I looked at my dad.
“What’s your answer, Danny?” Kurt asked.
“I’d rather not be a slave or in hell,” my dad responded. ”But sometimes I worry I’m both. Maybe we don’t get the choice?”
“You’re the most depressing asshole of a friend I’ve got,” Kurt said, but he said it with a smile.
“Why are you asking, Taylor?” Lacey asked.
I shrugged. How much could I say without giving them cause for suspicion? ”Saw some of the stuff going on in the shelters. Some sick people, unhappy people. It was a long while before anything started getting better, and as I understand it, it was the villains who made the first move in getting things fixed up.”
“For their own benefit. You can’t rule a hole in the ground,” Alexander said.
“Maybe,” I said. ”Or maybe bad people can do good for the sake of doing good, at least once in a while. They’re taking charge, they’re keeping things more or less quiet and peaceful. It’s better than what we had.”
“The problem with that,” my dad said, “Is that we’d be setting humanity back by about three thousand years if we let that happen. It’d be falling back into an iron age mindset and leadership. The people with the numbers and the weaponry lay claim to an area through sheer military strength. They stay in charge as long as they can through family lines, merging families with whoever else has the military strength. That lasts until the family in power peters out or someone smarter, stronger or better armed comes in to seize control. Might not sound so bad, until you figure that sooner or later, the person who gets control is going to be someone like Kaiser.”
“Kaiser’s dead,” Kurt said.
“Yeah?” my dad raised an eyebrow. ”Okay, but I was speaking in general terms. Could just as easily be Lung or Jack Slash, instead of the relatively benign villains that are in charge right now. Again, I stress, it’s just a matter of time.”
Just a matter of time until we lose -I lose- and someone else claims Brockton bay for themselves, I thought.
“What would you rather have happen?” I asked.
“Don’t know,” he said. ”But I don’t think complacency’s the answer.”
“Last debate,” Kurt said, “People kept bringing up the capes, moderator kept shutting them down, telling them that they were supposed to be talking economy and education. Today we’ll hear some talk on the crooks running the city. Hear what the candidates have to say on the subject.”
“We should go soon,” Lacey said. ”If we want to get a seat instead of standing around at the sides.”
My dad looked up at me, “Can I get you any food, Taylor? I promised you something.”
“I’m alright. Had a late breakfast. Maybe when we get back?”
“I’d offer you a drink,” Kurt said, chuckling, “But that’d be against the law. How old are you, anyways?”
“Fifteen,” I said.
“Sixteen.”
I turned to look at my dad.
“It’s the nineteenth,” he said. ”Your birthday was a week ago.”
“Oh.” I’d been a little distracted at the time. A week ago, that would have been around the time we were wrapping up our confrontation with the Slaughterhouse Nine. Lovely.
“That’s the saddest goddamn thing I ever heard,” Kurt said, getting off the chair’s armrest and helping Lacey to her feet. ”Girl missing her birthday like that. I’m guessing you don’t have your license, then, huh?”
“No.”
“Damn. Was hoping you’d be our designated driver so your dad could have another.”
“I’ve only had half a tallboy,” my dad said, shaking his can lightly to let us hear the contents sloshing against the sides. ”And we’ll be driving slow on these streets anyways. Who’s driving the other car?”
Alexander raised his hand. He only had a glass of water.
“Then we’re off. Out of my house,” he said. I could see him wincing in pain as he used the chair’s back to help himself to a standing position, but he recovered. He started shooing the burly dockworkers out the door. ”Go. Into the cars.”
We began to file out. Kurt and Lacey climbed into the back seat of my dad’s car. The others got into Alexander’s truck.
“Should you be drinking with the kidney damage?” I asked, as the doors shut. ”You had trouble standing.”
“I got cleared yesterday. I’m back on a regular diet. Any hurt is just the muscle and the stitches. Thanks for worrying about me.”
“Of course I’m going to worry about you,” I said, frowning.
“You have changed,” my dad commented, resting his elbows on the roof of the car.
“Hm?”
“Wasn’t so long ago that you would have walked into that situation and clammed up.”
“Feels like that was a year ago.”
“Anyways, I’m sorry,” he said. ”I’d hoped this would be just you and me, having a chance to catch up. They invited themselves.”
“It’s okay. I’m glad that you’ve got friends like that.”
“They’re a bit overbearing,” my dad said.
“The window’s open a crack,” Kurt said, from inside the car. ”We can hear you.”
“They’re overbearing,” my dad repeated himself, raising his voice a notch. At a normal volume, he finished by saying, “But they’re alright.”
Smiling a little, I climbed into the passenger seat.
“Hey, Taylor?” Lacey asked. Her voice was overly gentle, and for a moment I thought she was going to mention my mom again. I winced a little.
“What?” I turned around in my seat, as much as I was able with my seatbelt on.
“Just wanted to say thanks. For the warning. You told your dad that Shatterbird was around, didn’t you?”
I nodded.
“He told us. We were careful. I don’t know if it saved our lives or not, but thanks for watching out for him, and helping us out as collater- collar-”
“You’re welcome,” I said, before she could fumble over her words any further.
