whole outraged act by breaking into a fit of giggles. “So, should I go shopping for more skinny jeans?”

“I wouldn't object in the slightest,” he replied with an answering chuckle. “We could go shopping together, if you wanted. You can model them for me before you buy them.” He actually kind of liked that idea. Shopping with the girlfriend was supposed to be the most deadly boring of impositions, but watching Taylor's face light up with happiness was always worth it. And Taylor in skinny jeans was very nice to look at, too.

“Aren't you supposed to hand in your man card for even suggesting such a thing?” Ooh, she was on fire today. “Mind you, I'm kind of lacking in money for fun shopping, but I guess I can still try them on for you.” And there was the old Taylor, the one who persisted in looking at the grim side of life. Except that he wasn't sure where she was coming from with this.

“So use your pay. Unless you're trying to save up.” It wasn't exactly a secret that Empire capes got paid. Costumes cost a lot to maintain, and so did other equipment.

“ … I get paid?” That took him off guard. From the tone of her voice, either she had just managed to lie perfectly to him for the first time ever, or she simply hadn't known about it.

“Wait, you didn't know?” Wow, way to be obvious about it. Why hadn't someone told her?

“Well, no. I guess I didn't think about it, so I didn't ask.” Which made a weird kind of sense, now that he came to think about it.

“And nobody thought to tell you, because they thought you already knew.” He shook his head in bemusement. “Yes, to clear this up, you do get paid.” He cupped his hand over the phone. “Did you think Hookwolf had a day job?”

“Um, no. I just … wow. Okay.” She giggled, sounding a little self-conscious. “I just didn't make the connection. Um, how do I access the money?”

“That part I don't know,” he confessed, trying to recall what he'd been told of it. “Card, maybe?”

“Oh, wait.” Taylor's voice held tones of deepest realisation. “Othala gave me an envelope just before. I was going to open it, then you called.” There was the muted sound of ripping paper. “And it's a charge card. Wow. Awesome.” Her voice became much more cheerful. “So, shopping sometime this week?”

“I look forward to it.” He raised his head as the bell went off. “Uh, oh. Home room beckons. Love you, babe.” It was so nice to have someone to say that to, and mean it. “And happy Valentine's Day again.”

The giddy tone was back. “I love you too, Peter. I'll see you this afternoon?”

“Definitely.” Even though he was now hustling to class, he didn't want to end the call. But of course, he had to. “Bye, sweetie.”

“Bye, love.” He could hear the smile in her voice, the one that went with the look of adoration in her eyes that made him feel ten feet tall and able to take on the world in her defence. Even though she could kick more ass than he would ever be capable of. Oh, yeah. Best girlfriend ever.

Ending the call, he slid his phone into his pocket and increased his pace. Kelly, walking alongside him, tilted his head. “Taylor?”

“What gave it away, the silly grin or the 'I love you'?” Peter replied with a chuckle. “Yeah, that was Taylor. I am so glad I met her.” Which was the understatement of the century.

“Yeah, me too. She's a lot better for you than that bitch Julie,” Kelly said bluntly. Taylor had been accepted by Peter's in-group long before she had chosen to officially join the Empire. That act had merely served to cement her status with them. Despite the fact that there was nobody nearby, Kelly lowered his voice. “So what was that about Hookwolf?”

So he caught that. Peter shrugged. “Oh, someone screwed up. Or rather, we all screwed up. Nobody actually thought to tell her she gets paid. For, well, you know.” Being a cape, he didn't have to say.

That got him a blink and a look of surprise. “Wait, what? How come nobody told her?”

Peter shrugged again. “Because everyone thought she already knew. And she didn't know because …” He didn't need to finish the statement.

“Huh. Oh, man.” Kelly shook his head, a look of bemusement on his face. “Gotta love communication. Mind you, she's a real smart cookie. She woulda figured it out.”

“Yeah, Taylor's smart as they come,” Peter agreed, letting the pride show in his voice. “Smarter than me, that's for sure.”

“Well, duh,” agreed Kelly. “Oh, hey, got one for you. What do you say if you wake up in the middle of the night and see your TV floating out the window?” He grinned, looking pleased with himself.

“I dunno,” Peter said. “What do you say?” He thought he knew where this one was going, but he decided to let Kelly have it.

Kelly's grin widened, and he put on a ridiculously dramatic voice. “'Drop it, Skidmark!'”

