Chapter 4
"Are you sure you're ready for this, Taylor?" Hightower asked over the helmet communicator, his tone full of concern. "There's still time to abort if you aren't certain."
"Don't be such an old woman," Beck laughed, her voice clear over the tinkertech communicators. "She's ready. Been training for weeks. Finally got her gear working. Besides, it's not like we're facing the Nine or something. It's just a few punks."
"Can the chatter, you two," Hollis ordered quietly. She was the nominal leader of the team, but had insisted I make the final decision in this case. "And use her codename. Target locations confirmed, sniper in place, charges set, backup and transport ready. Nemesis, are we a go?"
I looked at the display in my helmet. Three teens were sitting in the living room of the small two-story farmhouse playing a video game. The drone feed showed a husky girl with sandy blond hair, a younger boy whose matching hair and build suggested a relation to the girl, and a slim boy of medium height and long black hair. These were the targets. Three capes who had been committing break-ins and robberies across New Hampshire, Vermont, and Maine for the last six months. Aaron "Smash" Proctor, age 15, Janelle "Grab" Junkin, age 16, and Albert "Getaway" Junkin, age 14 – they called themselves the Ram Raiders. Howard speculated they were probably a cluster trigger with related powers of physical enhancement, limited telekinesis, and variations on invisibility.
Since their crime spree started, PRT offices around the tri-state area had been sending requests to the ENE department for heroes to take these three villains down. A PRT strike team could have handled any one of them, but facing all three was a big enough danger protocol required cape involvement. Renick had decided this was a job for Team Nemesis.
I looked at the targets playing around like they didn't have a care in the world. During the planning for this operation, I'd asked the team lead if attacking them like this didn't break those "unwritten rules" the PRT trainers had gone on at length about.
"The unwritten rules don't apply." Hollis had responded. "These mooks don't have real cape identities. They don't wear costumes during their crimes, don't even bother with masks. They use cape names because it sounds 'wicked' but often forget them in the course of their activities. And they post videos of their crimes under their real names. The house isn't even theirs either. They took it over after 'evicting' the owners. That's how we got word they were here. The owners reported it."
Proctor, or Smash, got most of my attention. He was the brute the Enforcers had confused me for on the Boardwalk. PRT experts said he had a strange disassembly power that unfastened, unscrewed, and unbolted things with a touch, making his ATM robberies easier. He also had what they were calling "static camouflage" to avoid the security guards and escape.
I didn't see any resemblance between us. Certainly not anymore – I had grown an inch a week in the last six weeks, gaining a lot of associated muscle weight, and didn't look to be stopping. Still, Smash was partially to blame that I had been almost killed. Now it was payback time.
Grab had an energy tentacle that could stretch a hundred feet long and could grab, lift, and carry multiple items up to a quarter-ton in combined weight. The tentacle could also be camouflaged to match floors or walls to be used as a trap. Getaway was an invisible speedster with a partial force field. He was the one I was most worried about. If he got out of my range, he'd be gone.
"Go," I affirmed.
"Go, go, go," Hollis ordered. I leaped from the top of the abandoned barn. My jump boots – courtesy of Kid Win, who made most of my gear – boosted me in a parabolic arc that took me to the farmhouse porch, right in front of the door.
"Getaway is moving to the kitchen," Hightower reported just before I shouldered my way through the old pine door and rushed into the living room.
Smash and Grab stared at me in shock. I noticed the younger brother looking back into the living room from the kitchen.
"Shit!" he said and made for the back door.
"Who are you?" the girl demanded as she pointed her hand at me. I assumed she was trying to use her power, but it wasn't happening.
I ignored her and dropped two con-foam grenades, then waited as the foam sprayed out and covered both capes. Once they were stuck, I ran towards the sound of the slamming door. "In pursuit," I radioed.
"No need," Hightower reported calmly. "Target three secured." I stepped to the back door and saw another, larger con-foam pile. Hollis was a specialist at infiltration and investigation. She was also good at setting traps, and containment foam worked fine from a claymore mine. Getaway's force field had partially protected him from the foam, but his legs were trapped. I applied heavy duty zip-ties to his wrists and ankles.
