by P. S. Power
"Turner! Well I'll be, the bitch is back." This came from the younger of the two generals, who, for all that Marcia had been pretty rude to him, actually ran to her and pulled her into a manly, back slapping, bear hug. "I should have known you would. Anyone else make it out?"
It seemed an odd thing to have to ask, and she grimaced then looked away. It was a bit too obvious to Bridget, but she knew Marsh pretty well, didn't she? They used to be partners and everything. You learned things from, and about, people when you did that.
Important things.
Like what they looked like when they thought they were being clever.
"Not many. Level, but she was hurt pretty bad. I think she'll live, but it will be a while before she can work. Her mind's a bit messed up." She glanced over at Bridget when the general let her go, and made her eyes sad. "Bridgie, your dad... He tried to protect your mom with his body, but... That blast... I only made it because I ran. Jason did too, and was ahead of me, but he... Melted. The force of his movements just made him fall apart." It was a bit much, since now people would be looking for traces of Argos in the desert. It would have been better to suggest that they'd all died in the building itself since it was hard to find DNA inside a burned out hole in the ground.
Bridget cried, grief ripping through her. It wasn't real, but she got the idea. They had a projective empath on their side, standing behind the donut counter. Ready to serve up what they needed. Including wet tracks down her face. It was brilliant.
There was a catch in her voice when she spoke.
"There are... The people in the field, we need to get word out to them, and see if any of them are willing to come back. I... I know that Doug and I considered running, when we realized what was going on. What do we do?" That was a plaintive wail, and made her seem too stupid by far, but it had just popped out. There was emotive pushing going on, but no one else in the room knew that.
So Doug rounded the till counter and wrapped her up in a hug. He really was starting to smell a bit, even if it was clear that he'd showered that morning. Oh, it wasn't too bad, yet, but her nose was a lot better than most people's, so she noticed things like that when others couldn't. The move was returned, but only briefly, since they both had to go and harass Marcia. Even if they'd hated her, it was called for, given the moment. Anything less would be suspicious.
Bridget could smell the recent scent of burned hair on her. No accelerant, so Lancaster had probably used his power to do it. With her uniform on, it seemed. Nothing stuck to her, and she wasn't hurt by it, since not much could harm her. Hence them pretending she survived the blast. Maybe she could have? She was so hard to hurt that people forgot that she had to have a massively rapid healing system too. Like Bridget did, or Prime. No one noticed her taking damage, but the woman was in her mid-fifties, and looked like she could go to a college party. If she did, no one would have thought twice. Not if she bought a wig.
Bridget sighed, and made herself relax through the emotions that pounded her.
"So, I guess my tenure as the IPB's Deputy Director is over? I still get to claim that on my resume, don't I?" She was forcing herself to be playful, since the grief she felt hadn't lifted yet, but Marcia nodded."
"You and Tibs can share that. I'll have to step in and do the big job. It's literally what I've been training to do for fifteen years. I just hate to do it this way. Kevin had planned to step down in a couple of years." There was a slow and slightly dour head shake then. "Believe it or not, he was grooming Proxy to take over my position. If we could keep him alive that long. I... He was with me when it happened, I saw him go." How that was even possible, she didn't explain, but everyone from Charity to the Secretary of State got the idea.
If she'd barely made it out, then Brian was gone.
Things didn't lighten, but they got easier suddenly. Marcia actually seemed to know one of the men with them, and Lisa Dentre was backing their play, and not the military, in particular.
"Now, I hate to impose, at such a dire time, but the DHS is bringing in a team to handle the investigation. We didn't know that there was going to be an IPB left, so the President ordered it. Would you like me to call them off?"
Marcia grunted, standing there, her legs spread a bit, like she was ready to fight.
"So that I can put Bridgie and Doug on the case? I mean, we'll be doing that too, but we have no resources right now. I don't suppose we can get some? We need a forward base, transport for our people and a news announcement, if we're going to get anyone back. I can set up some of that myself. There's no way that we can run a full operation for the moment. I give it about seventy-two hours from the event for the first Infected retaliation, if we don't get ahead of this. Where are the press set up? We have to let people know that things are covered. Even if they aren't."
She asked the whole room, but it was Mary, who'd been listening from the back, that actually knew that one.
"On the other side of town, by the high school. They have an order in for sandwiches. I was going to see if Douglas would take them over. I have a number... For someone named Kenny?"
Marsh nodded and gestured over at Bridget, because that made good sense. There were only so many people left, after all. It might amaze people to know, but Bridget Chambers could actually use a phone, all by herself.
"Chambers, get on that and tell them to expect an announcement at two-thirty. We'll meet them there. For the time being... I'm going to annex the... We need a building that won't be a problem for anyone. Any suggestions?"
Charity frowned, but spoke up almost instantly. She seemed a bit timid, but it was only real girl shy, being around all the important people and dangerous Infected.
"The old shoe shop in town? It isn't that big, but it's been empty for a long time. My dad owns it, but he's out of town. We could rent it to you? Four thousand a week." She said it with a straight face, and none of the government people blinked at the figure.
