Worm

by John Mccrae Wildbow

  15.x (Interlude; Rory Christner)

  “Knock, knock.”

  Triumph turned around. ”Sam.”

  She poked her head around the edge of the door, hand over her eyes. Beautiful. She was blonde and wearing her skintight costume. She had the figure to pull it off where so few really did. The kind of body someone worked for. Her mask was off, tucked into her belt.

  “You decent?” Prism asked, not moving her hand.

  “Yeah.” He finished folding his hospital gown and draped it at the foot of the bed. Not perfect, but it was better than leaving a mess.

  “You’re okay to be up and about?”

  “Yeah,” he said. He didn’t want to reply with a single syllable again, so he turned to face her. He smiled a little. ”I’m tough.”

  “Don’t boast. I was with your family while we watched the paramedics cart you off.”

  “I made it. I don’t heal that much faster than normal, but I do heal faster, I don’t scar, and I don’t tend to suffer long-term injuries.”

  “But you nearly died. Don’t forget.”

  “I definitely won’t forget, believe me,” he said. He balled up his bathrobe and put it in the gym bag that already sat on the bed. ”I’m surprised you came.”

  “We’re dating,” she said.

  “Three dates, and we both agreed it wouldn’t be anything permanent.”

  “You say that and then you invite me to meet your parents.”

  “Because the food at home is better than the rations you’d get anywhere else in this city.” He raised an eyebrow, “But you’re the one checking on me this morning. Didn’t you have a flight?”"

  “A flight’s easy enough to postpone when the Protectorate’s arranging it. I decided I needed to sleep in after being up all night getting x-rayed, Ursa said she was ok with it.”

  “I’m just saying, you didn’t have to stop by.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I wanted to see how Cache was doing. It’s a walk down the hall to see you.”

  “Ouch. Allies before guys?”

  “There’s got to be a better way of saying that.”

  “Probably. How’s he?”

  “Burned badly, but he’s healing. We’ll see how bad the long-term damage is.”

  “And how are you?”

  “Bruised, bit of a limp. Pretty okay overall.”

  “Good,” he smiled. “Want to go get some coffee? I’ve been running on so much caffeine lately that I think I’ll pass out if I don’t get my morning dose. I’ll lend you my shoulder so you don’t have to put too much weight on that leg.”

  “Coffee’s good. But are there any places that are open?”

  “There’s a place in the building.”

  Prism made a face.

  “Not institution coffee. An actual coffee bar as part of the cafeteria.” He slung his bag over one shoulder and offered her an arm.

  “Don’t you need a wheelchair? I thought it was hospital policy to wheel you to the door.”

  “It’s fine. Benefit of having a small hospital as part of the PRT building. Pretty common for us to go straight from here to our offices, and there were apparently issues with photographers taking pictures of heroes in wheelchairs as they left the hospital. Director Piggot arranged things this way for exactly this reason.”

  “Damn. Need to push for something like that in NYC. Our hospital’s off-site.” She put a hand on his shoulder and they began making their way down the hall.

  Ursa Aurora turned the corner and spotted them. Triumph could see the frown lines above the glossy black bear mask she wore, her obvious relief and the quickening of her pace on spotting him. His heart sank. Something’s happened. Or it’s happening.

  “Guys!”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “There’s an issue. Division in the ranks. Looking ugly.”

  “The enemy?”

  She shook her head. ”Our guys. And it’s about you.”

  That caught him off guard. He shook his head a little; no time to get into the particulars. He’d deal with the situation himself. ”Lead the way.”

  Despite the apparent urgency of the situation, they couldn’t run. Prism was hurt and the elevator was the fastest way to their destination. Ursa went ahead to press the button while Triumph helped Prism limp her way there.

  “Gentler,” she hissed, after setting too much weight on her bad leg.

  “Sorry.”

  “I hate this, being injured,” Prism mumbled.

  “It’s not too serious?”