"Incoming to back door," Beck radioed. When I saw she had the younger brother covered I went back into the house. Hollis was just coming in the front door. I positioned myself halfway between the living room and the back door to try to cover all three villains. My HUD could throw a colored indicator in front of my vision to show the computer's estimate of the coverage of my power negation field. The problem judging the exact diameter was that the field extended from every part of my body. So, if I held my arms out, the field was bigger than if I kept them at my side.
Once the three targets were secured and sedated, Hightower remote piloted the van to the front of the house. We loaded them into the cage and climbed in front. Hollis drove.
"That went well," the team lead said. PRT Agent Andrea Hollis was a tall, athletic white woman, somewhere near thirty, with short-cropped blond hair.
"Getaway almost, well, got away," I disagreed. If I had been faster or my field was a bit wider, I would have been able to catch him in it before he had the chance to try to escape. Not that he needed his powers to run.
"That's why we plan ahead," Hollis explained. "No plan survives first contact with the enemy. So, you prepare for as many contingencies as you can."
"If the mine hadn't worked, I had a bead on him with the IR scope. Even if he turned invisible, I could see his heat footprints and lead them a bit." Agent Linda Beck, a short, muscular black woman with red hair shaved high and tight, stroked her sniper rifle affectionately. "Realistically, given a couple of more agents we could have taken them without you."
"Protocol requires …" Hollis started in a frustrated tone.
"Yeah. Fuck protocol. Written by Washington REMFs that have never been in the field, much less in combat. What do they know?" Beck countered. "Regular humans, well-armed and well-trained, could take down most parahumans – if they'd let us."
I kept quiet. I'd heard all this before. For the last several weeks, this had become a common argument between the two. And from what I could tell, Beck was right. With her sniper rifle she could take out most of the heroes on the Brockton Bay Protectorate or Wards teams. Not all at once, admittedly. If there were more than one or two, she probably wouldn't survive the experience. But only Armsmaster, Aegis, and maybe Assault or Shadow Stalker could survive a high-powered round.
"That's not the way it's done," Hollis repeated for the eighth or ninth time.
"I know. But maybe it should be," Beck argued. "Endbringers or no Endbringers."
"Enough," the team lead barked, shutting the younger trooper down.
Beck's feelings were not uncommon. I'd experienced the fear and disdain some PRT personnel had for capes. I heard it because I worked more closely with the PRT staff than many of the heroes. For the most part the PRT people hid those feeling when they knew I could hear. They didn't always realize I was just around the corner or in the next stall. Unlike the others, Beck was willing to say it to my face because she didn't particularly want to be on Team Nemesis – babysitting a baby cape, as she put it.
I wasn't sure how I felt about other parahuman's myself. Since triggering I had been made perfectly aware that with one or two exceptions, capes hated me.
"I have informed PRT ENE that you are inbound with an ETA of 2230," Hightower reported. He was always listening, but never contributed to these arguments. He was a Thinker/Tinker who was some sort of PRT auxiliary with a connection to the Toybox. He never physically left his home lab. He specialized in sensors and communications tech. Hearing him reminded me that the helmet he'd supplied me with had, among other sensors, an IR capability that could have let me do the same footprint tracking trick that Beck had described. I'd have to remember that next time I faced a Stranger.
"Thank you," Hollis replied. "Please keep an eye on our sleepers back there. Nemesis should keep them harmless, even if they wake. But no need to let them surprise us."
"Wilco" Hightower replied.
"Now, let's break this down. What worked? What didn't? What can we do better next time?" Hollis started the debrief, just like she did after our training missions. "Beck, please get us started."
It was hard not to take the criticism personally, but I was learning.
# # # # #
Monday was my first day at Arcadia. I had been schooling online for the first month of the new year. I wanted to be mad at Blackwell for booting me out of Winslow, but it was actually a great relief for me. Even with Emma facing expulsion, if not juvie, and Sophia moved suddenly – and I had my suspicions about that – there were too many bad memories for me to ever be comfortable in the building.
Before the PRT decided I wasn't going to be a Ward, or at least not a real one, they had pulled some strings to get me into Arcadia with the rest of the team. When they decided I wasn't a good fit for the regular Wards, I figured Arcadia was out. I decided to drop out and work towards a GED. As part of Renick selling me on Team Nemesis, Arcadia was back on the table. Regardless of what kind of Ward I was, the Youth Guard said I still had to go to school. Homeschooling for a GED and online schooling were not considered sufficient socialization.
