I'm HALPING!

Part Nine: No Sale

[This chapter commissioned by Fizzfaldt and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

Emily Piggot
Monday Afternoon
January 3
2011

"He shouldn't have done that." Renick's voice was calm and level, but Emily could hear the anger buried beneath. "I'm going to file a formal complaint. Or if you're already going to do one, I'll add mine to it."

She took a deep breath. "Thanks. Not sure how much it'll help, but I appreciate the sentiment."

Renick had been loyal from day one; in fact, although she'd displaced him on her first day from his position as Acting Director, he'd never shown the slightest hint of resentment at being demoted. If she could depend on anyone to back her up, it was him.

He shook his head. "I just don't believe he could possibly have thought it was a good idea. You had a handle on the situation—as much as anyone could've had a handle on that hot mess out there—and you were dealing with it. So just when things are starting to settle down, he decides to pull his glory hound act—"

She held up a hand, interrupting his growing rant. "While I absolutely agree with your assessment of James Tagg's character and motives, it's perhaps not the best career move in the world to refer to your nominal superior as a 'glory hound' in an office where there may have been recording devices running before I just now shut them off."

"Ah." Looking somewhat abashed, he scrubbed his hands over his face. "Sorry for sounding off like that. And thank you."

"Whatever for?" She heaved a sigh. "I don't disagree with the man's priorities—God knows we wanted this situation locked down as fast as possible—but to come in at the last minute and run roughshod over all the goodwill I've tried to establish in this town doesn't speak well to his judgement."

"Do you think he actually got matters under control?" Renick asked, sounding honestly curious. "The only thing out of the ordinary in the last half hour was the Endbringer alarm that went off just before, and it shut off pretty quickly. What do you think that could've meant?"

Emily studied the skyline again. It was just as devoid of mushroom clouds or rainclouds as it had been every other time she'd looked. Neither could she hear an unsettling song in her head. If there was an Endbringer attack going on, it was the quietest one on record. "No idea," she concluded. "And I hate not knowing."

A green-tinged sphere appeared across the office from both of them, and Emily tensed. This was one of the ways the Triumvirate got around but if she was wrong, there were a dozen different duress alarms she could trigger. When the sphere opened up to reveal Eidolon and Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown, she relaxed a little … but not too much. A visit from the boss was still a visit from the boss, after all.

"It's a good thing I'm here, then." The Chief Director stepped out of the green sphere with all the aplomb of someone who travelled that way as a matter of course. "Good news, Emily. Upon studying the situation first-hand, I've come to the conclusion that far from mismanaging it, you've done a remarkably good job of keeping things under control. Tagg, on the other hand, didn't. Which means he's out and you're reinstated."

Emily came to her feet as a sign of respect. "That is good news, yes," she said cautiously. Good things just didn't fall into her lap. Long experience had taught her that, with many object lessons upon the way. "This still doesn't explain to me exactly what's going on with this Zachary person."

From the look of sudden pain on Costa-Brown's features, Emily got the impression she'd prodded a nerve. Given the treatment she'd been undergoing all day, it was just a little satisfying to see that expression on someone else's face for once. "Ah, yes. Zachary."

"Zachary," Eidolon stated so woodenly he may well have been reading off a teleprompter inside his helmet, "is to be left alone and not investigated. His associates are to be afforded a similar amount of privacy." He stopped talking abruptly, apparently done with his pronouncement.

"What?" Emily was left feeling more than a little off balance. "But … he attacked students! And a Ward! And damaged a school!" He damaged Winslow, she acknowledged silently, which meant there was a strong possibility that nobody would notice.

"The school is insured, or it should be," Costa-Brown said flatly. "Zachary was acting in defence of Taylor Hebert when he injured those students. As of this moment, Shadow Stalker is out of the Wards program. She's to be treated as a flight risk and remanded into custody for juvenile detention as soon as she recovers." She took a deep breath. "As for your local villains Hookwolf, Lung, Cricket and Oni Lee, they're either in custody or they will be shortly. Also, we'll be arranging payment of the accumulated bounty for the Slaughterhouse Nine to Taylor's father, Danny Hebert, as soon as it's convenient for him to hand over his banking details."