  “No. Skitter tethered me to the roof so I dropped halfway, stopped, then cut the line so I’d drop the rest of the way. Landed on my side. But being hobbled like this, it brings back bad memories.”

  He turned to Ursa as they approached the elevators. ”Press both buttons at the same time, three times in a row for the emergency use.”

  Ursa did as he’d suggested, and the button began alternately flashing yellow and red. The doors opened almost immediately afterward and they gathered inside. Ursa hit the button for the basement floor: the Wards’ headquarters.

  He glanced at her teammate. It struck him that it was inappropriate to ask, but it also felt like Prism was inviting the question. “Would it be bad form for me to ask? About the bad memories?”

  Prism shook her head. ”Ursa knows, and I’ve been working on getting over it. I already mentioned my history in gymnastics. My dad’s a coach, had spent his entire life pushing me and my siblings to be on the Olympic level. I sometimes thought it was the only reason he had kids. I was pretty close to qualifying when I tore my ACL.”

  “Ouch. You didn’t re-injure it last night?”

  She shook her head, “Hip, not knee. Looking back, I think I screwed up my knee back then because my dad had pushed me too hard and too fast. But I blamed myself. I got depressed, stayed home instead of going to the gym. Once dad and the sibs realized I wasn’t going to come along anymore, I started to get left out of family events, left behind when they went out to eat after training. It doesn’t sound like that huge a deal, but gymnastics had become a core part of my life, and it was gone. Everything fell apart.”

  “I’m sorry. I know better than to say that’s not significant. Believe me. I’ve been there.”

  She shrugged. ”I guess I became my own family. Found another pillar to build my life around. But even if I have a high pain tolerance, having an injury like this reminds me of those days. Puts me in a bad mood for a while. So I’m sorry if I’m irritable.”

  “I can deal.”

  They’d gone out as friends, first, because they both had similar backgrounds, and segued into a casual relationship. They had both been athletes, once upon a time. She was an ex-gymnast, he had been a baseball player. She’d triggered because of the aftermath of a career-ending injury. He’d acquired his powers because he’d been perpetually second place, doomed to miss his chance, a mere hair from a career in the major league.

  He knew how devastating that stuff could be when you’d made the sacrifices, given up most of your adolescence to succeed at something, only to fall short.

  He’d turned to his dad for help, and his dad had delivered a small vial that was supposedly designed to force a state equivalent to a trigger event, without the necessary trauma. Irony had reared her ugly head when the major leagues had mandated MRI scans to check for powers and maintain the integrity of the game, mere months after he’d gained athletic ability that would let him compete.

  In a way, he was glad. Not that he had been back then. He’d been spoiled, a brat, entitled. He was relieved he hadn’t continued down that road, that he’d found a career where he was on something of an even playing field with his peers.

  Not that things were perfect.

  He could hear the arguing the second the elevator doors parted.

  Miss Militia, Weld and Kid Win stood on one side of the room. Assault was on the other side, perched on the edge of the terminal, with Clockblocker, Chariot and Vista at his
side.

  “-vigilantism!” Miss Militia’s voice was tight with barely controlled anger.

  “There has to be an authority for us to ignore for us be vigilantes,” Assault said. His voice was calmer, but his body language wasn’t. He was tense, the hand that wasn’t gripping the edge of the console was clenched into a fist. ”There isn’t. Nobody’s stepping up to enforce anything.”

  “The PRT stands. All of the watchdogs are in place,” Miss Militia spoke. ”You go out and do something without an official a-ok and people are going to notice that we’re acting completely outside of the principles and rules the Protectorate stands for.”

  “How?” Assault countered. ”Media? In case you haven’t noticed, a full third of this city is still lacking power. The reporters that have stuck around this long are too tired and too low on resources to follow along.”

  “Cell cameras,” Miss Militia said. ”People are watching and recording us every step of the way.”

  “We’ll be covert. I’m talking a fast, hard hitting strike. Attack is always preferable over defense.

  “You’re talking revenge,” Triumph spoke. He let Ursa support Prism and stepped forward to join the ‘discussion’.

