Excellence 2.3
The next afternoon I found myself back in my dorm room, restlessly pounding away at my computer's keyboard.
The past sixteen or so hours had gone . . . less than well.
Firstly, the bob-omb had blown Victoria 'out' of the 'arena,' landing her in a random nearby dumpster. She wasn't happy about that, cursing at lying, backstabbing villains and such. I didn't have the opportunity to explain the nature of the item in the game to her: that a bob-omb would sit there idly for a while, then start walking and explode next to the first person it bumped in to, sending them to Kingdom Come in context of the game. I doubted that there was any ill intent involved.
Regardless, once the timer ran out shortly thereafter, I was shocked to see a few dozen PRT officers and a couple Protectorate capes move in like clockwork, with a number of the Wards following in behind them. I stood there dumbly for a few moments as the first few audience members got evacuated, and then it clicked.
"This was a sting."
It was all too perfect, too coordinated, too reactive. Only a couple minutes had passed from the interruption to the ending of the fight. There was no possible way this many people could be on site and ready unless they were prepared to converge here in advance. Dennis was the first newcomer to reach my side, and despite his solid faceplate mask I could see him bodily recoil a bit on seeing my face.
"This was a sting!"
Clockblocker gestured as if he was about to say something sarcastic, then froze. He turned silently. Armsmaster had come up behind him. Despite my irritation I idly noted his spear looked different than it had the last time I saw it. He spoke next.
"You weren't briefed?"
I mentally reviewed the briefing I got. At no point was it presented to me as anything other than a voluntary guard gig with no expectation of trouble.
"I . . . I was briefed. But not on the nature of the event, or that there was any sort of operation planned! What the hell?"
Really mature attitude to have after your first day at work, Hero.
Rather than chastise me, Armsmaster's eyes merely flicked to something he could see that I couldn't. He frowned.
"I'll speak with the Director."
He turned and walked away.
I heard a faint whistle from inside Clockblocker's mask. He shook his head slowly.
"Yeah, I didn't think we'd be dumb enough to send you in blind unless they completely forgot to brief you. But every day I am further humbled by the powers of bureaucracy." His voice dimmed to near silence. "Didn't peg Piggy as having a hate-on for the newbie, though." He cleared his throat loudly, and resumed a normal speaking volume. "In any case, Armsmaster can tell when you're lying, and while he's never the most . . . verbose person, he also doesn't show stuff on his face unless he's really feeling it. Guy's almost impossible to make laugh. He'll be extremely interested in hearing why the esteemed Director saw fit to send you in blind. Maybe he'll even- wait. Wait a second. Did you say you didn't know what this event was before coming here?"
I nodded, still annoyed.
"Hoo boy. I have one bit of advice: hold your temper. Sometimes the fastest way to gauge a newbie's attitude is to douse them with cold water and see if they scream, cry, or rage out. Metaphorically. I responded to a clampdown on my shining personality with blurting out my cape name at my first press conference. That established my line in the sand, and after the penalties and such wore off, they never tested me in that direction too far again, beyond keeping me in line with minimum Wards decorum standards. I don't know if this was a test or of what, but don't let them see it got to you. Even if it turns out to have been shitty. Hold it in, for your own sake. I wish I had gotten that advice myself."
That much of Dennis talking without a joke had been surreal enough that I just nodded without further comment. We were scooped up and taken back to HQ for debriefing, which involved a lot of waiting as all the participants filled out their written reports. Apparently the PRT was too poor to do digital paperwork; tinkertech didn't lend itself to mass produced consumer class conveniences, after all. I got to cheat and use my power, and was mentally spinning my wheels on why I wasn't properly informed of the operation's parameters. Eventually, the Wards were called in.
Chris looked quite nervous; Dennis was neutral, and Missy was shooting glances at them and me, wondering what was up. I didn't raise a stink in the hallways before the meeting, so she had been clueless as to the nature of my irritation until this point.
