A/N: For larger, novel-length stories I usually create a dedicated forum for review responses. The issue I face is that FFN limits how many forums you can have. So since this is, at least as planned, a 10-part novella expected to be a 100 or so pages, I made the painful decision not to set up a forum. But the response to the first chapter is far beyond anything I could have hoped for. Thank you all for reading, and I hope that everyone continues to enjoy.
Chapter Two: In Which Taylor Dreams
In her dream, Taylor saw the world as it should have been.
Lines like veins ran over the earth—all earths. She had no words to describe what she saw, because she did not see with her eyes. Within her consciousness the veins pierced time and space and though she could not have explained it, she was the world. She was everywhere within it.
Over and over again, in caverns older than human civilization in every corner of the world, she saw massive bodies right out of myth—of fearsome dragons that would have made Tolkien weep. They were dead, though their bodies had somehow not decomposed; dead and murdered in their eons-old sleep by some unknowable force that defied description.
She felt a deep, grinding grief, as if the weight of twenty thousand years of loss poured down around her shoulders and buried her in a tidal wave of tears. Though she couldn't understand how she knew, nonetheless knowledge seared into her soul. Secrets of the world lost eons before percolated into her consciousness, swept in by the grief of an awakening that would never be.
The Fifth World was murdered in its earthen crib, the potential of magic was trapped within the veins of reality itself by a shower of crystalline shards like tears that came from beyond the stars. She could see without seeing all those with the potential to be awakened to magic instead seeded by these alien tear drops—the ancient magic of the earth supplanted by a new, violent magic that humanity came to call powers.
Instead of Orcs and wizards and metahumans, the world found itself with superheroes, villains, monsters and Endbringers. Instead of magic, the world rang with alien sciences so far beyond the understanding of science that men could build machines of destruction that no other could even comprehend, much less duplicate.
All this Taylor simply knew, as if the information were water poured into the cup of her skull. The knowledge burned within her, like a gradually building fire that charred the edges of her mind. The veins of the world writhed, and she suddenly knew that her bloodied scalp on that old petroglyph at midnight under a full moon somehow completed a circuit that had been twenty thousand years in the making.
It is time, daughter/sister/mother. It is time to be AWAKENED.
Not a voice. Not words. Understanding beyond description, intent beyond knowing. The veins of the world suddenly flashed before darkening, emptying eons of stored energy through the stones of this most ancient receptacle, into this most fragile and recently crafted body.
The magic of ages seared through fourteen-year-old Taylor Hebert's body, burning it out like a brief filament in the face of a thousand years of lightning. Abruptly the magic struck the alien shard in her mind, a shard just like the tens of thousands of other shards spread throughout the various realities of the earth. In that instant, Taylor triggered, becoming a parahuman for one one-billionth of a second.
The shard's intention was to make Taylor more than mere human when the proper environmental stimulus was achieved. The shard was an engine of violence and destruction, a tool of chaos created in a futile hope to ward off entropy. The shard itself contained within its' fractal depths a connection to a well of energy the size of stars.
The rush of magical energy that should have torn Taylor apart at the subatomic level crashed into the alien shard, and in that desperate one one-billionth of a second, the Shard burned with energy even its progenitor had never known. In that one one-billionth of a second, the Shard ceased to be alien and became MORE.
In that one one-billionth of a second, Taylor Hebert ceased to be parahuman. She became something so very much more. As the magic of the Infinite Earth bore through her veins, Taylor became greater.
~~Wyrm~~
~~Wyrm~~
"Miss Hebert?"
Taylor blinked and focused her eyes on the woman wrapped up in black PRT armor. She sat across from where Taylor protectively hugged her snack for later. Beside her, her father smelled tired and scared.
"Yes?"
"I was asking if you're okay?"
Taylor wasn't sure how to answer, so she broke off a piece of Armsmaster's motorcycle handlebar and ate it slowly. Her nose flared under the scent of pheromones from the woman and the answering pheromones from at least one of the male agents who was unconsciously responding to her. The scent of arousal and fear was almost heady. There was also the scent of mint from the gum one man chewed in the cab of the transport, and the bacon the third man opposite had that morning.
Outside, they passed a chicken farm. She could smell the birds crammed together in a dark, low building. Desperate little lives waiting to be extinguished so people could have their fried chicken tenders and…
"Could we get some chicken? There's a Krispy Chick up ahead."
The scent of fear in the cab became cloying. "We can get some for you when we get back to Brockton Bay," the woman said carefully.
Taylor ate a little bit more of her motorcycle to hold her over.
