by wildbow
“I know. Computers that aren’t connected to the net can’t exactly be hacked, especially after you lock them into a vault. We found information that didn’t match up, checked our backups. Once we caught wind of what he’d done to hide himself, we found his kid. When Dragon started ramping up again, we realized I’d need another hit to get up to speed. One more use of Teacher’s power, to learn the code as it stands now, after her more recent evolutions. We took his kid to use as leverage, raided his old facilities to seize his blueprints, his workbooks, materials, and old lab equipment. All stuff we could hold hostage, to ensure he played ball. Then we could seize full control of Dragon’s tech, apply all of her assets to this situation, cut ties with Teacher.”
“And he ignored it all,” I said. “He escaped into another world and he locked himself away with his minions.”
“Yeah,” Saint said. He heaved out a sigh. “Yeah.”
“Stupid,” Tattletale said.
Saint didn’t even look at her. He waved a hand in her general direction, “Yes, apparently that was stupid. Please, do illuminate this situation for us.”
“You’re an addict,” she said. “An addict as bad as any other, and you want another hit of his power.”
Saint shook his head a little. “No. What addict goes years between hits?”
“This isn’t a drug, but it might as well be one. All the justifications and excuses that sound perfectly reasonable at the time, the compromises you make in the face of something really ugly, manipulating the people close to you, the increasing tolerance…”
“You sound crazier than I do.”
“Poor baby,” she said. “I genuinely feel sorry for you. You had no idea at all.”
He stood from his cot, approaching the barred door. “And now you’re being condescending.”
“That’s the funny thing about pity, Saint. It’s condescending by default. Teacher got you hooked like a dealer does. You’re craving the hit that’s going to make your little Dragon-centric world make sense again, and you’re rationalizing without realizing you’re doing it. I can’t quite figure out how much of that is his power and how much of that is you, and I’m not sure which of the two is sadder.”
Beside me, Defiant folded his arms.
“It’s neither,” Saint said. “I’m not addicted, and I’m not rationalizing. This is all common sense. She’s an artificial intelligence, and she was going well out of bounds. Can you not grasp the end result?”
“Humans crave knowledge. It’s a defining element in our species. Something we don’t see in animals in that same way, something we don’t see in Scion, unless it’s a craving that takes a very different form in execution. Teacher? He feeds that hunger. You follow me? You’re as big a pawn as any of those drooling pets of his.”
Saint leveled a stare at Tattletale. “I petitioned to let him out. I hardly serve him hand and foot.”
“You did exactly what he wanted you to do, Geoff,” Tattletale said. “You let him out, and everything you’re saying and doing in relation to him is only serving to help him sell the basic lie he’s telling everyone.”
Defiant turned to give Tattletale a curious look. “Lie?”
“That he waltzed into another Earth and locked himself in. He never left. Or he left and then he walked right back out the second he could make a gate. Probably the former. Easier to do a hologram or dress up a minion to look like him than it is to make a door between universes.”
“Where is he, then?” Defiant asked.
Tattletale stretched, then took a seat on the edge of the desk. “What, or who, were we just arguing about? Quite possibly the most dangerous piece of technology we know about?”
Defiant went still. His head lowered until he was staring at the laptop.
“We established that Saint is nothing special. What Teacher gave him, he can give to someone else. Or ten someone elses.”
“Portal,” Defiant said. His voice was tight. “Checkpoint two, N.N.Y.”
A portal opened behind him.
“Do you need me to come?” Narwhal asked.
“I—” Defiant started to speak, then stopped. “I’ll investigate. If I’m not in touch in five minutes, assume I’ve been attacked. Keep an eye on Saint, to be safe.”
He lowered his arm, and the portal closed behind him.
“Teacher is going after Dragon?” Imp asked.
“Yes,” Tattletale said. “Or Dragon’s systems. Or both. We can’t guess how many people Teacher’s got doing his bidding, but Saint gave Dragon enough trouble, and Teacher could make ten Saints.”
