Worm

by John Mccrae Wildbow

  I knew it wasn’t time for it, that I should let that sink in, but people were talking more in the back of the crowd, jostling or getting restless.

  “So let’s say there’s an endbringer attack,” I said. “Time to decide. Do you volunteer?”

  Nobody moved.

  “We need volunteers, or it’s over,” I said. “Hero or villain.”

  Maggie put her hand up.

  “One,” I said. “Not enough.”

  Others raised their hands in turn. Five volunteers out of the eight who were still in the game. Ned was among them.

  “Roll,” I said. I handed over the dice, “One in four chance you die.”

  The kids rolled, one by one.

  Three dead.

  “You rigged the system,” Ned said, a little petulant.

  “I’m being a little harsh,” I said, “But this is it. It sounds dumb, but being a cape means beating the odds, again and again. If you’re a villain? The reward is pretty damn good, but the risk is bigger. You saw how few villains actually survived intact. Even then, a lot of them lost their money, or got hurt.”

  I glanced around the group. “That’s my pitch. Take it from someone who’s been on both sides. Being on the side of good? It’s safer, a hell of a lot smarter. Know that there’s always going to be someone out there that’s stronger, and-”

  The ringing of phones interrupted me. Multiple phones, all at once, both the Wards and Mrs. Yamada.

  A sick feeling welled in my gut. The Wards looked at their phones. Mrs. Yamada was the only one to raise hers to her ear. I closed my eyes.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Yamada said. “You’re coming here? Okay. Yes. Of course. The Boston Wards are here. Yes.”

  I felt like my chest was clenching around my heart. The kids had fallen silent.

  “Weaver,” Mrs. Yamada said.

  My voice was quiet, “I’m not ready. My new stuff, it’s not prepared.”

  “Defiant says he has your old costume, he can spray it white, if you want, swap out the lenses. It won’t be pretty, but it’ll be better than what they gave you.”

  I opened my eyes. The kids were wide eyed.

  “Which one is it?” I asked her.

  “Behemoth. Seismic activity building in New Delhi. He hasn’t appeared yet.”

  I nodded.

  “You don’t have to go,” she said.

  I shook my head. I thought of the Undersiders. “I’ll go. Have to.”

  “Can I hitch a ride?” Reynard asked. “At least to the HQ?”

  I nodded, glad for the solidarity. I wasn’t in this alone. “Probably.”

  I looked at the Wards, could see how some were standing taller, grim, fatalistic, but confident in their own way. Others averted their eyes. Shame, that they weren’t coming.

  “Hey,” Ned said.

  I glanced at him.

  “Is it really a one in four chance?” he asked.

  “Those are the numbers they gave me when I fought Leviathan,” I said. “They probably won’t be so generous this time around.”

  “They call him the herokiller,” Reynard added.

  That thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. We’re not ready. None of us. We’re still reeling from Echidna, from Alexandria.

  The kids who were still in the field fled as three Dragon suits set down, crossing the park to rejoin the teachers who’d been sitting in the shade. Doors opened and ramps lowered to welcome us into the dark interiors.

  Defiant and Dragon were inside the Pendragon, waiting for me, Defiant carrying my Skitter costume, Dragon holding a new back compartment, wings extended, two mechanical limbs sticking out each side.

  It wasn’t everything I’d asked for, but it was something.

  I glanced back at the kids. The ones who hadn’t cleared the way for the crafts to land in the park were still at the tables, along with one or two Wards who apparently weren’t coming.

  “Still owe you that prize,” I said. My voice sounded funny. “Was going to con Defiant here into giving you a ride.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” a girl said. She had the most butterflies. “Really.”

  I nodded.

  It had meant something to me after all, getting the chance to do this. I met Mrs. Yamada’s eyes, nodded.

  She nodded back.

  Gathering the Skitter costume and the lightweight jetpack into my arms, I watched the kids as the doors slid closed.

  None of them wished us luck.

  Maybe we didn’t need any further reminders about our chances.

  23.05

  The waiting was the worst part.

  My restlessness was cranked up to eleven, cooped up in the craft with Defiant and Dragon, waiting to cross half the world. Dragon was focused on piloting the craft, unable to speak, in any event. Defiant was busy communicating, which translated to being inaudible as he kept the vents of his mask closed. From the images on the monitor, he was clearly tracking who was coming, our forces, the Endbringer and the high-risk areas.

  I watched for a time, saw the cape count rise. A screen filled with lines of text, noting the hero teams who had committed to the fight, numbers beside them to tally the total numbers.

  For every group that joined, I felt myself growing a touch more nervous. More participants in the fight was a good thing, but… so many small teams. I couldn’t read half of the names of the groups on the list, but there was nothing to suggest it was organized.

  I shifted my weight, sat, stood, stretched.

  Agony.

  Being in a prison, I didn’t have the luxury of a full wardrobe, certainly not the bike shorts and tank top I tended to wear beneath my costume. I had only underwear, and I needed to change into the new costume. I could have waited, but I wanted to hit the ground running.

