I, Panacea Pt 5 (Patreon)

"I want you to help me rescue Dinah Alcott."

Silence greeted her statement.

Amy looked from one Undersider to another, trying to gauge their responses. Skitter's full-face mask was almost impossible to read, although Amy thought she saw a change in the flight patterns of the bugs orbiting her. Grue, with his full-face helmet, was likewise a blank slate as far as she was concerned.

Regent's head came up; despite his full-face mask, she could easily tell his mood from the tone of his voice. “Really?” he asked – no, sneered. “You want us to turn against the guy who's been backing us for a year? Who's paid us thousands of bucks at a time just to stay on his payroll? Who's never steered us wrong yet?”

“No,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. “I want you to turn against the guy who's been using you all this time. Who would discard or betray you in a hot Brockton Bay minute if it suited him. Who wants to take over the city, at every level, and is willing to do anything, to kill anyone, to murder or torture or enslave absolutely anyone - including any of you five - in order to do so. And who won't feel a moment's remorse about it.” She looked over at Grue. "And that includes your sister, if that's what it took to keep you in line," she assured him.

She saw his hands flex, clenching into fists. "What do you know about my sister?" he growled, his voice hollow inside the helmet.

"Just about everything that's important," Amy told him, trying to match Michael's careless tone. "How old she is, what she looks like, where she lives, what she wears, stuff like that. And," she added meaningfully, "the fact that you're in the villain game so you can take care of her, give her a proper home, keep her safe. And Coil will use that against you in a heartbeat."

There was a pause, as she realised what she'd just said, repeating Michael's words. Did you mean to say Coil's name? I thought we were going to keep that a secret for a little bit.

Oh shit. No, I didn't. Sorry, my bad.

Skitter spoke first. "Who's Coil?"

Grue was looking at Tattletale. "You mean to say our boss is Coil?" He turned to look at Regent. "Did you know this?"

Regent shrugged. "Didn't know, didn't care. Still don't, not really. Anyone who works for one of the big boys knows the score. Big money, but if you fuck up, big risks."

More and more bugs were swirling around the room; their buzzing was ramping up in intensity.

You see that? Skitter's always calm, collected. But that's because she puts her emotions into the swarm. They start acting like that, you know she's pissed.

Amy glanced at the skinny bug-controller. She didn't seem to be particularly upset or unhappy; even when she spoke again, her voice was steady and even. "I said, who's Coil?"

Tattletale glanced at Amy; the villain looked less and less happy by the moment. But she did not speak.

“A mid-to-low tier operator,” Grue told her. “I'd always heard he hired non-powered help. Didn't know capes were his thing at all. Hell, I didn't even know he had powers.”

“Oh, he's got powers all right,” Amy told him. “I'm fairly sure you think you know what they are, Tattletale … but I also suspect you're wrong.”

“Just wait a fucking minute,” Tattletale snapped. “Okay, this bullshit's gone on long enough.” She pointed at Amy. “I want to talk to you. Not to Panacea, and not to Panacea saying what the Master says to say. I want to talk directly to the Master.”

There was a pause, and Michael spoke delicately. You okay with me talking directly to her?

Mentally, Amy shrugged. Sure, may as well.

Right, thanks.

“You got me,” Amy heard herself say. “You realise I'm gonna keep infodumping on your group until you all decide to help out … Sarah.”

Who's Sarah? But then Amy realised by the look of shock on Tattletale's face that it must be her.

Wait a minute. You said her name was Lisa.

It is now. She changed it. Sarah's the name she was born with.

Tattletale – Sarah – was holding the little pistol again. She wasn't quite pointing it at Amy, but it wasn't far off either. “Keep doing that,” she growled, “and this interview gets a whole lot harder.”

Amy's shoulders shifted in a shrug. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

“For a start,” Tattletale began, “who are you, and how do you know all this stuff?”

Amy's eyes rolled. “For fuck's sake,” her voice muttered, “why is it that even the people who know I'm telling the truth keep having to ask damn stupid fucking questions, instead of just actingon the information?”