The debriefing started with a video playback of Victoria's unofficial post-op-interview, which functioned as much the same thing. Her description of the events was colorful, so say the least, and pulled a couple chuckles out of Dennis, which were quickly squelched by glares from Director Piggot. After that I was prompted to give my overview. I didn't snap, I just took a deep breath and related my account of events. Beyond a few Dennis comments of "bullshit" regarding the more fantastical stunts I pulled off, there were no interruptions.
Next, Chris was asked to replay his footage of the event.
What?
Sure enough, a series of camera perspectives showed up on the conference room's gigantic screen, each covering a different angle of the stage. At least one drone was dedicated to each cape individually, and other drones took pains to keep different pairs of us in frame together at all times. I watched silently as the fight replayed, fuming internally at the fact that we wasted all that time with the accounts when we could have just watched the video first.
Calm down. Don't let it get to you. Don't get mad.
The video playback ended. Piggot turned off the screen and looked back down the long table at us.
"Well, it seems that Lightshow doesn't have any bad habits of exaggeration in reports to stamp out."
I wasn't sure how to feel about that one. Something was fishy. At that point I had just decided to flood my mind with my power and listen.
As much as I had been tempted during the questions and clarifications portion of the meeting to harp or lash out, I simply asked why I hadn't gotten the same briefing as the rest of the group. I used no invective, and asked plainly. Piggot apparently hadn't expected that precise reaction, but she did respond equally plainly: I didn't need to know.
At that point the irrational and rational parts of my mind had screamed out in concert, and I clamped down on my first few gut reactions. I let the rest of the meeting play out while remaining silent, and I eventually found myself back in my dorm room, fuming at my analysis.
Tests.
Tests upon tests upon tests. Layered, over and over again, to gauge every aspect of how I reacted to the entire scenario. A Byzantine labyrinth of stimuli and potential reaction I could have had. An utterly impersonal, alien and cold way of determining a degree of my future attitudes and reactions to various types of orders and scenarios.
I signed up to fight the Endbringers, not be a damned lab rat!
My stomach chose that moment to growl pathetically. I got up and wandered out to the kitchen area, mentally diagramming the entire potential map of things they artificially did in that scenario differently than normal on account of a new Ward starting. It was quite the list. A thinker probably had to be involved at some point.
I opened the fridge and eyeballed the contents. Without really focusing on it I grabbed a bunch of stuff and started slapping together something to eat. More importantly, I had to wonder just how much of that testing was gauging for trust. Would I blindly follow orders? Could I accept knowingly not being told everything? How would my attitude and performance be affected?
I was chopping down with a carving knife with probably too much force when Dennis sauntered in, freezing when he saw me with a blade and a frown. Whatever he was going to say first died on his lips when he eyed my work.
"Those looks tasty, can I have one?"
I looked down. I had prepared about a dozen miniature sandwiches, cut and garnished with toothpicks and olives. It looked like something out of a commercial.
Without waiting for a response, Dennis grabbed one and shoved it halfway in his mouth, and bit down. An appreciative noise hummed out, then he finished chewing and swallowed.
"Holy crap, that was good! For regular doses of food like this I'd cheerfully pick up a few of your side duties once in a while!"
I looked down at the sandwiches, grabbed one, and took a bite.
It was good. Like, really good. I . . . I could cook, sure, but this? I took another bite. Still delicious.
What the hell?
[***]
One lightning fast spread of rumor later and the rest of the present Wards were lounging in the break room munching on mini sandwiches. Noises of appreciation washed over the room as everyone devoured their share. I sat back on one of the couches after having my fill, balancing my bewilderment with my new skill with my consternation at the powers-that-be.
After a minute or two passed and everyone was more or less done eating, I threw my cards on the table.
"So, what are the chances that me not being told anything about that engagement was a set up for a big test?"
Chatter ceased and my peers all exchanged glances at each other. Everyone looked to Dennis as the first one to respond- Carlos wasn't in the room. Dennis shrugged, not even making a joke. Missy spoke up first.
