Recoil Pt 5-9 (Patreon)

Taylor

Wait, what did she just say?

I closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them again, she was still standing there. Aster Anders. Holy shit. As she said, I had never met Purity's daughter, at least not in Brockton Bay. I had only learned that she even existed when Coil outed the entire Empire Eighty-Eight in one fell swoop. And then made it look like we did it.

Looking at her more closely, in light of who she said her parents were, I could see it. She had her mother's cheekbones and eyes, and her father's hair and jaw. Purity had been on the petite side, while Kaiser had been tall and commanding; Aster more or less split the difference.

With a flash of insight, I realised why Lisa had been so amused. She must have been sitting on this secret forever.

“Wait,” we both said at the same moment. I paused to let her speak; she did the same for me. After a moment of awkward silence, I gestured. “You first.”

She shook her head. “No. You first.”

This could go on all day. “Okay, fine. You're saying you didn't lose your powers when you came back in time?”

“Well, no,” she agreed. “My powers work fine. You're saying you lost yours? How did you even manage to do that?”

“If I knew that, I'd be moving heaven and earth to get them back,” I retorted grumpily. “Going back in time to before you were born is a pain. Going there without powers … so much more of a pain.”

The corner of her mouth quirked in a smile. “Going back as a one year old baby … now that's a pain.”

“A baby, with powers,” I pointed out. “That must have been … interesting.”

“Could have been worse,” she said. “My powers amped up my intelligence as well as giving me perfect recall. I managed to assimilate my experiences to that point to give me a reasonably accurate world-view. So I didn't use my powers where anyone could see me doing it.”

I frowned. “In my experience, once you've got powers, it's hard not to use them. You didn't out yourself at all?”

“Well, it wasn't the easiest thing in the world,” she admitted, “but it was doable. Just barely. I had plenty of emotional support from my parents, and a few good friends here and there. I'm not going to say I wasn't tempted to cut loose from time to time, and in fact I did sneak out into the woods to practice a little when I could.”

I gathered from her expression that there was more to that story. “What happened?”

She grimaced. “I nearly started a forest fire, the last time I did that. So I focused on my other powers.”

“The Thinker abilities,” I guessed.

“Those, yes.” she agreed. “Using my enhanced intelligence and my perfect information retention as often as I could, in order to hide the fact that I was using enhanced intelligence and perfect retention. It was a delicate balancing act, but at least it took off some of the pressure to use my other ability.”

“Fire projection?” I guessed.

Chuckling, she shook her head. “Close. I shoot molten steel and plasma from my hands. Actually, I can extrude it from any part of my body, but throwing it from my hands feels more natural, and makes it really easy to aim.”

“Molten steel.” I blinked. I didn't know exactly what the temperature of that sort of thing was, but I was pretty sure that it was way past the 'comfortably warm' category. Thousands of degrees, anyways. “Yeah, you're their kid, all right.”

“Whose kid?” She stared at me. “You did know my parents, right? They were heroes. You were a hero. At least toward the end.”

I chuckled sourly. “I was as much of a hero as the PRT would let me be. Too much red tape, too many regulations. And I had been a villain, so there was that too.” I paused. “Yeah, I met your parents, however briefly. But I'm afraid you've been misinformed. They weren't heroes.”

“No, no, that's not right.” She shook her head. “My mom was a hero. Miss Militia told me so.”

Like hell she was a hero. I paused to think about that. But then again, if Miss Militia said she was a hero, then something must have happened to change matters. “Okay, if she said so, then I guess your mom was a hero. But it must have happened after I went to New Delhi. And your father definitely was not a hero. Sorry, but that's the way it is.”

She blinked, looking somewhat lost. “I don't understand. How can my mom be sort of a hero, and my dad not a hero at all?”

I couldn't help feeling a little sympathy for her. “Sit down, Aster,” I suggested. Obediently, she sat. “Now, what do you recall of your birth parents?”

“Uh, my mother's name was Kayden. She could glow and fly, I guess. I don't know what her cape name was. Or rather, her cape name could have been any one of a dozen different words that were used around her.” Aster paused for a moment, apparently thinking hard. “My father … I don't recall any one man who stands out as being my father. There was one man called Justin, another called Geoff, and one who only showed up occasionally, called Max. Justin was a racist, Geoff said really horrible things in a normal tone of voice, and Max liked to get his own way.”

I made the connections in my mind. I know who she's talking about. “Yeah, Max was your dad. Full name: Max Anders. But you're going to want to brace yourself, because the next bit's going to be a bit of a gut punch.” Especially given your adoptive surname.

“You're going to say that Max Anders was a villain.” Aster's voice was remarkably calm. “But which one?”

“It should be obvious,” I prompted. “Which well-known Brockton Bay villain had the power to create metal?”

Given the hint, she made the connection almost immediately. “Oh, no,” she groaned. “Oh, no. I'm Kaiser's daughter?”

“Kaiser and Purity, yes,” I confirmed. “And Justin and Geoff were Crusader and Fog, respectively. All members of the Empire Eighty-Eight.”

“Oh, no. Oh, god. No.” She leaned back in her chair, pressing the heels of her hands to her forehead, her eyes closed. “My parents ran the biggest Neo-Nazi gang on the eastern seaboard. They were racists. And I'm Jewish. One of my best friends is black. God, even if I could tell anyone about this, I couldn't tell them that. My parents probably killed people for being Jewish or black. What does this make me?”

I tried for a light tone. “Living proof that being a douchebag isn't genetic?” I couldn't help but chuckle; there was a certain amount of dark humour in the situation.

“It's not funny.” But she couldn't help smiling just a little, before her face fell again. “What would Mom and Dad think of me?”

“I'm guessing you're talking about the Goldsteins?”

“Yes. They took me in and raised me. Mom taught me to sew and cook. Dad sat up with me to listen to the Apollo lunar landings on the radio, and encouraged me to follow my dreams. They both stood by me at my Bat Mitzvah. What would they say if they knew this about me?”

The self-doubt in her tone speared straight through me. I knew what it felt like. What would Hamilton say if he knew I'd been a supervillain, that I was lying to everyone even while I tried to save the world? What would Danny and Anne-Rose think of me if they knew that I'd once packed a man's eyeballs with maggots? Or that I shot Coil in the head?

“Trust me, you're not the only one to ask yourself questions like that,” I said quietly. “You know what I've done. It was pretty public. And there's worse things that I did that never made the news. I've maimed people. I've murdered people.”

-ooo-

Aster

Aster had imagined this conversation many times. The first time that she actually got to speak to Weaver, to share confidences with her, to find out how they were going to save the world together. In her mind, although she knew intellectually that Taylor was just another person, she had built the younger woman up into almost a paragon of righteousness and truth. She went back in time to save the world. How can she do anything wrong?

And yet, here Aster was at last, talking to Taylor. And it was so totally different to what she had imagined. The unthinkable revelations about her parents had stunned her; far from being the daughter of two heroes, she was in fact the offspring of villains. People who would hate her for merely existing.