“I've got the gun,” Tattletale reminded Amy, and by extension, Michael. “I ask the questions.”

“I'm not from this world,” Amy's voice stated. “As for my name, I have several, but for the moment, you can call me Security. As for how I know this … let's just say, I've studied your world for quite a long time. Years, in fact. I know your history, and how it's due to run. I'd like to put a short-circuit on some of the more moronic decisions that some of you people are going to be making. And step number one is saving the precog who knows when the fucking world is going to end.”

Very slowly, Tattletale put her gun away. “Okay,” she replied quietly. “I'm listening.”

Abruptly, there was a snort from across the room. Everyone looked at Regent, who appeared to be quietly laughing.

“You mind telling us what's funny?” asked Grue, in his hollow, echoing voice.

Regent pointed at Amy. “Her,” he chuckled. “End of the world? Really? That the best you can do?”

Amy felt her lips curling in a thin smile. “I wouldn't worry, Jean-Paul,” her voice murmured. “You won't live to see it. If I go away and do nothing from here on in, you're due to die in late July anyway. So for your own good, I'd strongly suggest you pay very bloody close attention.”

Regent turned to Tattletale. “She's fucking with me, right? That's bullshit, yeah?”

Tattletale stared at Amy, then looked over at Regent. “No,” she told him. “It's Security speaking, and he believes every word he says.”

Grue's head came up. “'He'?” he asked.

“'He',” confirmed Tattletale. “That's a man speaking through Panacea. Older, more mature. I'd say in his thirties … no, forties. And unless he's got total and absolute control over her autonomic system, he's telling the truth about everything. Including the end of the world.”

“Always keeping the secrets, huh?” Amy's voice carried just a hint of scorn. “If you didn't read more than that about me, then I'd suggest you put away the title of 'smartest person in the room'. Patrick Jane wants it back.”

Amy was puzzled. Who?

The mental equivalent of a grin. Tell you later.

Tattletale gritted her teeth. “Okay, fine. I also saw that you do know each and every one of us, in more detail than I'm comfortable with. But … you bear us no ill-will. You're honestly coming to us to help us out. To keep us safe. Because we're your best hopes for getting Dinah back … and because you actually happen to like us?” Her voice ended on a querying note, as if she doubted what she had just said.

Amy's hands applauded gently. “And there we are. All cards on the table. You each have problems. Working for Coil might seem to be helping, but not really. The phrase 'deal with the devil' might have been written for him, only by most accounts, the devil keeps to his bargains. Coil has no such scruples. Once the rest of this team loses its effectiveness, you're slated to be on the bed next to Dinah Alcott, drugged to the point where you can't resist, answering questions for him until you die or he does.”

She shook her head, frowning. “There's my problem, right there. It feels like you're telling the truth, but I've never, not ever, gotten a vibe like that out of him.”

Amy felt her head nodding. “And there's your problem. You're not seeing all of Coil. You see, his power is to effectively split time. He has two paths to travel down, and he can not only interact with the world differently in each path, he can discard one path the moment it ends up where he doesn't want it to be. But he recalls both paths as if he had travelled them both in person. So he might call you in for a quiet chat, sit you down, serve you tea or coffee … and meanwhile in the other path, he's got you strapped to a chair, pulling out your fingernails, cutting off body parts … or worse. All the while asking you questions about what you're saying in the friendly chat. Were you planning to betray him, that sort of thing.”

Amy wanted to throw up; she could visualise this, all too easily. But she didn't; her body was not her own, at the moment. She felt her head tilt questioningly. “So tell me,” Michael asked in her voice, in a gentle, coaxing tone, “have you ever had a quiet chat like that, where he seemed to know far too much about your business?”

The question was superfluous; Tattletale's face had gone white under her domino mask. “Oh, Christ,” she muttered. “Oh, fucking hell.”

Amy's head nodded. “Oh yes,” she agreed. “All of that. Now, imagine what a person like that, with absolutely zero moral restraints, could do with a twelve year old girl, a precog, whose power does not interfere with his. A girl who's being drugged into compliance, right this very second.”

