by wildbow
“Eight twenty. Then school after that. I’ll see you this afternoon?”
“Yeah,” I answered. I made my way to the common area and took the first unoccupied spot at the computer. Grace was there, but she wore a school uniform, and had homework spread around her.
“Don’t say a word,” she told me, clearly annoyed.
“Wasn’t going to,” I responded.
I logged in, and was greeted by the customized desktop.
C/D: Endbringer
—3:21:45:90
C/D: End of World
593:19:27:50
The first counted upward, the other counted down.
Three days had passed since the estimated arrival of either the Simurgh or Leviathan. Behemoth had been early, but whatever factor pushed that to occur wasn’t at play here.
It made sense that they wouldn’t maintain the schedule they had been. Since the Simurgh had arrived, roughly three and a half months had passed between each attack.
These coming days and weeks would speak volumes. Were the Endbringers going to alter their tactics? Would the schedule continue at its accelerated pace, with Behemoth appearing in seven to ten months?
Something else altogether?
My eyes fell on the second clock. The countdown.
593:19:25:23
* * *
“No joke?” I asked, the second the elevator doors were open. Cuff was waiting on the other side.
“She’s here,” Cuff said. “Not here, here, but she’s showed up.”
I was in full costume, my flight pack on, an insulated box for my bugs tucked under one arm. my phone in hand. I was chilled to the core of my body, my lenses fogging up from the adjustment from outdoor temperature to indoor temperature.
I didn’t need to ask who. I knew well enough. It was a question that had been lurking on everyone’s minds. Which one, where?
I pulled off my mask as I followed her to the common area, and reached out to accept the glasses my bugs were already fetching to me, putting them on. The same images played on each of the screens.
The Simurgh, her silhouette barely visible in the midst of the clouds.
“What city?” I asked.
“Not a city,” Tecton said.
Sure enough, the camera angle changed. Water. Coastal?
No. Too much water.
Ocean. She was attacking the ocean?
It clicked when I saw the text at the bottom of the screen for one news report. BA178 under siege.
Of all of the sensitive locations in the world, the Simurgh had chosen a passenger airplane.
“Are we—” I started to ask.
“Can’t,” Tecton said. “No solid ground, and none of us fly.”
“I fly,” I said, but I could already guess the follow-up answer.
“Vehicles and tinker equipment aren’t going to cut it. Too easy for her to interfere with,” Tecton said.
“Order came down from the top. Natural fliers only,” Wanton added.
“We’re too late to join in anyways,” Grace said. “I can’t imagine this’ll be a long, drawn-out, knock down fight. We got almost no warning. It’s like she dropped straight down from where she was and picked a fight with the closest target.”
I thought of Armstrong’s insistence that we capitalize on our victory, mass in numbers to allow for another decisive victory, instead of showing up in smaller groups, with inevitable attrition.
All this waiting, all of the restlessness, watching the countdown clock tick well beyond the estimated date, and we couldn’t even fight. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
I watched on the screen as Legend, Alexandria and Eidolon engaged the Simurgh. She avoided the worst of their attacks, primarily through the only cover available—the airplane.
Half of the screens were showing the same video footage, though they were different channels, different organizations. The other half were showing information. The flight route, the people in the plane.
If anything here was special, the only one who knew would be the Simurgh.
My teammates didn’t talk much as we watched the fight progress. In one instant, it seemed, the dynamic changed. The heroes began trying to attack the plane, and the Simurgh started trying to defend it.
For eleven minutes, she managed, using her telekinesis to move the craft, her wings and body to block it from being damaged.
A fire started on the body of the ship as Eidolon tore into the Simurgh with a reality warping power of some kind, complete with lightning, fire, distorted light, and ice. The Simurgh cast the craft aside in the following instant, letting it flip, burn and tumble before hitting the water and virtually disintegrating.
That done, the Simurgh ascended, rising into the clouds. A few capes tried to follow, but Scion wasn’t among them.
“How long was the fight?” I asked.
“Not long enough for Scion to show,” was all Wanton said.
“Forty minutes?” Tecton asked. “About forty minutes.”
I’d spent more than half that time hurrying back to headquarters, hoping I wasn’t missing my ride. Now this. It was a farce.
“Now we wait,” Grace said. “And if we’re lucky, we find out what she just did.”
That was it.
It was almost a letdown, more than a relief. I couldn’t say she’d been softballing us, because it was the Simurgh. For all I knew, this was the most devastating attack yet. We wouldn’t know until later on.
Virtually no casualties, the planeload of people excepted. Nobody was reporting anything about heroes dying, but it had been clear enough from the footage that this hadn’t been a serious loss. Barely forty capes had been out there, and I hadn’t seen any die.
Yet I felt irrationally upset, if anything.
I turned and walked away. I let the strap of the incubation box slip from my shoulder to the crook of my elbow, caught it with my hand, and then transferred it over to the arms of my flight pack. It meant I didn’t have to stop or bend down to set the incubation box at the base of the stairs. I didn’t go up to my room or my workshop, though. I made my way downstairs, instead.