"It sounds crazy, you know? But we all have stories of nonsensical orders or inaccurate intel. I think it was a little creepy they did this to you on your first outing, but then again I'd keep in mind that no one at all accounted for the pocket dimension. I think if things had been ideal you would have encountered them on stage then been overrun by PRT agents from all sides the moment they appeared. Glory Girl and a total newbie would be a tempting enough force to attempt to attack, you know? Assuming you knew you could handle Glory Girl."
Dennis cut in next.
"Yeah, those two jokers can be pretty mean, but usually they don't go full lethal or even crippling versus heroes. They're assholes but they play the game. Leet doesn't make horrifically lethal death rays to vaporize us, we don't freeze him in time, space-warp cinder blocks around his ankles, and toss him into the bay. And that's just Wards-tier potential. Miss Militia . . . she has to go nonlethal when her power is a universal deadly weapon. She wants someone dead, they die. We're under heavy pressure to play nice, but everyone knows we're human and we can snap."
I was nodding my head with my eyes closed when Chris started mumbling, but his voice gained volume as he went on to become clearly audible.
"-about that, I really am, oh man. Ah, anyway, my orders were to film what went on during your debut fight, and to disable Leet's cameras. I was also to report on the ideal time for everyone to storm in. The cameras were autoprogrammed to film all capes, but when the pocket dimension opened I was cut off from input. That was definitely not accounted for."
After he finished, I stood up.
"Ah, Taylor," Missy said.
"Hmm?"
"I don't know if you caught it, but Piggot was kind of pissed off after the op before the briefing. Then she got a text, ducked into a conference room, and came out ten minutes later all stonefaced," said Missy.
I didn't have time to comment before Dennis interjected again.
"Yeah, Piggy's 'need to know' line was kind of out of character, even for her. You might not have been able to tell but she didn't look too happy saying it."
I, in fact, had been focused on my power at the time. When she said the words, I became aware that she was saying it to get a particular reaction. I then had mentally spun off into conspiracy theories and suspicions of incompetence. I hadn't considered her personal emotional context.
Mind whirling, I remembered to address my new team one last time before I retreated to my room.
"Thanks, guys. I'll try to not dwell on it too much."
Before anything else could be said I was gone.
And then I was in my room, dwelling on it too much. The internet was serving as a mediocre resource; even after I casually noticed the censorship filters in place, then proxied outside the country to continue browsing in peace. A few minutes later and I was seeing the Director's PRT service record.
Three minutes of reading later and I had more insight into her personality than I ever wanted. Only survivor of the famous failed raid on Nilbog, before they raised the wall around him. All but crippled from injuries, never to work in the field again.
There wasn't much commentary about her personality online because she was more of an internal face to the PRT. From what I understood of the talk of the Wards, she was a no-nonsense leader who didn't give an inch to anybody. Her way or the highway. I began to understand how such a person could have potentially squeezed constructive use out of anyone- she would just disregard their own feelings in any given matter.
Still, what did she have to gain by antagonizing me? I considered a dozen alternate ways she could have handled the debriefing. I considered my likely reactions in each.
I still couldn't shake off the feeling that this is exactly what they wanted me to do. Thinker speed chess? I'm getting paranoid.
As I mused I dug a tunnel through another couple of asian VPNs, then a TOR node, then another proxy. I was only casually familiar with these things before I had my powers, but I was using them like a veteran. As a final step I found someone's home router with compromised firmware, hijacked the malware on it, and proceeded to start loading a handful of tools to its internal flash. I also referenced the existing malware's database of where else it had tried to spread, and grabbed hold of a few more compromised home routers around the world as well.
I then burrowed through another series of proxies, VPNs, and TOR nodes from that router. Once I was sure I would be able to notice any backtracing before they reached the first compromised router, I started some common script-kiddie class portscans and tests for various exploitable services exposed to the internet.
As I expected the vast majority of my paltry assault vanished as if falling into a black hole- as a properly firewalled network should respond. To my complete lack of surprise a few successes got through, revealing poorly configured Apache Tomcat implementations and other services ripe for the taking. About then I noticed a backtrace rapidly climbing through the first proxies and VPNs; the IP addresses came from all over the place simultaneously. I had the router wipe itself out and jumped to another I had ready.