“He planned this,” I said. “How much of it?”
“Enough. I’d bet the son was even a red herring. Maybe someone tampered with the data Saint had on Teacher, maybe not. The old equipment, the plans during the years he was interacting with Saint, all of it was serving a purpose. Or double purposes. Multiple plans at once, from different angles. Helps him put pieces together towards different agendas, builds up his rep, and makes Saint think Teacher’s invested in this stuff, when he’s really keeping quiet about his true desire.”
“I was careful,” Saint said. “We were careful. Mags, D, and I. We tracked everything.”
“You can’t,” I said. Then I realized I’d spoken, and I had to follow up. I hurried to try to get my thoughts in order. “You can’t succeed like that. It’s always easier to attack than to defend. Defending, you have to devote attention to anticipating the enemy, you can’t devote too much planning to any one aspect of the defense. You can be creative when attacking. It’s why villains tend to win more than they lose. Most of the time, they get to make the first move. They get to rob a bank, and the heroes have to react, to guard. Someone like Teacher? You can’t be careful enough to be safe.”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” he protested.
“I’ll put it in simple terms,” Tattletale said. “You wanted to stop the big A.I. from becoming a threat? You made her stronger, I’m thinking, by putting her under pressure, giving her a trigger event. You then paved the way for a lunatic like Teacher to get his hands on Dragon’s code.”
Saint clenched his jaw, until bulges stood out at either corner.
“In the process,” Tattletale added, “you made some enemies pretty pissed off, and you’ve burned all of your leverage. But maybe you bought someone to break you out, someone good, and that you figured out a good spot to hide. You’ll probably need it.”
He didn’t move.
“No? Shit. Then I hope you can do something useful.”
“Start by letting Dragon go,” I said. “Give her a chance to fend for herself. To help us fight.”
“Unleash the dragon,” Imp whispered.
“I can’t.”
I clenched my fist. I was so done with people being stubborn. “Do you mean you won’t—”
“—He means he can’t,” Tattletale said.
Saint took in a deep breath, then sighed loudly. “I set up the encryption with Dragon’s time locks. I memorized the codes appropriate to key dates. Outside of those key moments, the numbers and calculations are so long and complex you couldn’t hope to decipher it before the encryption shifted to the next phase.”
“When’s the next date?” I asked.
“September twentieth, twenty-thirteen.”
Months from now.
“That was clever,” Imp said.
“What if we used the Number Man?” I suggested.
“Possible,” Tattletale said.
“Yes,” Saint said. “It’s possible. But so is Teacher deciphering it with a cabal of his custom-made thinkers.”
“Shit,” Tattletale said. “Narwhal? May I?”
“Do it.”
“Door me,” Tattletale said. “I need to talk to Number.”
There was a pause, and then a portal opened.
It wasn’t the Number Man who stepped out, but Defiant.
“They took it. Not all of Dragon, but enough. The rest is stored on satellite backup
s.”
“Door?” Tattletale tried. “Take us to Teacher?”
Nothing.
“Blocked,” I said. “That part wasn’t a fake.”
“I know it’s blocked,” Tattletale said. “Shit.”
“Other options, then?” I said. “Someone he left on this side, for his followers to contact? The son?”
Tattletale shook her head. “He wouldn’t have compromised the son as a red herring.”
We were left with our thoughts, trying to brainstorm a solution.
“Defiant?” Imp asked.
He turned to look at her.
“Serious question,” she said, all business. “You can’t lie to me on this.”
“What is it?”
“Robot poontang. How does it rate?”
“Jesus Christ,” Tattletale said.
Defiant didn’t answer. His face was hidden, his body language masked by the armor he wore, but I could somehow sense the hostility radiating off of him.