I was glad he was in touch with them. From what I’d seen, I’d been left with worries that my dad was all on his lonesome. Introverted people like him, like us, were best paired with the Kurts of the world. Or the Lisas. People that wouldn’t be ignored or shrugged off, people who pushed the boundaries, so to speak, and drew us out of our shells.
I enjoyed the drive as we made our way downtown, more than I thought I would. My dad and Kurt knew each other well enough that their dialogue flowed easily, and the same went for Lacey and Kurt, what with the pair being married. I had a feeling that, by the end, Kurt was feeling like he’d wound up on the short end of both exchanges.
The town hall had survived the waves. The stone building had crenelations and an American flag over the door. We joined the trail of people who were filing in, walking past stands with the posters and images of the candidates, booklets of brochures about the issues and stands with newspapers from neighboring cities. My dad and Kurt grabbed a few papers each and put them into the plastic bags that had been made available to us. It was a nice thought, putting those out. There wasn’t any TV at present and we had to keep abreast of what was going on somehow.
The signs led us past the old historical courthouse and to the auditorium. We’d expected the seats to be filled, leaving us only with standing room, but the opposite was true. The back of the auditorium and the rear rows were filled with reporters and camera crews, and the rest of the crowd had filled in random spaces on the benches. Five or six hundred people. Somehow less than I’d thought.
It was an odd election, in a way. The city had been without working computers for a week and a half, most had lost their cell phones, and were left without landlines. An election without media for advertisement. For many here, this would be the first and last time they heard a candidate’s stances on the issues before voting. Was this how it had been in the past? When poorer households hadn’t gotten newspapers and there hadn’t been televisions or
radios?
I looked at the candidates. A dark haired woman in a dark blue suit, a blond man, and the older incumbent, Mayor Christner. How many others in this auditorium were aware? Some time ago, Coil had told us that two of the candidates for office had been bought. Mayor Christner… well, I could remember standing in his backyard, him pointing a gun at me, pleading for me to step in and save his son’s life.
Would the debate turn to the subject of him arguing against the condemnation of the city, and if it did, how would Christner justify the decision he’d made?
I was caught between an ugly feeling of guilt and genuine curiosity in how the event would play out. Mostly guilt, but I couldn’t do anything about that. I’d done what had to be done.
On the curiosity side of things, I wondered momentarily if either of Coil’s mayoral candidates had military backgrounds or if he’d hand-picked his politicians the same way he selected his elite soldiers.
That train of thought ground to a halt as something caught my attention.
It was habit, now, to have my bugs sweeping over my surroundings, giving me a perpetual sense of what was going on in the surrounding three or four city blocks. When the vans found parking spots around the building, it didn’t even warrant a conscious thought. When the soldiers began filing out of the vans, it startled me. Men and women with machine guns and body armor. Not PRT.
No. Definitely not PRT.
The armored limousine pulled into the middle of the street, just outside the front doors. By the time Coil climbed out of the vehicle, his soldiers were either just past the doors on either side of the building or standing at the ready to accompany him by the front.
Coil, here? It didn’t make sense. He wasn’t the type to show himself. It didn’t fit how he operated. Hell, if the mayor was here, his son would be too. Triumph would be in the crowd.
I glanced at my dad, and he squeezed my hand, “Not too bored?”
I shook my head, trying to keep my expression placid as my mind raced.
Coil was making his play right here, right now.
16.08
There was a tap on the microphone. ”If we could have silence from the audience, please?”
The low murmur of conversation throughout the auditorium gradually died down. The place wasn’t full, but four out of every five seats were filled, and there were more people at the back, primarily reporters, many from out of town.
My eye darted across the room, trying to assess the situation. The heavy woman in the front row, was that Piggot? It made sense that every person worth talking about would be present. The disasters and Tattletale’s attack on the cell towers meant that there wasn’t TV, there weren’t phones, and the only way for interested parties to find out what the candidates had to say was actually attending.
Outside of the auditorium, Coil’s men gathering in the lobby and at the sides of the building. Some were taking point on the roof, gathering in pairs, working together to assemble sniper rifles. Preparing for a fight. For a war.
Coil was in the lobby, now, and he was joined by others. I could recognize Circus by the sledgehammer she was carrying, the metal head dragging on the floor. Coil said something and she lifted it up. Was he talking about the noise? It shouldn’t matter. He was accompanied by two others I didn’t recognize. A teenage guy and a larger, more athletic man in a heavy metal frame.
“Thank you to everyone for coming. Tonight is a three-way debate. Let me introduce your candidates, starting with Mr. Roy Christner, our mayor incumbent. We also have Mrs. Carlene Padillo, city councilor of communications; and Mr. Keith Grove, C.E.O. of Eaststar Financial. Tonight’s subjects are crime, public safety and the state of the city. Would you start us off, Mayor Christner? What sets you apart from the other candidates in your views?”
I glanced over my shoulder to verify what I was seeing with my bugs. A young man was making his way up the aisle with a toddler, straight for Coil.
