Worm

by John Mccrae Wildbow

  “Given how that’s gone,” Dovetail said, “She’d be digging her own grave. We all thought the details would leak, but Cauldron’s cleanup is efficient. Anyone who tries to leak details gets… censored.”

  “Killed,” Adamant clarified. “Or disappeared.”

  “It would be unfortunate if she were killed in our custody,” Tagg said. “She’d be safer in the Birdcage.”

  “With the public support she has within the city?” Miss Militia asked. “Good luck getting her there without a fair trial. There’s going to be a lot of eyes on this.”

  “So she’s forcing our hand,” Tagg said. “The question is why.”

  “To oust you,” Miss Militia said.

  “Revenge?” Tagg asked.

  “I don’t know, but I had a conversation with her a few days ago, and she said she had something in mind that she could use against you. I didn’t know what it was before now.”

  “I see,” Tagg said, rubbing his chin.

  Back in the cell, I sighed. I could see the uniform flinch in reaction. She had her fingers in my mouth, feeling beneath my tongue and around the base of my gums. When I didn’t bite like she’d feared, she finished and removed her fingers from my mouth. She removed the gloves, where they joined the first pair she’d donned.

  Miss Militia had told Tagg. I wasn’t surprised; she gave me the impression of someone who followed the letter of the law. As willing as she’d been to open negotiations, she would still do what it took to keep her job and maintain the peace.

  I was maybe a little disappointed. I hadn’t demanded she keep it a secret, and it wasn’t liable to change anything, but it made for a small breach of faith.

  The PRT officer finished off the search by combing my hair with a metal comb that I suspected was sharpened at the points to double as a wood saw. It felt like it, at least. The combing wasn’t done to look tidy, but to search my hair for any foreign matter or tools. I was just glad they hadn’t decided to shave it all off. I wouldn’t have put it past them.

  “Towel is in the bag,” the PRT officer said. She shook a plastic bag to open it, then began putting my clothes inside, leaving me only the underwear.

  I opened the drawstring bag, which was missing a drawstring, then sorted out the contents. A thin towel, a single sheet so thin it was translucent, a pillow and pillowcase that looked to be the same fabric as the mattress, folded double, half the size of a normal pillow. There were prison sweats, black, with the word ‘Villain’ printed across the shoulders and down the right leg in white, with a white t-shirt with the same word in black. There was a small kit with a rubbery, flexible thimble-toothbrush that fit over one finger and a small tube of toothpaste, three tampons with soap, three cardboard applicators, and three pads.

  Not that it mattered. I’d been under enough stress the past few months that I’d missed my periods entirely. I might have panicked, if the timing of it had been different. I was safe. Ninety-nine point nine percent sure I was safe.

  She waited until I had quickly toweled dry, put the underwear and prison sweats on, then handed me my glasses and opened the door. I caught a glimpse of Triumph and Clockblocker before she blocked my line of sight.

  “Sit tight, princess,” she said.

  The door whisked shut, leaving me confined in a space so narrow that I could lay down and touch two opposing walls with toe and outstretched hand. Only the ceiling was out of reach.

  I adjusted the sweats, leaving the front open, headed to the bed, laid down the pillow and stretched out.

  “…Alcott girl,” Tagg was saying. “Is she here?”

  “On her way,” the deputy director answered.

  “Then I think it’s time to settle on a game plan,” the Director said. “I’m Skitter’s target, or one of them. …ssination?”

  “Coercion,” Miss Militia said.

  “I see. Her power extends to the remainder of this building, even now, am I right?”

  “Arthropodokinesis, arthropodovoyance,” the Deputy Director said. “She’s on record as a master eight, thinker one. The thinker classification is key here: ex-Director Piggot noted Skitter can see through her bugs’ eyes.”

  “Can she lipread?” Tagg asked.

  “No idea,” the Deputy Director replied.

  “I said it before,” Miss Militia said. Her voice was a fraction quieter than before, but I couldn’t read her tone with the bugs’ hearing. “She’s resourceful. I’d assume she took the time to learn, if it would expand her capabilities.”