  Worse, the boxes with my butterflies within were in one of the crafts that followed just behind us, carrying a full contingent of capes.

  But Defiant was engrossed in the monitors, and that left me debating the merits of modesty over being ready.

  I stripped down, pulling on my old costume. They’d said something about painting it, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to wait for that. I left the major armor components off.

  The pack they’d given me, it was the wrong color to match with the armor. I’d be sacrificing the ability to keep things inside my utility compartment, but I suspected this would make up for that. There were built-in wings that folded at a juncture, like dragonfly wings with joints, and there were the ‘arms’. The controls seemed to be worked into gloves I was supposed to wear beneath my costume.

  I found that there was a hatch, but it was small, barely larger than my hand, and the space was shallow. I sent bugs inside to explore, and found a series of fine switches.

  “Redundant controls,” Defiant said.

  I looked up. He’d turned away from the monitors.

  “If your glove gets damaged, you’ve got the controls built into the pack itself. If the pack gets damaged, you have the gloves. If both are damaged, you’re not likely to be in a state to fly. It might take getting used to, but this will give you the ability to move faster if you need it, and it’s very possible you’ll need it this afternoon.”

  “You built it so fast. I wasn’t with Mrs. Yamada for even two hours, and you put this together?”

  “It’s made using components and technology we already have. Four antigravity panels, like those Kid Win had in his hoverboard,” Defiant said, angling his hand to indicate the general placement. One at the very bottom, one above that, facing more back than down, and two more at angles on either side.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “That gives you lift, the ability to offset gravity or momentum in a given direction, but the acceleration is low. Expect zero to thirty miles an hour over eight seconds. It won’t carry you out of the way of trouble, understand? It won’t stop you if you’re moving at terminal velocity, unless you’re falling a long way.”

  I nodded.

  “The wings are a modificat
ion of technology that was confiscated from a cape called Stinger. Missile themed, not wasps and bees. They’ve got a venting-exhaust system we repurposed. It toggles between using either antigravity or propulsion. They should give you an easier time orienting yourself, or more speed pushing yourself in a particular direction, but not both at the same time. While the wings are intact, you should be able to manage zero to forty-five in about three and a half seconds. That ends if the wings break, and they aren’t made to be durable.”

  I nodded. “It won’t let me flit around the battlefield, but it’ll give me some vertical movement?”

  “Yes.”

  He continued, indicating lines with his finger. “We built nineteen tracks into the device, that you’ll be able to control with the bugs you direct into the interior. One for the on-off switch, doubling as an override for the glove handling, four for antigravity panels, eight for the arms, six for the wings. You’re sure you can handle all that?”

  “Multitasking is a strength of mine,” I said. “If it’s anything like controlling Atlas, it’ll become almost subconscious.”

  “I hope so. You’ll want to learn with both the glove and the insect control. There’s also limitations on energy and fuel, for the antigravity and propulsion, but not so limited that you’ll run out by the end of the day. You have time to review the documentation Dragon put together. Pay attention to the particulars of the flight pack’s vulnerability to electromagnetic radiation. While the wings are deployed, one good hit will scramble it and render you flightless. While the wings are withdrawn and the casing closed, it should be shielded against all reasonable EM sources.”

  “I’ll have to stay close to the ground then, in case it gets scrambled.”

  “For now.”

  “Can I practice?” I asked. “Not flying, but the arms, and moving the individual components…”

  “The arms aren’t done. Keep them out of the way for now. Until I figure out a way to approach the internal design, they’ll have about as much strength as a newborn baby.”

  I nodded. “I really appreciate this, anyways. You two went above and beyond the call of duty.”

  “It’s not customary for tinkers to design things for teammates. If they do, it’s on a relatively small scale, simple. Kid Win making Gallant’s armor, for example. Any device requires a great deal of upkeep. Time is spent tuning, calibrating, repairing and identifying problems. Each device created is something the tinker then has to take time to maintain, and mass production means the tinker becomes tech support more than an innovator. Dragon and I don’t sleep, or sleep very little, but even for us, it isn’t effective. Far better to invest our time into the artificial intelligences and the ships.”

  “But you’re doing this for me.”

  “We, I in particular, wronged you,” Defiant said. “I know that even now, we’re not fully on the same page, but I now believe you did start out wanting to be a hero, and I may have played a part in your drift from that path. I’ve put myself on the line to recommend you to the Wards, and I’ll dedicate the time and equipment necessary to get you on track.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Really. Thank you.”

  “If you don’t mind,” he said. “I-”

  He paused, glancing at Dragon. Then he continued, “I’m working on being more humble, but I think I will always have a certain measure of pride and an excess of focus, to the point that I lose sight of the periphery of things. I’ll forgive your past transgressions if you look past mine, and if there’s any disparity in the two, I’ll make it up for you with this.” He lowered his head to indicate the flight pack. “And I’d ask you to spare my ego the reminder by accepting this without thanks.”

  “I’ve worked with Rachel, with Bitch, I think I can do that much,” I said.

