by wildbow
“I wasn’t lying. Imp and Haven will handle them soon.”
“Valefor is more cunning than you’d assume. An arrogant young man, impetuous and immature, but history suggests he’s rather cunning when he puts his mind to something.”
“Not a concern,” Skitter said.
“If you say so.”
Skitter turned her attention to the other leader. “Butcher?”
“No,” the woman replied, standing from the table.
“I didn’t think so. Do you have any other business you’d like to bring up, while we’re all here?”
“You die,” Butcher said. “You can’t kill me. I will win.”
With that, her longest statement yet, she turned and walked away.
“Not good enemies to have,” Accord commented. It was just his group and the Undersiders now.
“We’ll manage.”
“The first Butcher had super strength, durability, and the ability to inflict enough pain at a distance that his enemies went into cardiac arrest. His other powers only became evident later. He was killed by a subordinate, and the man who would later be known as Butcher Two inherited a fraction of his powers and a share of his consciousness.”
“Butcher Three inherited it too, along with a share of Two’s powers and consciousness,” Tattletale said. “He was a hero, though.”
Accord rankled at the fact that she’d spoken out of turn. Her voice rang in his ears, as though each syllable were the echoing toll of a bell, growing louder with each iteration. Out of turn, out of sync, out of place.
He bit his tongue. “Yes. And the two voices in the hero’s head worked together to drive him mad. He was gone from this world well before he died in battle. The Teeth reclaimed the power, and the legacy has largely remained within the group since, each successor inherting powers of the ones before. The voices and consciousnesses only work with rightful heirs, members of their group who challenge the leader and beat him in a fair match.”
“Which one is this?” Regent asked.
“Fourteen,” Tattletale said.
“This one’s number fourteen?” Regent asked. “Which means she’s got thirteen sets of powers?”
Another one, speaking out of turn, Accord thought.
Citrine was giving him a sidelong glance. He met her eyes, shook his head fractionally.
Tattletale answered, “Only a small share of each power. Don’t forget she’s got thirteen voices in her head, giving her advice and helping her work stuff out, and all the powers she brought to the table, besides. Her attacks don’t miss. She imbues them with an effect which means they bend space so they strike her target, Bullets turn in midair, swords curve, all means she’s pretty much guaranteed to hit you if her attack reaches far enough.”
She hopped down from the scorpion’s head and walked around the table until she was opposite Accord.
One by one, the Undersiders who’d been standing behind Skitter found seats. The other groups had left, and they were making themselves more at home, now. Regent put his boots on the table, right in front of Imp, who pushed them away.
Overly familiar. Presumptuous.
Accord closed his eyes for a moment. The table was unbalanced now, in a metaphorical sense, but it felt very real. “I don’t recall anyone giving you leave to sit.”
Tattletale raised her eyebrows. “I don’t recall anyone giving you permission to complain. Our territory, our house, our rules.”
I could kill you. Car bombs, other traps. I could manipulate the heroes into going after you. When I direct my ambassadors, they win their fights. You’d break in the face of what I could do, the pressure I could inflict, everything and everyone in the world suddenly a threat, with me pulling the strings.
He drew in a deep breath. Too much at stake, to say such things. In his most patient tone, as though he were speaking to a well meaning but misguided eight year old, he explained, “I’m talking about the way things are meant to be, Tattletale, understand?”
Tattletale bristled as though he’d slapped her.
“Enough,” Skitter said. Her voice was quiet.
The silence that followed was both surprising and relieving. She had control over her subordinates. Good. It took a measure of talent to exert control over such disturbed individuals.
He studied the girl. She was composed, despite the fact that less than twelve hours had passed since her identity had been revealed to the world. And her bugs… it had grated how disordered they had been, but now that he was looking at the ones she wore like a second layer of clothing, he could see how they were ordered, all in formation.
Skitter was calm, collected, reasonable but willing to act with a heavy hand when needed. Clever. She thought at the scale necessary for a true leader.
“Do you accept the deal?” Skitter asked. “Best if I ask now, because your answer dictates the tone of the conversation that follows.”
“I accept,” he replied. She was right: he really had no choice in the matter. He’d dealt with worse deals and worse circumstances before. “I suspect there will be friction, and we will have our disagreements, but we’ll be able to find a common ground. You and I are very similar people.”
She didn’t reply. The silence yawned, and his fingertips twitched involuntarily, dangerously close to the trigger that would turn his cane into a weapon.
“In saying that,” he said, doing his best to remain level, “I was inviting a response.”
“And I was taking a second to think before giving it,” she responded.
Starting a sentence with a conjunction. He grit his teeth and smiled, his mask moving to emulate the expression. “Beg pardon.”
“Let’s talk about details,” Skitter said.
* * *
The city is too dirty. Too disordered. The thoughts were intruding again, oppressive, insistent. They were at the point where they were repeating, cycling back on one another. He’d have to do something to break the cycle. It could be time spent at a workbench, sorting out the projects in his binders or eliminating some of the more chaotic elements.