But worse again was what Taylor was telling her. From being almost an idol to her, Taylor was rapidly gaining feet of clay. She wasn't the ultimately confident warrior that Aster had been led to believe, but just another young woman with doubts and issues of her own.

“But … you were doing it to make things right … weren't you?” Aster's voice was pleading.

“Oh, I thought so at the time, sure,” Taylor agreed. “But sometimes hindsight can be a real son of a bitch. And sometimes, no matter how right you think you are at the time, and no matter how you can't find a viable alternative later, you'll find yourself second-guessing yourself over and over, wondering if there really wasn't a way to beat the odds.”

The rock-solid certainty in Taylor's tone left Aster with no doubt that the younger woman had faced situations exactly like that, and she'd had to make terrible choices. And she'd do it again. She'd make her choice, and move on. Because she had to. Even if it hurt her to do it.

“So how do you keep going?” Aster's voice was quiet. “How do you face the odds, again and again, and not just … give up?”

“I did give up, once,” Taylor replied, just as quietly. “Back in New Delhi. I was buried under a wall, which was the only thing that saved me. Behemoth had moved on. I dug myself out, then found the one other living person there. My best friend. She was trapped under a monolith. There was no way to save her. I sat with her until she died. Then I just … decided to let everything go. Everyone I knew and loved was dead, or they'd be better off without me. So I just … stayed there. With her. Waiting to die.”

Aster stared at her, hearing the desolation in her tone. “What happened?” I'm guessing this was where I came in …

The corner of Taylor's mouth quirked upward. “Phir Sē happened. You know, the man in the robes? He appeared and offered me the chance to go back and make it so it never happened. How could I refuse?” She rolled her eyes. “Of course, I thought I was only going back a couple of years.”

Aster smiled at the mock-aggrieved tone of Taylor's voice. “More than a couple, yes.”

“And then there's you,” Taylor went on. “He never even suggested that he might be sending someone back to help me out. That might have been useful to know.”

“I honestly don't know,” Aster confessed. “Maybe he thought it was a better idea to have me established, and to be waiting for you? To give me the choice as to when to make contact? After all, I knew what you looked like, while you had no idea what I would look like. Or what my name would be.”

“In other words, he was making it up as he went along.” Taylor chuckled. “It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest.”

Aster nodded. “All right,” she declared. “So we're both here. How can I help? What's the plan?”

“Well, that's the problem,” Taylor admitted. “There is no plan. Or rather, there is no single master plan. I have lots of minor plans, adding up to major plans later on. Mostly to do with removing potential problems. Getting rid of obstacles. Making things easier in the long run.”

“By that, do you mean murdering people?” Aster frowned. The 'do no harm' part of her oath was starting to give her serious problems. “Because I don't know if I can be party to something like that.”

Taylor began to take a deep breath; halfway through, she winced and stopped. “There are some people who really need to be stopped before they get going,” she stated firmly. “You might've heard of the Vasil thing, up in Canada?”

Aster blinked. “I … yes, I did hear about it. I'm pretty sure that … wait, that was you?”

“Of course it wasn't,” Taylor replied blandly. “How could it have been? I was on medical leave. And besides, I figure that I'd only have a fifty-fifty chance of making a shot like that.”

Her eyes bored into Aster's, and the older woman knew beyond a doubt that Taylor was lying through her teeth about not being involved.

“And why did he have to die?” asked Aster quietly.

“Because he was a Master, who would have come after me at some point,” Taylor replied, dropping the pretence. “I wasn't about to allow that. There will be others. Including the Slaughterhouse Nine.”

Aster felt a cold chill run down her back. “They're really dangerous,” she said. “They've killed lots of people, including superheroes.”

“Yes.” Taylor's gaze didn't waver from Aster's. “Which is why they've got to die. But I'll also be dealing with potential future members, so that when the time comes to drop the hammer on the Nine as a whole, we can get a clean sweep on them.”

“How can you even know who's going to join them?” demanded Aster.

Taylor grinned. “I know you can't forget, so it must have temporarily slipped your mind that I grew up in that era. I know each and every member, and when they signed up. I also know their strengths and weaknesses, how their powers work, and how to make sure that they die as quickly and efficiently as possible.”

Aster grimaced. “I'm really not comfortable with killing. Or even hurting people, if I can avoid it.”

“Even if they're sociopathic killing machines who think nothing of making people into intricate jigsaw puzzles for shits and giggles?” Taylor's voice lacked all drama; she may have been discussing the weather. “I'm sorry if the reality is a bit of a shock to you, but I came back to save the world, and I'm not going to let anything or anyone stop me from doing that. I will lie, cheat, steal and kill to get this done. If you offer assistance, I will accept it. If you can't help me, then I'd appreciate it if you didn't get in the way.”

Taylor was lying in the hospital bed, almost certainly unable to move from it without assistance. She had, at her own admission, no powers to speak of. Moreover, her words were quite without overtones of threat; she had merely made a factual statement. And yet, Aster felt a chill run down her back. I don't want to get in her way. I really don't.

Trying not to swallow too obviously, she sought to change the subject. Something that Nina had said to her in a previous conversation seemed to fit the bill. “Uh, Nina says that you've got a girlfriend, and you've told her the truth about yourself. Isn't that a little … rash?”

Taylor's eyes became hooded, and her smile had little to do with humour. “What, like you told Nina about me? And had her look after me but not tell me what was going on? That kind of rash?”

Aster felt as though she'd been put straight back on the spot. “Uh, I was kind of in a tight situation. I couldn't be in Brockton Bay, so I asked Nina to keep an eye out for you. At first I didn't tell her, but after you showed up, she became suspicious so I came clean. But I trust her implicitly. We've been really good friends for years.”

The dark chuckle that answered her was almost a grunt. “Yeah. Friends. Remind me to tell you sometime about my former best friend, and what she did to me. Anyway. It seems to have turned out okay, but that was still a hell of a risk you took.”

“And you didn't take a risk with your girlfriend?” Aster thought back to Friedrich. If I had confided in him with any of this … oh, God.

“Yeah.” Taylor's voice and gaze were directly challenging. “But I trust her, with everything I have. She kept me sane when you weren't there. When I didn't even know you were there.” A shrug. “Besides, she's a part of my plans.”

“What part does she play?” Aster felt obscurely jealous. “How can she help you? Does she have powers too?”

Taylor began to laugh out loud, then stopped with a wince. “Ow. Note to self: don't do that. Yeah, she's got a power. The power to make things better just by being there. She's sweet and funny and silly and ridiculous and I love her. And I know I can trust her.”

“But how do you know?” Aster's voice mirrored her frustration. “You can't just look into someone's head and know what's going on there. Even Nina can't know a person that well, and that's her job.”

“Aster.” Taylor fixed her with a steady gaze. “Do you trust me?”

“Uh …” Taken aback, Aster floundered for a moment. “Well, of course. I can't not trust you. I was sent back to help you save the world. It's kind of my job to trust that you know what you're doing.”

“Okay, then.” Taylor maintained eye contact. “I'm not telling you everything about me. I'm not going to lie to you, but on the off-chance that someone grabs you and interrogates you for everything you know, I want to keep some things on the down-low. One of those is how I know I can trust you, and how I know I can trust my girlfriend. Another is exactly what role my girlfriend plays in my plans. Do you understand me?”

