Worm

by John Mccrae Wildbow

  “And then Skitter waltzes in and… it’s like, she slithers right past your defenses.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I can’t even put it into words. You run into her, and you can’t even look straight at her without feeling your skin crawl. Like when someone’s got something wrong with their eye and your own eye starts watering… only with her it’s because of the bugs.”

  “Okay.”

  “And then she talks, and she sounds so idealistic, and naive. I don’t know how you sound idealistic and naive with a swarm of cockroaches and bees crawling over your face, but she does. And so you let your guard down. And then she starts making sense. And that was the point where Sab- where Parian started lapping it up.”

  “Did she make sense to you?” Jessica asked.

  “I had a feeling about what was happening, said as much. Now, I don’t know. There’s only two good answers for it.”

  Lily walked over to the door and picked up the satchel she’d brought into the office. She returned to the chair and sat, plopping the satchel down on the coffee table.

  “What is it?” Jessica asked.

  “The thing that lets me know which of the two it was.”

  “And what are those two answers?”

  “Either my gut was right, and Skitter was just feeding us info that Tattletale prepared, just to fuck with us… or Skitter was right.”

  “And this satchel contains the answer?”

  “It does.”

  “May I?” Jessica leaned forward.

  “No.”

  Jessica stopped.

  “I can say no, right? You don’t have the right to search my things.”

  “You can,” Jessica said, leaning back. “And I won’t touch it. What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” Lily said. Her eyes were damp. “Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t change what happened with Parian. Won’t change the choice she made.”

  A tear fell free, and Lily wiped it away with her sleeve.

  “Fuck, so stupid. I go up against Leviathan, go up against the Slaughterhouse Nine, and this is what fucks with my head? This is the moment I want nothing more than to go home, to go home and just crawl under the covers?”

  “You could.”

  “Can’t. I… It’d mean I couldn’t do the costume thing again. Not the same way. Gotta tough it out.”

  Lily didn’t look tough, Jessica observed She looked like a heartbroken, homesick teenager.

  She couldn’t say that, though.

  Jessica stood from her chair and approached the girl. When Lily realized what Jessica was doing, she gratefully accepted the offer of a shoulder to cry on.

  Lily’s cell phone rang. She pulled away, breaking the hug, but she didn’t answer the phone. “Never fucking ends. Didn’t think it would be like this.”

  “Are you going to answer?” Jessica asked.

  “Can’t. Not like this.”

  “May I? I’m not sure if it’s against the rules, but-”

  “Yes. Please. But-” Lily paused, and the cell phone rang again before she spoke, “Don’t mention I was there? With Parian? I wasn’t supposed to be.”

  Jessica nodded and answered. “Mrs. Yamada answering for Flechette.”

  “Miss Militia here. Could you please inform Flechette that Triumph has been hospitalized? Anaphylactic shock.”

  “Which hospital?”

  “Oh god,” Lily said, eyes going wide.

  “The one attached to the PRT headquarters. Flechette knows where.“

  “We’re in the building,” Jessica said. “I understand if you’re busy, but could you contact me in my office, when you have a free moment?”

  “I will.“

  Jessica hung up and returned the cell phone. “The hospital in this building. It’s Triumph.”

  Lily stood, pocketing the phone. “What happened?”

  “Anaphylactic shock,” Jessica answered.

  “Skitter.”

  Jessica didn’t answer.

  Lily wiped the tears from her face. She drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Her expression hardened, her shoulders squaring. There wasn’t a trace of the emotion she’d shown just moments before. “Do I look okay? Presentable?”

  Jessica nodded.

  “Thank you.” Lily was already moving, snatching the satchel from the table, striding for the door. It slammed shut behind her.

  Jessica sat in her chair and tried not to dwell on just why it bothered her that Lily had been able to switch personas so easily. Did the career demand it? Why couldn’t a teenager just be allowed to be vulnerable, at a time they felt vulnerable?

  The phone rang five minutes later.