  “Revenge, justice, it’s a pretty thin line. But sure. We can call it that,” Assault said, leaning back a little. He smiled a little at Miss Militia; there was now one more person on his side of the argument.

  Triumph glanced around the room. Flechette, Ursa and Prism weren’t taking a side. They weren’t local, and the politics here would be intimidating.

  Still, Triumph glanced at Flechette. She’s been around a few weeks. She should feel confident about voicing an opinion.

  Was she being neutral, or was she undecided? Or was there another factor at play?

  He felt so disconnected from the Wards, these days. He barely recognized his old team. Vista, Kid Win, Clockblocker… he’d been their captain, not so long ago.

  Miss Militia and Assault were looking at him, waiting for him to speak. From Assault’s confidence, there was no doubt he expected Triumph to take his side.

  Instead, he commented, “Just going by what I’ve heard, Assault’s arguing we should take the fight to the enemy? Without Piggot’s consent?”

  “Piggot has told us to stand down,” Miss Militia spoke. ”So we’d be going against her directive.”

  “They attacked one of our own. Again,” Assault said. ”And they broke a cardinal rule. They attacked family. You don’t unmask a cape, and if you happen to discover their secret identity, you don’t go after their family.”

  “The family’s testimony suggests that wasn’t deliberate. Skitter informed Trickster partway through,” Weld said.

  Clockblocker cut in, “But we can assume she found out beforehand. Unless you’re going to suggest she figured it out on her own?”

  “No,” Weld replied. ”It makes sense. I suspect Tattletale could find out something like that. I’d even believe she’s found out all of our identities by now. But I’m saying Trickster wasn’t in the know, and he’s the person who made the conscious decision to attack Triumph’s sister.”

  “They’ve broken other unspoken rules,” Assault said, looking at Triumph and Miss Militia rather than the junior members. ”Shatterbird? Are we really going to let that one slide?”

  “Anything goes when fighting the Nine,” Miss Militia said.

  “The Nine are gone. He’s still breaking the rules. He kidnapped and took control of Shadow Stalker. He’s affected civilians. Criminals, admittedly, but still civilians.”

  “And the people in charge know that,” Miss Militia said. ”If they decide that it’s crossing the line, we can act decisively.”

  “People in suits,” Assault said. ”They sit in offices with padded chairs, viewing everything through the filter of clinical, tidy paperwork. They don’t know what it is to be in the field, to face the risk of death or fates worse than death in the service of this city.”

  If Miss Militia had been getting ready for a response, she hesitated when Assault said ‘fates worse than death’, his voice revealing a tremor of emotion.

  Triumph could imagine the scene as he’d glimpsed it: Battery on her deathbed, wasting away from a poison designed to be cruel rather than efficient. But as slow as it had worked, it had proved incurable.

  Assault went on, and there was no hint of the earlier emotion in his voice. Rather, he sounded dangerously like a leader. ”If we don’t act on this, if we don’t move on the Undersiders and the Travelers, then we’re saying that’s alright. We’re saying it’s okay to do those same things to us.”

  “You’d be violating your probationary status on the team,” Miss Militia said, quiet. ”Going against orders.”

  “My joining the Protectorate was conditional on being on the same team as Battery,” Assault replied. He met Miss Militia’s eyes with a level stare, as if challenging her to press the issue.

  There was no doubt what was at the root of Assault’s anger. Miss Militia, by contrast, was the leader of the Protectorate because of her unwavering loyalty and willingness to not only abide by the rules but to fight for them. Triumph could understand why they’d taken the positions they had.

  He glanced at the others. Weld was a company man, so to speak, and the PRT was his family, after a fashion. It made sense that he’d stand by the rules imposed by the PRT, the Protectorate and the Wards. Clockblocker had always chafed under the yoke of the institution, and Chariot could easily be the same. Most Wards went through a phase like that, feeling the pressures, the strict rules, realizing that the Wards existed in part to keep them out of the worst of things, while aching to go out and be a hero. Clockblocker had never entirely grown out of it.