Marcia gave her a sidelong look and shook her head. "A thousand. If it fits our needs."
Charity shrugged.
"Two thousand. We need to make enough to pay for the space, if you trash it. I mean, this is dangerous, right? I don't want to be mean, but look at the things going on." The part about what had happened to their last base didn't get added, since the girl was trying to keep their secret for them. Then again, she knew that they'd blown it up, themselves, which didn't exactly speak to them being grand tenants, did it?
That got a nod, from Doug, who was in turn glared at by Marcia. Even as she relented.
"Two thousand then, agreed. We want that in writing. You cover the utilities?" There was a tense moment, but Charity blew out a full lung of air and shook her head.
"No. Garbage and water, but only for normal things. No swimming pools, or massive amounts of trash. Just what the city picks up each week."
That didn't go over well, but finally they shook on it, which Lisa pointed out wasn't binding. The woman was also laughing when she said it, but Marcia agreed and referenced getting it all in writing as soon as possible. They needed to be someplace they could have the numbers transferred over to, just in case anyone called.
It wasn't like the old base was using them anymore.
The generals started to get pissy about then, feeling that nattering about having a place to stay was beneath them, and a waste of time. They really did have people for that, but Bridget crossed her arms and locked her jaw shut tight. It wouldn't help to point out to them that they were morons.
Except that it would be fun, so her mouth opened and words came out all on their own.
"You two are idiots. I was going to call you morons, but I realized that wouldn't help. We're trying to set up a base of operations, and you meatheads want us to stroke your dicks because you have pretty ribbons on?" She imagined doing exactly that, and had to fight not to move on the younger of the two men. He had some lines on his face, but also a trim waist, and while he reminded her a bit of a beagle, that wasn't the worst thing in the world.
Instead she managed not to do that, and leave their spank monkeys in their trousers. For her it was a win, given that they really were acting like entitled brats about it. Or at least their posture and body language was.
Old guy, the general with the super soldiers, glared at her for a moment, then laughed.
"We hear you, young lady. Get that done then. I'll send some troops over for review in a few days. Can we get an address for that new space?" He looked at Charity for that, having actually been paying attention. It wasn't always certain that people would, she knew, looking at Doug and wondering what he was thinking.
Smiling, she tore her eyes away, as the new donut girl wrote the new location address for the IPB down for the man.
He nodded when the little slip of paper was handed over and looked directly at Marcia.
"We should have our main force out of town by morning. Do you think it's safe to let people go back to their homes?"
Bridget nodded, then blurted again. This time it wasn't an insult at least.
"Yeah. Whoever did this didn't want to kill civies. That's pretty clear. Has anyone taken responsibility yet? I heard it was the TCC, but that isn't a specific group, as much as an idea. It's kind of like claiming that all normal people did it and are the enemy. More of a deflection than a glory grab."
That got the younger General to shake his head, but Lisa was the one that spoke, her green pantsuit out of place, if only a bit. Mainly because the army guys were dressed up more than that, complete with all their pretty handjob worthy ribbons, and the rest of them looked kind of casual.
"So far six groups have claimed responsibility. We don't know if it was a collective action or if it's simply a bunch of cranks all trying to seem relevant. For the time being the DHS is assuming that we still have an unknown threat. I can send a package over for you?" She turned to Bridget, which was a bit strange.
The girl brushed her coppery red hair, which was really short, since it just didn't grow all that long, and thought about it. Her face tried to seem adult, or at least that was her intent, as she answered.
"Good plan. That would help. We also need to get with DHS and the FBI and see what ideas they have. I know it isn't our case, since we don't investigate terrorists, but if they're coming for us, we need all the information we can get. There's always the chance that it was an Infected action, too. We're the go to resource for that kind of thing." It was a bit weak, as for a reason to investigate, legally speaking. No one there had a problem with it, but that didn't mean the other alphabet agencies would go along with them.
She wondered how you even got in touch with that kind of person. Did they just have numbers in the phone book, or online?
They'd need computers, to go along with the phones, which probably meant buying those as well. To do that, they'd need funds and, she realized, Bridget had no clue how any of that really worked. She had an IPB charge card, but it was hooked up to her personal account and she mainly only used it on base. It was a visa card, so it worked most places, but she didn't really want to spend her savings on stuff for the IPB.
Which was selfish of her.
She didn't say anything about that, since her inclination was to hide her money away, not flaunt it. Marcia kept talking to people and they moved to the house out back, so they could all sit down and waste time. Bridget winked at Mary and danced over, prancing really, as soon as they were gone.
"Can I get that number for the sandwich guy? Kenny?"
"Behind the front counter, dear. I should have that order ready in about twenty minutes. I could use some help?" This was said to Charity, but Doug jogged over too, after pointing to the right note pad.
Then he shrugged.
"I'll come out if anyone needs to be rung up. Don't use my till. I have it balanced."
She nodded, because she didn't know what that meant, and didn't really want him to explain right then. It would make her look bad if she tipped it over, or whatever.
"Thanks. I won't be long. I hope."
