Finding the Way


Part 7: Location, Location, Location


Danny decided on a smart casual style; good trousers, slip-on shoes, button-up shirt, sports jacket. No tie, he decided. They're asking us to attend.

Taylor reappeared at the bedroom door, wearing the sundress he had gifted to her on Christmas Day. She had on just a touch of lip gloss; all the makeup she felt competent to apply.

She gave him a wry smile. "You know, all our personal stuff and my glasses are still in evidence lockers in the PRT?"

"Really?" he asked. "Where?"

She put her hand on his arm, and then he knew where.

Two puffs of brown-purple smoke expanded out from his hands, dissipated. In each hand now lay a large zip-lock bag. One was marked PROPERTY TAYLOR HEBERT and the other was marked PROPERTY DANIEL HEBERT.

Taylor took hers, opened it, took out her glasses, put them on.

"Well, at least they cleaned everything," she said with satisfaction. She began tucking everything else into her small shoulder purse.

Danny nodded, putting his wallet in his trouser pocket and hefting the vehicle keys with a grin. "You realise, we just travelled across town and got into the house without once needing these," he said, tapping the house key that was appended to the keyring.

Taylor nodded, then looked nervous. "Do I look all right?" she asked.

He hugged her and kissed her on the forehead. She relaxed into his embrace. "You look fine, kiddo."

She smiled up at him. "Thanks, Dad."

"Anytime." He grinned. "You're gonna be beating off the Wards with a stick. The girls as well as the boys."

"Da-ad!" Taylor pulled her head away with a giggle, flushing slightly.

"What?" he grinned. "You're a very pretty girl." He took a deep breath. "How do I look?"

She looked him over critically. He had the potential to look silly, like a scarecrow dressed up in cast-off finery, but in point of fact, he looked quite dapper. Smart casual was a look that worked for him.

"You look nice, Dad," she said judiciously. "You clean up pretty good." She shouldered her small purse. "Let's go."


Hand in hand., they appeared side by side in the middle of Director Piggot's office. The Director, to give her credit, only gave a mild start as the purple-brown smoke billowed up and dissipated once more.

"Commendably fast," she commented. "Thank you for accepting our invitation."

Danny nodded to her. "Director Piggot," he acknowledged. "Thank you for dealing with Shadow Stalker."

She made a non-commital gesture. "It was not solely for your daughter's benefit, Mr Hebert. Such a state of affairs could not be allowed to continue. Capes have a responsibility that extends to their private lives."

Miss Militia stepped forward, her hand held out. "Danny, Taylor. Thank you for coming."

Danny shook her hand, followed by Taylor; she had to release Danny's left hand to do this, and took hold of it once more thereafter.

"Take a seat," invited the Director. "I would like to hear about what you know of your powers so far."

They pulled their chairs closer together, so that they could maintain their handclasp, and sat.

Both Miss Militia and Director Piggot noted the gesture, but neither commented.

"Well," said Danny, "as Miss Militia probably told you, I can teleport. I'm guessing my normal range is about city-wide. My normal carrying load is probably about one other adult."

Director Piggot frowned. "It says here in this report that you teleported four miles along with a pickup truck. Was that a fluke?"

Danny shook his head. "I have no idea. I don't recall that."

"Hm." Director Piggot scrolled through the report, then looked up. "Can you do anything else?"

At that moment, her phone rang. "Excuse me," she said, and picked it up. "This had better be very important. I left a message. No calls."

Neither Danny nor Taylor could hear anything apart from a high-pitched squeaking coming from the receiver. Piggot frowned. "Really?" she said. "Did you double check?"

More squeaking.

Piggot compressed her lips together. "Very well. Keep me informed."

She put the phone down and looked at Danny and Taylor. "It appears that your personal effects have disappeared from the evidence lockers where they were being stored," she said. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" From the tone of her voice, she expected the answer to be in the negative.

"Uh, yes," said Danny. "I took them, earlier."

Piggot stared at him. "Took them. From a locked evidence locker, inside PRT headquarters. Without anyone knowing."

Danny nodded. "All I needed to know was where they were."

Piggot shook her head slightly. "All you needed to know." She frowned. "And how did you know?"

Taylor raised her free hand slightly. "Uh, that would be me, Director Piggot, ma'am."

Director Piggot looked at her. "Taylor. You're the … locator?"

Taylor nodded. "If I know what it looks like, or at least enough about it to make it unique, I can zero in on it. Full mental image. Exact location."

Piggot spread her hands. "And your father gets this information how? Do you tell him?"

Taylor shook her head. "All we need is physical contact. He gets the information that way."

Director Piggot stared. "He reads your mind?"

She shook her head. "I just give him the information he needs. Like an email address. Only a lot more complicated."

"And how long does this take?" asked Piggot.

Taylor shrugged. "We never timed it." She thought for a moment. "Maybe a second, maybe less?"

"Wait, so let me get this straight," said Director Piggot. "If you are given enough information to identify something, then you can locate it, and then pass on that location information to your father, who can go and get it."

Taylor looked at Danny, who looked back at her. "That's about the size of it," he agreed.

Miss Militia broke in. "This extends to people, too, doesn't it?" she asked.

