by wildbow
“Yes. Enemy. They petty evils that walk this city. Organize crime. Slave, prostitute, murder, mercenary. My side, we root out corrupt. Ruthless. Government prefer them to us. Paint us as evil, pay them to carry on. But you know what this is like, yes?”
“More or less,” I said, not breaking eye contact. “And those guys, they’re ruthless in the same way you described, I guess?”
“More, less,” he said, as if he were trying on the phrase, “Yes.”
“You want to hit Behemoth with this… time bomb,” I said. “But… I think that’s what he wants. He’s holding back. My thinker friend, she said so. He’s taking more hits than he should, and I’m just now realizing he might be doing it because he wants to be ready for when you hit him with this. He’ll push it out into the ground, or into the air.”
“Yes. This is likely,” Phir Sē said. “This is what he may want. I hoped for the Second or Third. This will have to do.”
“They’ve tried this stuff before,” I said. “Nukes, gigantic railguns, tricks with teleportation and portals. It doesn’t work. You won’t do anything except get a lot of people killed as collateral damage.”
“We time this. Strategic,” Phir Sē said, calm, as if he were talking to a panicked animal. “Come. Step in.”
Right, I thought. Approach the temporal bomb.
But I did. No use ticking off the guy with the murder-teleporter on call. Particulate followed me as I navigated the way to the room’s interior.
There were television screens all across the wall. Five showed the ongoing destruction from distant cameras. Two showed grainy camera footage. The last showed what looked to be an Indian soap opera.
“Thirsty,” Phir Sē commented.
The teleporter flickered into existence, then disappeared. Phir Sē had a bottle of water in his hands that he hadn’t held before. He turned our way, bushy eyebrows raised as a faint smile touched his face. “Might I offer you anything?”
I shook my head. My stomach was a knot, my heart was pounding.
Particulate said something, but Phir Sē ignored him.
“We watch the First,” Phir Sē said. “He let his guard down, I strike.”
“I’ve seen an Endbringer fool another brilliant man who thought he had a surefire way to win,” I said. “They’re cleverer than we think. What if Behemoth fools you?”
“Then New Delhi pay for my mistake,” Phir Sē answered me. “I have daughter there. She join bright heroes, popular ones. She pay for my mistake, if she still lives. I live, down here, spend life mourning.”
He looked genuinely upset at the idea.
“You want to win?” I asked. “You take that thing, aim it for the sky. Deplete it, so Behemoth’s entire goal for coming here is gone.”
“Is a chance,” Phir Sē told me. “To strike them harder than anything yet. You tell me, is that not worth it?”
“Worth risking this city? Your daughter? The lives of the heroes here?”
“Yes. Is worth.”
“No,” I retorted.
He looked at me, and I could read the unhappiness in his expression. Not a condemnation or even him being upset with me. Disappointment in general.
The woman in the suit told me there were people with their own agendas. Monsters. This is one of them, and he thinks we’re kindred spirits.
“I tell you because you are ruthless, Weaver. Do not stop me,” he said. “I die, focus waver, time bomb explode. Aimless, no direction.”
“Indiscriminate,” I supplied a better word.
“Indiscriminate,” Phir Sē echoed me. “India gone. You die, even down here.”
I raised my head, staring up at the two golden discs and the current that seemed to run between them. I would have thought it would be brighter.
“Hero fall. We wait,” he said. “When fight cannot be won, I strike.”
I tensed as I watched the fighting on the screens. They flickered intermittently in a delayed reaction to Behemoth’s lightning strikes.
“Very soon,” he said, his eyes fixed on the monitor. “You stay.”
Crushed 24.4
Particulate said something, and the amount of invective in his tone was enough to make it clear, even if I couldn’t understand the language.
Phir Sē said something in response, his voice calm, almost as though he were talking to a child, then took another drink of his water. His eyes didn’t leave the screens.