Emily found herself sitting down again, a faint ringing in her ears. "They're dead? The Nine? How?" Later on, she knew, she would freak out more privately over the logistics of imprisoning four of the most dangerous parahumans in the city later. Right now, she wanted to make sure she'd heard the other news clearly. Chief Director Costa-Brown wasn't known for making jokes like that, or for possessing a sense of humour at all. Still, there was always a first time.

"By way of Zachary, using a PRT van and a street sign." That was Eidolon; from the tone of his voice, he wasn't entirely certain about what he was saying. "From fifteen hundred miles away. You can write off the van as having been destroyed in parahuman combat. Along with the other one that actually was. The Chief Director will sign off on it."

"I … see." Emily metaphorically reached down and pulled up her big-girl pants. Time for the nitty-gritty. "So, from this I'm gathering that Zachary is more powerful than most as parahumans go. What's your estimate of his threat rating?"

Costa-Brown shook her head slightly. "You misunderstand. Zachary isn't a parahuman. He just … is. You will not assign him a threat rating. You will instruct the PRT and Protectorate to leave him alone at all times. He may appear to be entirely nonthreatening or utterly terrifying, depending on his mood. To our very great fortune, he only poses a threat toward anyone who might threaten Danny or Taylor Hebert—especially Taylor—with personal danger."

"And for those who do pose a threat to the Heberts …?" Emily knew the question had to be asked.

Eidolon and Costa-Brown both shook their heads at the same time. "God help them," the Chief Director said. "Because nothing you can do will save their sorry asses."

The Hebert Household
Later That Evening

"That was very nice," Zach said, placing his knife and fork on the plate before him. He had eaten his share of the lasagne with every evidence of enjoyment, which had caused mixed thoughts in my head. The part of me that saw him as a teenage boy wondered if he would want seconds, the part that understood he was an Endbringer wondered if he really needed to eat at all, then a third part wondered why I wasn't getting more confused over the other two parts until a fourth part reminded the rest of my brain about Zach's it's-all-okay Stranger effect. "You are a good cook, Mr Hebert."

"Thanks, Zachary," Dad said with a slightly bemused expression. I was pretty sure I knew exactly what was going through his head, because it was going through mine as well. "So, do you normally eat much lasagne? Or … well, anything?"

As an Endbringer, I knew he meant but did not say out loud.

"Normally, we do not eat, no," Zach said, confirming our unvoiced thoughts. "However, as I am here to learn to be human for Taylor's sake, I am able to eat food and enjoy it. The food you have given me was delicious." His eyes twinkled. "My brothers say they are quite jealous. Nobody ever cooks meals for them."

"No offense to them, but until your sister visited this afternoon, I don't believe anyone really saw them as being safe to invite over as houseguests," Dad said, earning my admiration for his masterful understatement.

"Talking about her," I interjected. "You said your brothers are jealous. Is she?" I still hadn't forgotten the fact that she'd dropped into Earth Bet just to meet me.

"I did not say my brothers were jealous," Zach corrected me seriously. "I told you they said they were jealous. They really are not. I believe they were attempting humour."

"The Endbringers. Making jokes." Dad didn't seem thrilled by this. "That could go very badly indeed. Just saying."

"Could you please tell them that even a basic prank could kill thousands of people?" I asked. "I mean, even if they didn't mean to. Next to Endbringers, humans are fragile." I was imagining Leviathan sweeping up to some beachfront resort then doing the equivalent of yelling 'Psyche!' and running away, but accidentally drowning everyone in a tsunami anyway.

"My sister is reminding them that this is the case," Zachary assured me. "They are not used to humour. I told them the joke about the fireman and the suspenders. Behemoth has said he wants red suspenders for when he next appears. My sister has said she will see what she can do."

"And Leviathan?" asked Dad faintly. "Does he want green suspenders, or blue ones?"

"He does not see the point in wearing suspenders," Zachary explained blithely. "He does not wear trousers, and quite often swims very quickly through the water. He has asked Behemoth why he wants red suspenders, and Behemoth has said because he wants them. He can be very stubborn when he wants to be."

I suddenly had a mental image of Behemoth as an oversized toddler, sitting in a playpen wearing red suspenders with his clawed arms folded and his one eye glaring with annoyance because he wasn't being allowed to play with the other kids. Beside him was a similarly childlike Leviathan in a paddling pool, for some reason wearing an adorably cute striped onesie swimming costume, pouting because he was banned from splashing people.

