by wildbow
She paused to chuckle a little.
“…Into superheroes and supervillains and everyday nobodies who use their powers for business or entertainment.”
I shivered.
“It’s nonsense,” Tecton said.
“Maybe. It is just a theory,” Tattletale said. “But it feels mostly right, and I’d love to hear a better explanation.”
“Why?” Gully asked. “Why would they do that? If they’re that powerful, if they’re that big, why care about us?”
“Excellent question,” Tattletale replied. She grinned. “No clue.”
“I’m not saying it’s not an interesting theory,” I hedged. “But how does this tie into the Echidna situation? Is she an Endbringer, and do the Endbringers relate to the passengers?”
“Oh. I’m pretty damn sure there’s no real connection between her and Endbringers. I saw her at work. Nothing really fit, as far as the various things I saw about Endbringers. No, she’s something else.”
“Then what does this have to do with her? Because this definitely could have waited.”
“Well, there’s two major factors at play here,” Tattletale said. “Two plans. Numero uno is that it’s really quite possible that Echidna’s got a broken passenger. Something went wrong, it’s damaged, it’s demented, or some of the usual limits are gone. Hell, maybe it’s gaining more of a grip over her as she brings more of the passenger into this world to operate her body, and the usual processes that keep a passenger passive and sleeping are missing in hers. Or it could be that her passenger is trying to make its way into our world.”
“And it’s city sized?” Wanton asked. “Or moon sized?”
Tattletale shrugged. “It’s not like she couldn’t get that big. I was thinking about throwing Rachel’s dogs at her until she couldn’t support her own weight, but she’d still be able to use her power and puke, and while her clones seem to be getting more fragile, weaker and more plentiful as she grows, I’m not positive that’s a good game plan.”
“Not fucking risking my dogs like that again,” Rachel said.
“Of course,” Tattletale added. “There’s that too. I can’t really say more about Echidna without finding more about Cauldron’s process for granting powers, and I’d really like to grill the Travelers on that front. But understanding all this is our best bet for understanding Echidna, and potentially stopping her. Or even fixing her.”
I glanced at the others. “But… there’s some powerful people who wouldn’t want us to dig for more information about Cauldron.”
“There are,” Tattletale said. She glanced at the heroes who were with us: Tecton, Wanton, Grace, Gully, Scapegoat and the twins. “Which means we may be doing this without the support of the other heroes who are here to stop Echidna. Which is probably sensible, because they probably won’t be on board with the next idea I’m going to propose for a democratic vote. The second reason why I wanted to carry out this particular research project.”
“I get the feeling I’m not going to like this,” Grace said.
Tattletale smiled, “I think we can tear a hole between dimensions.”
Interlude 19 (Donation Bonus #1)
Rey hesitated at the door. He cast a wary glance over his shoulder, but life elsewhere in the city continued as normal.
If he touched the doorknob, any number of things could happen. A pit underfoot, a guillotine blade from overhead.
It took a measure of courage to raise the door knocker and slam it against the front door of the old Victorian-styled house.
The door opened right away.
“Blasto,” Accord greeted him. “We finally meet.”
“Uh huh,” Rey replied. He glanced around. The inside of the house was nice. Must be nice to not have to reinvest ninety percent of your earnings on tech.
“No mask?” Accord asked.
“Yes,” Rey replied. He folded one corner of his face back. “It’s a fungus. Same texture as human flesh.”
Accord’s own intricate mechanical face shifted in response to his underlying expression. “Lovely.”
“I’m still not sure about this, given our history,” Rey said. He accepted the invitation into the front hallway of the house, carefully removed his shoes and set them on the tray to the right of the door.
“I’ve given you my word that you’ll be safe, provided you cooperate.”
“Damn Nazis,” Rey said. “My whole lab, gone.”
Accord didn’t offer any sympathy. “Come.”
Rey followed. Peering into the rooms he passed, he saw libraries and sitting rooms, old furniture. Everything was finely made, nothing cheap or throwaway. Knowing Accord, it was all too possible that the man had hand-crafted everything in this house.
And in each room were people in costume. Other teams had themes, natural or otherwise. Their costumes matched, or they unconsciously mirrored one another in style of dress or quality. Accord’s people were much the same, but it was very deliberate. Each wore fine clothing, elegant dresses and suits, and each had their hair neatly combed into place, oiled to the point that it looked wet. The ‘costumes’ were in the color of their chosen formal wear and badges or brooches they wore, as well as the finely crafted masks that hid any trace of their real expressions.
“You’re not expecting me to dress like them, are you?”
“No,” Accord said. “Truth be told, I fear you could never meet my standards, and I’m going to do my level best to ignore the fact that you exist. You’ll want to keep to the areas I designate and use the back ways out of the building, so that I never see you.”