Murder was out, but there were other options. He’d sent capes to the Yàngbǎn before. It was more constructive than killing. Cleaner. It also built relationships with the C.U.I.
“Talk,” he said, after too many long minutes of silence.
“We can take them, sir,” Othello said. “Any one group, we could handle, but not two groups at once.”
“I agree,” Accord said. “Do you think you could handle them if things went sour?”
“With little trouble, sir. The only ones I’d wonder about are Tattletale, Imp, Valefor and Fourteen,” Othello replied.
“Imp and Valefor… your stranger powers against theirs makes for a troublesome fight. Imp is the one I would worry about first. Unpredictable, impossible to track.”
“I’m suspicious my power cancels hers out, sir. My other self saw her get close to Butcher. I think she had a weapon.”
“Interesting. Citrine?”
“I don’t know, sir. Forgive my saying so, but a lot of people have thought they could handle the Undersiders, and they were wrong. I don’t know how my power would interact with theirs.”
“Very true. Sensible. I’ll need to recruit, regardless of whether we encounter them. Focus on the Teeth and the Fallen for the time being.”
“Yes sir,” the pair echoed him.
Skitter and Tattletale, he thought. They were the real issues for him. Tattletale’s power might have seemed similar to his own, but it was almost the inverse. He’d heard himself described as falling somewhere in between a thinker and a tinker, and perhaps that was apt. It was how he applied his power, starting with the end result and building backwards, and the designs that he fashioned that were so tinker-like. But his real ability was as a thinker, involving planning, awareness and ideas beyond the reach of the unpowered.
He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but he had to plan for every contingency.
They’d reached their accom
odations, a newly built office building. He owned the two uppermost floors, and was buying the floors beneath as the owners agreed to the sales. Soon he would have it set up his way, with escape routes and traps to target his enemies.
“Othello,” he said.
“Yes sir?”
“Send the five first tier employees with the best grades to my room. I expect them in fifteen minutes.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Once you’re done, retire for the evening. Rest well,” he said. “There are big things on the horizon.”
“Yes sir,” the two ambassadors echoed him.
Only two. It wasn’t enough.
He settled in his room. Too much of the furniture was pre-made. He preferred things he had made himself. Cleaner, simpler. He knew where it had all come from, knew how it was put together. Accomodations he had crafted himself were as soothing as the outside world wasn’t.
The five employees arrived right on time. Satisfactory. He opened the door to his room and invited them in. Three men, two women, immaculate, all in proper business attire.
His vetting process was strict, and each step up the ladder required both his invitation and the employee’s acceptance. Each step required them to prove their worth, to face progressively more stress and heavier workloads, and to hold themselves up to his increasingly exacting standards of perfection.
It might have made for reality television, if it weren’t for the blood that was shed along the way. Theirs and others.
“You are being promoted,” he said. “After tomorrow, you will be my ambassadors, my representatives to the rest of the world.”
The displays of emotion were well hidden, but they were there. They were pleased.
“That is all.”
Wordless, the five marched out of his room.
Withdrawing his cell phone, Accord dialed a long distance number.
He smiled a little at that. He wasn’t much for humor, but it had its places.
The ringing stopped, but there was no voice on the other end.
“Accord. Brockton Bay.”
The doorway opened at one end of his room. His hair stirred as air pressure equalized between the two planes.
The Number Man stood on the other side, in the white hallway with white walls.
“Five vials. Of the same caliber as the last set, same price.”
“Done,” The Number Man said. “Where do we stand?”
“It’s promising, but I wouldn’t make any guarantees.”
“Of course. Everything’s progressing according to plan, then?”
Accord nodded, once. “As well as we might hope. We lost Coil, but the Undersiders may serve as a model in his absence.”
“Good to know. I’ll inform the Doctor.”
The gateway closed. Accord sat down on the end of the bed, then lay back, staring at the ceiling.
Coil had been the focus of the test, unaware. The man had also been Accord’s friend, the one who’d sold him the PRT databases. His death had been a tragic thing, on many levels. There were few men Accord considered worthy of being his friend.
Now it hinged on the Undersiders. They’d taken up Coil’s legacy, after a fashion, and just like Coil, their ambitions fell in line with Cauldron’s. The organization’s hopes rode on them and their decisions. Accord’s hopes rode on them: his twenty-three year plan, saving the world from the worst kind of disorder. In the end, they were responsible for billions.
Not that he could tell them or change his actions in respect to them. It would defeat the point.
Everything and everyone had their respective places in the grand scheme of things. For one sixteen year old, the decisions she made in the immediate future would have more impact than she imagined.
It all came down to whether she could embrace this new role, and whether the city could embrace her in turn.
Accord drifted off to sleep, his weary mind grateful from the respite from the endless assault.
Imago 21.1
Tattletale stood at the very edge of the floor, with a twenty-five story drop just in front of her. The wind whipped her hair around her, and she didn’t even have a handhold available. Shatterbird had cleared out all of the window panes, long ago.
She lowered her binoculars. “He’s gone. If he was going to pull something off, he’d want to watch and make sure everything went off without a hitch.”
