by wildbow
Tattletale nodded. The tone of her voice shifted fractionally as she said, “You guys can chime in at any point here.”
The young heroes had stopped talking and were listening in.
“I don’t know what you want us to add,” Clockblocker said.
“Interactions,” I said. “Maybe we put you on Bentley’s back. We won’t have to kill Noelle if you can tag her. We’ll be able to keep her frozen long enough for us to erect some form of containment.”
“Me? On the dog?”
“You scared?” Rachel asked.
“I think anyone would be a little scared. You can’t tell me they aren’t a little intimidating.”
“Your power nullifies any threat they could pose,” I said.
“If it closes its teeth around my arm, the fraction of a second it takes my power to kick in is going to buy it time to dig in just a little. Jaws clamped on my arm, I freeze it, sure, but then every time it unfreezes, it closes a little more before I can freeze it again. No thank you.”
“He’s scared,” Rachel said. She scratched the top of Bastard’s head, and I realized she was talking to the wolf cub that was sleeping in her lap. “You’re the stuff of nightmares.”
Clockblocker snorted, then got caught up in a murmured conversation with Weld and Triumph. They were facing our way as they talked.
I tried to ignore them, focused on taking deep breaths, controlling the intake so I wouldn’t start coughing and humiliate myself in front of the local heroes.
“You okay?” Tattletale asked.
“Coughing less. I feel like I’ve maybe got the worst of it out of my lungs and throat.”
“I meant you. You’ve been quiet. You weren’t saying as much as you normally might when I was talking to Miss Militia.”
“Thinking.”
“Important you keep doing that,” she said. “But not if it’s getting you like this. Unless you’re putting together a master plan.”
I shook my head. “No plan. Just fatigue and—”
I stopped. Each and every officer in the next room was turning their heads. I used my bugs to feel out the subject. A hood, with the warmth of a faint natural glow from beneath, with the same effect around his hands, with his loose sleeves. I noted that a glass helm like the one Clockblocker wore fit over his face beneath the hood. People went out of their way to clear out of his path, to such an extent that I might have thought they were in front of an elephant and not a man.
Eidolon entered the conference room and grabbed the seat just to the right of the one at the far end of the table. He swept his cape to one side before he sat down.
“Didn’t think you were coming,” Tattletale said. “With it being just a Class-A threat.”
“The infamous Undersiders,” Eidolon spoke. His voice reverberated slightly, an effect similar to Grue’s.
“And the famous Eidolon,” Tattletale retorted, “while we’re doing the reverse-introductions. I thought I told Miss Militia that we shouldn’t bring in anyone we can’t beat in a fight.”
“Don’t concern yourself over it,” Eidolon said. “I can render myself immune.”
“We won’t know until it happens,” she replied.
There was a pause.
“Tattletale. Are you looking for a chink in the armor?”
“You can’t blame me, can you? If we wind up having to fight you, then it might be all over. So I’m gathering intel.”
Eidolon didn’t reply.
“Okay, sure. Fine,” Tattletale raised her hands in surrender. “It’s cool.”
Eidolon turned away to follow the murmured conversation between Weld, Triumph and Clockblocker. Tattletale rested her elbows on the table, rubbed at her eyes.
“Tired?” I asked.
“Exhausted. Been using my power all night, my head’s throbbing, and this whole business with Noelle hasn’t even started.”
“Take a nap,” I suggested.
“No time. And I do want to make sure I have some ideas in advance, for anyone we might have to face. Noelle is going to target Eidolon. If we fight him, we’ll have to use his weaknesses against him.”
“Tattletale,” Eidolon cut Clockblocker off mid-sentence, his voice carrying across the room. “Could you elaborate?”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “No weaknesses you don’t already know about.”
“Is that so?”
“You’re losing your powers,” she said. “Not fast enough that it matters today, but enough that the difference is appreciable.”
It was hard to read Eidolon’s body language with the few bugs I’d permitted myself. He was leaning forward slightly, and his upper arms pressed against the fabric of his costume as he flexed or clenched a fist.