  “It’s Miss Militia. You wanted me to contact you?”

  “Yes. I just… I’ve seen half your Wards today. They aren’t doing well.”

  “I know,” Miss Militia said.

  “They’re losing faith.”

  “I know.”

  ■

  Saturday, June 18th, 9:01

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Come in?”

  “Hi. I’m Kid Win,” the boy said. He wasn’t in his suit, though. He looked like he’d just come from the shower, and his brown hair was still damp. He extended a hand and Jessica shook it. “Clockblocker said we had a different therapist this week.”

  “Protocols. Can I ask how Triumph’s doing?”

  “He’s okay. Recovered. Assault and some of the others are more upset over it. We’re calling in the big guns.”

  “That must be a relief. To have others pick up the slack. To deferring some responsibility, after having a heavy burden on your shoulders for some time.”

  Kid Win shrugged. “Dunno. I am excited to see Dragon’s stuff.”

  “I can imagine.”

  A silence stretched on. Jessica tried to get a grasp on this boy, reconcile him with the one filled with self-doubt that she’d read about in Mr. Camden’s files.

  “Um. I still don’t really get what we’re supposed to do here,” Kid Win said.

  “We talk. It’s safe territory. A place where you can vent about your issues.”

  “I kind of prefer to work through problems on my own.”

  “It’s very common for tinkers to be introverts. But sometimes we all need a person to bounce ideas off of. Non-tinker ideas. Sorry, it’s a rule I have.”

  Kid Win smiled sheepishly, “I kind of subjected Mr. Kiles to a rant about types of modular equipment, a few days ago. I think he needed therapy by the time I was done.”

  “Do you have any ideas you want to bounce off me? It’s been a rough month.”

  Kid Win shook his head.

  “Nothing?”

  “I don’t know if this is me.”

  “If what’s you?”

  “Needing to bounce ideas off people. Needing therapy. All my problems so far, they’ve stemmed from me trying to fit myself into everyone else’s mold. It’s only when I broke away from that, started thinking on my own, that things started to make sense, all the pieces of the machine working in unison.”

  “Given your tinker background, I’m not sure I can tell: is that a metaphor, or a literal machine?”

  “Metaphor.”

  “Okay. Your life didn’t start making sense until you stopped worrying about what others think. But I’m not being judgmental, and I don’t intend to change your mind about anything. I don’t want to make you conform.”

  “I’m… I still don’t think I want the therapy,” Kid Win said. “Can I opt out?”

  “I’m afraid not. Why don’t you want it?”

  “I’m more comfortable going the other route. I’d rather walk my own path and be a little screwed up, than walk everyone else’s path. I’m okay with thinking in a way that’s outside of the norm. I’ve been happier since I started down that road.”

  “How does that impact your duties with the Wards?”

  “It doesn’t. I mean, I stick to the rules,” Kid Win said, with a measu
re of confidence. “Funny, how it’s easier to do that when I’m being more unconventional.”

  “I’m still not sure I understand. Can you give me an example of what you mean by unconventional?”

  “It’s like… if I did this therapy thing, and I mentioned how I’m not bummed and pissed off about what’s going on with the villains and all that, if I talked about how I’m actually happier now, when everyone else is miserable and stressed, I feel like you’d talk me out of it.”

  “I don’t want to do anything like that.”

  “If you ask me a question,” he asked, “Do I have to answer?”

  “You wouldn’t get in trouble, no. Is there a particular question you don’t want to answer?”

  “It’s not that. I… I guess I’m saying I’m done here.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a pair of headphones. “No offense. But I feel like having thirty minutes to kick back and take some notes on stuff is going to be a hell of a lot better for my mental health than talking. No offense.”

  She was offended, but she didn’t say so.

  ■

  Saturday, June 18th, 11:06

  “Um? Hi?”

  “Please come in. Would you rather me call you Vista or Missy?”

  “Vista.”

  “Vista it is. Nice to meet you.”