Tattletale began to look positively unwell.

“We can't let this happen,” Skitter urged Tattletale, her voice a little agitated. “We can't … right?”

Grue stepped forward. “I don't like it either,” he stated firmly. “I like the money, but there's more important things than money.”

Regent stared. “Seriously?” he blurted. “What the fuck sort of talk is that? More important than money?”

Tattletale and Grue turned to look at him. “Are you standing against us on this?” Grue asked.

Regent shook his head. “No, shit, if it gives me a chance to have some fun, I'm with you all the way. But I thought this bleeding-heart shit was more the dork's thing. Not you guys.”

The dork?

Skitter. She only just joined, remember.

Ah.

“It's not about bleeding hearts,” Grue told him. “It's about cutting loose from someone dangerous before he hurts or kills one of ours. And if we're going to have him as an enemy, we don't want him also having access to the Alcott girl.”

But Amy's head was shaking. “You're not going to have him as an enemy,” her voice stated bluntly.

“Why not?” asked Grue.

“Fuck. Me,” whispered Tattletale, her face turning white once more. “You want us to kill him.”

<><>

“Well, that was well handled,” Carol commented acerbically.

Mark looked at her, confused. “What? What was I supposed to do? Tie her up and carry her up to her room? Lock her in there till she turned eighteen?”

Carol shook her head. “No. But you would have done a lot better if you hadn't just sat there, nodding your head like a wooden dummy. Backed me up a little, maybe.”

“What?” He stared at her. “Lied about Marquis? She already knew about him. How she's a supervillain's daughter. The cat was already out of the bag.”

“If there's one thing I've learned in court,” Carol snapped, “it's that it's not the truth that matters, but what sounds best. We could have spun it, convinced her that she had bad information.”

Mark shook his head. “We already made the mistake of not telling her about him, back when she first asked. Outright lying to her? When she found out – and she would have found out – there goes all trust she ever had for us.”

“She might not have found out,” Carol objected, but it was weak, and she knew it. “And anyway, where did she find out? How did she find out?”

Mark shrugged elaborately. “I have no idea.”

Carol eyed him suspiciously. “You drove her to the PRT building and back. You had plenty of time to talk. And she's been acting a little bit off since the bank robbery.”

Mark stared at her. “You think I told her?”

“You could have,” she pressed. “And you've never been totally happy with keeping her in the dark.”

“But I agreed to,” he argued. “And I didn't tell her. Not about that.”

“What did you talk about?” she asked.

“Stuff,” he replied with a shrug. “The mayor's family. Not much, really. She spent most of the drive looking out the window.”

“So, nothing at all about Marquis at all, then?”

He threw up his hands. “For Christ's sake, Carol, no. Nothing about him at all. Full stop. Period. Exclamation mark. Quotation mark. End of sentence.”

Carol frowned. “So why was she acting strangely when she came back?”

Mark rolled his eyes. “She was hit on the head, Carol,” he reminded her. “Vicky's normally up and about like wildfire, but she's lurking under the covers like she never wants to come out. So Amy's not the only one acting strangely.”

“But Vicky was actually hurt,” Carol insisted. “Bug bites can cause severe allergic reactions. Amy just got a little bump on the head.”

“I don't know then,” Mark responded non-committally, dropping his gaze to the paper before him.

“I've never seen something get Vicky like that before,” Carol went on, not listening to her husband. “What happened, anyway? Amy was there. Why didn't she back Vicky up?”

“I don't know that either,” Mark replied, turning a page of the paper.

“And why didn't she heal Vicky before they even got back?” Carol's voice had risen slightly. “Those welts and bumps … ugh.”

Mark turned another page. “I'm sure I don't know, dear.”

Carol stared at him. “Are you reading the paper? We're having a discussion!”

Mark stood up and folded the paper under his arm. He headed for the stairs.

“Where are you going?” demanded Carol from behind him.

“Upstairs,” he told her, without looking back. “So you can have your discussion in peace.”

And all she could do was stare, with her mouth hanging open, as he climbed the stairs. 

Part 6