Slowly, Aster nodded. “Need to know. Of course.”

Taylor smiled. The expression, a genuine one at last, softened her features as she relaxed back against the pillows. “Good. Sorry about being such a hardass, but I'm sure you appreciate where I'm coming from.”

“I'm starting to get an idea,” Aster admitted. And now I know how she took over part of the city at the age of fifteen. I feel like I've just been through the wringer. “So, is there anything you want me to do while you're stuck in here?”

Neither of them commented on the incongruity of a Major asking a Captain for orders. Taylor rolled her head slowly from one side to the other, her expression pensive. “I might give you letters to post for me occasionally. They'll be above board; you can even read through them if you want. But it's imperative that they don't get censored in any way. Got it?”

“Certainly,” agreed Aster. “I'm sure I can do that.”

“Good.” Taylor nodded firmly. “Now, could you please help me sit up a little?”

“Of course,” Aster said, carefully propping her up with extra pillows. “Why? Did you want to write one of those letters now?”

“Not right this second, but I will be doing that in time,” Taylor replied. “But I believe that you mentioned the girls who were being kept prisoner. I want to see that they're okay with my own eyes.”

“Ah, of course.” Aster nodded. “I'll just go and bring them in.”

-ooo-

Taylor

I tried to project strength and capability as the girls began to enter the room, but it's hard to do that when one is lying in a hospital bed, even if one happens to be sitting up at the time. First in through the door was a girl in a wheelchair, wearing a summer-print dress, being pushed by the seven-foot woman. I had to blink as I looked at them both; while it was possible to recognise in them the scared half-starved prisoners from just a few days ago, it was amazing to see the changes that those few days had wrought in them. A few baths, good food, fresh clothes, shampoo …

“Captain!” That was the big girl. “You're all right.” She paused. “You are all right, yeah?”

I nodded as others came in behind them. “Nothing that a bit of bed rest won't cure,” I assured her. “Joanne, right?”

She smiled, pleased. “Yeah, that's me. You're looking better than you were, back in the compound.”

I chuckled, carefully. “So are you. And yes, I feel better. Not much, but some.”

The girl in the wheelchair spoke up. “I'm Leanne. I want to thank you and your sergeant for getting us out of there.”

“Excuse, please.” A girl with long brown hair stepped past Joanne, with another girl holding on to her arm. The second girl was wearing dark glasses and had a cast on her right arm. “Captain Snow? I'm Dana, and this is Brianna. Just wanna say that you were all kinds of awesome.”

“Uh, thanks,” I replied, starting to feel just a little embarrassed. “But Joanne and Kari did more than me.”

“They couldn't have done it without you and the sergeant,” Brianna pointed out. “That's what Kari told us, anyway.”

“Someone mention my name?” asked Kari cheerfully, entering with the last two ex-prisoners. Doctor Goldstein – Aster – followed them in and closed the door behind her.

This time, it was the smoky girl, almost impossible to see in the bright lights of the room, who had another girl, with bandages on her eyes, hanging on to her arm. Kari, I saw, had not yet relinquished her ever-shifting metal armour. “Captain Snow, this is Tori and Vanessa. Guys, say hi to the most awesome officer in the PRT.”

“Hi, Captain,” Tori said, a few seconds ahead of Vanessa. “We really, really appreciate what you did for us. I mean seriously, we can never repay you.”

“Well, as soon as I found out that shit was going on, there was no way in hell I was letting it continue,” I replied as firmly as I could. “I'm sorry it went on as long as it did, but those people are never going to hurt you again.”

“I can guarantee the fuck out of that,” Joanne stated flatly. “Me and Kari found that Lange guy. He'd been beaten to death with a desk. Can't think who might've done that to him.”

“Gee,” I observed dryly. “I have no idea at all.” I watched as Dana and Tori hugged the tall woman, followed (with a little guidance) by Brianna and Vanessa. Leanne reached up and clasped her hand. “Whoever did it, even if we ever found out who, wouldn't get charged with a damn thing. Not after what went on in there.”

“Damn right,” agreed Kari unexpectedly, then cleared her throat.

“Uh, Joanne had something she wanted to say.”

I looked enquiringly at Joanne. “Yes?”

“Um,” the tall woman began. “This sort of shit shouldn't happen. Pretty sure we all agree on that.”

“No,” I stated firmly. “It should not.” Around the room, the other girls nodded or murmured agreement.

“So yeah,” Joanne went on. “Me and the others have decided to form a group. We're gonna go after shit like that and stomp it flat. Stop it dead.”

“That sounds -” I began, then my brain caught up with what she was saying. “Wait, what? A vigilante group?”

“Vigilantes, superheroes, whatever,” she replied, just a little testily. “We're specifically going to go after people who are keeping women in situations like we were in. I'm thinking we should call it PASS. Parahumans Against Sex Slavery.”

My jaw dropped slightly. Holy shit, she's serious. “Okay, that … I have to admit, that's a name that doesn't take any prisoners. It puts it right out there. There's absolutely no ambiguity.”

“That's the idea,” she said. “We won't go after muggers or burglars. There's cops and superheroes for that. But all too many times there's guys who kidnap women, or even girls, and keep them until they get tired of them. They might let 'em go, or they just kill them. We're gonna go after those guys, and we're gonna put the message out. This shit stops now.”

“Okay,” I said carefully. “As a PRT officer, I have to assume that you're going to be doing this all in a legal, above-board fashion. Correct?”

As I hoped, Joanne read my meaning. “Yes,” she replied cautiously. Personally, I had my doubts, but at least she was making the effort to pretend. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, unless I miss my guess, you're determined to do it whether I approve of it or not.” I ignored her startled expression and forged on. “So if you're going to do it, do it right. And be careful of how you do it.”

“What do you mean?” she replied defensively. “Breaking the law? I already said we weren't going to be doing that.” Once again, I had my doubts, but I chose not to air them. Briefly, I met Aster's eyes from where she stood next to the door. Her expression made me reasonably certain she thought the same way about Joanne's statement.

“That's not the part I was talking about.” I waited till I had her complete attention. “What I'm saying is that the more aggressively you push your agenda, the more nervous you're going to make people, especially those in positions of power.”

“Good,” she snapped. “It's about time they got nervous.”

“No, not good,” I corrected her. “They're the last people you want getting nervous about you. I mean, most of them will be perfectly blameless, but some might have buddies that are a bit skeevy toward women, and some might even be that way themselves. The trouble is, even the good ones are likely to react badly when they see a bunch of strong, powerful women who are specifically saying that they're going to attack men who are mistreating women.”

“What are you saying?” demanded Joanne. “Are you saying that we shouldn't do this?”

“Hardly.” I met her eyes. “I think that helping women who are in situations where they can't help themselves is a really good idea. But you're gonna need to be circumspect about it. Don't go jumping in feet first. Do your best to work with local law enforcement, rather than around them.”

