by John McCrae
“I don’t think you’re a good person either,” Tagg said, “and the court of public opinion is likely to agree with me before they agree with you.”
“Let’s not resort to name calling this early in the discussion,” Mr. Calle said.
“Right,” Tagg said, “It wastes time, and you have very little.”
“Neither of us want this to happen, Director,” I said. “Neither of us have time, and neither of us want a war. Except maybe you do. Maybe you think you’d win, and it’d be a bump in the PRT’s ratings.”
“No,” he said, “I think, like any altercation, both sides would lose something. But let’s talk about your terms. You want amnesty for your criminal friends?’
I was acutely aware of my dad watching me.
“Yes,” I said.
“You want to depose me, raising Miss Militia to my place, and in the doing, force the PRT to relinquish all ideas of humans governing parahumans, to help keep those with incredible power in check.”
“Yes.”
“And you wanted me to allow you to become an official vigilante, leaving your group behind while you worked to hunt down psychopaths with powers. I’ve explained why that can’t happen. I’m not sure if you intend to change your demands, or-”
“I’ll go to the Birdcage if I have to,” I said. “Because the rest of it, I believe in it enough to make the sacrifice.”
“Taylor,” my dad said. The first words he’d said to me since the breakfast we’d had together, on the day I’d been outed. “Why?”
“Because we’re losing. We’re so focused on the little things, on petty squabbles and factions and vendettas, that we’re losing against the real dangers. The Class S threats. The fact that the world’s going to end in a year and eleven months. Did you hear about that?”
He shook his head. “I… I read the letter you left me, at Annette’s grave. Realized it was probably what you were trying to write, the night you left. Before you changed your mind.”
The night I left, so long ago. When I’d first met Coil.
“A lot of what I did, it was to stop the man who really wanted to take over the city. Who would have been far worse than any of us Undersiders. And I did that because he had a little girl captive. Dinah Alcott. She could see the future, and she says the world ends in two years.”
My dad shook his head, “No.”
“Yes. The heroes know it. It’s a big part of why the PRT is falling apart. You’ve heard about that on the news?”
“I… some. But I haven’t paid much attention since I found out that you-”
“That I’m a supervillain,” I said.
He flinched visibly at that.
“Interesting,” Tagg cut in. “That you call yourself that. You say you’ve had justifications for what you’ve done, but you call yourself a villain.”
I wanted to hit him, for cutting into my conversation with my dad, for polluting my attempts to explain things.
“I am,” I told him. “I’ve done bad things.”
“Left a trail of devastation in your wake.”
“Yes,” I said. “And I’m willing to pay the price. I’ll go to the Birdcage, a place you described as a literal hell on Earth. A place where people just as scary as the ones I’ve spent the last few months fighting stay. A place where some of those very people are currently imprisoned. Lung, Bakuda, Trickster. They probably want to inflict fates worse than death on me. But I’ll do it. Because I really truly believe the world needs the PRT, or a PRT, one without lunatics like you in charge, and maybe bringing me in helps keep a handful more capes in the roster, keeps my friends secure where they are, so they can help.”
I was heated, my words angry.
“Your friends,” he said.
“My friends.”
“That’s the rapist, Jean-paul? Alec? A murderer.”
“Regent. He was the son of a supervillain, screwed from the get go, and yeah, maybe some shady stuff went down, way back then. I think he’s… not in love, but he’s close to Imp. Somewhere between love and friendship, maybe.”
“Imp. She’s the one who makes it a game, to psychologically and mentally torture gang members who step foot in her territory, until they have mental break downs.”
“Yes,” I said, through grit teeth. “It’s more complicated than that, she’s been through a lot, but yes. And I heard directly from people who were grateful to her for scaring off the real rapists and murderers.”
He didn’t pay me any mind. “Who else is there? Hellhound.”
“She prefers Bitch,” I said. “But she’s Rachel to me.”
“Who had her monster dogs chew up innocents who’d gotten in her way.”
“It was a bad time for her. Weren’t you just excusing Flechette, because we’ve all been through some shit? I know Rachel as the person who takes care of wayward souls, grown men and children who are lost in a way even we can’t fathom, with the things we’ve been through.”
“And Grue? Do tell me how you see him.”
“I liked him,” I said. “If I’d stayed with them, maybe he and I would have tried to make it work.”
“Romance.”
I met my dad’s eyes. His forehead was creased with worry. My power was buzzing around the periphery of my consciousness.
I found refuge in the bugs, paid attention to their movements as they avoided the remaining drones, found my center, so to speak. Calm. He wants me upset.
“Romance,” I said. “He was my rock, when I needed a rock. And I was his, when-”
“When he snapped,” Tagg cut in.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“He was the stable one, until he wasn’t stable,” Tagg said. “Until he killed Burnscar. Yet I suspect he’s the one in charge, now that you’ve left?”
“Yes,” I said. “And with the dozens, hundreds of people I’ve tried to take care of or whose lives I’ve saved, I trust Grue to look after them and keep the peace. I wouldn’t give him that responsibility, with all the time and effort I’ve invested in them, if I didn’t trust him.”
