by John McCrae
“Can I call her?” Vista asked.
“I don’t know if that would be wise,” Miss Militia said.
“Do,” Tagg said. “Remind her what she’s leaving behind, tell her how you feel, then let her be. Too much pressure and she’s liable to be stubborn. Give her time to think, and you may sway her.”
“Okay,” Vista said.
“When you’re done, join the others in discussing battle plans. I’d rather not wait for Skitter’s forces to strike. If it comes down to it, we mobilize first.”
“We’ll be fighting Flechette,” Vista said.
Tagg nodded. “Very possible. If you don’t feel confident you can do it in good conscience, then I won’t make you. In the meantime, I’m requisitioning capes from nearby areas. If it comes down to it, I want to be ready for a fight.”
“And if they don’t give us the chance?” Miss Militia asked.
I missed Tagg’s response. It was monosyllabic.
“If the Undersiders try to avoid direct engagement and attempt to come at us from another angle? Media? Revealing telling details? Financially? Through our families?”
“Oh shit,” Clockblocker said.
“They wouldn’t, would they?” Crucible asked.
“They would,” Kid Win said. “Probably.”
“They would,” Director Tagg agreed. “And I already have ideas in mind. This situation is far from unmanageable. Rest assured. I’ll need to make some calls. Miss Militia, are you up for another walk?”
“Yes.”
Tagg stepped into the elevator, holding the door open. It was too small for everyone to fit inside, but Miss Militia, the deputy and Clockblocker joined him.
Mrs. Yamada started to step inside, then paused while standing in the doorway. “I’ll be in my office all day. If any of you need to talk about Flechette, or anything else that’s going on, come see me.”
There was no reply. There might have been nods, but I didn’t have bugs on top of any of the Ward’s heads.
The doors shut, and a few seconds passed, Kid Win, Crucible and Vista standing in the hallway with a handful of PRT officers.
“Fuck,” Vista said. “Fuck this. Fuck you, Skitter, if you can hear me.”
I waited to see if there was more, but neither she nor her teammates said anything. The drones Kid Win had made were doing a number on my bugs, catching me by surprise when they opened fire with lasers, striking from the other side of the room. It wasn’t easy to avoid them completely, when an exposed bug could get zapped, but keeping my bugs in hiding prevented me from seeing the drones themselves.
Miss Militia left the building, walking. She wasn’t quite out of my range when she made her first call.
“Mr. Hebert?”
I sighed, then shifted position.
“Everything alright?” Mr. Calle asked me. “Needed to get centered?”
“Was listening in,” I said.
“Listening in?”
“I can hear what my insects hear. Tagg is confident. He’s calling in more capes, and preparing for a fight. He’s apparently not too worried about the Undersiders pulling something that isn’t a direct attack, but I don’t know what he’s got in mind, as far as trump cards go. Miss Militia is apparently calling my dad, so Tagg can talk with him.”
“Wonderful,” Mr. Calle said. “Anything else?”
“The Wards are upset over Flechette defecting.”
“Okay. Something to keep in mind. Now, this is difficult to say, but-”
Mr. Calle paused very deliberately.
“What?”
“I would never recommend my clients do anything illegal,” he said.
“But you maybe suspect that if I had any leverage, I should exercise it?”
“I would never say any such thing,” Mr. Calle said. He smiled. “But now that you mention it…”
“There are options,” I said. I thought about the areas of attack that Miss Militia had outlined. Family would cross a line. Something to shake their confidence in the coming conflict. “Can you pass on a message?”
“That would be a mistake, I think. I walk a fine line as it is, and I won’t have a hand in anything direct.”
I frowned.
“Let’s talk about what I can do. First off, I think we should change things up. As it stands, the Protectorate East-North-East holds Brockton Bay in a specialized state of emergency. It’s a legal wild west, with very little precedent holding things together. Director Tagg reports to his superiors, who report to the United States government. This circumvents a great many of the usual checks and balances. Checks and balances I think we should put back into play.”
“How?”
“Contacting the District Attorney and bringing her to the discussion would tie Tagg’s hands, but it would also tie yours. We’d be working entirely within the law, certain items would be taken off the table. You couldn’t ask for condoned villainy, for example. Charges would inevitably move forward against you, but these same things would tie him up in managing things.”
“Doesn’t seem worth it.”
“It depends. It’s… pressure. The Director is focused on a half-dozen things at once. There’s a lot to be said for putting one more thing on his plate. I know he’s not trained in the particulars of law. He’d be forced out of his depth, made to consult others, made to wrap his head around terms he’s not familiar with. It would mandate that you, as a minor, would need a guardian present. Failing that, there’s a great many hoops they’d have to jump through. He’s a soldier. So long as this is a battlefield of some sort, he has a leg up. We can make it something else.”
“Okay,” I said. “We’d be adding pressure, turning things around so he’s the one on his heels, but I’m still not convinced it’s worth the price of admission. Other options?”
“Media.”
“He doesn’t care about image,” I said. “He said he figures it’ll get patched up with good PR in a matter of time, a few days back.”
“It won’t hurt him as badly, then, but he’s more likely to make a mistake if it’s not something he pays attention to.”