This time I dove straight into the compromised server. No backtrace happened.
It's like there were hundreds of high-tech information warfare countermeasures arrayed around the PRT's entire network like a looming wall, and then there was just one section that was a typical American house's chain link fence.
I apparently had root access on a PRT web server. It wouldn't get me too far by itself, so I found a folder excluded from antivirus scanning and tossed in a keylogger. Confident I'd have a password in a few hours to a few days, I burned my second compromised router, carefully disassembled my chain of connections, and went to hit the sack.
I wasn't even impressed that I could pull all of this off; any normal human with the appropriate knowledge could have done the same thing. This particular feat of mine was simply artificially boosted skill, no superhuman crap involved. The horribly exploitable hole in security was neither unusual or special. The only question was if it was a honeypot. I'd find out soon enough.
As I faded to sleep I considered how I felt about this course of action. It could be called . . . no, it was definitely a betrayal, of sorts. But I couldn't feel bad about it. Piggot lied to me. She might not have wanted to. But something smelled bad, and I intended to find out what. Depending on what I discovered, I may even quietly continue to follow orders and not raise any hell.
Ha. Yeah, that sounds likely.
[***]
There is a point between wakefulness and sleep that is never truly remembered. As the primary worries of the day fade away, the last few desperate concerns flare themselves out and insert themselves into the spot that would allow them to be processed by dreams.
Or at least, that might be how it works for mere mortals.
Even as consciousness fades, the body and the soul respire. The Chosen of the Sun do not need to suffer the choking, alien landscapes of other realms as their lessers do. With tonight's mental exercises regarding cold, calculating machines- stringently programmed systems that act in a proper way, certain reflexes and assumptions resonated within Taylor's soul.
With her last partially conscious breath, she invoked a new (old) power. The nature of another place filled her dorm room and overrode the paltry physics of the surrounding world.
For one hour she absorbed this ambient nature as was her right, making up for the expenditure.
For the next four hours she was respiring the fading traces of that power, gaining a bit more than she had spent.
Her final three hours of sleep were as unfulfilling as the previous nights since she gained her power. She would wake up with a refreshed body and mind, but her soul would still thirst and no dreams would come.
Just, this time, it would thirst a bit less than all the nights before.
I awoke to a pounding on my door.
Thoughts of felonies overwhelmed me before I looked at the clock and realized it was about time for me to wake up anyway. Groaning as I got up, I wasn't quite awake enough to understand what Dennis was yelling; just that it was Dennis doing the yelling.
Which, on review, was unusual enough to jolt me to consciousness completely; if this was frivolous he'd know I'd get him back for it. He wouldn't risk it unless the prank was priceless.
And if the tone was any indication he wasn't screwing around. I slipped into some shorts and a shirt and opened the door. Clockblocker faced me as
"-et up before this gets any- oh good morning, Sunshine," he cut off while looking me in my (probably bleary) face. "You don't look like you've been hearing what I've been saying."
I gave him a shake of my head.
"Video of you leaked to the net last night. Your official public debut and introduction is being pushed ahead of schedule; in other words, it's at noon today. Suit up and get to PR, they'll give you a go-over and then have you memorizing some lame crap."
I could feel my eyes widening. Clockblocker's blank faceplate tilted slightly.
"Good, you can still be caught off guard. If you were too perfect I was going to have to consider early retirement!"
Wait, was this a joke?
My next expression must have shown as he jumped backwards a bit.
"No, no, I'm dead serious! My luxurious and beautiful hair isn't shown off when I'm suited up; I figured you'd appreciate the extra prep time before you would have gotten around to checking your messages. Girls, and all."
I weighed the mildly sexist snark against the sheer utility of the extra 20 or so minutes he had just bought me. They didn't even compare.
"Thanks." I nodded and closed the door in his face, then turned to my makeshift vanity.