“But they're useless!” Joanne burst out. “They let that shit go on with us -”

“Because they didn't know about it,” I snapped, overriding her. “If you come out public with PASS, then they will know about you. And if you come on too strong, if you just barge ahead with that attitude, then it won't be hard to make enemies of them. Most especially if there are players behind the scenes with a vested interest in making sure that PASS dies out before it grows too big to stop. And trust me, it doesn't matter how righteous your cause is, if the entrenched forces of law and order don't want it to happen, then it won't fucking happen.”

I stopped, panting from the intensity that I'd been putting into my words. Slowly, I became aware that I was half-sitting up, there was a dull pain in my torso, and Joanne was leaning slightly away from me.

Carefully, I let myself down, working at convincing the clenched muscles in my torso to relax once more. “The bottom line is … be careful,” I told her. “Because once you're on the outs, it's a long hard road to get back your legitimacy. And there will be people trying to discredit you, sometimes while smiling and shaking your hand. I'll help you as much as I can, but I can't promise miracles. Okay?”

“But we've got a chance?” she asked, somewhat less aggressively than she had before.

“Sure,” I told her. “In fact, I'd like to help.” I hid a grin as I saw the surprise flare in her eyes.

“What?” she was wary again. “How?”

“Give me the information on everyone you're trying to find. I'm an analyst. I can point you where you need to go.” So if you do happen to kill anyone, it'll be the guy who actually needs killing, I didn't say out loud.

It bothered me much less than it might have that we were discussing the very real possibility of Joanne killing people. Women have been at the mercy of physically stronger men since time immemorial. As a woman, I was acutely aware of this. I was equally aware that I'd been in situations where bad things might have happened, had events gone a different way. Men who would do that to a woman, or worse, a girl, and suffer no remorse … no, I had no problem with whatever Joanne might want to do to them.

The wary look intensified. I didn't need to be Lisa to know that she was worried about me setting a trap for her. “I don't know …”

“She found us, didn't she?” Kari pointed out suddenly. “If she hadn't figured out that we were in there …”

Of course, Joanne's worry had nothing to do with my expertise. Or maybe it does. “I'd really like to help you guys,” I told her. “It would take a weight off my mind to know that you're out there, taking down the people who need to be taken down. Helping people who need help. All I'm offering is to give you a hand in finding them. You do the rest.”

Joanne frowned. “The PRT would be willing to assist us in this? Just like that?”

“Not the PRT,” I corrected her. “Me. Personally. In my own time.”

She looked me in the eye. “And you wouldn't screw us over?”

“We'd have to set ground rules.” My voice was as firm as I could make it. “You'd have to agree to never, ever break them. But given that … no, I wouldn't screw you over. Deal?”

Another long moment passed. I could see the indecision and worry chasing each other over her face. But she came to the decision sooner rather than later, holding out her hand. “Depending on what those rules are, you've got a deal.”

I shook it awkwardly, trying not to dislodge IV tubes. It was like shaking hands with Kinsey; her hand just swallowed mine up. “Good.”

“Uh …” That was Vanessa; we all turned toward her. “Am I in this too? I mean, I know Brianna's growing her eyes back, and Leanne's fast whether she's on her feet or not, but with my eyes gone, I don't have powers worth talking about. I'm just …” She choked a little. “ … just useless blind dead weight.”

“Hey, no, don't talk like that!” Tori put her arms around Brianna, holding her close. “You're one of us, no matter what. You'll always be one of us. And who's to say that some parahuman won't get powers that'll let you regrow your eyes someday?”

I cleared my throat. “Vanessa?”

“Uh, yes, Captain?” She sounded a little embarrassed, maybe for having broken down a little in front of me.

“Do you know what I do in the PRT?”

She sounded confused. “Um, an analyst?”

“Precisely.” I smiled. “I predict trends in parahuman activity, in the short term and the long term. I am very good at what I do. And I can state, with a high degree of certainty, that there will exist a way, sooner rather than later, for you to see again. Possibly to even use your powers. So don't lose hope. Sure, it might be hard for a while. Push past it. The most satisfying goal is the one you have to fight hardest to achieve.”

Without being able to see her eyes, I was unable to tell if she was buying the line I was giving her. I wasn't just blowing smoke; I knew that both Bonesaw and Panacea, once they triggered, would have been able to replace her eyes with relative ease. Eidolon might be able to also do it in the here and now, if he considered it worth his while. Scion could almost certainly do it, but there was no way in hell I'd ask that golden bastard for a single favour. Even if I could.

As for some other way to get her sight back, I couldn't think of anything right at that moment, but that didn't mean anything. I was just making a mental note to check with Lisa, when the matter was taken from my hands.

“Um, Vanessa?” That was Dana. “You know I build stuff, right? I'm a Tinker?”

Okay, now she had my attention. I hadn't been thinking too much about what the power types of the prisoners were, just that they were parahumans.

“Yeah, but … wait, you can build me new eyes?”

“Not exactly.” Dana grimaced. “I'm still working out what I can do, exactly. Building eyes is kinda beyond me. But … I'm really good at making technology that shouldn't fit together do it anyway. When the timer went on Mom's microwave, I wired a wind-up alarm clock into it, and it worked just fine.”

Vanessa hesitated. “I'm not sure what you're getting at. I know you're not saying you're going to give me a built-in alarm clock.”

“Interfacing technology,” I said suddenly as light dawned. “Your speciality is interfacing. You're talking about interfacing cameras with Vanessa's nervous system.”

Dana nodded. “Yes! That, exactly. Only …” She grimaced again. “I kinda don't have the money to even start trying.”

“You will,” I promised. If I have to get Andrea to personally write you a cheque. But maybe there's a less blatant way, though it'll come with a cost of its own … “I'm going to be recommending that the PRT open its training facilities to other established parahuman teams. And that they assist with funding for non-PRT Tinkers and the like, in return for access to the technology developed.”

“And they'll go for this?” Dana looked a little dubious.

“I can only try,” I told her. Besides, they did do the training thing, eventually. I'm just jumping the gun a little, here. “Pretty sure I can sell it so that they can see that it's a win-win situation for everyone. If you can interface cameras, you can interface Tinker-made prosthetic limbs. Being in the PRT is a high-risk occupation for losing body parts. If you were working with – not for, but with – the PRT to interface new limbs, new eyes, whatever … you sell what you develop to them at a nominal discount, on top of whatever funding they give you for R&D. Everyone else gets to pay full price.”

“Wait, wait.” That was Joanne. “Did you just recommend that she charge the PRT for what she can do? You're a PRT officer.”

“Sure I did,” I agreed. “But I can see where they're likely to go wrong. And having to pay for your tech is a good way to keep them aware that you're a valuable asset, rather than a throwaway tool.”

Even Kari was staring at me by now. “Wow,” she murmured. “You really mean that.”

“I really do,” I agreed. “Parahumans – capes – are a big part of the future. Powers aren't going to go away. People don't seem to get that. We need to make plans for the future that involve you guys, not just say, 'oh hey, you can come too'.”

“I've been talking to Captain Lansing,” Kari said unexpectedly. “He didn't tell me anything about any of this.”

“That's because it's not in place yet,” I pointed out. “But like I said, I'll be submitting some very strongly worded recommendations.”