  Director Tagg nodded slowly, then rubbed his chin again. The movement of his wrist against his armrest nearly killed the bug I had in between his dress shirt and jacket. “Agreed. I already informed each of my officers to treat her as though she had a two point classification in every category, or two points higher in cases where she’s already received scores. Brute two, mover two… all the way down the list. It won’t do to underestimate her. Let’s anticipate that she’s put herself in this position to have full access to the building by way of her power. Until further notice, staff aren’t to access any confidential files, we don’t speak on any private matters while within her reach, capes are to remain masked at all times while on the premises, and we’ll devote all remaining resources to preparing for any conflict.”

  Clockblocker and Triumph had entered just as he finished speaking.

  “Conflict?” Clockblocker asked. He took a chair among the other Wards.

  “It remains a possibility. If her teammates were to attack, she’d be positioned to use her power to hamper us, up until we used the nonlethal measures to incapacitate her,” Tagg replied.

  “I could use my power,” Clockblocker said. “Put her on pause, repeat the process until we have other measures in place.”

  “No,” Tagg said. “We need you elsewhere, and each contact gives her a chance to act against you or escape. She’s confined, and we can use countermeasures to incapacitate her if need be.”

  The Director set his elbows on the table and leaned over, covering his mouth with his hands. I missed some of what he said, as his words were muffled. “And … her stew for a while.”

  Ah. So the psychological pressure extended another step. A strip search, a claustrophobic cell, stripping away my possessions, and now he planned to keep me cooped up in here until my composure cracked. Not so effective if I was being put on pause, with only a fraction of the time passing.

  “The alternative,” Assault said, “Is that this is exactly what she wants. She wants us to react.”

  “It’s possible,” Tagg said. “Getting us agitated, getting media attention, having us call in assistance, only to humiliate us further.”

  “You’re bringing in help?” Miss Militia asked.

  “We’ll see,” Tagg said. He touched his face as he spoke, and it muddled his words, “In the …, see to the … I recommended in dealing with her. It would be best if you didn’t use your computer, with her … watching-”

  “No need. I remember what we discussed,” Miss Militia said. “I’ll arrange it.”

  “Make any and all calls outside of her power’s range.”

  “We will,” Miss Militia said.

  “If she’s … fight a war over the city’s heart, let’s make the first move. We contact the media, control … … they have access to, make sure the first thing the public hears is our side. Make sure we make some mention of Accord, and Hellhound’s penchant for chewing up people who trespass on her territory.”

  “I’ll see to it,” the deputy director said.

  Odd, to be so utterly helpless while I watched my enemies maneuver against me. I couldn’t, wouldn’t use my power here. I couldn’t talk to them, or request anything.

  I shifted position, and the metal bands squeaked. I couldn’t find a position to lie down, and wound up sitting. I toweled my hair ineffectually in an attempt to get it dry.

  An officer, out of uniform, appeared at the door to the conference room. “Media already has the story. Vickery, with c
hannel twelve. He’s asking us for final comments before the story goes live.”

  “Is he on the phone right now?”

  “Yes sir.”

  Tagg stood, “Tell him I’ll talk to him when I’m done here, and I’ll make any wait worth his while.”

  “Yes sir.”

  As the uniform left, Tagg remained standing at the end of the table. “Anticipate confrontation, but don’t seek it out. Whatever they have planned, they’ll want to rescue her.”

  “We can seal off the stairwell access with containment foam,” Kid Win spoke up. “Seize the elevator, to prevent access to the cells. If there’s an attack, we shut down the elevator. In the worst case scenario, they can’t get her out before reinforcements arrived from other cities.”

  “You can do it fast?” Tagg asked.

  “Very,” Kid Win said.

  “See to it. Where do things stand with the defense system against the bugs?”

  “Not done, but I could wrap it up soonish with Sere’s help, maybe.”

  “Sere? You’ll cooperate?”