I was grateful to see that Mrs. Yamada hadn’t left yet. Her things were packed, but she’d settled into the office, and was reading a small book. A television was on in the corner, muted, showing what was happening with the Simurgh.
“Taylor.”
“Do you have a minute?”
“Of course.”
She stood and crossed the room to close the door. I hadn’t realized I’d left it open.
“It was about the best we could hope for, going by what we know now,” I said. “And I feel worse about it than I did about New Delhi.”
“You’ve been preparing for this, anticipating it, for some time. Mentally, you were preparing yourself for more losses, steeling yourself. That takes a lot out of you, and you were robbed of a chance to do something.”
My phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen. My dad. I sent him a message letting him know I was fine.
“Sorry,” I said, putting the phone away. “It was my dad.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s a good sign if you’re reaching out to your dad, or vice-versa.”
“It’s bad manners,” I said. “But okay. Back to what we were saying before. I’m almost feeling… disarmed?”
“Disarmed. Good word.”
“I’ve been sort of enjoying the peace, the fact that the Protectorate are dealing with the meanest bastards around, the Folk, the Royals, the Condemned. But I was telling myself it came down to the Endbringer fight. That I’d participate, I’d wake up, fight.”
“Isn’t it better if you don’t have to?”
“No,” I said. I stared down at my gloved hands. “No. Not at all.”
“You came from a bad place, and, like we’ve talked about, you reinvented yourself. Maybe a lot of your identity is rooted in your concept of yourself as a warrior.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But whether it’s true or not, it doesn�
�t change how I feel.”
“I expect a lot of people around the world feel the same way. It’s very possible she calculated things to achieve this effect.”
I nodded.
“What do you think would be a best case scenario, Taylor? If everything went the way you were hoping it would, deep down inside, what would happen?”
“New Delhi would happen,” I said. “Except without the severe losses. We’d lose people, some place would get damaged, but we’d kill another Endbringer.”
“Is that realistic, do you think?”
“No,” I said. “I know it isn’t realistic. We went decades without killing one, and it’s stupid to imagine we could kill two in a row.”
“What’s a more reasonable expectation?”
“That she’d show up, and we’d fight, and we’d drive her off without too many casualties.”
“In either of these scenarios, do you envision yourself playing a role? Maybe as big a role as you played in New Delhi?”
“I’m… Sort of?”
She didn’t seize on anything there, nor did she ask a follow-up question. I took the opportunity to reflect on it.
“Yeah,” I eventually said. “Maybe not as big a role. Again, that’s unrealistic. But I want to help.”
“If the Simurgh wanted to deliver a hit to morale, this would be a way to do it,” Mrs. Yamada said. “After New Delhi, a lot of capes were hoping to make a difference, to be heroes. Her choice of venue, the short battle, the narrow focus, it denied everyone the chance. Not just you.”
“I need to be stronger,” I said. “I’m supposed to be one of the people that’s around for this prophesied end of the world. Except I’m not getting chances here.”
“Can you talk to your superiors? To Revel?”
“I’ve hinted at it, that I could stand to sidekick around on patrols. Nobody’s taken the deal. Not with me. They took Golem, but the adult capes like him, because he’s polite to a fault, works his ass off, and his power is good. I’m good, but I wind up being a partner more than a sidekick.”
“You’ve been training with Golem.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re due some of the credit for his forward strides, I’m sure.”
“I’m not—” I started, then I made myself stop. Too much emotion in my voice. Calmer, I said, “I’m not looking for reassurance, or for compliments. I’m just…”
I struggled for a way to end the sentence.
“Let’s use the ‘I feel because’ line. Frame your emotions better.”
I drew in a deep breath, then sighed. “I feel spooked, because something’s coming and it’s going to be ugly, and I’m not prepared. I feel less prepared with every day where nothing happens.”
“I imagine your teammates feel spooked too. You’ve mentioned what they’re going through. Golem is likely going to be baited out by Jack Slash at some point in the future. Cuff has limited dexterity with her right hand, to the point that she’s having to relearn to write and type. I’m not discussing anything confidential, to be clear; only what you’ve mentioned to me in our previous sessions.”
I nodded.
“Golem has your support, I know. They all do, in some respect. In terms of what Cuff is going through, I know your team is dividing the workload in helping her with paperwork. That says a lot.”
“Supporting each other.”
“It sounds trite, but I think there’s a truth in it. You have legitimate fears about what comes down the road. But keep in mind that you’re not alone in this. Maybe you’ve hit a ceiling for the time being, in your own growth and development. But you can still progress, if you’re helping your teammates, assisting them in conquering their demons and improving their abilities.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It doesn’t feel like enough.”
“It may not be, but it’s constructive. Perhaps you’ll feel less disarmed if you focus on the tools and, so to speak, the weapons at your disposal.”
“Maybe,” I answered her. “But I hate feeling helpless.”