The phone that Mary had for the place was old. It had buttons on it, but the handset connected to the main body with a springy cord. She played with it as the land line rang. It was to a cell phone, she thought, recognizing the chirp it made when it picked up.
"Ken Hevesy, what's up?" It was pretty casual, even for a newsman, but she flowed with it. Chatting with people was a skill of hers, after all.
"Hi Ken. This is Bridget Chambers. Impulse, from the IPB? Director Turner is planning to have a press conference at two-thirty, by the high school. Can you get that set up for us?"
There was a pause, and then the man, who sounded young, chuckled.
"Tammy, is this you? Totally not funny, you know. I like the little girl voice, though. You can use that when we meet up, next Friday. Call me daddy while I spank you for being so... naughty."
She nearly agreed, but managed to hold that back. Not her mirth, but that part couldn't be helped. It was hilarious.
"Seriously, Ken. Bridget Chambers. I was out of the base when it went up. So was Gravity, and Quartz survived it. We need a press conference and our..." She went quiet, holding the words back, not wanting to give the truth. It made for a nicely dramatic pause, she thought. When she spoke again it was dark and harsh. Like Nocturne, the uninfected movie super hero. She'd helped clean a parking lot with him, once. "My mom was our person for that, so we need someone to get it all put together. If you don't suck at it, you could be in for a real job. At least part time. Even if you blow, we need someone to do it. So, you get the idea; podium, let everyone know that there will be an event at two-thirty, get things set up with the camera crews. Placement... and all that. Announce it now, so that the big news networks will be able to go live, and let everyone know it's coming."
There was a pause then, and the man on the other side of the phone cleared his throat. When he spoke his voice cracked anyway.
"I'm really sorry to hear that. About your mom. I... Yeah, I can set that up. How did you get my number?"
She contemplated lying, but her mouth worked on its own.
"From Mary. The one with your sandwich order? That should be ready in about eighteen minutes. You can come and pick it up. Or, I think she's planning to send Doug over. You can get with him, so that you know that this is real. I don't think you should leave the scene there, because you've got work to do. If you will, I mean? I can't pay you. Unless... Do you accept sandwiches for that?" Not that she had any, but it was funny enough that the man agreed.
"I'm just an unpaid intern. So far I get to hand out coffee and get the food. It could have been worse. If we were in the office, I'd be collating memos, or shadowing the janitor, I bet. Yeah... Um, let me get the word passed on that one. Two-thirty, with Marcia Turner? She's the Director of the IPB?" He said it all slowly, scratching sounds indicating that he was writing while he did it.
"Right. You have the number here?"
"That's... Yeah. Um, I might need more information, can I call back?"
She nodded, which was a bit hard to hear, over the phone.
"I'll be here. Right now I have to find something for Marcia to wear. Some makeup too. She's... Well, she was in the blast, so it's a sight. I'll handle that part. Thanks Ken. Talk to you later. Then, you know, you can try to spank me." She waited a dramatic beat. "Daddy."
"Um... Oh, that... Heh." He hung up, rather than go on with it all. That worked for her, since she had to find some clothes. That meant robbing Liz, if she had anything there, or possibly Deidre. Mary was too short, she thought. Not that much, so she might have some things that would fit. The problem would be that none of them had dressy clothing. She thought so at least. They tended toward casual wear, didn't they?
That, it turned out when Mary indicated she could raid their things, wasn't exactly right. They had dresses, including ones that would look ready for a party, that would probably fit Marcia well enough. The thing there was that they would send the wrong message. What she needed was basically a suit like Lisa was wearing.
Short of taking that one however, it wasn't going to happen.
Mugging the Secretary of State might not go over too well, so she had to find another option.
Jeans were too casual, and not one of them had a pair of slacks. After digging through all the closets, she shook her head and picked a rather plain blue skirt, that was dark enough to be professional, and a rather clashing blouse in dark yellow. It was ugly, but there were shoes to go with it, at the bottom of Liz's closet. If the size was wrong...
Well, Marcia probably wouldn't notice. They'd end up having to buy new shoes though, since the woman could destroy regular foot wear without even trying.
Mary, for all she looked like a hippy chic around the edges, had some makeup. Not a lot, and it certainly wasn't Clari's full kit, but it made for a nice little bag of things to raid from. That, and some napkins from the donut counter would be a good start, she hoped. Marcia would look horrible, but part of that was fine. She didn't need to look good, just strong. Healthy and ready to take the fight to the bad guys, whoever they were.
Everyone there had nice full heads of hair, so there was no handy wig in a drawer to borrow. Marcia would just have to go out with nothing that way. Bald and proud of it. That part would look funny, but kind of bad-ass too. Exotic, rather than like she was fragile or sick.
By the time she had it all ready, Doug had taken off for the other side of town. Flying with the food, since they weren't in hiding. It was a bit strange, but he was already better at it than she was. Part of that was probably just that he had to be. If he crashed at a hundred miles an hour, he'd die. If she did that, her clothing would be dusty, and maybe tear. It was a good bit of incentive that way. Worse, he could go faster than she could. Her top speed was about a hundred miles per hour that way. He could more than double that, as long as he could breathe, and take the force against his body.