"That is very funny, Taylor," Zachary said with a smile. "My sister is laughing quite a lot. She wants to know if she has permission to share it with them."

I gulped. Unless I missed my guess, 'them' meant Behemoth and Leviathan. Zachary was nice, of course, and even the Simurgh had smiled as she greeted me, but I didn't want to piss off Zachary's older brothers. "What if it annoys them?"

Zach tilted his head slightly. "She does not think it will anger them, although she might need to explain it to Behemoth. And if they do become angry, she says she will tell them to … what is the phrase … ah yes, 'toughen up, buttercup'." He looked at me queryingly. "Is that how it is said?"

"It is," I confirmed. "But … could you please ask her not to read my mind like that, without checking with me first? Please?"

Before I could really reflect on how I was asking the Simurgh to not read my mind, he nodded firmly. "I have told her that you are unhappy with her doing that, and she has said she will not do it in future. She apologises for making you feel uncomfortable. Her intention was to check if you were becoming distressed with talking about Endbringers, and to ask me to stop if you were."

I took a deep breath. "Tell her I appreciate the thoughtfulness, but asking me would be less intrusive, and I wouldn't be offended if you did ask about things like that."

"I have said that to her," Zach said. "It appears we all have things to learn about each other. Would you agree, Danny?"

"Don't bring me into this," Dad disclaimed, shaking his head. "I like to process one bit of weirdness at a time, thanks."

I knew exactly how he felt. My life since I met Zach had been nonstop weirdness, but somehow I was good with that. I wondered if his Stranger effect was actually making it easier for me to accept what was going on around me. If so, I wasn't going to argue. Having a mental breakdown because my best friend was an Endbringer wasn't in my plans.

"I will try not to make things too weird for you, Danny," Zach agreed. "Would it be weird if Taylor and I went out and dealt with the Merchants this evening? It should not take more than an hour or so."

Dad looked from me to Zach and back again. "It wouldn't be weird, exactly, given what I've already seen you do, but does Taylor actually need to come along? She's not nearly as durable as you are, after all, and these are the Merchants. They're not known for being nice to non-combatants."

Zach and I began to speak at the same second, then he paused and nodded to me. "You go first please, Taylor."

I knew he meant it, so gave him a nod and a smile in return. "It's best that I go along for the Merchants' sake, Dad. If they push Zach too far, I want to make sure he doesn't execute them for being idiots." His offer to kill Emma and her cronies was still fresh in my mind.

"Ah." Dad nodded, though I could tell he still didn't like the idea. "Zach, you were saying?"

"I will keep Taylor safe and happy, as is my purpose." Zach's tone was matter of fact. "No Merchant can move faster than I can. I will ensure that all their attacks are directed toward me."

"And you're certain you can tank their best shot?" Dad chuckled wryly and shook his head. "No, ignore that. I keep forgetting that you face-planted Alexandria in the asphalt. Your Stranger effect is giving me cognitive dissonance."

"I am sorry for that, Danny." As best I could tell, Zach was being truly apologetic. "I felt that you would prefer seeing me as not dangerous to seeing me as very dangerous."

"It's nothing." Dad waved away the apology. "I've had to deal with a lot of people who were far more dangerous than they looked, back in the day. At least you're up front with your motivations. So, you think you can even find the Merchants to deal with them? It's not like they're very forthcoming with their plans."

"That is easy," Zach said. "I will ask my sister. She knows where everyone is."

"She really does," I assured Dad. "She gave Zach targeting information on the Nine, so he got them on the first try."

"So I saw on the news," Dad agreed. "Well done for that, by the way." He gave Zach a nod of approval. "I don't know for a fact that they would've come to Brockton Bay any time soon, but they did have a habit of gathering powerful capes under their banner."

"They would have," Zach said. "Jack Slash would not have seen how dangerous I was, and he would have attempted to endanger Taylor in order to recruit me. To keep her safe, I would have had to kill all of them anyway. In doing it now, when there were no innocent lives to be lost, I saved many lives that they would have taken in the meantime. I believe that this has served the dual purpose of keeping Taylor safe and also making her happy."

I nodded earnestly. "Knowing you've saved lives definitely makes me happy," I assured him. "It still feels weird that you're giving us the payout, though. What are we going to even do with ninety-nine million dollars?"