“I won’t lie,” Christner said. I glanced his way, saw how haggard he looked. In a way it worked for him, made him look determined. ”Things are bad. The situation’s improved from where it was weeks ago, but we’re still in an ugly situation. No less than forty percent of the city has evacuated, hospitals are overflowing, and villains claim to own the streets…”
I looked back to the dad and his kid. They opened the door, stepping through, and two of Coil’s soldiers were on them before they could open their mouths and shout a warning. Putting hands over mouths, the soldiers retreated from the door, separating dad from child. Within seconds, both were being gagged and restrained.
The door closed on its own, leaving nobody any wiser to what was going on.
“…involved with the defense every step along the way. I’ve discussed the subject with Legend, with Dragon and with Chief Director Costa-Brown of the PRT. Daily, I’ve been talking with and working with Director Piggot to see what actions need to be taken to see this city restored to what it once was.”
“That’s setting the bar pretty damn low,” Grove said, gripping the sides of his podium.
“No interruptions, please,” the moderator spoke. Christner waved her off. ”You concede the remainder of your turn, Mayor?”
“Let’s hear what Grove has to say.”
“Very well. Mr. Grove. Two minutes to speak.”
“He wants to restore the city to what it was? I think he’s wanting us to forget that half of our city was a cesspool before the Endbringer came. Many of you in the audience live in the north end. You know how bad it was. Or maybe the Mayor is referring to the city’s heyday, when the docks were bustling with activity and the entire city could hear the ships coming in and out of the ports. If he’s trying to convince you we’ll return to that time, he’s telling you an outright falsehood. The Lord’s Port, known to many as the ship graveyard, would cost the city twenty-three million dollars just to clear away the damaged ships and dispose of them. That’s not getting into the cost of actually refurbishing the area and updating it to modern standards. Or the fact that anyone approaching within a mile and a half of the area is subjected to uncontrollable, suicidal despair. I visited. I know.”
I sent a message to Coil, drawing words with my bugs.
‘I’m here. Stop.’
He broke up the words with a casual wave of his hands, scattering the bugs. Almost dismissive. Of course he wouldn’t stop now. He’d made little secret about how important his plans were to him, and to stop now, at a moment this important?
“The mayor wants to take us back to where we were? That’s not good enough. I’m proposing that we make this an opportunity. The slate, in many ways, has been wiped clean. Let’s start over again. There’s national and international funding that’s been put in place to help recover from Endbringer attacks and events of gross parahuman involvement. My budget, which is detailed in handouts that will be provided in the lobby, details how we’ll use our tax dollars and that recovery funding to rejuvenate the city. The ferry, which has become a local in-joke, will be started up once more. Low-cost, high-yield housing plans for the north end, demolition and reconstruction on a large scale for Downtown and other damaged areas, and marketing to the rest of the United States to promote and sell Brockton Bay as a symbol of perseverance and human spirit, drawing in new residents and tourism.”
“Councillor Padillo,” the moderator spoke. ”Any response?”
“Keith Grove is not addressing the question. He paints a pretty picture, but he doesn’t mention the presence of the local supervillains or the pressures they put on us…”
I fidgeted. Could I attack? Should I attack? If I left now, maybe stepped into the side hallway, I could maybe avoid the soldiers, get to a vantage point where I could mount a counterattack against Coil.
Except I didn’t know what he was planning, and my dad was here. I could take my dad, but then I risked having to explain what was happening, and it would mean leaving Kurt, Alexander and Lacey behind. It meant leaving all these other civilians behind.
I tended to be more rational than emotional. If I was being totally honest with myself, though, my rationalizations were pretty heavily influenced by my feelings. I could come up with a rational justification for pretty much any course of action. It had led me this far. Which wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
Councilor Padillo was still talking, even as my mind raced. ”…Points to a mismanagement of resources. The Mayor would like us to believe that he was involved in genuine efforts to save this city. I can’t believe he would want to be associated with the PRT’s operations as of late. Loss after loss on the part of our heroes. The losses aren’t the fault of the heroes, it’s even understandable, given the sheer power wielded by the likes of the Endbringer, of the Slaughterhouse Nine and the various other threats within the city…”
Coil was moving, now, his people getting in rank and file around him, his pet parahumans standing by.
I had to make my call. Stand up to him and jeopardize everything I’d been working towards? Here, now, with Coil drawing on his power, with three parahumans and no less than twenty elite soldiers who I knew were entirely capable of hitting what they were aiming at, backing him up? Even if I stayed hidden in the crowd, I couldn’t say for sure that he wouldn’t spot me or my dad and order one of his people to move.
The alternative was that I could do as I’d been ordered, avoiding any costumed activity; trust Coil and his power to handle the situation. I hated him, on a level, but I knew he was smart. And I knew he knew I was here; I’d asked Lisa and she’d asked him if it was okay. He had to have a plan for dealing with me if I took any action.
“…Open fighting in the streets. No, the blame lies with the PRT and the mayor’s administration, which he admits was heavily involved in the decisions made. Highly questionable decisions: Holding back when they could have intervened. Forcing confrontations when our heroes were gravely outmatched.”
Worm Page 240