“Very generous,” Tagg told me. “And Tattletale. Where do I even start?”
“With the fact that she was my best friend. That she’s maybe our best bet at understanding what’s going on? Understanding the Endbringers and what they’re doing? Understanding powers? Finding the Nine before they bring about the end of the world? Understanding how the world ends?”
“All of this, from the girl who used her power to convince her brother to kill himself, before fleeing, spending years on the streets, stealing wallets and using the account numbers to take whole fortunes?”
“All wrong,” I said.
“And who planted the seeds that led to Panacea breaking down and mutilating her sister.”
“Those seeds were planted a long time before we talked to Panacea,” I said.
This was what Tagg had wanted. He’d devastated my defenses, bringing my dad into this.
“Nonetheless,” Tagg said, leaning back. “So, Danny Hebert, what do you think about your daughter’s friends?”
My dad glanced at me, then looked at the Director. “I know less about them than either of you.”
“That’s not important,” the Director said. “I just want you to answer one question for me. Assume we’re both right. Me and your daughter. Assume that they’re everything we described them as. Do you really want them in control of this city’s underworld?”
Again, my dad looked at me.
“No need to double-check with your daughter. I’m wanting your honest opinion, as a man on the streets, from someone who has to live in this city without any real say over what happens in the cape-on-cape fights and politics. Do you really want them in charge?”
“No,” my dad said.
I did my best not to show it, but the word was like a punch in the gut.
“I’m sorry, Taylor, but-”
“Are they really that much worse than the ABB? Than Empire Eighty-Eight?”
“With them, we…” my dad trailed off.
“With them, we could pretend things weren’t bad!” I said, “But they were worse. You know they were worse. The people you worked with, the addicts, the people without money…”
“Does it matter?” Tagg asked. “You don’t have your dad’s support, what makes you think you’d get anyone else’s?”
I grit my teeth.
“No,” my father said.
“Hm?” Tagg raised his bushy eyebrows.
“No. I think you’re wrong there,” my dad told Tagg. “She has support. When you attacked her in the school, there were people who stood by her. If I’m being honest, I don’t get it, I don’t want those people in charge, but I don’t want any villains in charge. I don’t understand the politics behind this, or the context, but I trust my daughter.”
“Of course you trust your daughter. The curse of being a parent, I know it well.”
“You wanted my opinion,” my dad said, his voice a little firmer, “You get my opinion. Others believe in her. I trust her, even if I don’t know enough to follow what this is all about. Even if I barely feel like I know her right now, I can look her in the eye and know that’s the same girl I’ve spent the last sixteen years with. With some of the worst qualities of my wife and I, and a lot more of the better ones.”
“I wonder how long that opinion will hold,” Tagg said. “Because we have, what is it? Three hours and a handful of minutes? Then the war she set in motion hits this city.”
“It can be avoided,” I said.
“If we cave in to your extortion,” Tagg said. “Except you think too small, Skitter. It’s a common flaw among teenagers, however powerful they are. They attend high school, and all they can see is the school, their peers. Tunnel vision. You’re the same. You’re focused on this city, but you don’t see what happens elsewhere. You don’t see the ramifications.”
“Which are?”
“You’d be strengthening the PRT a little in the short-term, but the long-term? Letting villains take charge, taking the humans out of the PRT, condoning villainy? It would doom us all. What you’re threatening us with? It’s only one fight. And maybe it’s ugly, but it’s one fight. If they kill us, if they become monsters of the Slaughterhouse Nine’s caliber to defeat us, then we win. Your side wins the battle, loses the war. If you don’t go that far? If you leave us in a state to recover? We pick ourselves up and we lick our wounds, and then we rebuild.”
Tagg cupped his hands, moving them as if balancing a scale. “One fight, one set of casualties in one area of one medium-sized city, compared to consequences that reach across North America? Across the world? It doesn’t measure up.”
I glanced at my lawyer.
“You don’t have an answer for me?” Tagg asked.
“I have one,” I said. I hope.
Mr. Calle looked at his phone, then gave me one curt nod.
“What?” Tagg asked.
“It’s in the news,” Mr. Calle said.
Tagg and Miss Militia simultaneously reached for their smartphones. I was probably as tense as they were, as they thumbed past the security screens and found news sites. Miss Militia was a few seconds faster than Tagg.
“What did you do?” she asked.
“It’s all legitimate,” I said. “I’m pretty sure. Legal enough.”
“What is it?” my dad asked.
“Property,” I said. “I expect a great amount of property just changed hands.”
“Who’s Sierra Kiley?” Miss Militia asked.
It was all I could do to keep from smiling with joy. Of all the people to serve as a public face, Tattletale had found Sierra. Someone I owed, in many ways. Someone who’d, maybe, followed recent events and rethought her initial doubts.
“No idea,” I said, maintaining my poker face.
“I don’t understand,” my dad said.
“Quite simple,” Mr. Calle told him. “I believe the PRT has become aware that properties in a wide area around the portal in downtown Brockton Bay, previously under the control of various individuals and groups, just exchanged hands, finding itself in the hands of one singular individual.”