"Oh, I can definitely think of one or two dozen things," Dad said firmly. "Fixing up the car and the house, paying the fees for you to attend Arcadia, renovating the ferry terminals and the port, putting aside about a million dollars for your college fund …"

"Wow, I hadn't so much as thought about college at this point." I shook my head. "Not even sure what I want to study there."

"I could ask my sister what she sees you studying in the future, if you want," Zach offered helpfully.

"Um, what? No!" I stared at him. "Can she see that? If I haven't decided for myself, I mean? How does that even work?"

"My sister can see what was and what will be, but she cannot see what is," Zach explained patiently. "If in the future you will go to college, she can see now what you will study then. But I will not ask her, if you do not wish me to."

"No, no, don't ask her." I had the horrible feeling that my future was bound to an immutable path that I couldn't even see, and that if I were to be told what it was and tried to change it, bad things would happen. "I prefer to believe in free will, thanks."

"Alright, I will not ask her." Zach nodded, as if to settle the matter. "When would you like to go out so that we can deal with the Merchants?"

"Don't stay out too late, please," Dad said mildly. "We're going into Winslow tomorrow, and I'd like to get that dealt with bright and early."

"What, school already?" I shook my head and groaned. "Can't I even have one day off? And didn't you say I was going to Arcadia anyway?"

"Oh, you're not going back to school there." Dad's expression was grim. "I don't care that Zach beat the crap out of Emma and the other bullies. You're not going back into that hellhole, Zach or no Zach. With the money we've got coming in, you are going to Arcadia if I have to buy the damn school and personally have you taken off the rolls. I just need to go in there and make sure they know it."

"I could ask my sister to come with us and explain it to them," Zach offered helpfully.

Dad and I paused. I could tell he was tempted. Hell, I was very tempted. But in the end, we both shook our heads; regretfully, in my case.

"No," he said with a sigh. "As much as I would utterly love to see the look on that woman's face when she realised just how badly she's screwed up, it would probably lead to Armsmaster or someone from the PRT calling us up and begging us not to do it again. And I hate to hear a grown man cry."

"Alright, I will not do that." Zach smiled at me. "If your father does not want us to stay out too late, perhaps we should go soon."

"Okay, then." I got up from the table. "I'll just go brush my teeth and change. Is there anything specific that I should wear to go and beat up druggie gangsters, or is what I'm wearing okay?"

It was a measure of how impressed Dad was with Zach that he didn't even look worried at the joke. "Maybe something dark, and make sure you take a jacket. The news said a cold front is moving in."

"That will be Leviathan," Zach said at once. "He said he thought of a prank he can play. It is something new."

"New?" Dad got in just before me as we both looked at Zach. "What do you mean, new?"

Zach smiled. "You will see. He is certain it will not hurt any people. My sister agrees with him."

Dad and I exchanged a glance. This was slightly concerning, but Zach sounded fairly sure that nobody would be in danger. I'd already learned to trust Zach with my own life, so I had to take it on faith that he wouldn't lie about someone else being in danger.

"Okay then," I said. "Dark clothes, wear a jacket. Gotcha."

Trotting upstairs, I took care of my dental hygiene then went to my room and dug out some black jeans and a dark blue pullover. There was a brown jacket hanging in my closet that smelt a little musty but still fit me, and it was kind of dark, so I shrugged into that as well. My sneakers went on next; I pulled the laces tight, recalling how fast Zach had zipped us through the streets before. The last thing I wanted was for me to lose a shoe halfway between here and wherever. Looking myself over in the mirror as I pulled my hair back into a tie, I thought I looked kind of badass. Well, I hoped I looked kind of badass.

Not that I was gonna be doing much more than spectate and award points for style. Zach was the heavy hitter here and everyone knew it. I was just coming along so that the Merchants would survive to reach prison. Given his threat to execute Emma and the others, I was under no illusions that he would be any more merciful to Skidmark and his crew if I wasn't there. There wouldn't even be any bodies to be found if he didn't want that to happen.

Did that bother me? Not really. Zach might be ruthless to the point of being willing to murder anyone who so much as looked like posing a threat to me, but the two people he was guaranteed not to threaten were me and Dad. And in a life where it had sometimes seemed that the whole point of being Taylor Hebert was suffering, it was nice to have someone powerful on my side for once.

Danny

Taylor strolled downstairs and into the living room, where Danny was in the process of filling Zachary in on what little he knew of Merchant practices. "Ready to go?" she asked.

