by wildbow
“I believe,” Lung growled, his voice strangely thin despite his size, with his partially healed injury, “this would be a good time.”
“He’s not moving,” Canary said.
“His attention is consumed,” the Number Man said. “We’re insignificant, compared to… this.”
“A healing power,” I said. I watched as Scion reached out for another vial. He held it next to the one he’d already retrieved.
I could almost sense something from him. Confusion?
“There aren’t any healing powers,” the Doctor answered. We continued backing away. “When they crop up, it’s a fluke, pure chance, an extension of another ability with a different focus.”
“A tinker power,” I said.
“A tinker power would take time,” Cuff said.
“A tinker power would be flexible enough to cover multiple bases,” I said. “One of which could potentially get us out of here.”
“Perhaps,” the Doctor said. “But I would like to remind you all what happens when someone undergoes their trigger event, natural or induced. You would be rendered comatose.”
“My dogs can carry us,” Rachel said.
“Point conceded,” the Doctor replied. We were moving faster now, with Scion not making a move. “But there is another concern. The trigger event might draw his attention.”
Which would spell out our deaths, I thought.
“Let us put some distance between ourselves and the being,” the Doctor said. “One thousand feet seems like the safest bet.”
A thousand feet, I thought. “Is this safehouse even that big?”
“Certainly,” the Doctor said. “William.”
“Doctor,” Manton said.
“I’m going to ask you to position Siberian up here. We’ll see if she can do any damage.”
“Yes,” Manton agreed.
The Siberian stepped forward.
Manton leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
Out of sync. Doesn’t fit. Like Number Man was complaining about with his clones.
But I was happy to have someone expendable standing guard.
We turned to leave, and I used my bugs to watch the scene, perching them around the Siberian, turning their cloudy, distorted senses on the golden man.
I could infer, rather than see, that he dropped a vial. It hit the ground and shattered, the contents splashing out onto the ground and the walls. He reached for another.
He held it for only seconds before letting both of the vials in his hands fall and shatter on the concrete floor. He rose in the air to float over the mess, reaching out for more vials.
“Here,” the Doctor said, as we reached the next floor. “These were the vials we were trying to find. I sent Contessa to find recipients for each of them. I kept only three.”
There was a table with the vials set in what appeared to be a centrifuge. The liquid inside was nearly black.
“Why these?” I asked.
“There is a foreign agent in them. The entity altered each power he granted to give them certain restrictions. No power would be able to truly affect him, no power would cross the boundaries he set in dimension, or in affecting other powers. There are no alterations to the elements in these, only to the accompanying abilities, or complimentary powers. The powers granted from these vials don’t cause the recipients to forget the visions they see. Eidolon was one such case. The extreme deviant cases on the special containment floor make up much of the remainder.”
“Extreme deviants,” Sveta said.
“I’ll need to dilute this, or I’ll be no use to anyone. The Balance formula, Number Man?”
“Where?” he asked.
“The fridge,” she said. She leaned over the table, gazing at the vials. “Extreme deviants. Some had only a trace of the foreign element, which we discovered later, others had known quantities. Others… perhaps they received some and we weren’t aware or able to check after the fact. Deviants like our friend in the ball here—”
“Sveta,” Sveta said. “Garotte was the name you gave me, when I refused to take one for myself. I was recipient one-six-one-six. And I’m not your friend, Doctor. I like to think the best of people, but I think you’re far, far gone.”
“—Sveta,” the Doctor said. “Deviants like Sveta are a rare thing, particularly with the Balance formula in the mix. Extreme deviants form a subset within a subset, with physical mutations that go well out of bounds of any solid reference point we have here on Earth.”
“Why?” Golem asked.
The Doctor took the vial from the Number Man. It was clear. She used a funnel and tongs to pour the contents of the clear vial into the darker vial. Though both vials were nearly full, the mixture didn’t cause any overflow. The color found a middle ground. A deep red.
She turned it around, then clamped it in between two rubber bumpers. She hit a button on the side of the table, and it began shaking, like a paint machine. “Two minutes. Best freshly shaken, so the layers don’t separate. William? Status?”
“He’s floating down the hallway, knocking the vials to the ground.”
“Time?”
“Rate he’s traveling… I’d say a few minutes. Three or four.”
“We’ll finish the mixing and then run,” the Doctor said. She stared at the vial. “This may be the closest you get to your revenge, Sveta. I’m left with no choice, and chances are good I’ll change physically, even with the Balance formula.”
“You keep referring to that,” I said. “What is it?”
“I’ve come to believe it’s the opposite of what we had with the foreign agent. One power, or a collection of powers, calibrated in advance by the entity, with humans in mind. By mixing it into other vials, we borrow this particular quality, at the cost of having more physical changes with any such power we grant. We retain humanity more easily, safeguarding against deviant cases.”
“You found a way to collect powers,” Golem said.
“In a sense,” the Doctor said. She sighed heavily. “You came for a reason.”