Behemoth had nearly reached India Gate. The defense continued to be staggered. One to four parahumans working together to slow him, to impede his progress and buy time for the others to wear him down. When they failed, the measures circumvented or the capes in question killed, he advanced, the heroes retreated as best as they were able, and they enacted the next counteroffensive.
But each time they fought, he did damage. Capes perished, tinker devices were turned into lumps of hot metal. Each time the capes mounted a defense, the defense was weaker.
“Something is wrong,” Phir Sē said.
“Chevalier was attacked,” I answered. “They were planning a coordinated defense, I think, but someone beheaded our group at the worst possible time.”
“I see.”
“I’m not going to ask any questions about how you guys operate, but it’s obvious you’re organized.”
“Careful,” Phir Sē told me. He didn’t even look at me. The defensive line was using Clockblocker, now. They’d erected a loose grid of wires, almost invisible, but for the flashing lights set at regular intervals. Alexandria and Eidolon were trying to hammer the Endbringer into the barricade.
“You’ve got secrets to protect. Fine. Cool. I’m not going to pry. But maybe we’ve walked similar paths. We had similar practices, probably.”
He cast me a momentary glance over his shoulder, meeting my eyes for a second before he turned back to the screens. An acknowledgement, without accepting or denying my point.
“My old team wasn’t nearly as effective as you guys seem to be. But we operated in secret, we understood some key elements. The need for information, having to know when to go on the offense, being unpredictable against enemies who are already expecting you to try and catch them off guard.”
“Talk slower, please,” Phir Sē told me. “My English is not strong, and I am very tired.”
He looked like he might drop any minute, like he’d barely eaten, hadn’t slept…
“How long has it been since you slept?” I asked.
“Three days. We thought an Endbringer would attack soon, so I prepared, to be ready when the time came. Too early, I had to stop, restart. This time, he came, but I am weary. The talking, is good. Distracting without being dangerous. Continue, please.”
What happens if he nods off? I wondered, looking at the ‘time bomb’. The same thing he’d stated would happen if he were killed or knocked out?
“Okay,” I answered. I took a second to compose my thoughts. “You mentioned how you have to be hard, heavy handed if you’re going to succeed in a situation where your enemies are as scary as the people you and I have gone up against.”
“Yes. Heavy handed. Like the judge’s hammer…”
“Gavel,” I supplied.
“The gavel. Harsh justice. Crush the enemies who cannot be converted to your side or convinced to do otherwise.”
“Yes,” I said. I thought for a second, then made my argument. “And you know the power of having all of the information. The power of having a group that can communicate that information. Communication is key, and a group that doesn’t even need to communicate because they function so well together is better yet.”
“You had this.”
With the Undersiders. “We were close. And losing that, it’s scary. Maybe the least fun part about being a hero. But you understand? You agree, about information and communication?”
He didn’t respond, as he watched the screen. Is he going to nod off right here?
On the monitors, a successful hit on Eidolon’s part struck Behemoth into
the grid of wires. It had taken time for the Endbringer to approach the wires, set safely outside of his kill range, and some were already coming free of Clockblocker’s power. Still, they sank deep, cutting a diamond-shaped pattern into his hide, shoulder to heel. Alexandria charged, trying to drive it home, and Behemoth struck out with one claw, a swipe.
He must have captured all of her forward momentum and motive impact and redirected it at her, because he didn’t move an inch in response to the hit, and she crashed into the ground at a shallow diagonal angle. Her body carved a trench a few hundred feet long, judging by the cloud of dust that rose in her wake.
Behemoth lurched forward, and the grid of wires cut him again on their way out. Chunks of flesh were carved free.
The Endbringer clapped his hands together, and forcefields went down, defenses and defending capes falling in response to the impact.
Clockblocker’s grid of wires dropped out of the sky, blinking white lights falling like sparks from a large firework. I suspected that I knew what it meant.
Shit. I hoped he was okay. Clockblocker wasn’t a bad guy, as heroes went.