Zachary smiled at her. "Yes, Taylor, I am."

Going over to his daughter, Danny put his hand on her arm. "Have fun, and take care." He would worry—any father would—but Zachary had proven himself over and over that he would prioritise her safety and happiness over everything else.

She gave him a smile and a hug, which he returned. "Absolutely."

While Danny trailed behind, she headed outside to the front path with Zachary following. Danny stopped and leaned against the doorway to watch them. She had described both the leaping and the running, and he wanted to see this for himself.

"Okay, um, let's get started," she said.

"Alright, Taylor," said Zachary. "Do you wish to run there or jump there?"

It didn't take Taylor long to decide. "Jump. Definitely jump."

"Very well. Hold on tight. Tell me when you are ready." Effortlessly, Zachary scooped Taylor up in a bridal carry. Danny strongly suspected the advice to hold on was more to make her feel that she was making a contribution; whether she held on or not, there was minimal chance that Zachary would ever drop her.

Still, Danny heard a giggle as she put her arms around Zachary's neck. "Ready."

Afterwards, Danny decided it was pure bullshit. Zachary merely flexed his hips and knees just a little, and then the pair rocketed away into the night sky at frankly ridiculous speeds, vanishing from sight in less than a second. All that remained were a pair of footprints driven into the lawn, and Taylor's fading whoop of exhilaration.

Heaving a sigh, Danny turned and went back inside. They'd be back when they got back, but he decided to keep an eye on the TV news just in case. After all, teenagers were teenagers whether they were human or Endbringers.

Tattletale

When Lisa's phone rang with that number, she felt the same tight little clench in her gut that she always did. It didn't matter that the jobs were always lucrative; she knew for a fact that the moment Coil decided there was a profit in dumping them in the shit, in the shit they would go. Still, she answered it as she always did. "Hey, boss. How's things?"

"Tattletale." His voice was oddly strained, bringing her oh-shit meter to full alertness. He wasn't under duress … exactly … but he was in the process of doing something he didn't want to do. This made part of her giggle with unrestrained glee, while at the same time another part of her wondered who had a hold over her boss, and what plans they might have for the Undersiders.

"Yeah, boss? Hey, if you're blocked up, I got a line on some great laxatives—"

"Shut. Up. And. Listen." If anything, Coil's aggravation was increasing, but there was none of the underlying satisfaction that would stem from being able to take his problems out on her. "I am ending my contract with yourself and the rest of the Undersiders. You are on your own. You are not to attempt to locate or contact me. We are done. Is that totally understood?"

She blinked twice, then nodded, before finally speaking. "Uh … right. We're on our own. Do we get, you know, severance pay or something?"

There was a moment of silence on the line, almost long enough to make her think he'd cut off the call, but then he replied. "Yes. You will each have twelve thousand deposited into your accounts. Are there any questions?" He was speaking the words of his own free will, but he desperately wished that he didn't have to. Also, he didn't want to answer any questions.

Which was too bad for him. Lisa noted that the twelve grand apiece made up a sweet six months' pay, but now her curiosity was running over. Coil wasn't staying in town; he was cutting and running, and she wanted to know why. She grinned and metaphorically cracked her knuckles. "So, why are you leaving town? Is it anything to do with that Endbringer siren false alarm today?"

She paused to let him speak, but he said nothing. To her, his silence spoke louder than words. Well, holy shit. It wasn't a false alarm.

He encountered an Endbringer and lived.

And the encounter—Simurgh, has to be—convinced him to go elsewhere. Today.

Also, to not screw us over.

Yeah, well, it would take an Endbringer to convince him of that.

He cleared his throat, with what almost sounded like a whimper. "Do not try to find me." Then he hung up.

Lisa stared at the phone in her hand. "Well, fuck," she muttered, then raised her voice. "Guys? You're, uh, you're probably not going to like this."

Coil

"Do not try to find me." Calvert hit the end-call button then sat back in his chair, shaking.

The Undersiders were a loose end, one he would normally have had no qualms with eradicating. Especially Tattletale. Either dead with a bullet in her brain or drugged to the gills in a room in his base, mumbling her analyses into a microphone with a TV screen in front of her. Letting her live when she knew that he'd been the Undersiders' secret boss (and may well have ferreted out his powerset and secret identity) went against every lesson he'd ever learned about covert activity.