“An option,” I said. “It sets a bad tone, though. I’m really looking for cooperation. I’m putting everything on the line in the hopes of getting it. I don’t want them to be enemies, not any more than they are. And I don’t know that just talking to the media is going to be enough to get the results I want.”
“It isn’t, frankly. Are there points you’re willing to compromise on?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Because he’s not willing to meet me halfway.”
Mr. Calle rubbed his chin. “Okay.”
“So we need leverage, and it can’t be legal. Going to the District Attorney or the media has drawbacks.”
“Yes.”
“Then I need you to get in contact with Tattletale. Only we’ll be above-board, mostly, about how we handle it. She’s been arranging things for a while. Now it’s time to figure out just how much clout she has. We’ll hit them with the biggest card we have. We’ll make a play for ownership of the portal. Successful or not, it’ll distract them.”
“I’ll do what I can to get in touch with her, then. My firm’s assets will be at your disposal, of course.”
I nodded.
He stood from his seat to make the call. Apparently he didn’t find them much more comfortable than I did. He paced as he waited for the phone to ring. “Cecily? Need you to pull some strings. And route me to someone, best if it’s untraceable.”
It wouldn’t be a direct call. That didn’t make sense. I focused my attention elsewhere in the building. The outlet that fed Kid Win’s anti-bug drones… I found the wiring in the walls and ordered cockroaches to start chewing through it.
Petty, maybe, but I didn’t want to be disarmed, not with the way things were going.
The heroes were returning, Sere and Dovetail entering the lobby. I planted bugs on Dovetail as she made her way indoors, and as discreetly as I was able, I transferred th
e bugs to Tagg and Miss Militia, who were waiting.
“They’re moving,” Dovetail said, “… soldiers. Arming civilians. Squads no larger than five people, across the city.”
“Good,” Tagg said.
“That’s all.”
“Tell the others,” Miss Militia said, “Adamant’s getting a cycle retooled to handle more weight before he leaves again. He’ll go with Triumph. Log it all in the system.”
“Will do,” Dovetail said. Miss Militia patted her on the shoulder as she made her way inside.
Miss Militia and Tagg remained in the lobby, by the hallway to the elevators. They didn’t say much. A few words on degrees of lethal force, but no camraderie, not even much in the way of small talk.
My cockroaches found their way through the wire, and promptly died as they came in contact with the live circuit. A breaker blew, but Kid Win didn’t seem to react.
Hopefully the drones wouldn’t get a chance to recharge.
A few minutes passed, as my lawyer got in touch with someone, and started talking about media contacts. Then my father arrived.
I could sense him as he got out of a truck in the parking lot, making his way inside.
“Mr. Hebert,” Miss Militia said, extending a hand.
My dad shook it.
“Thank you for coming in again,” Director Tagg said. He extended a hand. Again, my father shook it.
“My office?” Tagg asked.
My dad nodded.
My pulse was pounding as Miss Militia, Tagg and my father entered the elevator and made their way upstairs.
“She’s here?” my dad asked.
“In a room downstairs with her lawyer,” Miss Militia answered.
“She hired him herself?”
“I imagine she did,” Miss Militia said. “With the speed he pulled things together, I suspect she may have more working in the background. Crime does pay, if she’s paying their salaries. They’re apparently top of the line, as parahuman defense attorneys go.”
“I can’t believe this is all real.”
“It is,” Miss Militia said. “It’s very real.”
“And very real blood will be shed tonight,” Tagg said, “If we can’t rein her in.”
Rein me in.
They exited the elevator and made their way to Tagg’s office.
“These,” Tagg leaned forward, and my bugs could hear something move. “Are the charges as they stand.”
I didn’t sense it, but my bugs could hear papers rustle. I might not have identified the sound if I hadn’t had the context.
A few long seconds passed, and I could hear the rustling again. The turning of a page.
I clenched my fist.
“Problem?” Mr. Calle asked, covering the mouthpiece of his phone.
“My dad’s here. They’ve got him in Tagg’s office, and they’re filling him in on their version of events.”
“Right. Let’s put a stop to that. I’ll be back.”
Phone still pressed to his ear, he picked up his briefcase, tapping on the door three times with the side of his shoe.
A PRT uniform unlocked and opened the door, and my lawyer strode out. It shut behind him.
Upstairs, my dad turned another page.
He was reading through it all. All the details I’d gone over with my lawyer, only without my feedback, without my voice to point out the places where they were going a little overboard, naming charges they could throw at me, without checking whether they could stick. Not that the difference was that big, comparing what I’d actually done to what they were accusing me of.
I heard the sound of him flipping through the last few pages before he dropped the pad on the table. “Okay.”
“She’s in a lot of trouble,” Tagg said.
“This isn’t news to me,” my dad answered, his voice quiet.
“If the charges went through, she would face being charged as an adult. The three strikes protection act wouldn’t mitigate things. I’d say the worst case scenario is execution, or indefinite detention in the Birdcage, but the best case scenario for her isn’t much better.”
My dad didn’t reply to that.