“Part of the reason you feel that way is because you’re waiting for opportunities to come to you. You waited for the Endbringer, so you could flex your talents in unimaginably high stress environments. It’s good, I think, that you waited, that you had a moment to breathe. I think you should strive to retain that peace, because it may help you enter a better headspace.”
It was similar advice to the parting words Glenn had left me with, but they opposed on one front. Mrs. Yamada would have been happier in general if I maintained this indefinitely. Glenn would be wanting to see me acting.
It was time to act, whatever Mrs. Yamada said.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You feel a little better?”
“Not really,” I admitted. “I’m not even sure I understand all my feelings. But I feel like I’ve got more of a plan, now. I appreciate it.”
“It’s what I’m here for. Or at least, I’m here for one more hour, and then I fly back to Boston. I’ll be around next Friday, after I finish another circuit.”
“Cool,” I said. “I’m glad you were here today.”
“I am too,” she answered.
When I stood from my chair, she did too. She stepped forward and gave me a hug.
I wasn’t sure how normal that was, but I’d remarked once on how few hugs I got, and how some hugs I’d given or received in the past had been meaningful moments for me, and she’d asked if I wanted one from her.
Somewhere along the line, t had become something of a habit, as we ended our sessions. I gave her a little smile as we parted.
I made my way back to the common area, and seated myself at the computer. The others were still following what was happening on the larger monitors. The defending heroes had frozen the plane’s half-submerged wreckage and they were preparing quarantine measures.
Whatever the reason for this particular attack, I doubted it would be clear anytime soon.
Instead, I seated myself at the computer, and logged myself in. The timers ticked away.
Once I’d updated the timer for the recent attack, it read:
C/D: Endbringer
149:22:59:59
C/D: End of World
579:07:14:53
Inching down steadily.
Mrs. Yamada had been right, I mused, as I found the files on the local kingpins and warlords. I was doing myself a disservice by waiting for opportunity to come to me. If I was going to do as Glenn had suggested, and make a calculated play, I needed to act, rather than hope for another chance like we’d had in New Delhi.
Looking at the others, I wondered if it was best to manipulate them or get them on board. Manipulation was almost kinder, because it absolved them of guilt. Simply making sure we were in the right place at the right time, luring a local power into a fight, with a plan already in mind…
No.
Chevalier’s Protectorate, ups and downs aside, was more about honesty. I wanted to tap into Skitter’s strengths, her ruthlessness, but I also wanted to be a hero. That was at the core of what I had achieved in New Delhi.
“Tecton,” I called out, as my eyes fell on a portrait of a supervillain with a mask of an upside-down face. An established power, located at the city’s edge for nearly ten years.
Too established? I didn’t want to set another ABB fiasco in motion. There were advantages to being open. The ability to ask questions, get feedback.
“What is it?” he asked.
“There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
Scarab 25.3
Wind stirred the snow that had piled up at the rooftop’s edge. As it entered the space over the Chicago street, city lights caught the flurry and made it almost luminescent, whirling clouds in intense, intricate patterns.
I was, in other words, bored beyond comprehension.
Stakeouts? Not nearly as interesting as they were in the movies. Not even as interesting as they were in the TV shows where nothing happened and the cops compla
ined about how dull things were.
No, this was a special kind of boring, where I was told to limit how much I moved, because of the half-a-percent chance that the targets in the building on the other side of the street might look out a window, and the ensuing one-in-a-thousand chance that they might actually be able to see me perched on the rooftop, surrounded by snow in my dark gray and white costume.
A boring, even, where I wasn’t allowed to read or listen to music.
“Weaver,” the voice came through my earbud.
“Talk to me. Please.”
Grace complied. “Police chief and the Mayor are talking to Revel and the Director. Thought you’d want an update.”
“You could give me minute by minute updates on golf and I’d love you forever.”
“Hyperbole. That’s not like you.”
“It’s been a while,” I muttered. I shifted position to bring my feet up onto my ‘bug box’. The case was insulated, but there was some heat loss, so it included a heater that turned on periodically to maintain a consistent internal temperature. At the same time, I was wearing a PRT issue winter-weather costume beneath a doublethick silk ‘Weaver’ costume, complete with a hood, shawl and something of a skirt. It took time for my fingers and toes to get cold, so things more or less evened out with the heater.
“Well, this is your five minute check-in. Again.” I could hear the noise of a show or something on in the background.
“Thank you, Grace. Situation unchanged. Target’s grabbing a late dinner. There’s seven others working under him. Nothing special in their chatter. There’s plainclothes capes in there, but they’re not using names.”
“You’re sure they’re capes?”
“He warned them when they stepped inside that he’d act the second they used powers, so… yeah.”
“Gotcha. I’ll be in touch in another five min.”
“These five minute check-ins make it so much worse,” I groused. “It’s like, if it weren’t for those, I could let time slip by, but no. I get measured reminders of how long I’ve been here.”
“This was your idea.”
“Dumb idea,” I commented.
“You were the one who wanted to do the stakeout, even,” she reminded me.