  It could be that Chariot’s stance here was what Coil wanted. Triumph couldn’t forget that Chariot was an undercover operative, planted by the supervillain to gather information.

  No, none of those calls surprised him. The outliers, the ones that caught him off guard…

  “Vista, I didn’t think you’d be wanting to break the rules like this,” he commented. Before she could reply, he said, “And Kid Win. I took you for more of a rebel.”

  “I’m tired of losing people,” Vista said. ”We lost Gallant. Aegis too, and Velocity, Dauntless, Battery…”

  “Yeah. And Shadow Stalker,” Triumph offered.

  “She left,” Clockblocker said.

  “I’d still consider her a casualty,” Triumph said. ”We might not have liked her, but she was one of us, and the enemy basically took her from us.”

  “I don’t want to forget Glory Girl and Panacea,” Clockblocker said. ”She and her sister did me a life-changing favor. We don’t know the whole story there, but the Undersiders or the Nine had to have played a part in how that unfolded. But that’s one hell of a list of names. There’s less of us than there are them, and we’re losing. Not just fights, but we’re losing this war. Don’t you see that?”

  “I see it,” Miss Militia said, her voice particularly quiet compared to her raised volume earlier. ”But that’s exactly why I’m telling you not to do this. The second we make this into an actual war, we change it from a losing fight to an outright defeat. At best everyone involved would lose out, our enemies included. I don’t want that.”

  “You’re making it sound more complicated than it is,” Assault said. ”I’m talking a quick, hard hitting strike against one of their territories. One of the master-classifications would be a good bet. I’d suggest Regent, but Shatterbird is too big a complication. Better to take out Hellhound or Skitter. Doing either would cut their tactical options down by a third, and it could gain us a hostage to leverage against the others.”

  “Not Tattletale?” Clockblocker asked.

  Assault shook his head. ”She’d know we were coming. It’s in Armsmaster’s notes from his first meeting with Skitter. It’s why they’re so elusive as a group, and that’s why it’s so crucial we strike first, while they’re still split up in individual terr
itories. Grue, Trickster, Genesis or Imp would escape too readily, and confronting Ballistic or Sundancer would place our side at too much risk.”

  “They’d retaliate,” Miss Militia said, “And we’d almost certainly lose. We’re roughly matched in numbers, we’re outmatched in raw firepower and they have the edge on us in terms of tactical knowledge.”

  “So we’re supposed to sit here and take it?” Clockblocker asked. ”If my family gets attacked next time, I don’t think my dad’s about to haul out a shotgun to defend himself.”

  “That’s not exactly how it played out,” Triumph said. ”But no. I don’t think we should take it, and I don’t think we should attack. Miss Militia’s right.”

  Assault’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

  “Thank you,” Miss Militia said. ”I understand that some of you are upset. We’re all upset. We’re all concerned about our loved ones, about the current state of things in the city and about possibly being captured and controlled by Regent. But we’re only going to succeed with the support of the Protectorate as a whole, and we’ll only have that if we stick to the rules.”

  “Well said,” Director Piggot spoke.

  All heads turned. Director Piggot stood in the doorway that led to the stairwell.

  “Director,” Assault said. He didn’t look fazed by the woman’s appearance.

  “I hope you’ll hear me out before committing to a plan of action?”

  “Of course.” Assault leaned back, folding his arms.

  “Then let me introduce our visitors.” Piggot stepped to one side, shifting her prodigious weight out of the way of the door.

  There were two of them, each covered head to toe in power armor that was similar in theme, if not in design. It was heavy duty stuff, and even without tinker abilities, Triumph could admire it as something exceptionally well made.

  They were the same height, a man and a woman. The man held a spear that was no less than fifteen feet long, with a two-pronged tip on the end. The woman wore something that looked to be a modified jetpack, divided into two pieces that each had to weigh as much as she did. The exhaust jets fanned out to either side of her, like the feathers of a bird’s outstretched wings.