Taylor nodded.. "Uh, yeah," she said. "I always know where Dad is now, for instance. Anyone else, I have to think about it for a second."

"Which is how you knew that Shadow Stalker was at the PRT building," said Miss Militia.

Taylor nodded. "I couldn't figure it out. That's why I asked."

"And what's your range limit?" asked Director Piggot.

"Normally?" said Taylor. "About city wide. But when Dad's holding my hand? I can't find one."

Miss Militia and Director Piggot stared at them both.

"Uh, while Taylor's holding my hand," offered Danny, "all bets are off for my teleporting too. I feel much stronger, much more capable."

The stare intensified.

"And, uh, while we're holding hands," said Taylor, starting to blush under the intense scrutiny, "instead of just one thing, I can focus on a whole lot of things at once, and bring them all up at the same time."

She shut up. Director Piggot looked at Miss Militia, who stared back at her boss.

Miss Militia spoke first. "Worldwide –"

"- perfect –" put in Director Piggot.

"- clairvoyance," finished Miss Militia.

"You have to be kidding me," Piggot stated.

Taylor shrugged. "Uh, try me?" she offered. Danny squeezed her hand; she felt his approval as a warm rush through her chest.

"Okay," said Director Piggot. She pulled a photo out of a folder, and showed it to Taylor. It was a plastic bag holding what looked like a battered, nearly destroyed flute. "Have you ever seen this before?"

"Oh my god," whispered Taylor. "Mom's flute." She blinked. "It's in evidence locker seven-three-five-nine., seventy-four yards away from this position." She turned to her father. "Dad?"

Danny held up his hand theatrically; there was a burst of purple-brown smoke, and he held the bagged flute. He handed it across to Taylor, who took it, tears welling from her eyes. She hugged it to her chest.

"The girls took it from her locker at school," Danny explained, as Taylor seemed incapable of speech. "They did that to it. Taylor found it, but it was covered in something really vile, so she went looking for a plastic bag. Then they took it away again, just to screw with her head a second time. Where was it?"

"In the stuff that spilled out of her locker," said Miss Militia. "They apparently decided to give it back." She stared at Danny. "Did you just pull it to you?"

Danny nodded. "If it's something I can carry in one hand, I don't need to go there."

Again, Miss Militia and Director Piggot looked at each other. Then Miss Militia looked to Taylor. "We have Tinkers who can repair that as good as new, if you want," she said gently. "It looks like you love it very much."

Taylor looked up, her eyes full of tears. "It was Mom's," she said. "Dad gave it to me after she died. It was the only thing left that was really her. And they took it, and did this to it." Her shoulders shook with silent sobs. Danny got up from his chair, knelt in front of hers, and took her in his arms. She held him tightly, and buried her face in his shoulder.

Another silent glance passed between Miss Militia and Director Piggot, one of perfect understanding. There would be no plea-bargaining, no easing of the sentence for Shadow Stalker.


After a minute or so, Danny sat down again, but he kept a firm hold on Taylor's hand. Her eyes were red, but she had the tears under control. Using a tissue from her purse, she blew her nose. Once she had finished, it puffed into purple smoke, reappeared in Danny's hand, then puffed away again.

Miss Militia raised an eyebrow. "Where did you send it?" she asked.

"Trash can in the kitchen, at home," he said offhandedly. "I know where that is."

She nodded. "As I was saying, we could get Kid Win or Armsmaster to see if they can repair your flute. They are both excellent Tinkers."

"If you could do that," said Danny, "that would mean so much to both of us." He cleared his throat. "What else would you like to know?"

Director Piggot cleared her throat. "You can locate people," she said. It was almost a question.

Taylor nodded. "I just need something to identify them."

"How about a cape name, if they're well-known enough?"

Taylor nodded again. "Sure, I guess."

Director Piggot took a deep breath. "Taylor Hebert, can you tell me the present location of Jack Slash?"

Taylor blinked. "Uh, sure," she said. "He's in a bed and breakfast called Calamus Lodge, in Nebraska."

Director Piggot hammered keys on her computer. She called up a map program and located Calamus Lodge.

"I can tell you which room," Taylor offered. Piggot didn't even notice. She snatched up her phone and dialled rapidly, then spoke even more rapidly.

Miss Militia strolled over to stand by Taylor's chair. "You can locate anyone at all?" she asked quietly.

Taylor shrugged. "Sure," she said. "Once I've got enough reference points."

Miss Militia nodded. "Are the rest of the Slaughterhouse Nine there?"

Taylor blinked. "I don't know who they all are."

"Crawler?" asked Miss Militia.

Taylor paused. "Yes."

"Bonesaw?"

"Yes."

"Mannequin?"

"Yes."

Miss Militia was staring at her in amazement. "Does it hurt? Is it a strain?" she asked.

Taylor shook her head, and held up the hand that was gripping Danny's. "Not while Dad's with me," she said with a wan smile.

Director Piggot put the phone down and smiled a very predatory smile. "I have just been in touch with Director Costa-Brown. She's extremely interested in your abilities, Taylor."

Taylor nodded. "Just so long as they don't take me away from Dad, I don't care," she said.