“And how would you know this, if it were true?”
“Because any other day, with you heroes being as short on teleporters as you are, you’d be helping bring people in. You’re conserving your strength. It might even be a long term fear, like you’ve only got so much power to use over your lifetime before it’s all spent. Candle that burns twice as hot, or something.”
“Simple deduction? Did you consider that I am not teleporting people because there’s a shortage of volunteers?”
“That would contradict what Miss Militia said, and she wasn’t lying. And it doesn’t fit the overall picture. Alexandria—”
Eidolon slapped his hand down against the table. A forcefield expanded from the impact site, forcing Rachel and I out of our chairs and against the wall. I slumped down to the ground, grabbing my rib, and coughed painfully.
The forcefield had kept Rachel and I out, but Tattletale was inside with Eidolon. The sounds from within were muffled.
But I had bugs on both Eidolon and Tattletale, and I could almost make out their words.
Tattletale was speaking. “…reason you … this situation a class-A threat isn’t because it doesn’t fit. …did it is because Alexandria wanted an excuse not… … You came because you needed to prove something to yourself. Test … measure of your power in a …nse situation… work best when… danger. This is best challenge you’ll have…”
“…treading dangerous waters,” Eidolon spoke. There was no growl in his voice, no anger, irritation or emotion at all. Only calm. It made him easier to understand.
“…can live with danger, … it’s interesting. Awfully interesting… why Alexandria’s not coming… … me? …secret.”
Eidolon said something, but his tone had changed and I wasn’t able to switch mental gears fast enough.
“…you?” Tattletale asked. “Years…—”
“The fuck!?” Rachel snarled. Bentley growled as if to accompany her words. He was already growing.
“Relax,” I said, before I started coughing again. “They aren’t fighting.”
“He knocked me over!”
I could see Miss Militia and Assault at the other end of the room, but the forcefield bubble was blocking us.
“What happened!?” Miss Militia shouted.
I tried to respond, coughed instead. My voice was weak with the fresh rawness of my throat as I did manage to utter a reply, “Eidolon flipped…”
“Eidolon attacked!” Rachel yelled.
“Did she provoke him?” Miss Militia asked. Her gun was raised.
“No,” I managed only a whisper.
The forcefield winked out. Eidolon was still sitting, he hadn’t moved except to slap the table with his hand, but Tattletale was standing.
“Just wanted to have a private conversation,” Eidolon said. “I’m sorry. I’ll be getting some fresh air.”
With that, he stood and strode out of the room. He made his way to the stairwell and I could track him moving to the roof.
I picked up my chair and sat, still coughing intermittently. Rachel was still standing, and her dogs were still growing. I gestured for her to sit.
She just glared across the room.
I gestured again, but the force of the motion made my chest hurt and I starte
d coughing. Before I recovered, Rachel sat with an audible thud. She kicked her boot against the edge of the table, hard, and left it there.
“What did you do?” Miss Militia asked. She was facing Tattletale. I could see the other Undersiders behind her.
“Was just commenting that it seemed odd he wasn’t helping you guys out with teleporting people in,” Tattletale said.
“You said more than that,” Weld noted.
“I’m tired, he’s tired, we talked it out. All copacetic,” Tattletale said. She leaned back and stretched.
“I’m not so sure,” Miss Militia said. “Skitter, are you alright?”
“Recent injury,” I managed. “Will be fine in a minute.”
Miss Militia nodded. Not much sympathy, but I couldn’t blame her. “Then let’s get things underway. Everyone, please get seated, or find space to stand.”
Grue, Regent and Imp joined us, and Grue set his hands on my shoulders as he stood behind me. He rubbed my exposed back where the armor panel was missing as I coughed hoarsely once or twice.
I counted the people in costume with my swarm. It wasn’t nearly as many reinforcements as we’d had against Leviathan. I saw Chevalier and Myrddin, but didn’t recognize anyone else. There were the Wards and Protectorate members from Brockton Bay, with perhaps twenty more.