The agent cleared her throat. "Are you in any discomfort?"
"What?"
"Are you hurt?"
"No. I don't think I get hurt anymore." Taylor sniffed. "There's a Mackie's Burgers ahead. They sell chicken tenders too. Could we get some?"
"Taylor, you hate fried chicken," her dad said, exasperated. "Why do you want chicken?"
"We passed a chicken farm. I want chicken now."
"Miss Hebert, how do you know there's a Mackie's ahead?"
"I can smell it. I'm hungry, and I don't want to eat all my snack now."
She ate the rubber grips from the handlebar as she stared meaningfully at the agent.
With a sigh, the woman touched the side of her helmet. "Sir, subject is requesting Mackies chicken tenders. Yes sir. Ms. Hebert, how many?"
"All of them? I mean, if I can? They don't even have to cook them, really."
~~Wyrm~~
~~Wyrm~~
They only bought her fifty. She ate them slowly, only three or four at a time, to make them last.
Dad tried to steal one. She growled, surprised at how angry it made her. "GET YOUR OWN."
The anger startled her even more than it did him. The agent made a note on her pad. "What are you writing?" Taylor asked, suspiciously.
The agent turned the note pad around. In cramped, efficient cursive, the note said: Don't steal food from a dragon.
"Oh. That's good," Taylor said. "It's my food."
"Taylor, I'm your father."
"And I love you for that. But don't touch my food." She stared him in the face as she ate a handful of tenders.
"How do you even get that much chicken into your mouth at one time?" he wondered, both horrified and fascinated.
She answered by chewing with her mouth open to show him. He paled a little and looked away.
Taylor's eyes drifted back to the woman. The man next to her was the one responding most to her. "Are you two dating?"
Both agents shared a look before staring at her. "Why do you ask?"
"'Cause you had sex this morning. I can smell you all over him."
"Taylor!" her dad said, aghast.
She ate a few more chicken tenders. Only five this time, since they still had an hour to go. She wanted to make sure it lasted.
~~Wyrm~~
~~Wyrm~~
"It's too early for this," Emily Piggot said when she read Armsmaster's after-action report for his and Miss Militia's deployment out of the city when she came in. "I'm only two sips into my coffee. I don't appreciate this kind of joke."
"There's video from my helmet cam, Director," Armsmaster said, more stiffly than normal.
Frowning intensely, Piggot scrolled down to the embedded video. Then, following that, she saw the estimate of damages, first to an upstate summer camp, and then to…
"Forty seven cattle, a tractor, and a hay bailer?"
Beside her, Armsmaster looked… tired wasn't quite the word, Piggot decided. He looked defeated. It wasn't until she got to the last item on the list that she saw why. "And your motorcycle?"
"I…was unable to prevent her from eating my motorcycle," he said stiffly. "In her changer state, she is easily a Brute 8 or higher. I would hazard a guess that she weighs anywhere from thirteen to twenty thousand pounds. I'd guess more, but her body is designed for flight, so she may weigh less than she appears. Regardless, despite my best efforts, I was unable to prevent the forty-foot long, fire-breathing dragon from grabbing my motorcycle and…eating it."
Piggot watched the video. If she still had a sense of humor, she would have laughed. "She congratulated you on how good it tastes and saved some for later?"
His shoulders actually slumped, even within his armor. "At that point, Director, there seemed to be little to be gained in fighting it. Given the fact that she had gone out of her way not to hurt people, and the fact that her father was actively seeking our help, it did not seem prudent to make an issue of it."
"That was remarkably restrained of you, Armsmaster."
"She said my armor smelled good too," he said, indignantly. "I deemed the motorcycle a safer sacrifice. Evidently something about Tinker tech appeals to her."
Piggot kept reading. "Aggressive behavior toward food. She shouted at her father for trying to steal a chicken tender?"
"She also growled at anyone who came too close to my...the remains of my motorcycle," Armsmaster admitted.
Two decades of service with the PRT had effectively eroded Emily Piggot's sense of humor down to nothing. So, she was not going to laugh at how utterly heartbroken the head of the Protectorate Team sounded. She wasn't even sure she was physically capable of laughter any more. Because if she were, she'd be laughing her ass off.
"Where is she?"
"She's downstairs in the PRT tactical vehicle bay. She reverted to her changer state the moment she left the transport. Miss Militia and a PRT agent are keeping watch on her."
"We need to keep a lid on this until we have a solid strategy," Piggott said. A knock interrupted her train of thought. "Yes?"