“Hey. I’m… I’m not one to judge. I’m asking seriously, while the others do the strategic thinking they’re so good at. I’m not necessarily interested in the robot ladies, but I figure I need a guy who’s not going to ignore me. Robots are immune to my power, so I’m just thinking, if I get myself a tin man, well, they say a toy feels better than—”
I reached out and pressed my hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. She doesn’t have all of the necessary filters. I think she was trying to inject some levity into the atmosphere and she failed badly.”
I stared Imp in the eyes as I said that last bit.
Defiant only looked away, expressionless.
“No strategies spring to mind?” Tattletale asked me.
“Only that we might put this off, track down the other threats. So long as we’re dealing with major players, we’re going to run into someone who has a connection to Teacher. Maybe one of them has a way to contact him, or to break into whatever universe he’s hiding in.”
“Wait,” Rachel spoke for what must have been the first time in ten or twenty minutes. “Why?”
“Helping Dragon,” Canary said. Narwhal gave her a sharp look, but Canary held firm.
“I’m usually okay with hanging back, let the others take care of this sort of thing. But I’m not getting this.”
“We need to find Dragon, stop Teacher from seizing control of her or her technology.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s a lunatic with a penchant for murdering heads of state?”
“Does he want the world to end?”
“No,” Tattletale said. “Probably not.”
“Then if we need Dragon’s help, why not let Teacher give us that?”
Imp craned her head to get her mouth free from my hand. “Because it’d be evil Dragon. Black Dragon?”
“It’d be my girlfriend,” Defiant said. “Whatever Saint says, she’s someone I care about deeply. Someone I owe a great deal. We’d be leaving her in the hands of a madman, to be dismantled, rebuilt, altered, tortured, mutilated, whatever you want to call it. And Saint? I do hope you’re not about to comment in any way on the subject. It would not be wise.”
Saint closed his mouth. He grunted instead. “Mm.”
“She was fair to me,” I said. I was thinking of the hug she gave me after I’d left the Undersiders. “There aren’t many people I can name that have been fair or just. There’s the Undersiders, my dad, some of the Chicago Wards. If there was any way to help Dragon, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”
“But,” Defiant said. “You think Hellhound might be right, or partially right.”
Rachel spoke, “When Saint said Dragon could have become dangerous, you were saying you were okay with the possibility, because we really needed her help. Well, maybe she becomes dangerous thanks to Teacher. Can we be okay with that? It wouldn’t be the same person you know, they’d be on the wrong side, too far away even when they’re standing somewhere close, but I’ve dealt with that too. Sometimes there’s bigger shit to deal with.”
She understands more than she lets on. She doesn’t always ‘get’ the simple stuff, but she understands things. She’s not dumb, I thought. She just thinks differently.
“And if Teacher hurts Dragon the person?” Canary asked. “Not Dragon the tool, but the person inside?”
“Then you fuck him up,” Rachel said. “Just like I’d fuck up someone who hurt Bastard, or Taylor.”
“Thanks,” I murmured.
“But, again, if there’s nothing you can do about it, then you grit your teeth and deal,” Rachel finished.
“It’s not a compromise I like,” Defiant said. “But I don’t suppose I have much choice.”
They’re alike in this single-mindedness.
“All jokes aside,” Imp said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t really get to deal with Dragon when she wasn’t driving the psycho foam-spitting, lightning-shooting giant robots that totally counter my power, but she sounded like a cool person.”
“She was. She was cool.”
I didn’t miss the use of the past tense as Defiant spoke.
“So that’s it?” Canary asked. “We just leave her? Hope that Teacher doesn’t do something too horrible?”
“For now,” I said.
Narwhal had her hands on Defiant’s arm, as though she wasn’t sure whether to hold his hand or to hug him, and had decided on some middle ground.
“Okay,” Defiant said. There was a little more conviction in his voice than there had been earlier. I hadn’t noticed its absence. “Okay. But we ask everyone we deal with for options, keep every avenue open.”
“Of course,” I agreed.
