Worm

by wildbow

  Clockblocker and Triumph had entered just as he finished speaking.

  “Conflict?” Clockblocker asked. He took a chair among the other Wards.

  “It remains a possibility. If her teammates were to attack, she’d be positioned to use her power to hamper us, up until we used the nonlethal measures to incapacitate her,” Tagg replied.

  “I could use my power,” Clockblocker said. “Put her on pause, repeat the process until we have other measures in place.”

  “No,” Tagg said. “We need you elsewhere, and each contact gives her a chance to act against you or escape. She’s confined, and we can use countermeasures to incapacitate her if need be.”

  The Director set his elbows on the table and leaned over, covering his mouth with his hands. I missed some of what he said, as his words were muffled. “And … her stew for a while.”

  Ah. So the psychological pressure extended another step. A strip search, a claustrophobic cell, stripping away my possessions, and now he planned to keep me cooped up in here until my composure cracked. Not so effective if I was being put on pause, with only a fraction of the time passing.

  “The alternative,” Assault said, “is that this is exactly what she wants. She wants us to react.”

  “It’s possible,” Tagg said. “Getting us agitated, getting media attention, having us call in assistance, only to humiliate us further.”

  “You’re bringing in help?” Miss Militia asked.

  “We’ll see,” Tagg said. He touched his face as he spoke, and it muddled his words, “In the …, see to the … I recommended in dealing with her. It would be best if you didn’t use your computer, with her … watching—”

  “No need. I remember what we discussed,” Miss Militia said. “I’ll arrange it.”

  “Make any and all calls outside of her power’s range.”

  “We will,” Miss Militia said.

  “If she’s … fight a war over the city’s heart, let’s make the first move. We contact the media, control … … they have access to, make sure the first thing the public hears is our side. Make sure we make some mention of Accord, and Hellhound’s penchant for chewing up people who trespass on her territory.”

  “I’ll see to it,” the deputy director said.

  Odd, to be so utterly helpless while I watched my enemies maneuver against me. I couldn’t, wouldn’t use my power here. I couldn’t talk to them, or request anything.

  I shifted position, and the metal bands squeaked. I couldn’t find a position to lie down, and wound up sitting. I toweled my hair ineffectually in an attempt to get it dry.

  An officer, out of uniform, appeared at the door to the conference room. “Media already has the story. Vickery, with channel twelve. He’s asking us for final comments before the story goes live.”

  “Is he on the phone right now?”

  “Yes sir.”

  Tagg stood, “Tell him I’ll talk to him when I’m done here, and I’ll make any wait worth his while.”

  “Yes sir.”

  As the uniform left, Tagg remained standing at the end of the table. “Anticipate confrontation, but don’t seek it out. Whatever they have planned, they’ll want to rescue her.”

  “We can seal off the stairwell access with containment foam,” Kid Win spoke up. “Seize the elevator, to prevent access to the cells. If there’s an attack, we shut down the elevator. In the worst case scenario, they can’t get her out before reinforcements arrived from other cities.”

  “You can do it fast?” Tagg asked.

  “Very,” Kid Win said.

  “See to it. Where do things stand with the defense system against the bugs?”

  “Not done, but I could wrap it up soonish with Sere’s help, maybe.”

  “Sere? You’ll cooperate?”

  “Yes,” Sere replied. “Of course.”

  “Then it’s settled. Everyone else, double the number of patrols, form pairs at a bare minimum, focus on recon more than fighting. Track the Undersiders, meet with contacts. Consider this a mid-to-high priority situation, keep that in mind if you’ve any favors to call in and you’re weighing whether you should. Miss Militia? Ready the measures we discussed, and use the Wards. We don’t want them in a direct confrontation, and they can fend for themselves if ambushed.”

  “Yes sir.”

  With that, the meeting was broken up. Tagg headed to his office, the Wards moved to the elevator to head down to their headquarters, below the cell that held me, and the Protectorate headed out on patrols.

  My power’s range was about five blocks. It should have been larger, going by the running theory that feeling ‘trapped’ extended my reach, but I was in here by my own device. I couldn’t necessarily force it.

  Five blocks felt oppressively small, in the grand scheme of things. I was in a six-foot by six-foot cell with thick walls, nothing to read, no television to watch, and only dull metal and chrome to look at. The vague blur of my reflection in the walls was only a dark shadow, the occasional gleam of light of my glasses.

  Around me, the PRT office buzzed like an anthill I’d kicked. People were heading here and there on tasks and missions, reacting, preparing, anticipating some form of attack. The higher-ranking members of the PRT made calls to contacts, prepared, and set security measures in place. PRT uniforms got geared up, off-duty teams were called in and prepared, organized in defensive lines around the building.

  Miss Militia, for her part, sent Flechette on an errand, instructing her to make a phone call and return as soon as possible, and then started organizing the Wards.

  I set bugs on the minute and hour hands of a clock. It was both a curse and a blessing, because it made me acutely aware of how slowly time was passing.

  “Things are going crazy,” Crucible said.

  “This is big,” Clockblocker said.