But every timeline where he set out to eliminate them went … badly.

Sometimes it was that terrifying teenage boy, other times it was the Simurgh; appearing at the moment of triumph and coming for him personally. The scariest ones were where the boy seemed to do nothing at all, and the timeline just … ended. As if he'd negated Calvert's ability to use his own power. And always, the Hebert girl, just staring at him as though he were scum. Not angry, not even pitying. Just dismissive.

He wasn't going to lie to himself. He was terrified. This was worse than Ellisburg. In Ellisburg he'd been able to shoot back, to pretend he had some level of power in the situation. Here, his power was being ignored or even used to terrorise him. Merely attempting to deny them any kind of severance payout—what did she think he was, a legitimate employer?—had led to Zachary literally bursting in through the roof of his base like some insane version of the Kool-Aid Man.

At least he'd been able to tell her not to track him down. Whether that would hold or not depended entirely on her, but with any luck she would be satisfied with being out of his clutches. But now, it was time to cut his losses and slink off into the night with what disposable resources he could take with him. He'd already paid off the mercenaries and sent them on their way; while he would've liked to keep half a dozen as bodyguards, it just wasn't to be. Not against the Endbringer boy or the Simurgh—there was no defending against that—but against the myriad other evils the world could spawn.

Well, almost all the mercenaries. The one called Creep had known what his face looked like. While Calvert was paying him (not only in money) he was loyal, but that situation almost certainly would not have lasted past the final paycheck. Thus, Creep was currently residing in a bodybag in the base morgue, a nine-millimetre bullet-hole in the back of the head being the cause of death. By the time it was discovered, Calvert intended to be well out of town.

He wasn't entirely certain about his final destination, but it probably would not be inside the continental United States. Wherever he did end up, he intended to be nowhere near Brockton Bay, or even the northeastern corner of the nation.

With a sigh, he set his computer to perform a total factory reset. Then he got up from the chair, slung his duffel over his shoulder, and left his office. There was one Hummer in the underground garage, with a full tank of fuel …

All the lights went out.

The darkness was absolute.

Scrabbling in his pocket, he took his phone out and activated the flashlight function.

Half a second later, that died as well.

"Oh, come on!" he screamed; his voice echoed back from the raw concrete and steel beams. And kept echoing, but the echoes seemed to become disembodied laughter.

He knew the layout of the base well enough. With one hand on the rail and the other out before him, he began to hurry toward the exit. His boots on the steel catwalk echoed oddly, making him think there was someone just behind him. He hurried faster, then missed a turn and almost went over the rail. The duffel slipped off his shoulder and dropped away from his clutching hands. He heard it go thud, fifteen feet down.

The duffel contained clothing, his costume, several passports under different names, a spare handgun and about ten thousand in cash.

Do I go down and get it?

The ghostly footsteps were getting closer.

Fuck that.

Hurrying onward, he reached the exit. The door jammed open after it had slid only a foot or so, leaving him barely enough room to squeeze through. Panting and bruised, he limped onward until he reached the Hummer. It sounded like a dozen men were converging on him in the dimness of the garage. Wrenching open the door, he was halfway in before he saw what was in the passenger seat.

The body bag, containing Creep's corpse.

With a scream, he recoiled clear out of the vehicle to end up sprawled on the concrete. He got to his feet and cautiously edged his way around the Hummer and pulled open the passenger side door. The body bag was even strapped in though how Zachary had infiltrated his base without his knowledge, he had no idea.

Shuddering, he reached across the bodybag and unclipped the seat belt, then yanked on the bag until it spilled out untidily across the floor of the garage. Then he slammed the door shut, ran around the Hummer, and got into the driver's seat. Strapping himself in, he fired up the powerful diesel engine, and peeled rubber all the way out of the parking garage.

He didn't stop whimpering until he reached Boston.

He didn't stop driving until the sun came up.

Taylor

One second we were soaring high above night-time Brockton Bay. In the next, Zach made a perfect two-point landing on grimy concrete with an ear-splitting BOOM, sending cracks radiating in all directions from the brand-new footprints in the rock-hard surface. He let me down onto my feet and smiled. "We are in Merchant territory now, Taylor. Do you still wish for me to take them alive? They are bad people who make people younger than you degrade themselves to feed their addictions."