“I agree,” Phir Sē told me, belatedly. “And I think I see what you are going to say.”
“Let’s communicate with them. With everyone. Half the screwed up crap I’ve seen, it’s been because we’re fighting between ourselves. The best achievements, the truly heroic stuff I’ve seen? It’s been when we worked together. So let’s maximize our chances.”
“You have been doing this how long? A year?”
“Months.”
“I have been doing this for ten years. I admire you for retaining your…” he trailed off.
“Idealism?”
“Not a word I’m familiar with, Weaver. Faith?”
“Faith works.”
“I have none left, after ten years. No faith. We are a wretched, petty species, and we have been given power to destroy ourselves with.”
“Ironic, given what you’re trying to do here. You’re going to kill people, kill bystanders, on a gamble.”
Phir Sē peered at me. “What chances would you give this gamble?”
“One in three?”
His stare was cold as he met my eyes. “One in three. That is… perhaps unfair. No matter. If I’m wrong, we lose this city. If I’m right, we kill Behemoth. I would take those odds, Weaver. I would take them, I would watch this city be wiped from the earth, knowing that people I am fond of would die. I live in a civilian guise most days, waiting until I have a task from those more powerful than I. I would perhaps be killing the butcher I talk to every day when I walk to the store for food. I would kill the widow who lives next door to me, her child, if they have not evacuated. I have mentioned my daughter, much like you in her abundance of faith in people.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call myself an idealist to that extent,” I said. I paused. “Phir Sē—”
We’d started talking at the same time. He talked over me, half of his attention on the screens. “I will take this gamble and perhaps kill those people in the process. I will kill those people who can make me smile and feel more human than I am, I will grieve their deaths, and then I will take that gamble again. Because one city, however grand, is worth that chance.”
I thought of doing that, of rolling the dice like that, with my father, with the people in my territory. “Easier to say than do.”
“I have done it, Weaver,” Phir Sē told me. “My wife, my sons, years ago. A similar problem on a smaller scale. I can walk through minutes, I could have walked back to save them, but I let them die because it meant a monster would remain gone. What merit is a gamble, a sacrifice, if you stake things that matter nothing to you?”
I stared at him. He was young, no older than thirty-five, but the lines of his face, the slumped posture, the slowness with which he moved… they spoke of a horrendous exhaustion.
I didn’t have a response for Phir Sē’s question. He smiled a little, and turned back to the screens.
Behemoth was roaring, a sound that didn’t reach us underground. With the monitors on mute, it didn’t translate there either. Still, the images vibrated, the flickering intensified, and the defenses the heroes had established were crumbling. India Gate was damaged, an incidental casualty of the fight more than a target.
My bugs sensed motion to my left. I glanced at Particulate, and saw him holding his scanner behind his back.
It was pointed at Phir Sē’s ‘time bomb’.
His other hand was drawing a slender gun from a pocket in his combination lab coat and jacket, a gun like something from retro science fiction, with no barrel. There was only a small extension on the end, much like a satellite dish.
Another disintegration gun?
He saw me looking, glanced at Phir Sē, who had his back turned, then looked back at me. His eyes flicked over in Phir Sē’s direction, his intention clear.
He had a solution in mind. A way to disable the explosion and stop Phir Sē.
I had only an instant to decide, before the teleporter intervened, or Phir Sē noticed what was going on.
I met Particulate’s eyes and nodded once, curt.
The scanner disappeared into a pocket, and he drew something like a grenade from within his flowing coat. Then he drew the gun on Phir Sē. I felt the tug of the thread in my hand, attached to the gun.
Without thinking, I hauled on it, pulling it off-target. The gun hit one screen, two feet to Phir Sē’s right, at stomach level. It exploded into a swirling cloud of black dust.
Phir Sē whirled around. He barked out a word I couldn’t understand.
“No!” I called out.