“And they'll listen to you?” That was Joanne, her expression sceptical.

“Oh …” I smiled lazily. I 'predicted' Behemoth. They'll listen. “I think they might at least consider it.”

“Okay, that's something to think about,” Joanne admitted. “Uh, Captain Snow, just out of curiosity, would you be interested in being a member of PASS, once we officially form the team? And you too, Kari?”

“Well, I'm deeply honoured,” I told her, “but I'm pretty sure that there's a regulation somewhere that says I can't be a member of a parahuman team while I'm a serving officer in the PRT. Also, no powers. But I do appreciate the gesture.”

“And I'd love to, but I think it might be an idea for me to hold off officially joining until I graduate high school,” Kari pointed out. “Something tells me that PASS is going to be a pretty high-profile team, and I'd rather keep things low-key until then. My mom and all, you know.”

“And what you said about training?” Joanne's expression was still a little wary. I got the impression that she'd come here expecting an argument, and couldn't figure out why she hadn't gotten one yet. “Do you really expect the PRT to train people like us?”

“Well, that depends,” I replied. “The PRT doesn't yet have an official policy of helping train members of other parahuman groups, but we definitely like people being able to handle their powers properly. However, here's the thing. You recall how I told you earlier about not getting the powers that be nervous about you? This is one of the reasons. If you're going to train with the PRT, you're going to have to be affiliated with them, and that'll involve a certain minimum standard of behaviour. Nothing that would bring the PRT name into disrepute, for instance.”

“We're not about to do that … are we?” Joanne looked doubtful.

“As I said, that depends. If you, just for instance, found out that the Mexican cartels were holding American women prisoner, would you try to work through normal channels or just go down there and take them back?”

Joanne's jaw hardened. I could see that she didn't like the corner that I'd put her in, but she didn't back down. “I'd go down there and I'd take them back. And God help any of the fuckers who got in my way.” The look she gave me was a direct challenge. “Tell me you wouldn't do the same thing.”

I had to smile at her defiant tone. “I think you know my answer. But my point is this. Doing something like that would count as a violation of national borders. It would cause problems between the US and Mexico. The government would have to take notice, and the PRT would be brought into it. Whether they tried to arrest you or just smacked you on the wrist would depend on if you actually managed to rescue the prisoners, how much damage you did in the process, and how remorseful you managed to be, after the fact. But no matter what else happened, you'd definitely lose any 'affiliated' status.” I turned to look at Dana. “And I'm sorry, but this leads to a potential problem for you.”

“Me?” she squeaked. “What did I do?”

“Nothing,” I reassured her. “However, you're probably going to have to choose between membership in PASS and getting PRT funding for your Tinkering as a civilian parahuman contractor.”

“What?” demanded Joanne. “Why? They can't tell Dana she can't be in PASS.”

I sighed. “No, but if she's going to be taking their funding to develop tech, she's going to have to sign some pretty serious contracts.” I turned to Dana. “As a matter of fact, before you sign anything, make sure you check all the fine print and extra clauses. Or get a copy to me, so I can look it over. I don't trust them not to try to hogtie you with ethically dubious wording. But anyway, whatever contract you sign is absolutely guaranteed to have a clause stating that if you're caught performing any illegal acts, then they can pull all sorts of nasty penalties on you. PASS is likely to end up doing stuff that's at least technically illegal -” I ignored Joanne's indignant protest. “- so it's best if you don't officially join them. Also, you can certainly sell them your products, but giving them stuff is right out. There will be people on the lookout for that sort of thing.”

Dana didn't look entirely thrilled. “What should I do?” she asked Joanne. “I want to help Vanessa, but I want to be a part of PASS, too.”

“Help Vanessa,” Joanne told her bluntly. “If you can do more for us this way, then do it.”

I left them to their discussion and turned to Kari. “So what are you going to be doing after you finish school?” I asked her. “I'm told you basically put me back together. Are you thinking of going into medicine?”

“I would if I could,” she admitted. “But that costs lots of money, and Mom's insurance payments just won't cover that.”

“Well, don't give up hope,” I advised her. “I have a feeling that something might show up between now and then.” Even if I have to ask Andrea to create a scholarship fund just for you. You've earned it.

“Okay, Captain Snow,” she beamed. “And thanks. I'm glad you're gonna be okay.”

“Me too,” I told her feelingly. “And I'm glad you guys are out of it now. I'm just sorry about the other girl.”

“Yeah, well, that wasn't your fault,” Kari said. “It was theirs.”

“Thanks, but I still wish I could've done more,” I told her. I turned to Dana. “So, have you made up your mind?”

She didn't look thrilled, which told me what she'd chosen. “I'll be working with the PRT,” she replied. “As a, whaddaya call it, civilian contractor.”

I grinned. “Otherwise known as a rogue.”

Dana frowned, along with the rest of them. “What's a rogue?”

My grin widened. So did Aster's.

-ooo-

“Well, that was highly educational,” Aster observed, after closing the door behind the last of the girls. Leaving, they had been upbeat, the discussion between them intense and animated. I hoped that I had given them something to think about. And that Joanne wouldn't do anything rash. Well, not too rash.

“Yes. It was.” I sighed, slumping back into the pillows. “PASS. Good God. That's a can of worms waiting to happen. Nuclear-powered worms with laser eyebeams.”

Aster nodded soberly. “You do know that Joanne will probably still go out and hunt down guys who prey on women, right?”

I looked her right in the eye. “If I'd tried to talk her out of it, given her experiences, do you think she would've listened?”

She didn't look happy. “No.”

“And given the advice that I gave her, that I gave all of them, do you think that she's likely to go after people indiscriminately, or pick the worst ones to hunt?”

Reluctantly, she nodded. “I see your point. But …” She trailed off.

I waited for a moment, but she didn't go on. “But …?”

“But she's still going to hunt them down and probably kill them,” she pointed out. “And that's illegal. Not to mention wrong.”

“Illegal, sure,” I agreed. “Wrong?” I shrugged. “By whose definition? Not the girls who are being victimised by these predators. Not mine either. Too many men get away with this shit, way too often.”

Her expression wavered, but she pressed on anyway. “The law -”

I cut her off. “Aster, the law says a great many things. It's a wonderful tool. But it doesn't apply in all cases. And sometimes it gets in the way. I've got a job to do, and I'll stick to the law as much as I can, but if it's a choice of doing something my way or the legal way, I'll pick my way. And when there's people out there who are quite happy to shit all over the law until they get caught, then imagine my absolute lack of concern when they discover that the law isn't going to protect them from the consequences of their actions.”

From her look of utter consternation, she was still having trouble grasping what I was saying. “But … you're a PRT officer,” she protested. “It's your job to uphold the law. Don't you have any respect for it at all?”

I sighed. “I know you haven't forgotten my past. Remember a villain called Skitter? A sort-of hero called Weaver? They're me, too. Let me tell you something about my respect for the law. Do you know how I got my powers?”

She paused, wary. “Uh … no?”