And this was why I had come along. Zach's heart was in the right place, but he was altogether too willing to use lethal violence to settle a problem. It didn't help that I was half-inclined to agree with his drastic approach to matters, having seen the damage drugs could do to a city. After all, the Merchants were far from the sole purveyors of chemical dependency in Brockton Bay; they were just the only ones who used it as their central stock-in-trade.

"Take them alive, Zach," I said firmly. "Please."

"Alright, Taylor!" he said happily. "I will do that for you."

I looked around. We appeared to be standing on the forecourt of a defunct gas station with an attached garage. While there were a few people across the road, they weren't paying us much attention. I wasn't sure if that was due to Zach's ability to make people think he belonged or if they were just on drugs. Given that this was Merchant territory, it was a toss-up. "So where exactly are the Merchants, anyway?"

"Right here!" He took two steps toward a door in the side of the gas station garage, just as it opened.

A woman with hair hanging over her face peered out. "Who the fuck's making all this fucking noise—what the fuck?"

The exclamation was due to Zach grabbing hold of her and pulling her out of the doorway, while keeping the door itself open with his foot. As she struggled against his grip, he pressed his hand against her forehead. Her eyes rolled up into her head, a sudden wind that had kicked up died down again, and she slumped in his grasp.

"She is not dead, just sleeping," he whispered to me. "This is Whirligig. She would have made it hard to keep you safe."

"Oh," I said. Zach laid Whirligig down on the ground and pushed the door open. Not wanting to be left alone outside with an unconscious supervillain (in the very loosest of terms), I followed him inside.

Within the garage, three people were standing around a monstrosity of a vehicle that looked like it may have started life as a Mack truck, but then tried to incorporate elements of a jet fighter and a submarine. There might even have been a way to put it all together that was both elegant and functional, retaining the strong points of everything while looking cool and stylish.

This wasn't it.

However, my appreciation of how ugly Tinkertech can really get was interrupted by one of the three turning toward us. He was a little taller than me, wearing a stained and patched blue costume, complete with cape. I didn't have to see his horribly discoloured teeth or hear him speak to know who he was. Skidmark; the leader of the Merchants, and reputedly the foulest-mouthed cape on the eastern seaboard.

"Well, who the fuck was it, minge-maggot?" he asked. Even his voice was grating and unpleasant. When he registered that we weren't Whirligig, his eyes widened. "Cocksucking motherfucker! Who the turd-sniffing fuck are those two knob-gobblers?"

I didn't know who the scrawny little Gollum-lookalike was but gauging from how red his eyes were, he was stoned off his ass. That, and I could smell the lingering marijuana smoke from where I was. (I've never partaken, but going to Winslow teaches you things like that). He looked us up and down, then sniffed deeply and wiped his forearm across under his nose. "Couple little shits from the preppy side of town, here for some rough trade, Skids. They ain't nothin'."

The last of the three, a trashily-dressed blonde girl who apparently used engine grease as hair styling product, peered at us. "You here for that? 'Cause I don't think you're here for that." Belatedly, I recalled her name; Squealer, the Merchants' Tinker and one of the main reasons they hadn't been overrun by ordinary non-cape gangs.

Zach smiled cheerfully. "No."

I could tell the exact instant when he ceased to maintain the "I'm harmless and forgettable" image. All three villains swore luridly, and reacted in different ways.

A broad strip of concrete between Skidmark and us suddenly began to glow with a gradiated colour band, shading from violet on his end to blue on ours. Bits of dirt and trash began to fling themselves toward us, as if blown by a strong wind. As the villain gestured frantically, the band both increased in width and intensified in colour.

"Keep ''em back, Skiddy!" shouted Squealer, scrambling up the side of the vehicle with an agility I would've been hard put to match. "Once I get the guns powered up, I'll blow 'em into next week!"

By contrast, the third guy—whose name I was still blanking on—went to run away. Or, as I realised a second later, he was shambling toward a pile of trash in the corner. As he ran, branched growths began to protrude from his skinny body.

Ignoring Squealer and the skinny guy, Zach looked down at the glowing carpet of colour between us and the supervillains. "That is very interesting," he said. "Do you mind if I look more closely?"

