A/N: Chap 32 review responses are in my forums as normal. Now, a note on this chapter. I've mentioned that I overwrote this story by a lot. I ended up cutting or abandoning almost 100,000 words to get this into shape. As a result of such heavy editing, this chapter feels a bit clunky to me. I had prolonged sequences of her trip from Brockton Bay, and her negative, angsty interactions with some of the heroes. It added nothing to the story and just slowed things down. So I cut it. But the transition is a bit rocky. Not an excuse for that rocky transition, just a reason why.
Chapter Thirty-Three: Livermore or Let Die
Taylor had no control over the alarm. The lights came on and a speaker grill in the wall announced, "Seven a.m. wake up call. You have thirty minutes."
She sat up groggily before giving herself a brief meditation to clear out the cobwebs. The previous day passed by in a blur of transport vans and airplanes. Her escorts had been firm, unfriendly, but meticulously professional.
Her trip ended in this room, in Livermore, California, for power testing. As Mr. Jansen said, "Time served in power testing is surely more comfortable than time served in a detention facility, wouldn't you think?"
Thirty minutes after the alarm went off, dressed and clean in the private little show that came with the room, the food arrived on a tray through a slot at the bottom of the door. More runny eggs, two slices of limp bacon, lukewarm bread and a carton of 2% milk. A small packet of salt and pepper was all she had to season the otherwise bland, tasteless food.
She ate every bite.
Speaking through a grill in the door, the agents ordered her to sit on the bed; she did so and watched as they unlocked the door and six men and women in heavy black PRT armor stepped into the room. At their direction, she stood and let them lock her wrist cuffs together before they led her down the long, featureless hall of the detention sublevel and into the elevator.
The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and Taylor got her first real look not just at the building, but of sunlight that day.
The first floor of the building was wide open, allowing a view to the windowed walls on the far side of a sunken atrium dominated by a large indoor fountain framed by thick support columns. Two wide, curving desks, one to the right of the door they entered on, and one to the left of the far opposite door, provided room for secretaries to greet visitors, though only one of the desks was manned. Between the two desks were two sets of free-floating stairs flanking a bank of four elevators. Everything was painted in soothing shades of blue, cream or brown, with large planter boxes around the fountain that made the air smell fresh, clean and comfortably cool.
In the depressed area near the fountain, a large television on a rolling cart faced several padded folding chairs. Several capes in costumes stood milling around the chairs, obviously waiting for a presentation to begin.
She saw the familiar face of Dan Seneca from Seattle's PRT office among them, along with a mildly attractive woman who appeared to favor the same type of suits as Seneca himself, sans tie. She wore slacks and pumps, but otherwise had a similarly dark jack and slacks over an off-white blouse. Her hair was thickly styled and as dark as his, but glossy with hair product. She stood straight-backed, though, and moved with the measured grace of someone who had some type of physical training.
Everyone was talking quietly, their words drowned by the fountain, until one particularly high-pitched voice shouted, "Taylor!"
The six agents escorting Taylor did not appear to appreciate Ashwinder's determined breech of their perimeter. Taylor, however, appreciated the hug.
"Hey, Winder. What are you doing here?"
"Power testing, of course," Ashwinder said. "Romulus back in Seattle said all Wards have to come here for their power testing. When did you get in?"
"Last night."
"Do you think…"
"Ashwinder, it's time to come sit down." Seneca stood a few feet away, watching the exchange with a carefully schooled expression.
"But…"
"Better go," Taylor told the girl. "I'm not in a costume, Winder. I'm not here as a hero. You are. Go sit, it'll be okay."
Her exposed mouth frowned fiercely. "It's not fair! They shouldn't treat you like this!"
"It doesn't matter," Taylor said. "Go on, sit down. We'll talk again soon."
Still with her furious frown visible to all and sundry, Ashwinder made her way back to the sunken seating area, where the other young heroes pointedly stared at her.
Seneca stepped forward. "Agents, her wrists?"
One of the agents released the magnetic lock on her wrist cuffs, allowing her arms to rest at her sides.
"This way, please, Quintessence," Seneca said. He used her cape name despite the fact she wore no mask nor costume, just an orange jumpsuit with the world "Villain" across her back.
Taylor soon got a better look at the Wards in their costumes as they approached. There numbered four in total, including Ashwinder. The other three stood in a group—the leader of which appeared to be a teen around Taylor's age in light armor that gleamed silver under the skylight overhead. Blue cloth made a striking counterpoint, while the silver trident he carried made him look like an extra from a Disney movie.
The boy next to him was dressed in poorly fitted corduroy pants and a T-shirt with a dinosaur on it. He wore a black domino mask but carried…a dirty sock knotted on either end. He was twisting it compulsively.
The third Ward appeared to be a child—she barely came up past the two boys' mid-sections. She wore a fetching red body-suit and skirt with a full-head helmet contoured around her head like a teardrop, similar to Ashwinders but of a deeper crimson color, and a closed face mask.
The three Wards stared at Taylor's exposed face and orange prisoner's jumpsuit.