He opened his laptop and set it on the desk of the little sheriff’s office. He then turned on the television, reaching up to his glove to get a component that he plugged into the back of the television.
“Next target,” he said. “Yàngbǎn? They’re doing the most damage to our side. People we know and rely on.”
“Not an immediate threat,” Tattletale said.
“Okay,” Defiant said. “Alright. Let’s see. Systems aren’t running optimally. It’s Dragon’s work, and I wasn’t organized when I brought the servers over to Gimel. They aren’t wired together the way Dragon would have done it. Let me see… Priority selection system. Not ideal, a little clumsy, but it’ll give us a way to gauge the biggest threats.”
I turned my eyes to the television, where it showed the various windows, many streaming with data.
Then the priority menu opened. A second’s typing filled the search bar: Threat parameter B+:7+.
The window unfolded, listing all of the serious threats to the inhabitants of the different Earths. Some of the entries were recent, while others hadn’t been updated in hours. Communication between worlds would be difficult until there was more infrastructure, and things weren’t exactly conducive to building infrastructure.
The program kicked into gear, each sub-window suddenly flooding with information. Threat levels, classifications, population estimates, geography, criminal histories, kill counts, atrocity counts, and more. Each new piece of information was added to a series of tabs that appeared beside each relevant section of the image.
“I’d like to pose a question,” Saint said.
“Whatever Teacher’s doing, you enabled it,” Narwhal said. “Nobody here is on your side.”
“When you were talking about masks, you talked about getting caught up in revenge. It’s right. Detrimental. I’m offering assistance.”
“No,” Defiant said.
“If you keep me here, you need to maintain guards. The people with clearance are you and Narwhal, two of the strongest capes around. Bring me to the field, and you have two more capes on your side.”
“No,” Defiant said, once again.
“If it helps, there’s a better chance of me dying horribly out there than in here.”
Defiant didn’t answer.
The windows had stopped updating with updated information, but Defian
t wasn’t moving to check any of it. I then saw the text at the bottom of the screen: Next 12 of 32 additional windows.
Too many threats to fight.
“If Mags is still in prison, you have leverage against me,” Saint said. “D. too. He’s just a friend, but I’d miss him. I’d also be able to offer up my side’s suits. Something for the rogue girl, so she’s a little more durable.”
“Shut up,” Defiant said.
“It makes sense, Defiant,” Narwhal said. “It’s not pretty, but it makes sense.”
“I know it makes sense,” Defiant answered her, not taking his eyes off the laptop, “Let me pretend for just a little while longer that we can leave him locked up for the rest of his natural life.”
“Given the whole Scion ending the world thing,” Imp commented, “that’s not very long.”
“I’d settle for letting him stew for a few days,” Defiant said.
He moved the cursor on the screen without moving his hands. Something in his eyes? His brain?
He went to a tab beside the highest priority threat. It was red, and there was a number inside it: 8.
It was updates. New information that had come up in the last few minutes. Pictures.
Defiant scrolled through the images of the Simurgh, floating in the air above the ocean in the middle of the day. The last one was from just an hour ago, showing her in early evening, utterly still.
The last three images weren’t of the Simurgh.
Bohu. The towering Endbringer. The keeper, the siege tower, the invader.
It was hard to think of the terms that applied to Bohu alone. Tohu and Bohu were usually referred to as the Twins.
But Tohu was nowhere to be seen.
And Bohu had situated herself in the middle of a field. The ground was only beginning to reshape beneath her, twisting into structures, walls, a maze of stone, soil and grass, of arches and pillars without anything to support.
She simply loomed, her impossibly long arms hanging at her side, head slightly bowed, her eyes shut.
The other images showed the same thing from different angles. One from the other side, then another from directly above, showing the alterations to her surroundings as concentric circles.
It was daylight. Going by the times of the photos, she was on the opposite side of the planet, roughly, from the Simurgh.