  Vista sat down in the armchair. It took her a second to get comfortable. Her feet didn’t touch the ground if she sat all the way back, and she was forced to sit awkwardly upright if she couldn’t lean against the chair back.

  “I heard they called in the big guns.”

  “Dragon.”

  “Pretty big as guns go,” Jessica said.

  “Are you doing that on purpose?”

  “What?”

  “Talking down to me.”

  “No. I didn’t think I was talking down to you.”

  “It sounded condescending.”

  Jessica took a deep breath. “What can I do for you, Vista? Is there anything you want to share?”

  “Have you been here?”

  The non-sequitur caught Jessica off guard. “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “Have you been in Brockton Bay since this all started?”

  “No. I travel for work, and stay in hotels. On the weekends, or when I’m not working, I stay in Boston.”

  “How are you supposed to help when you don’t understand?”

  The question might have sounded accusatory, but it rang as more curious instead.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I’ve been trying to help the others, and a lot of the time I can’t. So how can you do it, when you don’t even know? When you have no idea what we’re talking about?”

  “I went to school for a long time.”

  “Does that teach you how to talk to someone when their mentor’s just been attacked?”

  “Are you talking about Triumph?”

  “Is it why you ask a lot of questions? Because you don’t know?”

  “I ask questions,” Jessica said, “Because only you can give your perspective on things. I know a lot of what’s happened. Some from research, some from your colleagues. But the only opinion and viewpoint that matters to me when you’re in that chair is yours.”

  “Hmph,” Vista huffed..

  “Where do you stand?” Jessica asked. “What’s your view on things? Summing it all up?”

  “Sucks,” Vista said.

  “I can believe it.”

  “When I go on patrol, I can’t go alone, not until I’m fourteen. So I spend the most time with everyone. I hear what they say, and we talk about everything.”

  “If there are doctors and field medics, maybe you’re the equivalent of a field therapist?” Jessica suggested.

  Vista wasn’t amused in the slightest. “Don’t be condescending.”

  “I’m talking the same way I would with anyone else. I promise.”

  There was a pause. Jessica sat quietly, letting it stretch on. In a pinch, a resounding silence could prompt a patient to open up.

  Vista finally said, “Weld said I’m the team’s heart.”

  “I can imagine him saying it.”

  Vista gave her a dirty look. “I couldn’t help Shadow Stalker, but Weld said she was beyond helping.”

  Jessica nodded.

  “…But I think I got through to Clockblocker. For a while I thought he’d fly off the handle at Weld.”

  Jessica almost replied, but kept her mouth shut.

  “I feel like there’s two ideas and they’re playing tug of war with my head,” Vista confessed. She gave Jessica a look, as though she were daring her to say something. “Yeah. One part of me, it’s like… I want us all to stay together. Aegis died. Gallant died. Battery died. Velocity died. Dauntless died. Browbeat left, Armsmaster retired and Shadow Stalker went to jail. And now even after it’s all over, Triumph gets hurt?”

  “I think I’d feel pretty spooked, after all that,” Jessica said. “It’s a lot of people to be losing, in the space of a month.”

  “I just… I want to do what I can to keep us together. Keep people fighting. But..”

  “But what?”

  “The other part of me? The colder part that’s being very logical, very rational? It says that won’t happen. We won’t stay together. Can’t. One by one, horrible things will happen to us. My friends will die, and if they’re lucky, they’ll die fighting. And I’m somehow okay with it. What does it really matter when the world’s supposed to end in two years?”

  “I… I’ve heard about that. It’s pretty strictly limited to the PRT, though, and there hasn’t been any strict confirmation.”

  “We don’t have very good precogs,” Vista said. “Not ones that can see that far ahead and still make sense of it all.”

  “Does it… are you bothered? Looking at things that way? Thinking that your friends will die violently? That the world will end?”

  “No. I’m… very okay with it, when I think about it clinically. It’s the way things are, isn’t it? The way the world works.”

  “I don’t think so,” Jessica confessed.