“Tentative ratings, based on what we know, we have her down as a brute eight, a changer two and a combination of striker and master with a rating of ten.”
“Too low,” I heard Tattletale murmur.
I suppressed a cough, managed only a choke. It drew more attention to me, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone was already paying way too much attention. I was wearing my older costume, and somehow felt more juvenile, more exposed. I didn’t have the covering of bugs over the exterior of my costume like I was used to, either.
“Her ability allows her to create clones of anyone she touches. The PRT office believes she’s a class-A threat, but Tattletale’s expectation is that this individual has the potential to become an Endbringer. We’re moving forward with extreme caution.
“Our primary issue at the moment is that we can’t yet locate her. She has one hostage, a young member of the Wards. The girl was attacked en route to her home. Locating our target quickly is paramount, but we should also be careful to avoid giving her a chance to use her power on us. For the time being, we will be operating with the same protocols and plans that we employ against Hadhayosh. Hit and run, maintain a safe distance as priority number one, and employ continuous attacks. We’ll be dividing you into teams—”
Miss Militia stopped short as an officer pushed his way through the people near the door, Chevalier included. He handed Miss Militia a phone.
She turned around and pressed a button on the wall. The faux-wooden panels separated to reveal a widescreen television.
It flickered on.
“Her?” Kid Win asked. “That’s the class-S threat?”
“She’s bigger than she looks,” Tattletale commented.
I was disappointed I couldn’t see. I tried looking at the screen with my bugs, but they saw only a rectangular glow.
“Quiet,” Miss Militia said, “It’s a webcam feed. I’m setting it so we’ll be transmitting audio only… Hello, Noelle.”
“Who is this?” Noelle asked.
“She talks,” I heard someone whisper.
“Miss Militia,” Miss Militia said, louder.
“The gun woman. Who else is there?”
“Other local heroes,” Miss Militia replied.
“Oh. There aren’t more? The Undersiders didn’t get in touch with you?” Noelle sounded funny. Her voice was hollow, almost disappointed.
“It’s just us right now.”
“Because I smell more,” Noelle said. “Which makes it hard to believe you. But you can lie if you have to.”
“You can smell us.”
“Not you. But it doesn’t matter,” Noelle’s voice broke. She stopped.
“Are you there?” Miss Militia asked.
“I’m here. I was telling you it doesn’t matter. I only called because… I killed her. The space-warper. I’m so bad with the names. So many names for you capes. I only ever paid attention to the powers.”
“You killed Vista,” Miss Militia said. “Why?”
“Because I could. Because I was hungry, and I’d already used her up. See?”
There was a brief pause, then a number of gasps and breathless words all at once. One of my bugs caught a noise from Clockblocker, deep in his throat.
Grue leaned close, whispered in my ear, “Five Vistas. All but one of them have faces more like masks than skin and muscle. Hard, rigid. Wearing borrowed clothes, not costumes. The fifth one might be taller than I am, and her bones look curved.”
I nodded.
There was a thump from the microphone on Noelle’s end, presumably as she turned the camera back to herself.
“Just wanted to let you know that. I’m sorry. This isn’t like me. It’s the stuff that’s growing on me. I have my memories, and when I think, it’s always my thoughts, but it feels like it’s taking over my subconscious, and when it wants something the hormones and adrenaline flood into my body and my brain, so I feel what it feels. Twists the way I think.”
“Why Vista?”
“She was alone. And could smell how strong she was. Read about her online, too. Internet was all I had for a long time. Now I’ve got them. They’re pretty obedient, and it’s nice to have company. I haven’t had any physical contact with anyone for a while, and they like giving me hugs. Except the sixth.”
“Sixth,” Miss Militia said.
“Not as obedient. She ran off. Gibbering something about killing her family.”
Miss Militia thrust her index finger toward the door, and the Wards were gone in a flash, running for the stairwell.
“Can we negotiate?” Miss Militia asked, her voice oddly calm given the ferocity of the gesture and the threat against one of her colleagues’ family.