  “I’m just saying, you’d think things get calmer when the kingpin—queenpin—”

  “Crime lord,” Clockblocker said. “It’s easier.”

  “When the crime lord of the city turns themselves in.”

  Vista spun around in her chair to face Crucible, “She’s probably planning something like getting put in jail, then breaking out and showing us there’s no point in trying to catch her, because we can’t keep her. And she’ll do it with teeny-weeny bugs, make Tagg look bad, maybe get him fired.”

  “Fits,” Clockblocker mused.

  “But she can’t know she’ll escape. What if we did have Dragon and Defiant move her halfway across the country?”

  “She used my power to cut Echidna in half,” Clockblocker said. “She could deal with that, too.”

  “Again with the Echidna thing,” Crucible said. “Can’t you tell—”

  “Classified,” Clockblocker, Kid Win and Vista said, at the same time. Kid Win didn’t even look up from the containment foam dispenser he was tinkering with.

  “Fuck you guys.”

  The screen in my cell flashed yellow, then beeped once, a sound loud enough that it made me jump.

  I stood from the bed and walked around until I faced the screen.

  It stayed yellow for long seconds, then went dark.

  Checking on me?

  I sat back down.

  The minutes were ticking away. Tagg was counting on this confinement wearing on me. Putting me in a different headspace for when he finally decided to come down and grill me. It… was working, but probably not to the degree he was thinking. Being manhandled by the PRT officer had been another attempt at getting me outside of my comfort zone, no doubt a gambit, where any resistance from me would be met by a shout from Triumph, a beating and a use of Clockblocker’s power before the door was shut in my face. A lack of resistance only making me uncomfortable, putting me in my place, for lack of a better phrase.

  But again, it didn’t matter. My concerns were on bigger things, on the space beyond this cell, on everything I needed to achieve.

  A family made their way to the lobby. I assumed them to be tourists, until t
he guards let them into the building. Two adults and a young girl. The Alcotts.

  Dinah had cut her hair short.

  Reinventing herself? Distancing herself from being Coil’s ‘pet’?

  Tagg met them at the end of the lobby, then ushered them upstairs to the conference room. They were joined by Mrs. Yamada, her cousin Triumph, and Miss Militia.

  Tagg waited until everyone else was seated before sitting at the head of the table.

  He pressed a key, and the monitor in my room beeped. I lay down on the bed before the six seconds were up and the cameras went on.

  When he was done looking in on me, he closed the laptop.

  “She turned herself in,” Dinah said.

  “Your power pick up on that?” Triumph asked.

  “We watched the news,” Dinah’s mom said.

  “When you said sending Defiant and Dragon into the school would virtually guarantee that Skitter was brought into custody,” Tagg said, and his phrasing was odd, as if he were choosing words carefully or there was a tone my bugs’ hearing wasn’t picking up on, “you didn’t say anything about this.”

  I did catch the emphasis on ‘this’ as he finished.

  “This?” Dinah’s father asked.

  “That she’d surrender, nearly a week later. The timing of it, the fact that it could be a ploy.”

  “I didn’t know,” Dinah said.

  “If you have an accusation,” Mr. Alcott said, “Say it outright.”

  “I’m saying your daughter was helping Skitter, not us. That everything seems to suggest she was aiding and abetting a known criminal.”

  “Are you insane?” Mr. Alcott asked. The volume of his voice rose. “Those thoughts don’t even connect!”

  “I don’t necessarily agree with the Director’s line of reasoning, Dinah,” Miss Militia said, “But Skitter’s a known criminal mastermind, with an emphasis on the latter. She’s a capable strategist and a battlefield tactician. As far as we were aware, she was well situated as one of the more powerful villains in North America, judging by her control over this city. In the past week alone, she’s … two villainous organizations and folded a third into her own. There’s no reason for her to surrender. The only way any of this makes sense is if there’s a greater plan at work.”

  “And you think Dinah had something to do with that plan?” Mrs. Alcott asked.

  Mrs. Yamada leaned forward, “It’s very understandable if Dinah feels indebted or attached to Skitter, to Taylor Hebert. She owes her a great deal.”

  Dinah mumbled something. I wasn’t sure if it was even a word.

  Mrs. Yamada continued, “We’re only trying to make sense of this. Wanting to help someone who’s done a great deal for you isn’t a bad thing, Dinah, understand? But there’s other things going on. Sensitive things. Skitter may unwittingly do a lot of damage or put herself at risk, if she says the wrong things and the wrong people hear.”

  “…,” Dinah said something under her breath.

  “Beg pardon?” Mrs. Yamada asked.

  “Good. If she does a lot of damage, then good.”

  Director Tagg started to speak, but Mrs. Yamada cut him off. “Why is that good, Dinah?”

  “Can’t say. Won’t say.”

  “You are working with her, then,” Tagg said. He shifted position in his chair.

  “No. Yes. Both. I’m working for everyone. I don’t think Skitter’s very happy with me, really. But she’s still here, because I told her to be.”

  “You’ve been in communication with her?” Miss Militia asked. I could tell how much gentler her voice was than Tagg’s.

  “No.”