It didn't take me that much time to suit up and make sure every hair was in place; the "airbrushing" kind of helped a lot in that regard. I was primping and preening not to simply look good or attract anyone; I was trying to look strong. Strong in the sense of untouchable. Alexandria's projected image fed into that as much as her trading of blows with the Endbringers.
A quick glance down at the costume (Damn you, Chambers!) had me stopping on the heels.
Heels. Thick, boot heels, but still heels. On a combat suit.
My memories of the fight on the stage flitted through my mind. At any point was I inconvenienced? Did I even notice they were there?
I blinked when I realized I was sporting a small smile. No. No, they hadn't impeded me in the slightest. Missy will probably hit me once she learns about it.
I almost floated out into the hallway after thinking about it for a moment. Not even Alexandria could project that with her image.
I might truly have the most bullshit superpower of all.
[***]
The stage was set. I was behind a makeshift curtain-barricade of a PR trailer and some assembled iconography that had been arranged at a scenic point in town for the best possible debut performance. I had been given a quick look over (the makeup artists murmured appreciatively and changed nothing, to my mild embarrassment) and a few minutes to read a packet of talking points. In it was a note.
Normally these things are hard scripted. Normally the script gets flubbed based on the personality of the new Ward. In your case I am giving you all the cards and having you stack your own hand. You understand the game, so you'll know the best choices to make- or at least I am certain I will be able to easily salvage anything you choose that I didn't predict. Knock 'em dead.
-Glenn Chambers
No pressure. None at all.
The talking points read like a mad-libs game for a full speech instead of a single sentence. It was oddly reassuring how empty and interchangeable the options were. I could more or less build a harmless and generic introduction without any effort at all.
Glenn had more or less given me carte blanche to go hog wild, however.
I had slipped over to the techie section of the trailer and gotten a preview of the footage they planned on showing as I spoke. It was . . . sanitized. They didn't officially like showing young girls (well, young boys or girls) getting subjected to Cape violence.
It looked too clean. It hid the important part. I took those hits, and I got back up and won anyway. That was the whole point. Über and Leet were sidelined in the footage; as villains known to crave the spotlight they were being denied the notoriety they desired. It didn't sit right with me.
Über and Leet were, for the PRT's purposes, the perfect villains. Yes, they were criminals. Yes, they had hurt people; however, they played by two sets of rules; the cops-and-robbers unwritten rules, and the rules of whatever game they were emulating each day. It's like they were making fun of the greater facade by running their own. They even had their 'cause' to promote that laughed in the face of the other more zealous capes that fought for racial or religious purposes, for good or ill.
I suddenly wanted to know how many Endbringer fights they'd participated in since they went active. Maybe I was giving them too much credit, but the final joke on this whole system would be acting as the 'perfect' villains for the public . . . except for refusing to fight the Endbringers. Some small part of my mind was recoiling from this chain of thought, but the cynical analytical part of me was finding the dark humor in spades. Oh well.
One of the stage hands summoned me, and I walked to the edge of the platform. Armsmaster was at the podium being his stoic photogenic self. The other Wards were lined up behind him in a row.
"-and now I a proud to introduce the newest member of the Wards family: Lightshow!"
As I walked out into view, my mind split between deciding precisely how I wanted to walk (femininity verses swagger versus youthful innocence, etc) and wondering at how many words Armsmaster must have just said all in a row. He was usually succinct, but I guess if he needed to do a speech he could deliver. Given prep time, he could probably accomplish anything.
I felt the warmth of my power suffuse through me as I got close to the mic. It was a bit early, as I hadn't started doing anything yet . . . unless it reacted to my attention to my entrance. The applause and murmur of conversation faded to virtually nothing; usually these events had a constant dull roar from the peanut gallery that no amount of polite requesting could suppress.
Huh.
I breathed in and felt my power flare up again; this time it was working as I was more used to: Do Stuff Better Right Now. I put a hand on a cocked hip, and donned a grin.
"So I got in a fight with Über and Leet last night."
Chuckles.