“Not really a negotiation… but I can offer you a deal.”
“What’s the deal?”
“Kill the Undersiders. Or hand them to me so I can torment them before I kill them. You can do it any time you want to. Just… knock them out, or hurt them, or find a way to tell me where they are. If it’s a choice between hurting one of you or hurting one of them, I’ll hurt them. I promise. If I’ve taken someone hostage, you probably have a little while before the hostage is dead. Just know that I’ll trade you any of my hostages for any Undersider, any time, any situation. When the Undersiders are all dealt with, I’ll sniff out and kill all of the clones I’ve made, then I’ll let you try to kill me. Or imprison me. Do whatever. I don’t care anymore, because I don’t think I’ll be me much longer. I don’t think I’m even me right now. Not the me I was… I’m rambling.
“They took away my only chance. My only chance to get well. Until they’ve paid for that, I’m going to make this hard on you, heroes. I don’t think I can die, and I don’t think I’m that easy to stop in other ways. I’ll hunt you down, I’ll copy you until you’re all used up, let your copies ruin your reputations and your lives, and then I’ll eat you. I’ll do it to each of you, one by one, until you realize it’s easier to go after the Undersiders than to come after me. Give me my revenge, and this ends.”
Interlude 18 (Donation Bonus #2)
“Water torture,” Justin said. “It’s what the C.I.A. uses.”
“No, please.”
Justin shook his head. “What good is begging going to do? There’s hardly a point to torture if you want it.”
“The victim can aspirate water during water torture,” Dorothy commented, as though she were commenting on paint shades. “But I could have been doing it wrong.”
“Burning, then. Start on the back, chest and stomach, work our way to the extremities. They say a burn hurts worse than any other pain, inch for inch,” Justin said. “By the time we work our way to the face, th
e armpits, or the soles of the feet…”
“Oh god.”
“Scarring,” Geoff said, looking up from his newspaper. “Chance of infection. He’d be facing as much risk as he would with the water torture. It might even be harder to treat. Harder to explain if we had to go to a doctor.”
“Razors?” Justin suggested.
“Razors could work,” Dorothy said. “I’m good with a razor.”
“Hear that?” Justin asked. “She’s good with a razor.”
“Please. There has to be another way.”
“There are a number of other ways,” Dorothy said. “Tearing out your teeth, fingernails and toenails is one. Castration, force feeding, breaking bones, rats, flaying…”
“I meant besides torture.”
“Psychological methods,” Justin suggested.
“Isolation,” Dorothy offered. “Sensory deprivation, intoxicants. Would you like cream in your coffee, Geoff?”
“No thank you, dear.”
“The bacon is done. Why don’t you two come and eat?” Dorothy offered.
Justin sighed. “Come, Theo.”
The boy gave them wary looks as he stood from the armchair and crossed the length of their hotel room. Dorothy had laid out a veritable feast: bacon, eggs, english muffins, toast, french toast, a bowl of strawberries, a bowl of blueberries, and a bowl of fruit salad. There was orange juice and pots of both coffee and tea. She was just setting down a plate of bacon, leaving barely enough room for anyone’s plates.
It would have been too much for eight people to eat, but she didn’t seem to realize that. She smiled as Justin ushered Theo to the table and sat down. Her clothes were more fit for a job interview than for a fugitive, with a knee-length dress, heels, earrings and makeup. Geoff, like his wife, was too well dressed for the occasion, wearing a button-up shirt beneath a tan blazer, his hair oiled and combed back neatly.
They can’t act, Justin thought. They follow their routines like bad actors following a script. A housewife preparing a meal for her family, the husband at the table.
He’d known that the pair started every day with the same routine, like clockwork. Wake, don bathrobe, and collect a newspaper. Geoff would step into the shower as Dorothy stepped out, and she would be done grooming by the time he was through. Once they were both dressed, they’d head to the kitchen, and Geoff would read the paper while Dorothy cooked.