“You’re not going to imprison me, are you?”
“No. This is a business transaction. I will give you the opportunity to get back on your feet, you will do what you can to eliminate our mutual enemies, being careful to avoid any damage or criminal activity within my territory, and in exchange, you will give me half your territory when all of this is over. Following such an event, I hope we can avoid any further aggression between us for the future.”
“Sure,” Rey said.
“The individuals in question are Menja, Stormtiger, Cricket, Rune, Othala, Niflheim and Muspelheim. I’ll see you have all available records. Best to enter any confrontation with your eyes wide open.”
“Okay.”
“My people will not be available to you, understand. Our bargain presumes you are working alone.”
“I get it.”
“You’re quiet. You don’t have questions? Requests?”
“Wouldn’t mind some grass.”
“Turf?”
Rey smirked, “In the slang sense. I meant—”
“Say no more. I understand what you meant. Provided you stay out of my way, you can do whatever you wish in the assigned area. That said, I and my people will not provide intoxicants, and if you are inebriated in any way in my company—”
“It’s fine,” Rey cut in. “I get it.”
“Here. Into the basement,” Accord said.
Accord led the way, and Rey hesitantly followed.
The basement was expansive. There were no walls—only pillars. The floor was concrete covered in a no-slip perforated rubber mat, the various desks were stainless steel, each on wheels that could be locked in place. Each desk, in turn, had glass cabinets or drawers. As far as Rey could see, they were fully stocked.
But it was more than that. Rey was used to the usual labs, which held years of old material. Tools that had long since fallen into disrepair. Trays of solutions that nobody had touched in years, too old to use but too expensive to throw away in good conscience. There were slides that were stained, tools that didn’t always work. Even when he’d started his lab, it had been with tools stolen from his old University, things bought on the cheap.
This? This was a dream. He stepped over to a glass case, large enough to fit a person inside. There was a case attached to one side with room for a solution to be poured in, and what he took to be an attached tank of distilled water, with a control pa
nel to select the rate and degree of mixture. Another tube would vent the contents into a biohazard case.
A glance told him that everything would be here. There were neatly ordered bins of chemicals, tools laid out in neat rows. Everything was pristine. The cages on the other end of the room with the captive animals, even, were clean, with none of the animal scent or vague smell of waste that accompanied such. There were troughs filled with rich smelling earth, thoroughly mixed and free of clumps.
Rey Andino could create life from raw materials, fashion a homunculus from the most basic ingredients and elements. He could make monsters, loyal beings that would do as he wished, with only time and things he’d picked up from a drug store. Faced with this laboratory, he felt small, insignificant. He knew he would soil it, that things would break as he used them. It was wrong.
“Satisfactory?” Accord asked.
“It’ll have to do,” Rey replied, trying to sound casual.
“It will. Now, I’d like you to know that I recently acquired some samples and records. I’d intended to hold on to them as a bargaining chip at a critical moment, or something I might offer you as incentive to leave this city.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ll find them in the far corner of the room. The computer contains the database and the attached machine arm will withdraw any samples on request.”
“Sure,” Rey said.
“My ambassadors will be taking turns observing you. Short of a critical emergency, they won’t be reporting anything to me. Citrine will be first.”
Rey nodded. He was already heading to the computers, to find what Accord would feel was so powerful or valuable that Rey would leave the city to get his hands on it.
The computer was fast. Rey started to empty his pockets and smooth out the papers with the few blueprints he’d been able to salvage when the white supremacists had come storming through his old lab, and the computer was already idling at the desktop screen by the time he’d finished.
A black window with text in bold white letters showed a menu. Two options:
A: View Database
B: View Samples
He took the first option, typing the letter in the keyboard and striking the enter key.
It was names. Cape names. They kept appearing, so fast he could barely read them, and the window kept scrolling until he hit the enter key again to interrupt it.
He scrolled up until he found one name. He clicked it.
Blasto, Real Name Unknown
Classification: Tinker 6 (sub: master 5, blaster 2, shifter 2, brute 2); plants.
Disposition: Villain (B)
Last Known Location: Boston (Allston area, east).
Crime lord of East Allston since est. date of April 2009. No subordinates. No past history as a subordinate. Criminal history indicates cap of second degree murder, tendency to mass damage to property and persons. Produces uncontrolled lifeforms that are incapable of replication. Adversarial relationship with Accord (#13151), Spree (#14755) and Chain Man (#14114).
Note: High risk of Class-S classification. Should creations self-propagate, kill orders are pre-authorized.
A: More information/History
B: More information/Powers
C: More information/Contact & Network
D: Back
There were signs of degraded data, but it was there. Accord had somehow acquired the PRT’s system data and records on all parahumans they’d encountered.