“I did,” I said. “We did. For answers, for insights on the entity, and because we need Doormaker if we’re going to win this fight against Scion.”
The Doctor looked at Doormaker, who was being held by two Harbingers. “We’d hoped to use Doormaker in conjunction with Khonsu, for a mobile force that could safely pressure the entity. A last measure.”
“You had an awful lot of plans,” I said.
“We did. I can tell you about them, or I can answer your questions. What information do you desire, Weaver? What insights on the entity could win this for us?”
I swallowed.
“Second Triggers,” I said.
The Doctor frowned. “Too many people have come to me about that. It’s a promise of more power that manifests just often enough to tantalize, infrequently enough to leave countless disappointed.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“When powers manifest, they come with safeguards. The same programmed safeguards that I seek to circumvent or ignore with these foreign agents.” She tapped the desk. “The agent, the power, seeks to protect the host, so it prevents the host from harming itself. It’s a crude measure, one the agent applied with broad, general strokes. Not every agent can receive individual attention, and the ones that do, I believe, were more hampered than not. With the second trigger, the agent reaches out, makes contact with others, networks and draws on collective information to refine the restrictions and save its host.”
“Is it always around other parahumans, then?”
“Not always, but frequently. Circumstances tend to mirror the original trigger event. The resulting power ignores restrictions that were previously set.”
The shaking of the machine began to slow.
“You’re involved with a lot of powerful parahumans,” I said. “Do you have a means of causing second triggers?”
“We’ve done it for several clients in the past, with varying degrees of success. Becau
se of the time it takes, and the arrangements involved, we put a high premium on it. We’ve had more clients die trying to collect the funds for this premium than we’ve had clients go through with the procedure,” she said.
“A catch twenty-two, if you will,” the Number Man said. “If you’re powerful enough to have the necessary funds, then you don’t need a second trigger to thrive. If you need a second trigger, you lack the funds.”
“I get the feeling you didn’t devote much attention to this,” Golem said. “Why not?”
“Because reducing the restrictions that are in place only gives us a power that has less restrictions, when we need powers with none. We needed to luck into a formula that had an applicable power as well as a whole, untainted foreign power within, and we needed it in a vehicle we could use, an individual without crippling mental, psychological, emotional or physical deviations. Eidolon was that, and Eidolon had a fatal flaw in the end.”
I nodded, biting my lip.
“We should go,” the Doctor said. “Where is Scion?”
“Still upstairs,” Manton said, pointing at the ceiling, off to the right. “He’s gone still. He’s got vials in his hands again.”
The Doctor nodded. “This way. Just a little further down, and I’ll ingest this. With luck, we’ll have a weapon or a way out.”
“What about these vials?” I asked.
“The powers wouldn’t help.”
“If they’re special, if they could give us an answer—”
“The powers are poor,” the Doctor said. “Foreign, yes, but poor. When we tested these, we got a defensive power utilizing warped space and a power that allows one to take over a nearby parahuman’s mind, body and powers automatically on death. The one I hold should have attack or mover capabilities, if not both.”
She input a code by the door, and William Manton set about opening it. Another wheel-lock.
“What would happen if a person with powers drank one?” I asked.
“Nothing at all,” the Doctor said. “Believe me, we’ve tried hybridizing natural and Cauldron capes. You might as well drink water, for much the same effect.”
I nodded, but I didn’t take my eyes off the table.
“You hoped for a way to increase your powers? Or the powers of everyone here?” The Doctor asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Downstairs,” she said. “We’ll see.”
I nodded. I used my flight pack to travel down the stairs more quickly.
Ever downward. Descending.
“He’s coming,” Manton said. “There’s nothing left between us to slow him down. I’m—the Siberian will fight now.”
The Doctor nodded.
I could sense the two meeting. The Siberian dashing forward. Scion apparently uncaring.
The Siberian cleaved deep. The way her body intersected Scion, it was like ghosts fighting.
Tattletale says he closes wounds as fast as they appear, so fast our senses can’t perceive it.
If that was so, the Siberian was doing horrific amounts of damage. She passed bodily through him, and glowing motes followed her as she emerged on the other side, landing and wheeling around.
“Intersect him,” I said. “It’ll burn through his reserves.”
Manton nodded.
“Number Man,” the Doctor said. “The—”
“EM readers?”
“EM readers.”
The Number Man ducked into a side corridor.
“This is it,” the Doctor said. She pointed down. “The last room. Lowest room in the complex.”
I could see it, a flight down. A heavy door, vaultlike.
“Then it is a dead end,” Lung rumbled.
“Fuck,” Imp said. “Fuck it, fuck damn shit.”
We reached the door, and Lung set his claws on the wheel to open the door. He’d just started turning when the Number Man appeared, a paddle-like wand in each hand.
Manton took one of the paddles.