"Technically I was still in the trial phase. A little guard work, getting used to standing around in costume, feeling more like a sports team mascot than a hero. Fortunately, I don't have one of those creepy costumes that doesn't let you see my face."
"Oy!" Clockblocker burst out. Vista, next to him, reflexively reached up and bopped him on the head. After a second she then flushed with embarrassment.
Another warm wave of laughter.
"Unfortunately someone forgot to tell me what the event was about, because there was no way I was going to willingly stand guard at an anti video game event in Brockton Bay. Seriously, whose idea was that? Do they even watch the news?"
Murmurs.
"Anyways so I'm just standing off to one side of the stage, right? I literally just realized the nature of the event after seeing the decorations when I took up my post . . . " I flicked my wrist and snapped my finger with my free hand. The screens lit up with the opening shot of the incident. Angry lady on stage, and everything.
Thank you techie audio-video guy! I will make you the tastiest sandwich in the entire world.
"Right. Murphy's law came into full power as soon as I was aware of the circumstances. You've probably seen some of the footage leaked, but here's a bit more."
Various carefully selected clips of the battle played in succession. It was very sterile, very Soviet propaganda style. Glorious Ward fights videogamist pigdogs on behalf of the State! Look as they are crushed by her might!
"I would have been pasted if Glory Girl wasn't there too. Victoria is a powerhouse anyone would be glad to have at their back." Humility, credit to allies, and a bit of dark humor- anyone would be glad to have her because her power makes them glad to have her. Not that anyone picks up on that.
Applause. From behind, too; my team (ah that feels kind of embarrassing to think) clapping too. Sincerely.
It had happened. I had proven myself. It was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. Supernatural grace and power, coupled with a willingness to do the right thing in the face of adversity, layered around the principles of perfection as applied to the human condition . . .
Something clicked. It hadn't really made sense before, but I realized a bit about how my power worked. The flavor. I had limits, in a sense. Only by knowing those limits could I approach them. I can do stuff. Stuff that I can do, I can do better, in ways beyond normal humans.
My aura, my Anima, flared to life behind me. The sunset backdrop awed the audience visibly, and the glowing red-orange cape fluttered to one side. The audience gave a standing ovation.
However, I wasn't done yet.
[***]
Stuff that I can do, I can do better . . .
I closed my eyes. I could imagine the illusionary cape behind me. I knew how big the image projected around me was. I knew it didn't have to project a mere cape on a field of sunset.
I heard the audience gasp and I knew I was onto something. I opened my eyes, confident in what was visible behind me. Shifting my balance, I gestured up and behind me.
"The last camera angle I have to share from is mine." Über loomed behind me as a larger-than-life projection, bearing down on the audience- fox ears and all. Our duel began.
"The thing with Über is, he's good. He's very good. He's not someone fresh capes are put up against on purpose for good reason." The audience flinches a bit in time with 'me' taking some hits. I skip around a bit to our more energetic exchanges.
"However, capes don't choose when and where they get attacked. This is just par for course in the world today." Now I was taking a beating. The part of the fight I was obviously losing, that was so cleanly snipped from the footage played behind me. The murmurs grew concerned.
"Yesterday afternoon I was wavering on my decision to be part of the Wards." A lie. They bought it in the audience, though. The fight turned again, with clips of Victora as I caught glances of her fighting Leet.
"But the fight last night convinced me that I could make a difference. That I had this power for a reason, and that I didn't have to be alone." Words that sounded good without much depth. Made nice sound bytes.
As the audience applauded again, and a whole bunch of camera flashes went off, I released my grip on my anima and it reverted to the normal colors-and-cape. However, the cape now had a Protectorate logo etched on to it.
That . . . wasn't something I did on purpose. Also it was kind of corny.
The press ate it up though. As the questions began I got the signal to leave, and let PR handle the actively curious press for now. I made my way over to Vista and gave her a hug, then casually ignored Clockblocker when he opened his arms hopefully. With a new background of chuckles we made our way off the impromptu stage to the vehicles, and loaded up in a transport van to go home.
Once we were all seated, Dennis got right to the point.