  “When this is over, today, if we’re all still alive, I will maintain two of these packs for you, and you can switch to the spare if one needs repairing or recharging. Some of it’s of Dragon’s design, but the maintenance will be left to me. If you have questions, I’ll answer them,” he said.

  And the latter half of the statement was left unsaid. But let’s not talk of this any further, unless it’s about the technical aspects of the device.

  He had already turned back to the monitor. There were three screens filled with columns noting the various teams who were showing up.

  “How long until we arrive?” I ventured.

  “Forty-five minutes.”

  I nodded. “We’re going to show up late, aren’t we?”

  “Inevitable. Dragon already has had every combat-ready craft on standby in eastern Europe for a week now. They and the local forces will have to hold the fort until then.”

  “Okay.”

  “The computer opposite mine is available. Dragon is pulling up the documentation on the flight device now, if you need something to occupy yourself.”

  I glanced behind Defiant, noting the terminal and the stool that was built into the craft’s cabin. I took a seat, resting the pack on my right thigh.

  Okay, so they’d found the time to pull together a flight pack with some antigravity and propulsion systems, I could believe that. But the documentation? Who had time to draw out 21 pages of notes on capabilities and limitations, on top of building the thing?

  Especially when it was all drawings, rather than typed out words.

  I wasn’t about to complain, but it did leave me reconsidering what Dragon’s specialty might be. I’d thought I worked it out, but the speed with which she’d pulled this together…

  My bugs found the channels inside the suit, and I set about experimenting with it, working through the various steps for moving the wings and the individual limbs. Each ‘track’ inside the pack’s interior was a narrow corridor with very sensitive switches along the interior, so that any movement of even something as diminutive as a ladybug was capable of pushing them.

  The sensitivity would need to be calibrated at a later point. As it stood, any jarring impact would briefly lock all of the inputs in place, so they wouldn’t read the impact as contact from a bug and send the wrong signal.

  I had to shrug out of the upper half of my costume to get the gloves on beneath my costume, but I managed to get everything set up. There were too many straps and no room for them to slot beneath my costume, so I connected them over the costume’s exterior, beneath the armor, and cinched every strap tight, doing up the metal clasps once everything was comfortably tight.

  There were four ‘arms’, each a little longer than my arms. The control was a little simplistic, with only two switches for each limb. I imagined it was similar to an artificial limb. I folded them close to my body, so they hugged my lower ribs and the space just beneath my ‘breasts’, and then left them be.

  The wings were just as simplistic, but had three switches each. Two to move and reorient the wings, with a third to switch between the antigrav vent and varying amounts of propulsion. I didn’t dare experiment with that in an enclosed space.

  I read and reread the documentation ten times over, because there was precious little else to do.

  “We’re landing in a minute,” Defiant announced. “Estimated eight minute wait before the last craft from North America arrive on site and a cape by the name of Silk Road deploys a corridor.”

  I nodded.

  “We picked up your old team,” he said. “Sent a craft.”

  I turned around, surprised.

  “Stipulations of your membership in the Wards dictate that you aren’t to extend contact to them.”

  Oh. Right. Shitty.

  “Keeping in mind that there are likely going to be cameras and cell phones pointed at you throughout this incident,” Defiant said, glancing at Dragon, “You’re free to do as you wish. So long as you don’t do anything troublesome on camera, I don’t expect anyone will make an issue of it. It might even help if you allow others to record you, so it’s clear you aren’t doing anything questionable.”

  I glanced at him.

&nbs
p; “Dragon’s suggestion, not mine,” he said. “But I don’t object.”

  “Thank you,” I said, meaning it.

  “Thank me by staying out of trouble,” he said, brusque. He glanced at Dragon, then back to me. “And you’re welcome.”

  She can communicate with him, but not with anyone else. Why?

  I nodded. “Um. You reminded me, when you said there’d be people getting camera footage of me. Mrs. Yamada said I should start recording myself while I’m in the field. I know we still have to talk about my costume, and it’s too late to make any updates, but I wouldn’t mind having it, especially for the next high-intensity situation.”

  “We’ll see,” he said.

  I nodded.

  The craft set down, the doors opening. My mouth dropped open in surprise as I took in the scene.

  The area was a flat, open field with knee-high grass. Settled on it were twenty of Dragon’s ships, with two to sixteen capes to each. People were stepping out, stretching, meeting others and talking. Almost all of them were from the Protectorate and the Wards. Others included Haven, a villain group I didn’t recognize, and one of the corporate teams I’d seen before the Leviathan fight.

  And the Undersiders. I sensed them with the bugs in the field.

  I felt a measure of hesitation.

  Time to test out these wings.

  It wouldn’t do to faceplant in front of all of these heroes. I was tentative, as I sent a bug down a tight corridor with innumerable tiny switches. Only one corridor, one switch.

  A panel kicked to life, gentle. I nearly tripped as I stepped forward and was lifted an inch or two higher off the ground than normal.

  I sent the bug further down the corridor, directing more power to the panel, and I was no longer having an issue, because I was being lifted into the air.

  I was starting to lose my balance, though, necessitating a drop in lift and some experimental firings of the left and right panels to keep myself upright.