The school building was tall, clean, and shaped like a capital "H". The main office, where I was headed, and all the other administrative and staff-related facilities were located around the center. The larger wings held the classrooms and other instructional spaces. The structure was interesting, but it was the students that caught my attention.
Even though I'd read about the new initiative on the school's site, I was still shocked to see all the students wearing uniforms. Officially, Arcadia was doing it to avoid de-emphasize the socio-economic disparities among the student body. In reality, according to most opinions, they were trying to reduce gang-related clothes. I had no problem with the real reason. At Winslow more than half the students wore some sort of gang colors and that was the origin of a lot of the violence in the halls. Arcadia might have less of a gang problem, but it was still in Brockton Bay.
It had been difficult for me to find a girl's uniform in my size. I was now 6'3" and weighed almost three hundred pounds. I was built like a pro-wrestler, with bulging muscles and a noticeable bustline. But with some alterations I was within regulation. That didn't stop people from staring at me as I approached the main doors.
Since the Boardwalk, my picture had been all over the local net, and not just PHO. I was the first "out" cape in Brockton Bay since Panacea debuted two years ago. Renick had pushed through my official Wards debut at the same media event Flechette had been introduced as a new transfer. The PRT made it look like I was part of the team. The press release stating I would be working with a regional task force instead of the regular Wards was slow played a few days later. Given all that publicity, combined with my increasingly distinctive features, I was getting recognized more frequently. That did not bode well for my preferred existence as an introvert and social nonentity.
Still, Glory Girl's a student here. Why would they care about me? I figured, incorrectly as it turned out.
"Miss Hebert," announced the admin lady almost as soon as I entered the outer office. "Welcome to Arcadia. Dr. McKnight, our principal, would like a word with you. When you come out, I'll have your schedule and locker information."
Dr. McKnight turned out to be a mostly bald middle-aged black man with a close trimmed grey beard. His friendly smile helped differentiate him from my former principal. "Welcome to Arcadia High, Taylor. I understand there were problems at your old school. I'm hoping we can avoid those here. You should know we come down hard on incidents of bullying and harassment."
He paused and looked at me, obviously waiting for a response.
"I'm glad to hear that," I offered, not that I believed him. Still, I could at least give the adults here a shot before writing them off like I had at Winslow.
"That doesn't mean you're not going to be in for a rough couple of weeks as you get settled in and as the rest of the students get used to you being here," he continued. "You're not the only Ward attending. Nor are you the only hero with a public identity. However, you are new and currently much in the news. It's inevitable that you'll attract significant attention – both positive and negative – from the other students. We'll simply have to give that time to settle down."
"Why do you say negative attention is inevitable?" I asked. "The PRT has been trying to keep my publicity positive."
"There are people who dislike parahumans out of prejudice. There are people who have connections to villains who hate heroes. Moreover, there are people who dislike whatever is popular, if only out of sheer iconoclasm." Dr. McKnight leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. "You're likely to find all three kinds here, and more. We'll do our best to keep any issues from becoming too problematic. But, we'll need you to keep your temper if there is a problem, and to let us know about it so we can do something."
I sighed. So, potentially no different than Winslow. Except that they realized there were likely to be problems and that they might not be my fault. "I guess that's the best I can expect, given the circumstances."
"Cheer up. It shouldn't be that bad," he said with a smile. "Like I say, you're not the first hero here. We're all more or less used to it by now. I understand that while you're taking advantage of the afternoon vocational release, you won't be leaving school should the other Wards be called out for an emergency."
"That depends on the emergency, but in general no. I work with a different team," I replied.
"Alright. Do you have any questions for me?" He sat up straighter.
"You know the other Wards' real names?"
"I do." He nodded.
"And you've been informed that there may be issues if I am in a class with any of them?" I asked.
"I don't understand the exact nature of the issue," he confirmed. "But I've been informed there are potential power interactions that would make it counterproductive for you to share classes with them. That's been taken into account with your schedule."
"Did you include Panacea and Glory Girl in that consideration? Basically, any other parahuman is going to react badly to being in class with me. It may even be necessary to seat me near the center of the classroom if there are any capes in rooms adjacent to mine."
Dr. McKnight started clicking around on his computer until he found the file he was looking for. "The PRT did mention the Dallons but did not specify the possible issue of adjacent classrooms." After clicking a few more times, he started drumming his fingers on his chin. "I'll have to get with your PRT liaison to clarify the specifics here. I don't want you telling me anything they don't want me to know. Better to go through official channels."