Phir Sē made a gesture with his hand, just as the teleporter flickered into existence. The man didn’t intersect Particulate, but appeared behind him, deftly disarming him of the grenade and pistol before flickering back out of existence. He took Particulate with him.
“Don’t kill him,” I said.
“You would feel… blameful?” Phir Sē asked.
Blameful? “Guilty,” I corrected him, before I realized what I was doing.
I could see the small smile on Phir Sē’s face, disappointed and proud and a condemnation at the same time. “I watch you. In reflection of screen. You set him up, to put yourself in my good will.”
Had I? Not wholly consciously. I’d set up the string, but how much of that was intentional? Was it habit, now, to have a measure on hand when dealing with any weapon?
I focused on the swarm, focused on the cords and threads that traced the room. One in the doorway, one at each of Phir Sē’s feet, just waiting for me to finish the deal and bind him. Others extended between us, spiders poised to cut the threads or tie them, as the situation demanded.
The passenger, or was it me, being wary?
“I guess I did,” I said. I made the spiders cut the threads between us.
He shook a finger at me, “I was not born yesterday. This silliness could have gotten you killed. Would have, if I did not feel need for outsider to challenge my ideas.”
“I guess…” I said, searching for the phrase, “A gamble’s not meaningful if you’re not staking something important, right?”
He smiled a little, and there was a slight twinkle in his eye, “Your life?”
“I suppose,” I said. My heart was still pounding, my mouth dry, and it wasn’t just the Phir Sē thing, or the teleporter. The passenger.
“You think. So we know where you stand, now. You are crafty, dangerous. Underhanded. You turn on an ally and use him as a pawn to express something to me.”
“He wasn’t quite an ally,” I said. “He helped us get inside this underground base. But he was reckless. Breaking into this chamber in the first place, preparing to attack you. A chaotic element.”
“I do not know this ‘chaotic’ word, but I get your meaning, I think. There was no communication,” Phir Sē said. He smiled as though we shared a private joke.
“I’m doing what I have to, to ensure we all come out of
this ahead. Just like you, but I didn’t get the ability to manipulate time, or to create this sort of ‘time bomb’. I work on a smaller scale.”
“I get the joke,” Phir Sē told me. “It is joke? Small?”
“Sort of,” I said, and I smiled a little in return, behind my mask. This guy was borderline unhinged, too much power in too unstable a package, and I almost liked him.
“What is it you wish to express to me, Weaver, that you would sacrifice a pawn and risk your own life?”
I wasn’t sure I had a response to that. I tried anyways. “You want to hit Behemoth with your time bomb? Okay, let’s do it.”
“Oh? You protested only minutes ago.”
“I’m not about to change your mind, I’m not about to stop you. So let’s make it happen. We’ll let the defending heroes know what’s up, set up something—”
“Slower. Speak slower.”
“Let me go. We work together with the heroes.”
“The heroes will die in minutes. Before you arrive.”
I glanced at the screen. How bad was it? It was so hard to get a sense of how many heroes still stood. An ugly feeling gripped my chest.
“We’ll try. Let me try. I can give you a signal. You strike then.”
“You are asking me to have faith.”
“Let me go, Phir Sē,” I told him. “You said you have to stake something that matters on a gamble. Stake your doubt.”
“I do not understand this,” he said, suddenly sounding weary. “My English—”
“It’s not your English; what I’m saying doesn’t make a lot of sense,” I said. I had to resist the urge to rush and hurry through the explanation. “But your doubt, your lack of faith, it’s something safe. No disappointments, no fear things won’t work out. Risk that. Risk losing that. I did, when I became a hero.”
“Not such a hero,” he said. “Bargain with the madman, turn on an ally.”
“I’m realizing I’m a pretty lousy hero,” I agreed. “But I’m trying. I made a leap of faith. I’m asking you to as well.”
He smiled a little, then reached forward and took my hand. He raised it, simultaneously bending over, and kissed the back of it.