“It all started with my best friend,” I began. “I'd known her since first grade. We shared everything. She was the sister I never had. Until we started high school. Somewhere over the summer break, she got a new best friend and turned against me. Eighteen months they tormented me, never letting up. One thing after another. Stole my backpack, stole my assignments, stole my personal belongings right out of my locker. Made sure that I never had any friends.”

She stared at me. “Why didn't you go to a teacher?”

My laugh was harsh enough to make her wince. “I did. It didn't work. See, they were popular, and the school was a shithole. And her best friend … well, I'll get to that. Around about the second Christmas, they reached a new personal best. They filled my locker with used tampons and pads, and left it to stew over the winter break. Come January, I opened my locker, they shoved me in, and locked me in there. It took about two hours for someone to bother telling the janitor to let me out.”

Her jaw dropped. “No,” she whispered. “There's no way that could happen.”

“Not now, no,” I agreed. “Except maybe the very worst of schools. Where I was going? A crappy school in a crappy city. Nobody was paid enough to care. And if anyone stepped up to defend me, they'd be in the line of fire too.” My tone was bitter. “Nobody saw a goddamn thing. No-one got punished.”

“And that's how you got your powers,” she realised.

I nodded. “That's how I got my powers. And you want to know the worst bit, the bit that I didn't find out till later?”

From the look in her eye, she really didn't want to know. But she braced herself for it anyway. “What?”

“The new best friend, the one who had incited Emma to turn on me? The one who shoved me in the locker? She was a member of the Wards.”

It took her a moment to click. “Wait, you can't mean …”

“Yup.” I showed my teeth. “She was a fucking superhero. And the people who should've been keeping her in check either didn't know what she was doing, or didn't care.”

Without even seeming to realise it, she sat down. The look of utter betrayal on her face would almost have been funny, if I didn't think about how I'd just kicked the props out from under quite a bit of her world-view. Slowly, she shook her head. “I just can't believe it.”

“Believe it,” I told her. “I was there. I went through it.”

“Oh, god.” She stared at me. “I thought I knew how bad it was, in the future. It was worse, wasn't it?”

I thought of how Armsmaster had outed me to the Undersiders. How Tagg had unmasked me because he thought the rules didn't apply to him. How the PRT had refused to cooperate with me for the common good, time and again, because I was a villain. How many people died because of that?

“Yeah,” I agreed heavily. “It was worse. It was so bad that even though I went out that first night to be a hero, the villains actually treated me okay, while the heroes just wanted to dick me around.”

Aster looked enlightened, although reluctantly so. “So that's why you became a villain.”

I nodded. “That's why I became a villain.” After a moment, I went on. “Don't get me wrong. For the most part, the heroes at least pretended to be heroes, and the villains did some pretty bad stuff. But … it says quite a bit about the situation that I was more able to make a positive difference to the city as a villain than as a hero.”

“I don't know what to say.” She shook her head. “If I'd heard you talk like this, then someone told me you were a time traveller, I would've assumed you came from the past, not the future. It sounds positively medieval.”

I had to chuckle, just a little. “It was kind of like that,” I agreed. More than you think. Lisa had told me about Cauldron's plans for an experimental parahuman feudal system in Brockton Bay. That sort of thing could go well, or it could go really badly. If someone like Thomas Calvert was in charge, I was betting on 'badly'. And Cauldron was less concerned with quality of life than with the fact that people were alive.

But that was years in the future. Plenty of time to plan that out. “So anyway,” I told her. “Enough about that. Is Kinsey okay to come and see me?” I grinned at her. “You don't have to pretend not to listen too closely, this time.”

“Certainly,” she agreed. “I'll just go and get him.”

-ooo-

Kinsey

Two emotions warred in Jim Kinsey's heart as the Major wheeled him in to see the Captain. The first was intense relief that she had survived the horrific injuries suffered in the helicopter crash. However, seeing her like this, face still somewhat pale and drawn, he felt an almost physical sympathetic pain. He knew that he loathed being in a wheelchair; the Captain was a strong and capable person, and she had to hate being stuck in a bed just as much.

“Sergeant Kinsey.” Her voice was almost as firm as ever.

He nodded in return. “Captain Snow. You're looking well.”

Her derisive snort gave the lie to his statement, as he had known it would. “If I were looking well, Kinsey, we'd both be out of here and I'd be seeing if you'd lost a step on the sparring mat.”

Outwardly, he remained impassive. Internally, he felt considerable relief. Talking like that meant she was at least feeling up to prime. When the Captain started talking defeatist, that would be when he'd really start worrying. “You may have a point, ma'am.” Lost a step, hah.

She lifted her chin. “I'm told that the wheelchair is a temporary thing?”

“Yes, ma'am.” He felt glad that he was able to give her good news. “I had a fractured spine and a few broken ribs, but Miss Kari was able to put it all back together under Major Goldstein's supervision. Now we're just waiting for the swelling to go down before I test it out.”

One of her eyebrows hitched; he'd managed to surprise her. “Indeed? That's … interesting news, Kinsey. Nobody told me about this before.” Her eyes tracked up over his shoulder; he presumed that she was looking at the Major. “Not even the doctor who was there at the time.”

Major Goldstein was made of reasonably stern stuff; most people who got that sort of Look from the Captain tended to wilt, not excepting senior officers. “We thought that you would like to get the news from the sergeant himself, Captain Snow,” she replied with a tinge of amusement in her voice. Oh yes, I like her. “It's more or less what we did with your leg, after all.”

“My leg?” The Captain looked down at where her legs mounded the covers. “Wait. One of them was broken, wasn't it?” She must have gone to move them, because she winced. “Got it. The left one.” She paused. “What did Kari do to it, exactly?”

“Well, while you were under, we set your leg, then Kari pushed a needle-thin metal probe down to the bone. Then she built a clamp around the broken area and retracted the remainder.” The Major's tone was quite pleased. “I would be very happy if she can get a medical scholarship of some kind. She really does have gift for this sort of thing.”

The Captain frowned slightly. “I understand that Kari is good at what she does, and that she had you to advise her on every step, but still, using such an untested procedure on Kinsey's spine?Not to mention my leg? Being a little free and easy, weren't you?”

Kinsey glanced at the Major to see if she wanted him to speak; she shook her head slightly and went on. “We had a test case before your leg. Sergeant Kinsey's broken arm. Radius and ulna both. We came up with the idea, and he volunteered to be the guinea pig. We did it under a local. With the help of the X-ray handset, Kari was able to lock the ends of the bones together. After a day of observation, there weren't any complications, so we went ahead with your leg. Then we tackled the sergeant's spine. So far, it all seems to be working out well.” Her voice held cautious optimism.

“So how does it feel, Kinsey?” Captain Snow gave him a searching look.

“My back is feeling better all the time, ma'am,” he replied at once. “There was pressure on my spinal cord, and I couldn't move my legs, but now I can. The Major says I should make a near-complete recovery.”

“And your arm?”

By way of answer, he lifted his left arm and flexed the fingers, then carefully rotated the wrist. The only real indication that it had been injured was a light bandage on the incision point. “Almost like new, ma'am.”

“Huh. So now I'm just waiting for this to knit, right?” The Captain moved her leg again, tightening her lips against what had to be more than a little pain. “Hm. Not too bad, at that.”