“I could have gone with them,” Imp said. “Listened in.”
“Not without us knowing their full set of powers,” Tattletale said.
Imp folded her arms, pouting, “I thought you were one of the cool ones.”
“Othello’s a stranger,” Tattletale said. “I’d think he has an imaginary friend who can mess around with us, but I didn’t see any sign of anyone invisible walking around.”
“Isn’t that the point?” Regent asked.
“No dust or glass being disturbed, none of that. I might think his ‘friend’ is invisible and intangible, but then what’s the point? Accord tends to have people with good powers. Citrine, only bits I could figure out were that she’s got an offensive power, something with substance, and her focus was in a strange place. She was more focused on places in the room where the strongest powers were clustered, and her focus was fairly indiscriminate beyond that. Either her power wasn’t anything that anyone here would have been able to defend against, like Flechette’s arrows or a controlled version of Scrub’s blasts, or she’s a trump classification.”
“What’s that?” Regent asked.
“Official classification for capes who can either acquire new powers on the fly,” Tattletale gestured towards Grue, “Have an interaction with other powers that can’t be categorized or they nullify powers.”
“She’s powerful, then,” Regent said.
“She acts like she’s powerful,” Tattletale said. “And she probably is. But that database of PRT records we had didn’t have anything in it about those two. I don’t know where he finds those guys, but Accord collects some damn heavy hitters.”
Parian broke her spell of silence. “You keep talking like we’re going to fight them.”
“Threat assessment,” Tattletale said. She made her way back to her chair, sitting at the long table. “Be stupid not to know what we’re getting into, especially with someone like him.”
“Not to mention we’ve gotten in fights with pretty much everyone who ever set up shop in the ‘Bay,” Regent commented.
“There’s nothing imminent,” Grue said. “Let’s focus on more immediate problems.”
He turned his attention my way.
“Me?” I asked.
“He’s right. We’ve been so busy preparing for possible fallout that we haven’t had time to discuss this,” Tattletale said.
“I’m a non-factor. The damage is done, and it’s a question of the dust settling,” I said, staring down at my gloves. I’d altered some of my costume, but the real adjustments would have to wait until I had time. I’d made up the extra cloth in an open area of my territory I was devoting to the purpose, but hadn’t had time to turn it into something to wear for tonight. Some of my mask, the back compartment of my armor and my gloves were more streamlined. Or less streamlined, depending on how one looked at it. Sharper lines, convex armor panels that flared out more, gloves with more edges for delivering damage if I had to get in a hand to hand fight.
I’d only done some of the armor, pieces of my costume that were already battered and worn. My gloves, my mask and the back compartment of my armor tended to take the most abuse. I’d update the rest later.
“I’m not sure it’s that simple,” Grue said, his voice quiet. He reached across the table and gripped my hand, squeezing it. “Have we double checked to see what bridges they’ve burned for us? My parents aren’t showing any sign of interference.”
“Mom wouldn’t care either way,” Aisha said. “She might try to capitalize on the attention with appearances on television if she could get money for it.”
&nb
sp; “Yeah,” Grue agreed.
“My family wouldn’t care,” Tattletale said. “I’d be surprised if they didn’t already know. They’d choose to ignore it, I’d bet. Parian? You’ve covered your bases.”
“Most of my family is dead. The ones who aren’t dead already know,” Parian said. She looked out toward the window, at the city lights under the night sky.
Tattletale nodded, “Let’s see… Rachel isn’t a problem, not really. Never had a secret identity.”
Rachel shrugged. Her attention was on her dogs. They were shrinking, their extra mass sloughing away. She already had Bastard sitting next to her, his fur spiky and wet from the transformation.
“And if they tried to come at me through my family, they’d get what they deserved,” Regent said.
“Why?” Parian asked.
“His dad’s Heartbreaker,” Tattletale said.
“Oh. Oh wow.”
“Funny thing is,” Regent said, “if you think about it, we might be bigger than Heartbreaker, now. People all over America know who we are, and I’m not sure if Heartbreaker is known that far to the south or west.”
“That’s not our focus right now,” Grue said, squeezing my hand. “It’s good that we’re talking about safeguards and damage control, but discussing villains and the rest of America can wait. They came after Skitter while she was out of costume.”
“How are you coping?” Tattletale asked, leaning forward over the table. “You were pretty heavy-handed tonight. We discussed it, sure, but I thought you’d at least pretend to play ball with them.”
“I didn’t need superpowered intuition to figure out they weren’t going to cooperate no matter what I said,” I replied.
“But you were provoking them. Valefor especially. You up for this, with all the other distractions?”
“This is what I’ve got left, isn’t it? The good guys decided to play their biggest card. They couldn’t beat Skitter, so they beat Taylor. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no reason not to throw myself into this, to deal with both heroes and villains as a full-time thing. I lay down the law, because now I’ve got time to enforce it. I can be stricter with the local villains, back you guys up if they cause trouble, and dedicate the rest of my time to my territory.”