No big surprises on the possible kill order. He’d been made aware of it some time ago, and had grumbled, groaned and grudgingly avoided making any lifeforms that could breed in the years since.
“How the hell did you get this?” he asked. He turned around.
It wasn’t Accord behind him. It was a young woman in a formal, silk dress, yellow trimmed with gold, and a mask in matching colors. A gemstone stood out on her forehead, with matching earrings dangling from her ears like chandeliers. Her hands were clasped in front of her.
“I didn’t,” she said.
“You’re one of his… what did he call you?”
“His ambassadors.”
“That’s right. Do you have a name?”
“Citrine.”
“Okay. How did he get this?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Because you don’t know or because you won’t say?”
“Yes.”
He sighed, turning back to the system. He selected the last option in the menu at the bottom of the page, then reloaded the master list, stopping when it had progressed far enough.
Eidolon. There was a full set of details.
More information? Nothing. Data not found.
Powers? Nothing. Data not found.
Legend was the same.
Maybe someone less prominent. He selected Chevalier and got the standard information. More details.
Powers? He selected the option, and received pages upon pages of testing data. Rey’s eyes pored over the results, soaking them in. It was like reading Shakespeare. One could listen to a line, and be momentarily baffled, but skimming it or assuming a general foundation of knowledge, it was possible to pick up the gist of the message; The underlying meanings, if not the exact definitions of the individual elements.
The work of a tinker wasn’t typical science. Refining it was science, but the blunt, raw use of the power? It was almost the opposite.
Good science meant starting with the conditions, forming a hypothesis, making a prediction, and then testing it. Repeat, repeat, repeat, until there was a solid base of knowledge. That knowledge let one establish further conditions, refine hypotheses.
But tinkers started with the end result. A moment of inspiration, glimpses of the major steps one would need to take to get there. It involved working backwards, up until that moment the means came into view. Rey could see it at work, could see Chevalier’s power as raw data, something he could replicate by traveling an entirely different path. He would need a sturdier frame. Something big. This wouldn’t be a hybrid of a stray dog and a plant. This would need to be something closer to a bear.
Or, he realized, a human.
He backed out of Chevalier’s data until he was at the original screen. He checked the samples Accord had provided him with.
Select sub-database:
A) PRT (Protectorate, Wards) samples
B) Non-PRT (evidence database) samples
C) Misc samples
Further investigation revealed the full truth. Accord had gotten his hands on a database of DNA from countless members of the Protectorate and the Wards, as well as scraps of material from certain powers, where traces remained behind.
He selected C, expecting little. His eyes widened.
Many were samples from lifeforms that various tinkers and masters had created. His own were in there. That wasn’t the surprising fact.
He selected the last option on the list. To the right of the computer, in a hermetically sealed case, a robotic arm extended and deposited a microscopic sample on a slide.
A fragment, so small as to be nearly impossible to see, of one of the Simurgh’s feathers.
“You keep making these little oohs and ahhs,” Citrine commented. “It sounds like you’re pleasuring yourself.”
“I am, believe me,” Rey replied, not looking her way. “Where did he get this stuff? Does he even comprehend what he gave me?”
“I’m sure he does.”
He’d considered replicating Chevalier’s power, with a solid enough frame. Maybe a bear, maybe a human. Small potatoes.
He went through the contents he’d unloaded from his pockets until he found a piece of paper he’d folded into an envelope. He tore it open and tapped out the contents.
Each seed was about the size of a pea, tapered at each end, a mottled white-brown. He hurried over to one of the large glass tubes and fiddled with the controls until it started flooding with water.
“Are you one of the talkative ones?” Citrine asked.
“What?”
“I mean, maybe it’s a dumb question, because you’ve stuck pretty much to monosyllabic grunts since this whole thing started, but I’m wondering if you’re one of the capes that likes to rant or one of the quiet ones.”
“Quiet. Why?”
“Honestly? I’m bored. Not like I can go on Facebook with my smartphone or anything. That sort of thing gets you killed, when you work for Accord.”
“You want me to entertain you?”
“I doubt you’re capable. But you could distract me, help while away the minutes.”
He eyed the woman. Rey wasn’t one of the quiet ones by choice. He’d just fallen into the habit of being alone because it was easier to stay in the lab than it was to be out in the larger world. People in the larger world sucked. Up until the Nazis from Brockton Bay had turned up and claimed the building at the other end of the street from his lab, it had been a place he could retreat. A place where his work and his art could occupy his thoughts and distract him from reality.
Art. It was a good starting point for an explanation, and she was probably the most attractive person he’d spent more than one minute around in the last few months…