"I know it's a pain and if you need me to move or anything, I can. I don't want to cause any problems." I was beginning to wonder if this wasn't more trouble than it was worth. Maybe I should have gone to Clarendon.
"Don't worry," he flashed his broad smile again. "I'm sure we'll get this worked out. Why don't you go talk with Mrs. Weidner? She has your schedule and other info to go over." He stood and offered his hand. "It's good to have you at Arcadia, Taylor." I carefully shook it. I had trained a lot to be able to control my grip and not break things accidentally.
"Thank you." I nodded and left. Outside the admin lady, Mrs. Weidner I guessed, was waiting. She was a tall, older white woman with black hair and thick glasses. She went over my schedule quickly and pointed out where all the classes were on the school map. She also warned me that the school had active counter-phone measures in place that prevented connection to the cell towers – thus no calls and texts in or out. I wondered how they handled Ward alerts.
"Get to your homeroom. Mr. Palmer is expecting you," she said when the first bell rang.
"Thanks," I replied and made my way into the stream of students rushing through the hall. I had fifteen minutes to get halfway across the school.
Despite the clean walls and student uniforms, the basic crush was not too different from Winslow. No obvious metal detectors in the doors and statistically less chance of getting knifed in the hall, but the same barely directed chaos.
Being able to see over the large majority of people in the corridors was a new experience. It made the crush seem less claustrophobic. It also put me at eye level for many of the athletes, the people most likely to cause immediate issues. Mean girls, like Emma, usually took time to ramp up their cruelty as they ferreted out your secrets and weaknesses. Emma had already known mine so was able to make my high school experience hell from day one. Here no one knew me.
"Taylor!" a familiar voice sounded behind me. I looked down and saw Chris.
"Hey Chris," I had to stop myself from asking what he was doing here. Of course he was here. He had been going to Arcadia since summer. I smiled at the younger boy. He had been good to me over the last month – the only Ward that was willing to be near me for any length of time. He actually volunteered to work with me, developing my armor and gear. I had gotten to know him pretty well. I liked his quiet humor and his willingness to work through his disabilities. It didn't hurt that he had gorgeous green eyes.
"Welcome to Cell Block H," he said "The guards ain't bad, but don't trust the inmates."
He was standing in front of me. I stopped and the crowd flowed around us. "We'll see how this goes. I'll admit I'm a lot more nervous than I thought I would be. I can bounce bullets, but still get worried about mean kids."
"As long as we're students, this is our world," Chris said gesturing around to encompass the whole environment. I could hear the pain in his voice. His school life as a special needs student had not been the best. "The problems in it may seem small to the outside, but they're real enough to us."
"Enough of that," He shook himself and smiled. "Who's your homeroom teacher?"
Checking my printout I replied, "Palmer, room 312."
"Great, Follow me." He found an opening in the flow and pulled me in after him.
# # # # #
"… he was paying so much attention to me, he walked right into a row of lockers." I snorted my tea. "That got me laughing so hard I walked into a locker too."
Dad looked at me in concern. "Were you ok? No, strike that. Of course you were. Did you dent the locker?"
I blushed. "They're made of really thin metal. I don't even think it's steel, maybe aluminum or something. Anyway, it was really funny and helped break the ice."
"So, it was a good day?" he asked.
"I mean, it was school so it can't be that good. But it went better than I expected. No obvious troubles, though I wasn't too fond of all the attention. Dr. McKnight says that will likely fade over time as people get used to me. Familiarity breeds meh." I looked out the window as the PRT vans we had been waiting for arrived.
Renick had finally gotten permission for the PRT to install security measures in and around our house. It was something of a compromise Dad and I had argued them into. The Director wanted me sleeping at HQ whenever there was a cape in lockup. I wanted Dad to be safe whenever I wasn't home. Heightened security, designed in part by Hightower, and monitored by the PRT was their answer. They were replacing exterior doors and windows, adding sensors and cameras both inside and out, and installing a saferoom where Dad could retreat to if the house were attacked. In it, he could wait securely until rescue arrived.
As we both needed to be present during installation so our biometrics could be recorded, Dad had taken the afternoon off work. Before the installers got to the door Dad tried one last time. "You know it's still not too late. Until they actually start installing stuff, you can change your mind. You've pretty much got your strength under control. You don't need to stay in the PRT. If you want to use your powers the DWA could hire you as security, or even as a stevedore – at least as an apprentice.