“Captain Snow.” The Major's tone sounded more than a little exasperated. Good luck with that, ma'am. When the Captain decides that she wants something, she goes and gets it. “You do realise that the more you fool around like that, the longer it will take to knit properly?”

The Captain's eyes narrowed slightly. “But I'm allowed to exercise the other one, right? So I don't get too weak?”

This battle of wills was not unlike a tennis match; Kinsey was quite enjoying it. Watching the Captain go head to head with someone of similar mental fortitude was not something he got to see very often. It was always interesting and sometimes rather educational.

“Yes, you may,” the Major conceded, with what might have been a sigh of frustration. “Just don't overdo it. And once you're out of bed, even once you're walking, you're probably going to need a cane of some sort.”

Captain Snow's expression became pensive. Kinsey, from long association, could follow her train of thought reasonably closely. Oh, yes. Give her a perfectly valid excuse to carry a length of wood or metal wherever she goes. An image arose in his mind, of the Captain sparring on the mat with a padded quarterstaff. A walking cane wouldn't be quite as long, but he had no doubt that she would be able to do some damage with one. She should be able to handle that all right.

The Captain nodded slowly. “I think I'll be able to handle that.”

Kinsey cleared his throat. “Captain Snow, ma'am?”

“Yes, Kinsey?” The Captain looked at him once more.

“I would be happy to scout out local stores that sell walking canes for you, ma'am. Once I'm walking myself, that is.” He would never presume to pick one out for her, but finding the best stores to look was something he could definitely do. I wonder if any of them carry sword canes. It's probably too much to hope for. Besides, she'd be dangerous enough with just the stick.

This earned him a measured nod. “That would be most appreciated, Kinsey.”

“My pleasure, ma'am.”

And with that, she was back in full Captain mode. “So brief me. What happened after I shot Rodriguez?”

“You passed out then, ma'am. Miss Dana fetched my pistol for me, and I kept watch until Lieutenant Piggot arrived with one of her men. The rest of the cultists folded reasonably quickly after that; with Miss Kari and Miss Joanne behind them, and our men in front, they didn't stand much of a chance.” He elided over the nightmare that had been getting the Captain out of the Compound, but gave the Major and Miss Kari full credit for saving the Captain's life.

“And I understand that you gave blood to save me, even while you were injured yourself?” Her tone wasn't quite an accusation, but she didn't sound exactly approving either.

Time to pull out the big guns. “Well, ma'am, I'd be a pretty sorry excuse for a security detail if I didn't do everything in my power to keep you alive, wouldn't I?”

The Major snorted in amusement. “You have to admit, Captain Snow, he's got you there.”

Captain Snow looked less than thrilled at being outflanked in this manner, but she nodded stiffly. “Yes. He does.” The look she gave Kinsey, however, promised that the subject was not yet closed.

He didn't care. Her disapproval mattered less to him than the fact that she was alive to disapprove of him in the first place. In his own mind, he decided that he had gone some little way to mend the gaffe that he had committed regarding the bet with Captain Gordon's cronies. Now all I've got to do is keep doing better.

It was a challenge that he looked forward to.

-ooo-

Monday, 19 June 1994

I'm still not sure why they're doing it this way.

“What do you mean?” asked Lisa, as I bent over to check on the skis that were fastened on to her feet.

They're holding off awarding medals until the court-martial, and they're holding off the court-martial until the hearing regarding Rodriguez' death.

“Oh, that? That's easy. The ATF is still butt-hurt that you shot one of theirs, and they have a bit of influence. So they want to try to nail you to the wall so that you can't give evidence at Emily's court-martial. And if you and Emily had been given medals, that makes you look better. So they want that to happen after the hearing and the court-martial, to give them the best chance possible of screwing you and her over.”

I thought about that. It made a certain amount of twisted sense. They must be pulling in every marker they have.

“Oh, they are,” Lisa grinned. She pulled her helmet on to her head and buckled the strap securely. I stepped behind her and visually checked on the bulky pack she was wearing. “Not that it's gonna do them much good. The PRT doesn't have much in the way of throw weight just yet, but this op just made them into big news. And you with them.”

Dammit, I groused. I just wanted to do my job and do it quietly.

“So play it quiet for a little bit after this,” she suggested. “Don't do anything newsworthy.”

I rolled my eyes. I'm trying, all right? For some reason, she found this very funny.

It took her a little while to get over her giggles. I watched her, enjoying the moment. But then another thought intruded, one which killed the fun. Lisa?

She stopped giggling; I could see the hurt in her eyes as she looked at me. “You're going to ask me that question, aren't you?”

I sighed. I have to know. Are any of them pregnant?

Unhappily, she nodded. “Joanne isn't. The rest are, except for Kari, of course.”

And the girl who didn't make it?

She looked me in the eye. “Do you really want me to answer that one for you?”

It was cowardly of me, but after a moment, I shook my head. No.

“Good. Then she wasn't.” But I saw her bite her lip.

Stepping forward, I hugged her, hard. She hugged me back, holding me tightly. It's okay, I told her. It's okay.

“Sometimes it really sucks, knowing everything,” she whispered.

Having powers sucks, period, I reminded her.

“Never a truer word,” she agreed. “Can we just stay here awhile?”

We stood there for a bit longer, taking comfort in the hug. I was acutely reminded of Andrea, and how long it had been since I had held her in my arms. Hugging Lisa was nice, but it just wasn't the same.

Eventually, of course, Lisa grew restless. I let her go and pretended not to see as she wiped tears from her eyes. Ready to go?

“Sure.” She duck-walked into place at the top of the ski jump. This wasn't just a ski jump; it was the ski jump. It crossed a valley between two mountains; the other end of the jump was at the summit of the mountain across the way. Which explained the rocket packs on her skis, and the oxygen gear and parachute on her back.

“Sure you don't want to come along?” she asked. “We can fit you out with gear as well.”

Maybe later. I have a feeling I'll need to wake up soon. Kiss before I go?

She leaned over and kissed me. Her lips tasted of dust and blood and salt from her tears. “See you at the other side.”

Tipping over on to the ramp, she ignited the rocket packs and accelerated down the slope at a frankly suicidal speed. Over the roar of the rockets, I could hear her distant “Woohoooooo!”

A snowflake tickled my eyeball, and I blinked.

-ooo-

Austin Memorial Park Cemetery

Austin, TX

“Ma'am? We're here.”

I roused myself, stretching as much as I dared in the front seat of the car. Sitting up carefully, I looked around. Rows of gravestones stretched for acres in all directions; Kinsey had pulled into a parking space not far from the hearse.

“Thank you, Kinsey. Can you get the wheelchair out, please?”

“Of course, ma'am.” He shot me a single querying look, but did not voice his doubts.

“My leg's healing well, Kinsey,” I reassured him. “But Doctor Goldstein wants me to stay off it just a little longer.” If I needed to use my leg, I would; we both knew that.

“Ma'am.” He popped the trunk and got out of the car.

“I'm surprised you're able to walk on it at all,” commented Emily from the back seat. “It's barely been what, a week?”