The Siberian was standing in the middle of Scion, their bodies overlapping. If her presence tore into him, then every passing fraction of a second was a good one-hundred and some pounds of flesh being eaten away. Depending on how fast he regenerated, it could be vast quantities. Turning a strength into a weakness.
But he didn’t seem to care. He floated there, his back turned to the doorway we’d used to travel to the next floor down, staring at the rows of vials. Uncaring about the Siberian’s sustained assault.
“He doesn’t care,” I murmured.
The Doctor and the Number Man looked up from the paddle the Number Man had in hand. He was apparently calibrating it.
“Scion doesn’t care that Siberian’s tearing him up,” I clarified.
“Of course he doesn’t,” the Doctor said. “He’s alien. He doesn’t have human feelings.”
“He’s a force of nature,” Number Man said.
I shook my head. “No. Human feelings are why he’s a danger. Without them, he’d be some nebulous threat, three hundred years in the future. But he’s lashing out, trying to find himself, and that’s why he’s dangerous.”
The Number man waved the wand around my head, then frowned. He waved it around his own head, read the digital display, then tried the Doctor. He tried waving it at Lung, but Lung swatted at it.
“He’s alien above all else. Abstract.” the Doctor said. Her eyes fell on the vial. “It’s through alien, abstract methods we’ll defeat him, if it’s even possible.”
“The door is stuck,” Lung said.
“The way the column has settled may have put undue stress on this part of the architecture,” Number Man said. “If you’d let me—”
“I know,” the Doctor said. “If I’d let you have a hand in designing this… but you were new to the team. I didn’t yet trust you with sensitive matters.”
Number Man nodded, taking it as something matter-of-fact.
Lung heaved on the door, putting all of his superhuman strength behind it. It barely budged.
“Take her,” Alexandria said.
Lung took Gully’s body.
Alexandria pushed. A crack appeared in the ceiling, dust showering down on top of us.
“Structural,” Number Man said. “If we open it, it’ll cave in on us.”
“This does not concern me,” Lung said. “Stand back, and I will push my way through.”
Golem shook his head. “Eventually, but what about the time it takes to burrow through? We can’t afford it.”
The Doctor was looking down at the vial.
“If we’re going to win this,” I said, “I want it to be because of our strength, not an abstract one. And I know that sounds corny.”
“A nice sentiment,” the Number Man said. “But I’m afraid that power you’re digging for is out of your reach, Weaver.”
I looked at him.
“Or it’s already in your reach. You can’t have a second trigger because you already had one,” he said.
I blinked.
“Given the signature, it’s very possible you had two trigger events in quick succession. Not uncommon. The horror of manifesting your power, it prompted another trigger.”
“No,” I said. “There’s got to be something.”
“If there is, a second trigger event isn’t it,” the Number Man said. “I can check your allies, but we can’t do much more. We used to rely on Contessa’s power to determine the exact event needed for a second trigger.”
I nodded numbly.
“I’m sorry,” Imp said.
I shook my head. I’d staked hopes on this, despite promises to myself that I wouldn’t.
Beside me, the Doctor removed the black rubber cork from the vial.
The Siberian appeared beside us in the same instant. Manton spoke, “He finally took action and struck my Siberian.”
I could sense Scion above. Staring at the corridor with the vials.
He reached out, and a golden light flared. It was like a flicker of the lights, and it was so vivid I
thought for a second I was seeing it with my own eyes.
The vials each shattered simultaneously.
Glass and fluids rained down onto the floor. My bugs were swamped all along the corridor.
Scion moved, killing my bugs on contact as he headed down to the next floor.
With my bugs, I could sense Number Man letting the wand go. It clattered to the stairs below him. “Broken.”
Broken?
Lung created flame for us to see by.
The Doctor stood there, her hands mangled where she’d been holding the vial, bleeding wounds at her throat.
“Your hands,” Manton said.
She shook her head. “S—superficial.”
There was a pause.
“Did you drink any?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Barely any.”
I looked down at the stairs. Lap it up?
No. Something Skidmark or Newter had said, once upon a time. My first introduction to the vials.
And she’d said she needed a whole power. Would a partial dose only give half a power? A distorted one?
I could only guess.
“Okay,” I said. “Siberian… make us a path around the door.”
Manton nodded, as if I’d talked to him. Siberian walked into the wall, her power crushing stone. The rest of us moved up the stairwell, closer to Scion.
“Guys,” Imp said.
Lung had to move to cast the light on her.
She held Sveta’s sphere. Fractures marked the entire surface, and they spread with every passing second.
I withdrew my crystal-encased knife. “Lung?”
He took hold of it with one hand, nearly singing me with the heat of the flame that had surrounded the limb moments ago. He crushed it, winced as the knife ate through the claw at the end of his thumb.
I gingerly took hold of the knife, switched the settings to remove the disintegration effect, then started it up again.
It took a full four seconds. The calibration was off, stuff clogged. Not a big surprise.
“Halfway,” Manton said. “No sign of collapse.”