"Can't ignore seniority," I added. I'd heard him talk about the way union rules worked often enough over the years.
"Exactly." He smiled. "But you'd be wicked moving cargo."
"I can do both," I argued. "Because they brought me in as an auxiliary, I'm not prohibited from taking non-government related jobs. It's even covered under NEPEA-5 as I am registered with the PRT."
"Really?" Dad asked. He had read all my contract information before signing it, but hadn't seen anything about this.
"I asked Renick specifically. He wasn't happy to admit it, but in order for me to legally work so closely with a PRT team in the field, I couldn't be a normal Ward. Because I'm only an auxiliary Ward – basically a contractor – I have a fair bit of leeway to take outside jobs."
Before we could continue the doorbell rang. I answered, not wanting Dad exposed to potential imposters. When I recognized the team lead, I relaxed.
"Hey Taylor," the short Hispanic man said, giving me the reverse nod so many men used as a greeting. "Sorry we're running late. Some trouble at the warehouse."
"Garcia," I replied. "Do you still think you'll be done today?"
"Yeah. May go a little later than expected," he said. "We should be out of here by six, seven at the latest."
"That's fine," Dad interrupted. He gently moved me out of the way and indicated the workers could come in. I kept an eye on them while they spread out around the house.
There were more of them than I expected. They split into three teams, one outside, one inside, and one in the basement. I wandered around watching them at work while Dad talked to Garcia. That got boring pretty quickly, so I stopped.
I found Dad at the table. He looked lost. Not like he had when Mom died, but like everything was out of his control. Or maybe that was me projecting my feelings on his normal depression. Grabbing some fresh tea, I sat next to him.
"Is this really bothering you?" I asked.
"No." He looked around at the workers. "I mean I'm not fond of people tearing up the house but it's probably a good idea."
"I was talking about my working as a hero," I corrected.
He took my hand. "You know when your mother was in grad school she got involved with Lustrum?"
I nodded. I remembered her talking about it with Lacey, one of Dad's co-workers.
"Lustrum wasn't a villain at the time. She was a hero trying to protect women and change a discriminatory system. As she was working outside the PRT umbrella, a bunch of like-minded women rose to support her. Annette was one of them. Your mom was working to help people, to make the world a better place. You're so like her. You're doing the same thing. Fighting the good fight."
He stopped and swallowed. "Like everything seems to, Lustrum's crusade turned to shit. Your mom was smart and lucky. She recognized when the movement went bad and managed to get out before the real violence started. So, when the Protectorate brought Lustrum down and the PRT and FBI tore her supporters apart, Annette avoided the worst of it. She was still questioned, but never arrested."
I nodded, still holding his hand. I knew most of this, and while I loved to hear Dad talk about Mom, I had no idea what this had to do with my question.
"You need to learn from her and remember two things," Dad looked into my eyes, trying to force the lesson into me. "Even good things can go bad. Like Annette, you're a hero at heart. The PRT is helping you help people. That's a good thing. But remember, the PRT is an international bureaucracy that cannot care about individuals, only about its own survival and maybe its mission. This means it can turn on you or try to make you do things that you know are wrong."
"The second thing you should learn from your mother's experience – when things do go bad, get out before you get dragged down too. Your mother always believed in fighting for women's rights, but when Lustrum and her followers started maiming men to make their point, she knew that Lustrum had moved from the path your mom knew was right. She didn't follow her. If or when the PRT starts asking you to do the wrong things – don't. Get out. I'll help you, but you have to recognize that point yourself."
"You don't trust the PRT?" I asked.
"Do you?" he countered.
I thought about it. Before the Boardwalk, I'd idolized some of the heroes. But the PRT was just some government group. Now that I knew some of them personally, I trusted them more, but that wasn't saying much.
"I guess I trust some of the individuals enough to go into combat with them," I replied. "The PRT as a whole? No, I can't say I do. I know Hollis and Beck don't. They complain about the REMFs in Washington all the time. I've even heard Renick grumble about them." After a thoughtful pause, I continued. "Yeah, I can see what you mean. I need to set my own limits and draw my own line in the sand. This far and no further."
"First figure out what your goals are, then determine your boundaries."
I almost grinned, it was such as Dad thing to say.