  “Yes,” Sere replied. “Of course.”

  “Then it’s settled. Everyone else, double the number of patrols, form pairs at a bare minimum, focus on recon more than fighting. Track the Undersiders, meet with contacts. Consider this a mid-to-high priority situation, keep that in mind if you’ve any favors to call in and you’re weighing whether you should. Miss Militia? Ready the measures we discussed, and use the Wards. We don’t want them in a direct confrontation, and they can fend for themselves if ambushed.”

  “Yes sir.”

  With that, the meeting was broken up. Tagg headed to his office, the Wards moved to the elevator to head down to their headquarters, below the cell that held me, and the Protectorate headed out on patrols.

  My power’s range was about five blocks. It should have been larger, going by the running theory that feeling ‘trapped’ extended my reach, but I was in here by my own device. I couldn’t necessarily force it.

  Five blocks felt oppressively small, in the grand scheme of things. I was in a six-foot by six-foot cell with thick walls, nothing to read, no television to watch, and only dull metal and chrome to look at. The vague blur of my reflection in the walls was only a dark shadow, the occasional gleam of light of my glasses.

  Around me, the PRT office buzzed like an anthill I’d kicked. People were heading here and there on tasks and missions, reacting, preparing, anticipating some form of attack. The higher-ranking members of the PRT made calls to contacts, prepared, and set security measures in place. PRT uniforms got geared up, off-duty teams were called in and prepared, organized in defensive lines around the building.

  Miss Militia, for her part, sent Flechette on an errand, instructing her to make a phone call and return as soon as possible, and then started organizing the Wards.

  I set bugs on the minute and hour hands of a clock. It was both a curse and a blessing, because it made me acutely aware of how slowly time was passing.

  “Things are going crazy,” Crucible said.

  “This is big,” Clockblocker said.

  “I’m just saying, you’d think things get calmer when the kingpin- queenpin-”

  “Crime lord,” Clockblocker said, “It’s easier.”

  “When the crime lord of the city turns themselves in.”

  Vista spun around in her chair to face Crucible, “She’s probably planning something like getting put in jail, then breaking out and showing us there’s no point in trying to catch her, because we can’t keep her. And she’ll do it with teeny-weeny bugs, make Tagg look bad, maybe get him fired.”

  “Fits,” Clockblocker mused.

  “But she can’t know she’ll escape. What if we did have Dragon and Defiant move her halfway across the country?”

  “She used my power to cut Echidna in half,” Clockblocker said. “She could deal with that, too.”

  “Again with the Echidna thing,” Crucible said. “Can’t you tell-”

  “Classified,” Clockblocker, Kid Win and Vista said, at the same time. Kid Win didn’t even look up from the containment foam dispenser he was tinkering with.

  “Fuck you guys.”

  The screen in my cell flashed yellow, then beeped once, a sound loud enough that it made me jump.

  I stood from the bed and walked around until I faced the screen.

  It stayed yellow for long seconds, then went dark.

  Checking on me?

  I sat back down.

  The minutes were ticking away. Tagg was counting on this confinement wearing on me. Putting me in a different headspace for when he finally decided to come down and grill me. It… was working, but probably not to the degree he was thinking. Being manhandled by the PRT officer had been another attempt at getting me outside of my comfort zone, no doubt a gambit, where any resistance from me would be met by a shout from Triumph, a beating and a use of Clockblocker’s power before the door was shut in my face. A lack of resistance only making me uncomfortable, putting me in my place, for lack of a better phrase.

  But again, it didn’t matter. My concerns were on bigger things, on the space beyond this cell, on everything I needed to achieve.

  A family made their way to the lobby. I assumed them to be tourists, until the guards let them into the building. Two adults and a young girl. The Alcotts.

  Dinah had cut her hair short.

  Reinventing herself? Distancing herself from being Coil’s ‘pet’?

  Tagg met them at the end of the lobby, then ushered them upstairs to the conference room. They were joined by Mrs. Yamada, her cousin Triumph, and Miss Militia.