"Okay, you weren't as obviously teen rebel as I was, but that speech might get you in trouble."
I shook my head.
"The spin will make it look fine. It will probably be explained as a bureaucratic screw-up and partly blamed on New Wave. It's not their fault, but saving face is the order of the day, and I'm just an innocent little girl," I said while batting my eyelashes.
Dennis started at me, deadpan.
"I need to buy you a copy of Machiavelli's The Prince. You could take over the whole world. Ow."
Missy wasn't really holding back, today.
"Nah, this is me venting my frustration about the crappy briefing. It in no way undermines the public's perception of parahumans, and points some eyes at the agents giving us orders and information."
"So, a Piggy-seeking missile," joked Carlos.
I shrugged.
"A Nerf missile. It should still sting a bit, however."
Dean tilted his head back at me speculatively.
"Taylor, you, ah, did you have a bit of a moment there on stage?"
My mind flashed back to the epiphany. I nodded.
"You could say that. I realized exactly how my power applies. Not about how it's charged or anything, but how the ability wraps around me."
Every eye was now on me.
"Basically, like we figured, if I can do it, the power lets me do it better. Kind of like Über, but not as universal or as constant. Some stuff I learn is just like him. Guns, weapons, apparently cooking, acrobatics, and probably more. I try, it comes to me, and it never goes away. Beyond that, I also get to supercharge anything I can do. That where the limits come in. The moment I start 'cheating' I drain my tank." I paused for a breath. "Supercharging sort of just makes me do stuff better beyond knowing how. I'm breaking limits. But that's not the crazy bit. When I first walked on stage, did you guys feel anything?"
The other Wards glanced at each other. Dennis spoke up first, this time without his usual mirth.
"I say this in utter sincerity, with no humor or lecherous subtext. I could not tear my eyes away for a second the whole time. Even when Missy hit me."
A murmur of assent. Carlos was next.
"You stole the show all right. No one heckled or chatted or anything."
"Yeah, you were craving the attention, to a degree, but not like personally. You put on your game face and controlled the crowd. I . . . I want to say it was everything? How you carried yourself, how you spoke and gestured? But I can't be sure. All I know is the moment you appeared the whole damn audience suddenly focused on you; the entire emotional weather of the crowd dulled down as they all set aside their concerns and baggage and listened," Dean said next.
There was some awkward silence, then. He spoke up again.
"Hey hey I'm not saying it was like mind control. I can read the emotions, I've felt someone while they triggered some earlier hypnosis effect. There was no disassociation here, everyone just suddenly wanted to hear what you had to say."
I nodded.
"Yeah, that was me. I walked out knowing I wanted to get their attention, and my power just reacted. I didn't supercharge, it just sort of whipped out and did something. Once I got to the podium I did my normal trick, and went from speaking mediocrity to speaking excellence. I had my revelation, and then realized something. The light show? The sunset backdrop? It's a thing I could do. So I tried to do it better."
Dennis' jaw dropped open.
Missy made the comment in his stead.
"So you get to apply your bullcrap to your bullcrap?"
Dean started laughing. I imagine the air was so thick with raw indignation it tickled him.
I shrugged.
"Yeah, pretty much!"
The rest of the ride back felt extremely short.
[*****]
Intermission: Daniel
His daughter had come back to life.
He barely saw her now, compared to before, but that was fine. It was wonderful. Why? Because every time he spoke to her now she seemed happy to be alive.
It had been a long time since he'd seen her like that, and one more second of it was worth any price.
Only seeing her for a little bit over the course of a month was just fine with him.
Of course, the fact that she was ostensibly in danger every one of those days didn't sit totally well with him. It wouldn't with any proper father. However, he didn't let it influence him into stopping her.
After all, before she had joined the Wards, she had already been dead.
It sounded morbid, but it was something he'd seen many times while managing the dockworkers. Men who had nowhere else to go, nothing else to aspire to, doing hard labor day in and day out, as light faded from their eyes. His job was to make them keep carrying cargo onto and off of ships, to make sure those ships got in and out of port safely and quickly. His style was to make them not resent their lot in life for doing it. That meant a few rules, a few lectures, and learning every man's name, their family status, and being someone who visibly gave a damn if they lived or died.