  “That part of me, that feels like that? It’s telling me I’m going to die. It’s inevitable, it’s soon, and it’ll be horrible,” Vista said. “Therapy that.”

  Was she serious, or was it a challenge?

  “Okay,” Jessica said, somber “I’ll try.”

  “Just like that?” Vista’s eyes widened a little.

  “Just like that. Believe it or not, I’ve handled worse things than a young woman torn between fatalism and wanting to help her friends stick together. I can’t tell you anything about your teammates, but I can arm you with some tools, so your field-therapy is more effective. If that part of you is better equipped, maybe it’ll get a bit of an edge in that tug of war that’s going on inside your head. Sound good?”

  Vista nodded.

  ■

  Sunday, June 19th, 17:39

  Jessica fumbled to find the ringing phone. She had to move the pizza box and the bag of chips to reach it, reclined back on her bed the second she hit the call button, muting the television. The pants she’d put on only for long enough to answer the door and pay the delivery guy slipped to the floor.

  “Yeah,” she said, suppressing a sigh. “No, I’m not busy. Isn’t he Richmond’s patient, though? He’s away? Fuck me. Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”

  ■

  Monday, June 20th, 12:50

  Jessica paced back and forth in her office.

  Somehow, when she’d left after seeing the Wards on Saturday morning, she’d let herself believe that things were largely resolved. Dragon had been en route. Not just one suit, either.

  When she’d heard, on Sunday, that the suits had left the city, unsuccessful in their mission, she’d allowed herself to believe that things, at least, hadn’t gotten worse.

  She’d seen Clockblocker in the morning. There had been a shift conflict with Weld having to watch Vista on her shift, and he’d rescheduled for t
he afternoon.

  Now this. She’d never felt more useless. The Wards had intervened to stop a mad villain from attacking the local debate, and it had all gone tragically wrong. They hadn’t finished tallying the dead.

  The Wards were okay, at least. Physically.

  Nobody came to her office all day. Too much to be done.

  Waiting nervously, restless in her inability to offer any assistance at all in a crisis like this, she headed up to the roof and bummed a cigarette from one of the interns, smoking for the first time since grad school.

  ■

  Tuesday, June 21st, 6:10

  Jessica sat on the edge of the roof, legs dangling. She was on her fifth cigarette.

  “Mrs. Yamada?”

  The voice startled her, because it didn’t sound quite human. She turned around.

  Oh. Wow.

  Eidolon.

  “Could I ask for a few moments of your time?” he asked.

  “I… yes. I should warn you I predominantly work with juveniles.”

  “I know. I’m not looking for therapy.”

  “Oh.”

  He didn’t say anything as he crossed the rooftop. Somewhere downstairs, the local heroes were gathering. The Undersiders were present as well. Another threat. Flechette had been right. It didn’t end.

  She felt a pang of sympathy for her Wards. Vista had asked her how she could dispense advice, when she hadn’t experienced it for herself. The response that Jessica had been unable to frame was just this. That if she did, if she found herself under that same pressure, she wouldn’t have the objectivity. Besides, if she was unbalanced, how could she hope to offer any aid to another person?

  It was a bittersweet thing that nobody had asked her to. She wanted to help, but she was glad she didn’t have to, because she wasn’t sure of her own emotions, now.

  Except Eidolon was asking. One of the most powerful men in the world.

  He sat down beside her. He pulled his hood back, letting it fall around his shoulders, then undid the clasp for his mask. He set the glowing mask down on the edge of the roof, beside her cell phone and cigarettes.

  He looked so average. Heavy cheeks, thinning hair, a big nose, thick brows. More ugly than attractive, but not so much that he’d draw attention walking down the street.

  And still, she felt like it was hard to breathe, as though his very presence sucked the air away. She felt like she might if someone had a gun to her head, with no intention of pulling the trigger. It was there, devastating power that could end her existence in a heartbeat. The fact that he didn’t plan to use it didn’t matter.