“Her power means we can’t keep her in a conventional prison. She’s too flexible, too versatile for us to use any of our current means of keeping her from using her ability. Even today, contained in a cell, she’s been literally ‘bugging’ us to track our movements and listen in on conversations. We had our tinker put together a countermeasure, but it’s not perfect.”
Again, my dad was silent.
“I have two daughters. Four and six years older than Taylor,” the Director said. “I can’t imagine.”
“I can’t either,” my dad said. “Like I said, it doesn’t feel real.”
“I’d like you to come with me the next time I speak to your daughter.”
“She didn’t listen to me before, she won’t listen now,” my dad said.
“I didn’t ask you to come because I thought you could convince her,” Tagg said. “You don’t have to say anything, as a matter of fact.”
What was he up to?
My lawyer had reached the top floor, and was striding between cubicles and desks. He raised his voice to ask a question I couldn’t make out, and someone answered him. He altered his course slightly in response, walked with more purpose, directly for Tagg, Miss Militia and my father.
“I’d like to talk to her alone,” my dad said.
“We can arrange that,” Tagg said.
I clenched my fists. Using my dad as a pawn? Damn right I was going to escalate. Which, I suspected, was exactly what Tagg was aiming to achieve. This was something to put me off balance, just like we were looking to do to him by way of leveraging control of the portal.
My lawyer knocked on the door and then opened it without waiting for a response. “My client would like a word.”
“Of course,” Tagg said. As the four of them exited his office and made their way to the elevator, I turned the two words around in my head. Had he sounded sarcastic? Did he simply expect me to interrupt?
I couldn’t say. I could only wait as they made their way downstairs. I was stuck, my back hurting where my arms were in a more or less fixed position. I stood, stretched as well as I was able, tossed my head to one side in an attempt to get my hair out of my face. When that didn’t work, I bent over and lowered my face to my hands to tidy my hair.
Then I sat, stewing in unidentifiable emotions. Trepidation, dread, fear, guilt, shame, anger, relief… none I could put a finger on.
“Did you know?” Miss Militia asked.
“Me?” my dad asked, by way of response.
“Who she was? What she was?”
“Yes,” he said. I could feel alarm sing through me, inexplicable, but jarring. Then he seemed to change his mind, “No.”
And the emotion that hit me at that was just as strong as that misplaced sense of alarm.
Damn Tagg. Damn him for bringing my dad into this.
The four of them stopped outside of the cell. Miss Militia used her phone to unlock it, and Tagg gestured for my dad to enter.
I saw him hesitate as he stepped into the room, dark sheet metal, a reflective pane of one-way glass, the metal table bolted to the floor, my handcuffs, locked to the table in turn. Me, with my hair in some disarray, a touch damp from the shower and ineffectual toweling, from sweat, in my black uniform with the word ‘villain’ marked clearly across it.
I could see it, his expression changing, the disbelief he’d professed to becoming something else entirely.
His feelings were as mixed as mine. I could tell just by looking at him, by imagining what he’d been through, the person standing by, dealing with the aftermath of everything I’d done. His frustration, his confusion, pain, and embarrassment. His loneliness, disappointment, his fear.
And, somehow, as though it were too much to bottle in, it seemed to boil over in the form of one singular emotion. I could see his jaw shift as he clenched his teeth, met my e
yes and looked away. The sudden agitation that seemed to grip him, as he opened and closed his fists.
Tagg and Miss Militia had reached the interior of the room on the other side of the one way mirror, while Mr. Calle stood in the hallway, speaking on the phone. I stood from the chair as my dad approached, his body language making it all too clear what he was about to do. Miss Militia took one look and reacted, turning around to hurry back out of the room, to intervene. Tagg said something, two words I couldn’t be bothered to decipher, and she stopped in her tracks.
My dad raised his hand, palm open, and I closed my eyes, lifting my chin to take the hit.
It didn’t come. My dad wrapped his arms around my shoulders instead. I squeaked, and I couldn’t say whether it was because he was squeezing me too tight or if it was because of an overflow of emotion similar to the one he’d just displayed. I stood there, unable to return the hug with the way I was cuffed to the table, unable to speak around the lump in my throat.
When minutes passed and we hadn’t exchanged a single word, Tagg and Miss Militia stepped out of the observation room, signaling Mr. Calle.
“Let’s talk,” Tagg said.
I broke away from my dad. Blinked where there were tears in the corners of my eyes. I didn’t care if Tagg saw.
“I’m waiting on a response from my colleagues,” Mr. Calle said. “There’s no reason to speak further, unless you’re capitulating.”
“No,” Tagg answered. “But I’d like to go over the main points.”
This was why he wanted my dad here, I thought.
“You’ve informed me that your teammates, many of whom are known murderers, are going to declare war against the PRT in three hours and twenty minutes, without word from you.”
My dad took a seat to my left, watching me carefully.
“Yes,” I said.
“You’ve described them as unpredictable. They’re undeniably dangerous. You think they’ll hurt people. They’ll pull out all the stops, to get you back, and to hurt us. The good guys.”
“Yes,” I said, not taking my eyes off Tagg. “But I don’t think you’re a good guy, Director.”