“Hah, good one.” Peter held up his hand, and Kelly high-fived it. Laughing, they headed off to class.

<><>

Arcadia High School
Lunchtime

“Ames! You'll never guess what happened!” A blonde-haired whirlwind of happiness attacked Amy Dallon, picking her up and spinning her around. Set back on her feet, she wobbled a bit until her inner ears stopped sloshing around, then gave her sister a mock glare.

“Seriously, Vicky? Do you mind not doing that to me?” She had to admit, Victoria looked positively vibrant. Hovering in the air, the blonde was a good two inches off the ground. A feeling of happiness threatened to overwhelm her. “Ugh. Aura.”

“Sorry, Ames. I was just so excited. I had to tell you the good news.” Vicky managed to sound contrite, at least briefly, as the unnatural elation melted away.

“Yeah, well. Next time I might puke on your shoes. Just to explain why you shouldn't do it.” Amy wasn't sure that she would actually throw up on Vicky, but the threat should do the trick. “Good news? Oh, the hearing?” This close to Vicky, especially with the aura involved, Amy would normally be doing her best to ignore her sister's proximity. Now, it was barely an effort. No unnatural longings raised themselves in her mind. Scapegoat, when I see you next, I'm going to give you a big kiss. Totally platonic, of course.

“Yup!” Vicky bounced on her toes, having to drop down a couple of inches to accomplish this. “What's stunningly beautiful, has blonde hair, and is the newest member of the Wards?”

Amy pretended to consider this seriously. “Hmm. If I'd known you were going to be asking me riddles … that's a difficult one. Can I have some time to think it over?” She put on a solemn expression and rubbed her chin, trying hard not to grin.

“Me, duh!” Vicky rolled her eyes. “I can see you smiling there. The people holding the hearing said they were satisfied that I was remorseful, and they listened to Mom speak, but it was your written deposition that really got their attention, I think.”

“I'm sorry that I couldn't come along,” Amy said immediately, and meant it. “I wanted to, but Carol decided that I should be in school. But they let me do a deposition, so I did that. You think it helped?” She brightened slightly at that news. Vicky was still her sister, and Amy still loved her. Just not in that way.

“Oh, yeah,” Vicky said happily. “I mean, you were pretty up-front with what you said about me, and Mom was a little pissed when she saw what you wrote, but they said that it was the most honest thing that had been said about me, and that the fact that you still advocated for my placement in the Wards meant a lot.” She grabbed Amy in another hug. “So thanks for that.”

Amy hugged her sister back. “Hey, if anyone can tell the straight truth about you, it's gotta be me. So, how are the Wards taking having you on the team?”

“Eh, we're still working out the kinks.” Vicky waggled her hand in midair. “I've worked with them before, of course, but I spoke to Triumph and apparently it's different now that I'm a part of the team. He actually expects me to follow orders.” The face she made defined exactly how she felt about that.

“That's actually probably a good idea,” Amy pointed out. “You've got a habit of breaking things.” And people, she thought but did not say. Vicky caught the inference anyway, if her expression was any indication. “And hey, this way you get the Wards trust fund. So, win-win.” Vicky poked her tongue out at Amy; Amy giggled. I wonder when I should tell her about the Valentine's card that came in the mail today, from San Diego?

<><>

Commander Thomas Calvert
PRT Building

Sitting in his office, Calvert split the timeline into two. In one, he continued to deal with the minutiae of running a strike team. Fitness reports, budgetary requirements and training schedules, all to be checked through and initialled. In the other, he pushed the paperwork aside and picked up the phone. The call he intended to make was relatively innocuous on the surface, but he didn't want anyone knowing about it anyway.

He dialled the number and waited. After three rings, it was picked up. A teenage girl, giggling over some joke or other. “Hello, Amy speaking. Who is this?”

“Good afternoon, Panacea,” Calvert said, putting on his best 'commander' voice. “This is Commander Calvert, Parahuman Response Teams. I need a few moments of your time, if I may.”

“Oh, uh, okay,” she replied, not sounding as intimidated as he'd hoped. “What's this about? Do I need to find someplace private?” He heard a girl's voice in the background, but not what was being said.

“Not necessarily,” he replied. “Is there someone there with you?” Not that it mattered, but he had to keep up appearances.

“Just Glory Girl. I can ask her to go away, if you want.” Panacea sounded uncertain.