  Tagg waited until everyone else was seated before sitting at the head of the table.

  He pressed a key, and the monitor in my room beeped. I lay down on the bed before the six seconds were up and the cameras went on.

  When he was done looking in on me, he closed the laptop.

  “She turned herself in,” Dinah said.

  “Your power pick up on that?” Triumph asked.

  “We watched the news,” Dinah’s mom said.

  “When you said sending Defiant and Dragon into the school would virtually guarantee that Skitter was brought into custody,” Tagg said, and his phrasing was odd, as if he were choosing words carefully or there was a tone my bugs’ hearing wasn’t picking up on, “you didn’t say anything about this.”

  I did catch the emphasis on ‘this’ as he finished.

  “This?” Dinah’s father asked.

  “That she’d surrender, nearly a week later. The timing of it, the fact that it could be a ploy.”

  “I didn’t know,” Dinah said.

  “If you have an accusation,” Mr. Alcott said, “Say it outright.”

  “I’m saying your daughter was helping Skitter, not us. That everything seems to suggest she was aiding and abetting a known criminal.”

  “Are you insane?” Mr. Alcott asked. The volume of his voice rose. “Those thoughts don’t even connect!”

  “I don’t necessarily agree with the Director’s line of reasoning, Dinah,” Miss Militia said, “But Skitter’s a known criminal mastermind, with an emphasis on the latter. She’s a capable strategist and a battlefield tactician. As far as we were aware, she was well situated as one of the more powerful villains in North America, judging by her control over this city. In the past week alone, she’s … two villainous organizations and folded a third into her own. There’s no reason for her to surrender. The only way any of this makes sense is if there’s a greater plan at work.”

  “And you think Dinah had something to do with that plan?” Mrs. Alcott asked.

  Mrs. Yamada leaned forward, “It’s very understandable if Dinah feels indebted or attached to Skitter, to Taylor Hebert. She owes her a great deal.”

  Dinah mumbled something. I wasn’t sure if it was even a word.

  Mrs. Yamada continued, “We’re only trying to make sense of this. Wanting to help someone who’s done a great deal for you isn’t
a bad thing, Dinah, understand? But there’s other things going on. Sensitive things. Skitter may unwittingly do a lot of damage or put herself at risk, if she says the wrong things and the wrong people hear.”

  “…,” Dinah said something under her breath.

  “Beg pardon?” Mrs. Yamada asked.

  “Good. If she does a lot of damage, then good.”

  Director Tagg started to speak, but Mrs. Yamada cut him off. “Why is that good, Dinah?”

  “Can’t say. Won’t say.”

  “You are working with her, then,” Tagg said. He shifted position in his chair.

  “No. Yes. Both. I’m working for everyone. I don’t think Skitter’s very happy with me, really. But she’s still here, because I told her to be.”

  “You’ve been in communication with her?” Miss Militia asked. I could tell how much gentler her voice was than Tagg’s.

  “No.”

  “Oh my lord,” Tagg said, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. “I think I’m about to have an aneurysm.”

  Dinah didn’t reply.

  “Do you hate the PRT, Dinah?” Miss Militia asked.

  “No.”

  “Or heroes? Do you blame us for not helping you when you needed it?”

  “No. A little, but that’s not important.”

  “But you want Skitter to do damage? To hurt us?”

  “She’ll do damage, one way or another. If she didn’t come here voluntarily, she probably would have become meaner. It would have turned into a big fight, and she would make a mistake eventually and get brought in. But she decided to surrender, so the same thing happens. I’m glad that happened.”

  “All because we revealed her identity,” Yamada said.

  “Yes.”

  “But we don’t know the ramifications of this ploy of hers,” Miss Militia said.

  “I do,” Dinah replied. “But I’m not telling. And I’m charging ten times as much if you ask me for a number, and then I’ll lie, and I won’t be able to use my power for a while after. And your bosses don’t want that. Not with an Endbringer coming soon.”