  “Oh my lord,” Tagg said, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. “I think I’m about to have an aneurysm.”

  Dinah didn’t reply.

  “Do you hate the PRT, Dinah?” Miss Militia asked.

  “No.”

  “Or heroes? Do you blame us for not helping you when you needed it?”

  “No. A little, but that’s not important.”

  “But you want Skitter to do damage? To hurt us?”

  “She’ll do damage, one way or another. If she didn’t come here voluntarily, she probably would have become meaner. It would have turned into a big fight, and she would make a mistake eventually and get brought in. But she decided to surrender, so the same thing happens. I’m glad that happened.”

  “All because we revealed her identity,” Yamada said.

  “Yes.”

  “But we don’t know the ramifications of this ploy of hers,” Miss Militia said.

  “I do,” Dinah replied. “But I’m not telling. And I’m charging ten times as much if you ask me for a number, and then I’ll lie, and I won’t be able to use my power for a while after. And your bosses don’t want that. Not with an Endbringer coming soon.”

  “You’ll charge us for a number you won’t provide?” Tagg asked.

  “Yes. Because I charge you for asking. I can’t help but look for the numbers, so I have to look. And that makes my head hurt if I do it too much.”

  Tagg let his hand drop to the table with enough force to make a noise and make the lid of the laptop in front of him clatter.

  “Why, Dinah?” Miss Militia asked. “Why do this?”

  “For everyone. Because we got this far, it makes the numbers a little better. Whatever happens from here on out, it makes the end of the world a little less bad.”

  “A little less bad,” Triumph echoed her.

  “But it still happens,” Tagg said.

  “Almost always. The world ends, in two years or in fifteen or sixteen.”

  Tagg opened his laptop, “Do you have anything to say to Skitter?”

  “No,” Dinah said. “I’m done.”

  “Done.”

  “Yes. I’m busy. It’s only because my cousin works here that I even came.”

  “You seem to be playing a dangerous game,” Tagg said. “Testing our goodwill, manipulating us for your own ends.”

  “Everyone’s ends, and I didn’t manipulate you. You asked for a number, I gave it.”

  He ignored her. “Helping her when you should be helping us.”

  “I don’t have to help you,” she said. “I’m not a good guy. I’m not a bad guy. I’m done working for other people, answering their questions when I don’t want to. I work for me, and for everyone.”

  Odd, to think how much time I’d dedicated to Dinah, and how little I really knew her. There was this, only now, and the discussions we had prior to me taking her home. So little.

  Tagg was rubbing his temples. “Fine. Now, when you said that the outcome of this improves the numbers, I understand that includes sending her to the Birdcage?”

  “When I said I was done, I meant it,” Dinah said. She pushed her chair back. Her parents joined her, standing. “You want more answers, get in contact with my dad, he’ll let you know my rates. They change every day.”

  “Not a wise business decision for a rogue starting out,” Tagg said, without rising from his chair. “Offending an organization like the PRT, a young lady like you mouthing off. We could cooperate, instead.”

  He was threatening her? I clenched a fist.

  Dinah looked back at him. “I don’t think you have any conception how valuable my answers are. I could answer one question a week for people in Asia and I’d be set for life. I don’t care if I offend you.”

  “And you don’t care about your savior, locked away in that cell?” Tagg asked.

  Dinah stopped in her tracks. “Are you threatening Taylor?”

  “I don’t know,” the Director said. “You said she’ll do damage in some form. Maybe we need to stop that from happening. And you said that no matter what happens, the outcome’s more in our favor than it was before she surrendered. Why? Is it that important to remove her from Brockton Bay? To unseat her from her throne?”

  “I’m not answering any more questions.”

  “You’ll answer what I ask you to answer,” T
agg said. “Because we need to go into this with our eyes open. We can’t have Skitter damage us.”

  “Director,” Mrs. Yamada said, “This isn’t constructive. The last thing she wants—”

  “The last thing I want is another arrogant dickface telling me what to do,” Dinah said. “You want answers, Director? Fine. Twenty two point eight one three percent chance you die painfully, over long, slow minutes or hours. Maybe soon, maybe in twenty years, but it’ll bring you to tears, and you’ll wail in pain. That’s a freebie. Want more details?”

  “Guys,” Miss Militia said.

  “You assume I care about that,” the Director said.

  “You will.”

  “Guys,” Miss Militia said, louder.

  “If you refuse to give us assistance, and people get hurt, then that’s on your head,” Director Tagg said.

  “I deal with that every day,” Dinah said. “I’ll cope.”

  “Guys!” Miss Militia stood from her chair, the feet screeching against the ground. She raised her voice another notch. “Look.”

  She pointed at the window.

  I moved my bugs to check for whatever it was she was pointing at, then stopped.

  She was pointing at the bugs. They’d reacted to my irritation, and were swirling just beyond the window of the conference room, clustering on the glass surface.

  “Is she making a move?” Tagg asked.

  “No. They’re… just there. Reacting,” Miss Militia said. “To this. Here.”

  “She’s watching,” Tagg said.

  “Watching what? There’s nothing to look at,” Miss Militia said. “Think about it. What this is to her.”