“And that one individual is in thrall to the villains who control this town,” Tagg said.
“I resent the notion,” I told him, and I allowed myself a small smile. “But it would be amusing, if it were true. You might even have to rethink what you were saying about how narrow my worldview is. I mean, that’s a whole other world. Anything but narrow, when you think about it.”
“You’re not as clever as you think you are,” he said.
“Probably not,” I said.
“You’re playing out your hand.”
“And you’re bringing my family into this. Remember how our little feud started? You crossed the line. You made the call to out me, because you wanted me in custody. Congratulations, you got me in custody. You broke the unwritten rules, because you think that you don’t have to obey them, since you aren’t a cape. Except you’re forgetting why they exist in the first place. The rules keep the game afloat. They keep everything afloat, at the core of it. We all know the PRT is a sinking ship. You don’t agree with what I’m doing? Fine. But at least I’m trying to keep it afloat.”
“And you?” my dad asked. It took me a second to realize he was looking at Miss Militia.
“What about me?” she asked.
“You’ve been quiet. Are you here just in case my daughter turns violent?”
“No. She’s not violent. Not in that sense.”
“You don’t have anything to say?”
“As grateful as I am for the right to free speech,” Miss Militia said, “I’m grateful for the right to silence as well.”
“Then you don’t agree with your Director?”
“I didn’t say that. What I’m saying is that there’s no right answer here, and I’m glad I don’t have to be the one to make the decision.”
“Isn’t that cowardly?” I asked.
“No. It’s human, to not want to make the hard choices,” she said. She raised one boot off the ground and placed it on the corner of her chair. “And it’s good strategy to conserve your strength.”
“We’re not fighting,” I said. “We’re not going to get tired.”
“Physically?” she asked. “No. Emotionally? Mentally? Yes.”
“You’re anticipating the fight,” I said. “You don’t think there’ll be a consensus in time.”
She shook her head, then used one hand to fix her hair, tucking it behind one ear. “No. I don’t think there will be a fight. I hope there’ll be a consensus, but it’s not necessary. Your ploys with the portal, controlling the territory around it, it’s clever, it’ll take a lot of time before we can pass legislation or conduct a thorough enough investigation to justifiably seize it. But I’m not worried about that, either, nor am I concerned about the damage Tattletale could do in other areas.”
“Then why do you need to conserve your strength?” I asked.
“Because we’re dealing with the devil,” Miss Militia said. “I’m angry at you, Taylor, and half of that is because you put us in this situation, a set of circumstances where we’re liable to lose either way. Because I agree with the conclusions you came to, how the PRT is needed, the need for compromise, and because I can’t condone how you approached those conclusions.”
She shifted position, and the black-green energy of her flickered from her right hip to her right hand, appearing in her hand, amorphous and shapeless, as if searching for a form to take. When she didn’t grasp it, it darted to her left hip, and the metal of a cutlass clinked against her seat.
“But I really hate you because we had to call her,” Miss Militia intoned.
Her?
Tagg looked at his phone. “Assuming she’s on time, it’ll be less than ten minutes.”
“Her?” my dad asked.
“You’ve played your part,” Tagg responded. “Go. It’d be better in the long run. Wash your hands
of this, leave. Your daughter’s in custody, she’s going to one prison or another. You can go home and know that it was inevitable, and that this was the best outcome. It takes a few years maybe, but you lament your mistakes, and you eventually make an uneasy peace with what happened to your daughter.”
“And if I stay?”
“You won’t have any of that peace of mind,” Tagg said, and that was all.
My dad looked at me, “I think you’re wrong. Everything before this, it was the times where I thought I had to walk away, look away, times where I thought things were inevitable, that I regretted the most.”
He took my hand. “I’ll stay.”
“Thank you,” I murmured the words.
Our guest didn’t arrive right away. It might have been fitting, in a dramatic way, for her to appear as we finished our dialogue, but things weren’t so carefully orchestrated in the real world.
“Those things they said you did?” my dad murmured.
“Mostly true,” I said.
He squeezed my hand for a moment, but it wasn’t reassuring. Something else. Concern, maybe, channeled through a simple gesture. Concern for me, for what I’d become.
I wanted nothing more than for my dad and I to talk for a month straight, just to hash things out, to form some kind of balance, some semblance of a connection like we’d once had. Instead, there was only this, like the father-daughter relationship distilled. Not enough communication, barely any familiarity, both of us flooded with very different sorts of fear, confusion, and frustration. I imagined it was much like the bonds that had kept primitive families together in an era when living from week to week was a challenge. Basic, crude, but almost primeval.
She arrived, minutes later. A woman, tall, in a suit, carrying nothing with her. I sensed her at the periphery of my range, walking with a steady, strong stride.
I was reminded of the Siberian, almost. The way she moved with the confidence of the indomitable, the way that she was almost careful as she moved among people. Except that where the Siberian was only careful among her teammates, this woman was careful with everybody.
It took her five minutes to reach us, walking through the crowds, using the pedestrian crossings.