He was more of a technical guy himself, but in an odd way he sympathized utterly with the dockworkers. In a bigger corporate IT kind of department, he'd be them; the nameless, faceless guy who made sure data got from source to destination in the organization, never acknowledged and never remembered. Here, he was one of the forces directing them; applying a technical mind to schedules and rotations and shifts was wonderful for efficiency. However, what made him good at his job was not forgetting his workers' humanity. To listen, to understand, and to work with them to make sure they could support their responsibilities at work and at home. That meant having more on staff than they absolutely needed. That meant slightly shorter hours for everyone on a day that everyone was available to work. That meant no one was put in a bind when someone was gone and they needed to cover more time with less people.
He had to make the hard calls on when a worker was slacking due to temporary circumstance, or if they were a liability to the team and the company. For a poorer section of the city, the docks paid well- if you had the back for it and the responsibility to show up to work. There was no end to the list of prospective replacement workers. Still, he knew better than to exacerbate a longshoreman going through a rough spot in life. Those men he'd give a day off without pay or penalty- unthinkable to the average manager, but it was better than the normal human resources kerfuffle that the over-company's policy normally required.
In the machine that was Danny's section of the docks, he decided the most efficient way to use his resources to achieve his goals. That the common method was to make a rotating door of dockworkers to keep pay as low as the unions would tolerate was one thing. However, even for such a simple job, there was a cost to high turnover. Danny chose instead to improve the resources he had. That his numbers were good was testament that he was skilled at his task.
That he had not been promoted in years was testament that he put his money where his mouth was.
It was still whispered on his section of the docks (in places they didn't think Danny would overhear) what happened in the wake of his wife's death, when some suits showed up and tried to get him to conform to the standard practice of rotating out workers under frivolous pretenses so as to keep paychecks low. Danny Hebert had never screamed at any man he managed. He had rarely raised his voice at them. That evening the windows shook and the suits ran out of the room looking like they were about to piss themselves.
In the coming weeks more suits from corporate would slip around the docks, asking Danny's men if they had seen their boss do anything questionable. They implied rewards would be given for testimony, even if it was only a 'suspicion.'
Not a single man gave them a reason to implicate Danny for anything.
Danny Hebert approached the problems in the lives of his men with a gentle hand. If they asked for his advice or help, he would give it. If they did not ask, he did not give it. He simply gave them a chance to work it out themselves.
That the same policy when applied to his daughter failed to produce any results of its own accord haunted him slightly, but he had faith in her. If she was not coming to him, it was probably because he couldn't help. Taylor was smart enough to know when Danny's style of force was appropriate or not. As much as it saddened him that she obviously had a problem she didn't think he could solve, he had let it go.
He tried not to think too hard about how differently things might have gone.
So, when she visited home and insisted on cooking, he was glad to let her. When her food was better than anything he had ever tasted, he complimented her then questioned if her training was being put to the best possible use. After they had stopped laughing, she assured him that the cooking wasn't anything she had spent time on, it had just happened.
Had just happened like how she had grown into her frame, and had become beautiful and confident enough for him to worry about boys. Like how she had gone from almost needing him to being able to stand on her own without flinching. He listened to stories of patrols, of petty crimes stopped, of terrible bits of their city she had seen firsthand; and how she thought they might be improved or fixed over time. Never once did she seem to look down on the normal citizens. Never once did she imply she was too good for what she was doing, or that she resented being around people who might be considered her lessers in some easily quantifiable way.
Just like her mother.
When she came down for breakfast the next morning, she sheepishly mentioned her bed was a bit too small. Before he could say a word about replacing it she shushed him and said she'd take care of it.
She then wandered around the house and mumbled to herself while poking at all the various bits of wear and tear. She came back to the dining room and said she'd be taking care of a lot of things.
He didn't doubt it for a second.