Miss Militia smiled. "I doubt there's much danger of that," she said with a smile.

Danny raised a hand. "Can you access missing-persons files from that computer, Director?" he asked.

The Director nodded, a little taken aback. "Certainly," she said. A few keystrokes later, and the monitor was full of thumbnail-sized pictures. She turned the monitor around to show them.

Taylor got up and approached the desk; Danny followed, still holding her hand.

She stared at the screen. Each face impinged on her consciousness separately, then it seemed to fold out, become a screen in her mind. The faces changed slightly, then expanded until she had a whole-body view of that person.

"Mouse?" she asked. Director Piggot handed it over.

She began to click rapidly on pictures. When she finished, a good third of the pictures were highlighted. "Those are all dead," she said sadly. She pointed at the others. "Hiding … living on the street … in South America … oh god," she choked. "She's chained up in someone's basement, like a dog."

Danny clasped her hand tightly. "Where?" he demanded sharply.

"Wait!" snapped Miss Militia. "I'm coming with you." She stepped forward, and took Danny's other hand. Neither Danny nor Taylor argued.

Purple-brown smoke billowed around them, and when it dissipated, they were gone.

Director Piggot looked at the highlighted pictures on her screen.

Damn, she thought.


They appeared in a cellar; Danny had instinctively ducked, as the ceiling was low. A teenage girl, filthy and naked, was chained to a metal pipe. The metal cuff had worn away the skin of her ankle.

Two more children, one about twelve and one about ten, were also in the room, also chained.

The older girl stared at them and screamed.

Taylor stepped forward, towing Danny with her. "Sh-sh-sh!" she said soothingly. "We're superheroes. We're here to get you out."

The girl stared, wide-eyed. "You're not wearing costumes."

Taylor pointed at Miss Militia. "She's in the Protectorate. We're just beginning." She bent down and looked at the chain. "Is there a lock?"

"No," said the girl dully. "He welded them shut."

"What's his name?" asked Taylor intently.

"John, I think," said the girl. "John Brady."

Taylor blinked. A fortyish man, overweight, wearing a wife-beater, filthy jeans. Getting off a sofa. Picking up a shotgun.

She waved to get Miss Militia's attention, pointed at the door. "One man," she whispered. "Shotgun."

Miss Militia nodded. She knelt, and pointed an extremely efficient-looking assault rifle at the door.


Danny was staring at the chains. He concentrated. Purple-brown fog billowed around the chains, dissipated. He held three ankle cuffs; the chains dragged free. The girl, and the two smaller ones, stared at their abraded ankles. Danny put down the cuffs.

Taylor checked on John Brady again. He was almost at the door.

"Dad," she whispered. "As soon as he opens the door, take his gun."

He nodded. He understood.


The door burst open. The unshaven figure stepped through. "What do you bitches think you –"

Purple-brown fog billowed around the sawn-off shotgun. It billowed again around Danny Hebert's hands, and he held the shotgun.

"John Brady!" snapped Miss Militia. "You are under arrest!"

The assault rifle changed subtly, and she fired, even before he was able to respond. A tranquilliser dart stuck out of his neck. He reached up, pulled it out, then slumped to the ground.

"Nice disarm," she said, rising to her feet and taking the shotgun from Danny's unresisting hands.

"Uh, thanks," said Danny. "It was Taylor's idea." He raised an eyebrow at the recumbent John Brady. "Aren't you supposed to give them a chance to surrender?"

She snorted. "This lowlife? He's lucky I used a dart."

The older girl tugged at Taylor's sleeve. "Can we go home now?" she asked, her voice full of hope and dread; hope for a positive answer, dread for a negative.

Taylor grinned. "Sure you can." She turned to Miss Militia. "Just by the way, we're in a town called Cordova, in Alabama." Turning back to the girl, she said, "All I need is your parents' names."


John Brady was delivered, unconscious, to the Cordova police station. Miss Militia went with him, to give a statement to the police. Three families had joyous reunions with their lost children; they promised to contact the police at once.

Miss Militia loitered in the alleyway behind the police station; only the faintest shift in air heralded the arrival of Taylor and Danny.

"It does make meeting up much easier," she commented with a smile, taking Danny's hand. "Let's go."


Director Piggot looked up as the smoke billowed once more, then died away. "I've just dealt with a phone call from a place called Cordova, in Alabama," she commented. "Was that you?"

Miss Militia nodded. "A dirtbag who had three kids chained up in his cellar." She turned a warm look on Taylor and Danny. "I haven't the words."

"Very well," said Director Piggot. "I do." She looked at Taylor and Danny. "I am formally inviting you to join the Protectorate; Taylor to be joining the Wards until her eighteenth birthday. Do you accept?"

Taylor looked at Danny, who looked back at him. They didn't need the look. Each already knew what the other was thinking.

Danny nodded in eerie unison with Taylor. "Thank you," he said.

"We accept," she added.

Miss Militia smiled behind her scarf. "No," she said. "Thank you."

Taylor hugged Danny, who reciprocated. "Ready to be a superhero, kiddo?" he asked with a grin.

"You bet," she agreed.


End of Part 7