Miss Militia walked in. Even with her bandana mask, Piggot could tell from the creasing of her eyes that the cape was smiling. The woman had obviously not been in public service long enough, Piggot thought. Another ten years, that smile would be gone.
"I'm sorry to eavesdrop, Director, but I heard that last. And that ship may have already sailed. Vista must have heard something because she led Cockblocker and Aegis down to take a peek at Miss Hebert last night."
Piggot paled. "Are they okay?"
"Miss Hebert was trying to sleep, so told them to go away. Clockblocker ran quick enough, but Vista asked for a hug."
"And?"
Miss Militia removed her phone. Piggot didn't know whether to gag or coo. The picture of the little green-clad cape in a skirt hugging the dragon was utterly, disgustingly cute.
"Don't release that photo."
"I understand."
"What do you make of her?"
Armsmaster sat up. "I believe that if she and her father agree to join the Wards, we need to have her tested psychologically as well as for her powers," Armsmaster said.
"Oh? Do you think she's unstable?"
Armsmaster shook his head. "Her response to food is bestial. Think of cats or dogs fighting over scraps. I think she's a dragon, Director. It's not her power, I think she is literally a dragon. I want to see if she can comply with human norms of behavior. It may be that her behavior is simply a consequence of pride in her new appearance. Or it may be something more profound. But I would want that evaluated as part of her power testing."
"What's your initial threat rating?" Piggot asked.
"Brute 8 minimum based solely on size and strength. That number is subject to change based on testing. Tentative Blaster 5 based on her flaming the cattle. Changer 2."
"Changer 2? That low?" Piggot found the number low. "She turns into a dragon."
"With respect, as you know the ratings are based on how we should respond. High changer ratings assume the changer presents a threat for infiltration or espionage. No one, Director, is going to miss Taylor Hebert when she appears, in either form."
Militia snickered.
She turned to Miss Militia. "The girl…dragon's disposition?"
In answer, Militia pulled up the vomit-inducing sweetness of Vista hugging her.
"Amiable, then?"
"As long as you don't touch her food," Miss Militia agreed. "Once she dealt that appetite after her immediate change, I found her to be a delightful young woman with a very sharp mind."
"You only say that because she didn't eat your motorcycle," Armsmaster muttered.
Miss Militia didn't even bother to hide the fact she was smiling. "I suppose mine wasn't as spicy as yours, sir."
"The father is going to be here in fifteen minutes. Short answer—do we want her?"
The two capes stared at her as if she'd slapped them.
"Hookwolf," Miss Milita said.
"Lung," Armsmaster said.
"That's a yes, then?"
"Yes," the two heroes said, speaking in chorus.
Abruptly sirens went off throughout the building. Only for them to turn off a second later. Piggot's phone rang. Her red phone, indicating an emergency.
"What?"
"Ma'am, there's been a biological incident in the tactical bay."
Piggot glared at Armsmaster and Miss Militia, somehow knowing it was their fault. She put her phone on speaker. "What type of biological incident?"
"Ma'am, the…Miss…the dragon…went to the bathroom."
In the background, they heard a deep, rumbling voice. "I SAID I NEEDED TO GO. YOU SHOULD HAVE LET ME OUT SOONER."
Piggot shook her head and pointedly did not look at Miss Militia and her damned twinkling eyes. "Then just have facilities clean it up."
"Ma'am, her…feces cracked the cement and has evidence of heavy metals and other biohazard components. It may be radioactive. I'm not kidding, ma'am, it set off the building Geiger counter. I think this is more of a Hazmat issue than facilities."
Piggot glared at Miss Militia, who at least had the courtesy to look down.
"Make sure they collect a sample for analysis," Armsmaster said earnestly.
Miss Militia pointedly got up and almost made it to Piggot's door before she started giggling helplessly.
"For the record," Director Piggot said to the room at large. "I hate all of you."
Militia stumbled out, succumbing to open gales of laughter just outside.
~~Wyrm~~
~~Wyrm~~
Danny didn't quite understand the looks he got when he walked into the lobby of the PRT after a night of troubled sleep. They wouldn't let him take Taylor home until they could hold her under "observation" for a day or two.
When he gave his name to the information desk, everyone stared at him as if he were Jack Slash, the murderous cape who led the Slaughterhouse Nine. "I'll let Director Piggot know you're here," one of the wide-eyed women behind the desk said quickly.
Somehow, Danny just knew this had something to do with Taylor.
His suspicion was confirmed when Miss Militia, flanked by two bulky agents, came to fetch him personally.