“No, that's fine.” He straightened the sheet of paper in front of him. “I just need to ask you a few questions. All you need to do is answer yes or no.”

“Oh. Well, sure, I can do that. What's this about, anyway?” She was certainly inquisitive, but he didn't mind answering. He'd been about to tell her this exact information, after all.

“It's about the incident on the Boardwalk on February the second, with Victor and the people that you healed. Do you remember many details about it?” He hoped that she did, otherwise this call would be an utter waste of time. Of course, she'd never know that the call had ever happened.

“Uh, yeah. I remember about everything that happened. It's not every day that I get shot, you know?” Her voice was rueful, but at least she was engaging the question. “That kind of focuses the attention.”

“That it does,” he agreed. “Now, you're able to detect the presence of an active corona pollentia in people, right?” This wasn't a given, but from his understanding of Panacea's power, she was able to map out the body in detail. The corona pollentia was a defined brain structure, so she should be able to tell that it was there.

“I haven't been deliberately checking to see if people have powers!” she said hastily. He rolled his eyes. So much for 'yes or no' answers.

“I never said you have,” he said soothingly. “I was just wondering if you were able to detect it at all.” If she wasn't, he would have to find out some other way, but she could save him so much time.

“This is official PRT business?” she asked; not quite suspiciously, but definitely a little warily.

“Certainly,” he lied. “Come in this afternoon and I'll have all the documents lined up for you to check out.” Which ranked with every other assurance he had given someone in a discarded timeline; somewhere between 'when hell freezes over' and 'you have to be kidding'.

“Oh, okay. Commander Calvert, was it?” She seemed to be waiting for his assurance.

“That's me. Thomas Calvert, Commander.” He rattled off his identification number just to confuse her a little farther. “Ask Glory Girl about the takedown she helped my team with. She assisted two of my team out of a tight corner.”

There was some mumbling that he couldn't catch, then Panacea came back on the line. “Okay, that checks out. So yeah, I can tell you that yes, I can tell if someone has a corona pollentia and if it's active or not.”

He felt the tension ease out of his chest. “Excellent. Marvellous. Now, here's the big question. Do you recall if any of the people you treated at the Boardwalk had an active corona pollentia?”

The wariness was back. “Why do you want to know? The unspoken rules …”

“I'm not looking to unmask anyone,” he hastened to say. And for once, it was actually the truth. “It's just that there are some irregularities with this case that would be easier to explain if I knew whether the Ferguson boy had powers or not.” Again the truth, but set up to mislead.

“Oh, okay. Well …” She paused for a long moment. “The boy I healed had no corona pollentia, active or otherwise. Is that what you wanted to know?”

Okay, so it must have been a panic room after all. “Yes, that's precisely what I wanted to know. Thank you very much, Panacea. You've been a great help.” He wondered if there might be some way he could induce her to work for him; she would be an utterly invaluable asset. But no. It would be far too difficult to arrange.

He dropped the timeline; picking up the sheet of paper, he fed it into the shredder by his desk. Then he turned his chair and sat there, staring out the window. A lesser man might have felt doubt or worry about the task which he had set himself. Calvert felt no such emotion.

Taylor Hebert was a new cape in Brockton Bay, and she had proven herself to be both powerful and resourceful. Virtually every other powerful cape in the city was entrenched in one organisation or another; in a very real way, they were already part of the system. They did not effect significant change, because checks and balances were already in place to keep them in line.

However, the Hebert girl was a new piece on the board. Wherever she went, she would upset the balance; in the case of the Empire Eighty-Eight, she would increase the effective power of an already strong team to a level that nobody wanted to face. Just her ability to neutralise firearms and control vehicles made the PRT effectively useless against her, and it was possible that Tinkertech weapons and vehicles were equally vulnerable. For someone whose ability to project force lay in mercenaries carrying rifles, this state of affairs was intolerable. She had to be either co-opted or removed from the board.

He had yet to come down solidly on the idea of having her killed off; at the moment, he was still intrigued by the idea of having her working for him. The possibilities inherent in such an arrangement were endless. Of course, to get her to work for him at all, he would first have to rescue her father from wherever the Empire had him stashed, whereupon the man could then be used as either carrot or stick, whichever was most appropriate. The Empire Eighty-Eight would lose, Coil would win, and all would be right with the world.

Smiling, Thomas Calvert got back to work.

Part 18