“Thanks to Kari and her metal manipulation. Anyway, I still need a walking cane,” I reminded her. “And I'm going to keep needing it for quite a while.”

“Hmm.” She didn't say any more.

-ooo-

All three of us were in full dress uniform as Kinsey wheeled me toward the gravesite; I sat upright in the chair, and Emily matched her slow-march pace to Kinsey's. I had managed to convince Director Grantham that even though Emily was technically under arrest until her court-martial date, Kinsey would be an appropriate guard for her to attend the funeral of the girl who had died.

As we approached the gravesite, I spotted Kari standing next to a woman in a wheelchair; I knew this to be her mother, from the photo in the file. The teenager herself was still clad in metal from head to toe; I wondered how long it would take her to feel secure enough to let it go again. I hope she's getting therapy. I hope they all are.

Other familiar faces were there as well; Leanne in her wheelchair, Vanessa with the bandage over her eyes, Brianna wearing ordinary glasses this time. Her eyes must have grown back, like Vanessa said. In fact, all the rescuees were present, each with what I assumed to be family members or friends, or both. Joanne, towering over everyone else, looked over and saw me. She said something to the older couple she was with, and walked over to meet me.

“You came,” she greeted me. “I didn't know if you would.”

“I was the senior PRT officer on site,” I reminded her. “That made Amanda my responsibility. I failed her. The least I can do is be here to show my respects.”

She gave me a long searching look. “You really believe that about responsibility, don't you?”

“Don't you?” I asked, my tone light. “We all have to take responsibility for our actions. Those of us with more power than others have more responsibility, that's all.”

Her expression took on a tinge of suspicion. “Is this you trying to talk me out of going full-on with PASS?” she asked quietly. “Because if it is …”

“It isn't,” I assured her. “It's just me giving you a little bit of life advice. What you do with it is up to you.” I tapped the arm of the wheelchair twice; taking the cue, Kinsey wheeled me forward again.

Joanne fell in alongside us, looking across at Emily. “I don't think I know you,” she observed.

“This is Lieutenant Emily Piggot,” I told her. “She led the assault on the compound. She's also the one who killed Sunstrike.”

The smile that spread across Joanne's face had more than a few teeth in it. “The others will be happy to hear that. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Emily's voice was carefully bland. “Glad to be of service.”

-ooo-

The service was not overly long, but it was respectful. Amanda King, nineteen, had been a college student with bright prospects before her. I knew from her dossier that a skydiving accident had claimed her older brother's life at the same time as it granted her powers over the movement of air. She had also been vivacious and pretty, without an enemy in the world, or so the eulogy claimed. Personally, I had my doubts – death canonises us all – but I was willing to accept that she had been a nice girl who had not deserved the hand that Fate had dealt her.

Then again, who does?

After the words had been spoken, the coffin was lowered into the grave. Kinsey handed me a small trowel so that I would not dirty my white cotton gloves, and I scooped up a pile of dirt to toss on top of it. He followed suit, then handed the trowel over to Emily.

“Which of you is Captain Snow?” It was a man's voice.

We looked around at that, to see an older couple with a teenage girl at their side. She resembled the photos of Amanda enough that I knew who they were. I straightened in the chair. “I am, sir. I presume that you are Amanda's father?”

“Yes,” he said as he moved closer to look down on me. “Are you the one who was supposed to save my daughter?”

I took a deep breath. My lung would never regain its full capacity, but at least by now I was able to do this without more than a twinge. “I did my best, sir,” I told him regretfully.

“You saved the rest of them,” he stated bitterly. “Why not Amanda, too? Why did my daughter have to die?”

I tried to think of ways to explain to him that things like that were never cut and dried, that any of us could have died at any time, but I knew that he would accept none of it. I knew all too well what it was like to lose a close family member, and I was fully aware that logical reasoning took a back seat to emotion at times like this.

Behind me, Kinsey cleared his throat. “If I may, ma'am?”

Well, he can't do any worse than me. “Go ahead, sergeant.”

“Thank you, ma'am.” I could feel his attention shifting to Amanda's father. “Sir, are you aware of the circumstances surrounding the attack on the compound where your daughter was being held?”

Mr King blinked. “I – no, they didn't tell us much. Just that it was assaulted, and my daughter died.”

“I see. Well, sir, Captain Snow was never part of the assault force. She was the analyst who pinpointed where your daughter was, and she was in a helicopter doing reconnaissance when it was shot down. I was also on board the helicopter. On impact, she suffered a traumatic impaling injury when a piece of metal pierced through her upper abdomen and into her chest. Her life expectancy after that was a matter of hours. Three of the seven people on the helicopter were killed, including both pilots.”

Amanda's father stared down at me. I nodded without speaking. He cleared his throat and licked his lips. “I didn't know about that.”

“And neither were you expected to,” Kinsey agreed. “The helicopter exploded shortly after we got clear of it. The Captain was wounded and in great pain. She could have advised a retreat or a surrender. Instead, she ordered an assault on the building where the prisoners were being held. Once inside, she killed three of the enemy and had us secure the building.”

“So how did my daughter die?” demanded King. “They won't even tell us that.”

“It was a homemade breaching charge,” Kinsey told him. “Your daughter was in direct line of the explosion, and was thrown into the wall. Even if we had been capable of applying first aid, everything we know suggests that she would not have survived. I'm sorry, sir, but that's what happened.”

Amanda's father grimaced. “Well, thanks. It's … it's not good to know, but it's better than not knowing.” He offered his hand; Kinsey shook it. “I appreciate it.” Turning to me, he held out his hand. “Sorry about talking to you like that, Captain. I didn't know … well, anything.”

I shook his hand firmly. “No offence taken, sir. I just wish I could have done more.”

He shook his head. “You found her. We had no idea where she was, if she was even alive, and you found her. You gave her some hope, at least, before the end. And you killed the bastards who did this to her.”

No, that's Lieutenant Piggot, I thought, but did not say. “They'll never hurt anyone ever again,” I agreed.

I had thought the embarrassment over, but then Amanda's mother was leaning over me, hugging me. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome, ma'am,” I told her, awkwardly patting her on the back. She straightened up and wiped her eyes. I half-expected a hug from the daughter as well, but she just looked me in the eye.

“How do I join the PRT?” she asked bluntly.

I was temporarily lost for words, but Emily came to my rescue. “You have to be at least sixteen, miss,” she stated. “If you want to be an officer, you have to meet certain educational standards. But you can get all that from the Austin PRT base. They'll be able to answer your questions better than we can.”

The Kings gathered their daughter in and all three moved away. I heard the mother asking, “Are you sure you want to do that? It sounds dangerous.”

“Mom, life's dangerous,” the girl answered. “But I want to learn how to kick bad guys' asses like that.”

I didn't hear any more, but Emily chuckled. “Is it just me, Captain Snow, or do you manage to pick up a fan club wherever you go?”

“Don't remind me,” I muttered. “And this isn't over.”

I had a hearing, a court-martial and an award ceremony to attend yet. And I wasn't sure which one was going to be the most taxing. 

Part 5-10