"Mr. Hebert," she said in a tone that implied she was smiling behind her bandana. She actually offered a hand this time, which Danny accepted. She had a strong grip, with a ridge of calluses.
"How is…she?"
One of the agents made an odd noise, but Danny couldn't see anything behind their mask.
"She's doing really well," Milita said brightly. "Would you like to see a picture?"
She flipped out a phone as if she were showing off babies or her pet puppies. The picture, though, was far more saccharine than any mere pet. "Is that…?"
"Vista. Taylor let her have a hug. Vista has a great fondness for dragons, unicorns and other mythical animals. Taylor is in the Director's office, if you want to come with me."
Danny couldn't actually see very much of the PRT building. They climbed into the elevator. One of the agents swiped a badge, keyed in a code, and a second later they were moving up.
"Did she eventually stop eating?"
"Mostly."
Danny had no idea if they were on the top floor of the building or not. The hall they emerged in had no features—no art, nor distinguishing items at all. It had beige carpeting and white plaster walls with a series of closed, red-painted steel doors set every few feet.
They walked down the length of the hall to the last door. Militia knocked, waited for the called permission, and led Danny into a spacious but mostly spartan office with a breath-taking view of the Bay and downtown.
His daughter sat in a wooden chair wearing the same sparkling black and silver dress she wore the last time she turned human. Her black and silver hair appeared brushed away from her face, which was good because even as he stepped in, he saw her take a massive bite out of a three-foot long, six inch wide BB Deli's Italian Stallion Special large enough for four whole meals. He knew because he'd ordered one sandwich back when it was the three of them, and they always had left overs for the next day.
The fact that a third of the three-foot-long sandwich disappeared when Taylor used her human-sized mouth to take a bite completely warped his brain for a long moment. It looked almost like a scene from an old Scooby Doo cartoon, with Shaggy or Scooby eating a wildly unrealistic amount of food with only a few bites.
"That's her third sandwich," Milita explained helpfully.
Taylor turned and swallowed a mass of food that could have choked Smaug. "Hey, dad! Director Piggot bought me sandwiches as long as I stayed like this while they cleaned up the garage."
"I…what happened?"
Taylor blushed violet. "They don't exactly have dragon-toilets."
Danny couldn't help but stare. "Couldn't you know…go like that?"
She shook her head somberly. "Volume wouldn't change, Dad. Just the pressure of the expulsion. It probably would have made my fly."
"There are not enough plungers in the world," one of the agents affirmed.
"Excuse me," Militia said, before walking quickly from the room making an odd choking sound.
"Mr. Hebert, have a seat," the exasperated director said. "Let's get this done as soon as possible, so I can begin filing for a medical retirement."
"You do smell pretty sick," Taylor said, trying to sound helpful. "Why don't you go to Panacea? I bet she'd heal you."
"We're not here to discuss me, young lady," Piggot said sharply. "We're here to discuss your future. What is it that you want?"
Taylor cocked her head as she looked from Piggot to the city skyscape beyond. She stuffed another pound of sandwich in her mouth and chewed as she thought over the answer. Piggot blinked and looked to Danny, but he shrugged. She'd done the same thing in the van on the way down.
"I want to be rich and powerful," she said at last. "I want a lake of gold I can swim through, like Uncle Scrooge. I don't want to have to stay small anymore. I don't like being small. It itches. I want…" She stood and walked over to the buffet the director set up under the window. She took a can of soda, opened it, and drank it all in one gulp. She then ate the can. "Hmmm...aluminum."
Piggot's face became more and more blank as Taylor spoke, until it was utterly devoid of all expression. "How do you intend to be rich and powerful, Miss Hebert?"
"I'll follow the rainbows," Taylor said absently as she continued to stare out the window.
"Miss Hebert?" The director looked at Danny when no answer came.
"Taylor?"
"Yeah, Dad?"
Danny left his chair, drawn by her absent tone. "Whatch'ya looking at?"
"The Simurgh," Taylor said. "She's actually really pretty. I never knew."
For a moment, Danny struggled to breathe. He glanced back in alarm and saw Piggot rising to her feet. "You can see the Simurgh, Miss Hebert?"
"Yeah," Taylor said. "She's over Africa right now, I think."
Africa? She can see something over Africa from here?
"I bet she'd taste awesome," Taylor muttered to herself. "Maybe just one of her wings. Wonder if she tastes like chicken? Hmmm...chicken. Can I get some more chicken tenders?"
Danny stumbled back and sank into his chair. "Let's get those papers signed," he said with renewed energy.
"Agreed," Piggot said.