Skidmark's response was impressively unprintable (and I'd heard Dockworkers swear) as he laid down more layers of his field. Some went farther out, probably in an attempt to sweep us off our feet. But Zach stood firm; and with his hand on my arm, so did I. Then Zach leaned down and used his free hand to lift the power effect off the concrete. The move pulled it out from under my feet and Zach's as well, and he was able to leave me to my own devices as he began to roll it up like a carpet.

Desperately, Skidmark threw down more fields, only for Zach to catch each of them and add them to his growing collection. Almost casually, he rolled it up into a bundle the size of a basketball, with one glowing violet string leading back to Skidmark. Then, with a single yank, he pulled that cord free and tied it around the bundle to make a ball.

"That ain't possible!" screamed Skidmark. He tried to throw extra fields down, but no matter how he waved his hands, nothing happened. I recalled how Zach had pulled this exact trick on Miss Militia, and grinned. This time around, it was much more possible. "Gimme back my fields, you syphilitic goat-fucking herpes blister!"

"You only had to ask politely," Zach said reprovingly, then tossed the bundle of coruscating fields at him.

At the last second, Skidmark seemed to realise the danger. "No, don't, shiiiiiii—!" He tried to jump aside at the last moment, but the ball seemed to curve in midair, and nailed him in the chest anyway.

In another instant, he was wrapped from head to toe in the fields, glowing so brightly I could've read by them. I would've had to be reading very quickly though, as he was launched upward at extremely high speed. There was a hollow BOOOM, and bits of ceiling and roof rained down around us. His last curse trailed away into the distance almost immediately.

I wanted to ask Zach where he'd sent the guy, but the vehicle powered up, gun-turrets swinging in our direction. Meanwhile, the skinny little guy was in the process of packing garbage around himself to become neither skinny or little. What was his name again? Moist? Mush? Something like that.

Three guns fired at once, and Zach moved. His arms weren't even a blur as he smacked the projectiles aside, apparently robbing them of their kinetic energy at the same time. Impressively large cannon rounds fell to the floor at his feet, dented from where they had struck his hands. Then he stepped forward and punched the vehicle once.

It … fell apart. The bits that came from a plane fell off to the left, the parts that I thought were from a submarine came off to the right, and the chassis of the Mack Truck, minus some important bits, remained in the middle. And sitting there, finger clicking on a trigger that was no longer connected to anything worthwhile, was Squealer. She stared at Zach, still clicking the trigger by reflex.

"Um …" she said.

Director Piggot
PRT Building ENE

It was amazing, Emily grumbled to herself. Let one jumped-up asshole take over her job for just one hour, and the paperwork to deal with that shit increased to take up the entire goddamn evening. But finally, it was done (and thankfully, she was able to redirect any and all queries regarding 'Zachary' to Chief Director Costa-Brown) so she was going home for the evening. Standing up, she reached around and pressed on the small of her back …

Smack.

"What the hell?" she demanded, turning so fast she nearly lost her balance. Spreadeagled across her window, plastered to the high-end polycarbonate, was Skidmark, an expression of extreme discomfort on his features. And then, with a long drawn-out squeeeeeaak, he began to slide down the window.

Grabbing her phone, she hit the icon that connected her to everyone.

"Now hear this. This is an all-stations alert. Skidmark is on the east face of the building. I say again, Skidmark is on the east face of the building."

She wanted to rush from the office and dive into the elevator to see where he ended up, but she controlled herself. She had security troops to do exactly that thing. In lieu of something else to do, she started pulling up external camera feeds. It took her a few attempts, but finally she managed to get the one focused on the main entrance, just as Skidmark collapsed to the pavement outside. To her astonishment, he was still alive and apparently uninjured, given that he was able to stand up as the troopers took him into custody.

Her phone rang, and she answered it by reflex. "Director Piggot speaking."

"It's Lieutenant Graves down in the lobby, ma'am. We have Skidmark in custody. He's swearing up a storm about some teenage boy who stole his powers and flung him here from up near the Trainyards."

She took a breath. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Well done. Do not assume the power loss is permanent."

"No, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."

Ending the call, she sat down at her desk again.

Zachary. It has to be Zachary.

She shook her head as she looked at the greasy smear the villain had left on the polycarbonate. The fact that Skidmark had come from the north and still hit the east window of the building, she wasn't even going to address right then.

"Skidmark by name, skidmark by nature," she muttered, turning off the lights on the way out the door.

This paperwork, she would deal with tomorrow.

End of Part Nine