"She has no mask!" sock-boy shouted. He twisted his sock so hard his knuckles turned white. "Leister, she has no mask! Why doesn't she have a mask?"
His speech was perfectly enunciated, but his sense in the Force was one of confusion and worry. He was scared for her.
"That's okay, Flambé," the Ward named Leister said. "She doesn't need one."
"Okay!" he shouted. He smiled at Taylor. "I'm Flambé! I can make things burn. I'm not supposed to unless Vantage says so, but he said I can burn things here!"
Taylor, aware of the two assistant directors and the PRT agents all looking at her, stepped back. "That sounds like you're going to have fun."
"They have banana pudding here too!" Flambésaid. "It's the best. Do you like banana pudding?"
She was saved from answering when an Indian man led two other people in white lab coats into the sunken area. He wore a nice three-piece suit, but the two people behind him wore business casual with lab coats.
"Welcome! Welcome!" he announced loudly in a pronounced accent. "I am Anantha Nurugesh, the Principal Associate Director of Parahuman Sciences here at Lawrence Livermore, and I'm thrilled to meet you all. Joining me are Octavio Ramirez, one of my specialist researchers, and Jeffrey Kimbrel, the test coordinator. Please, everyone, have a seat."
The Wards obediently took their seats nearest the television. A single seat sat behind the others—it was to this seat that Seneca directed her. The PRT agents assumed positions directly behind her.
Nurugesh did not even blink at the display. "So, it is my great pleasure to have you here today. Before we begin, I wish to talk to a little about who we are, and what we do here. As some of you may know, the PRT contracts with the various national laboratories to do Parahuman power testing. For the west coast, that's us here at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory. In the Southwest and Texas, it would be Sandia National. For the northeast, Brookhaven National Labs."
Leister, in his armor and trident, raised his hand.
"Yes, Leister?" Of course Nurugesh knew who everyone was.
"Sir, I've always wondered why the Protectorate didn't do its own power testing. Seems like parahumans would be best and determining other parahuman powers."
"Two reasons," Nurugesh said. "First, and most important, your idea is simply not true. Being a parahuman does not make you an expert on Parahumans, just like being human does not make you an expert in human physiology. Second, is money. The PRT and Protectorate are both primarily a law enforcement agencies. Since Congress has already tasked the various national laboratories with researching parahumans, we have the equipment, the expertise and the budget."
The researcher spoke with a grin—it might have looked smug, but all Taylor felt from the man was exuberant excitement. He obviously loved his job.
What followed were a few videos, the first of the Chief Director, Rebecca Costa-Brown, thanking them for their cooperation in the testing process, followed by a history of parahumans, from the first sighting of the naked, golden Scion floating off the eastern coast of the US to the emergence of the first heroes and then Endbringers in the years that followed.
Scion was first. Taylor thought of her visions and felt a chill run down her spine.
When the videos were done, Nurugesh gave another speech. He was an animated speaker, waving his hands about himself in an excited fashion. He told them about how power testing had evolved from the very first Wards class. He thankfully didn't mention names, but she felt him glance at her briefly when he obviously thought of Miss Militia. He hadn't done her testing, but he obviously knew about her and Taylor.
"Over the next two days, we will test you under every classification the PRT uses," he told them. "Failure is as important as success, and you will think the tests odd since you may not have the power we are going to test for at all. But occasionally we have also discovered powers that even young capes may not be aware of. Most of all, we wish for you to have fun, and to relax. You can opt out of any test at any time. Now, let's get started!"
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
Though Taylor briefly toyed with not cooperating, the idea of being alone in the room with nothing to do did not appeal at all. At least by cooperating, she was out of her cell and around people.
Even if the people feared or hated her.
So, she went through her tests, with the PRT agents there the whole time.
The morning started with a thorough, embarrassing physical conducted by a female doctor and two nurses behind pulled curtains. Her PRT escort stood right outside as Taylor was instructed to disrobe.
After came physical tests—treadmills, pullups. They fortunately didn't cut her to test her self-healing abilities, but then again they didn't need to. The physician overseeing her exam spotted the thin, barely visible scar on her thigh, confirmed it came from Narwhal, and asked how long it took to heal.
"A day or two."
Taylor tried to cooperate, until her agents led her into a room with what looked like a massive coffin. "What…is that an MRI machine?"
The physician nodded. "Yes, we…"
Closed space. Screaming. The smell of rot and death. "Let me out!" She blurted the word "No!"
The agents behind her tensed. The physician raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"I…I am not going into that thing. Sorry. I just can't."
"The MRI is an important part of the testing process, young lady," the physician said. "It allows us to…"
"No. Lock me back up, take away my toys. Fucking starve me if you want. No."
"I see." The physician made a note. "Very well. This way, please. We'll skip this part and you can go ahead and meet with Doctor Malory."
Taylor bit back a sarcastic reply.
The agents led her out of the medical wing of the building, which Taylor had come to realize was a giant glass cylinder, up a flight of stairs to the third level. Through one of four separate doors she found herself in a spacious, frankly beautiful room with a lush sitting area with plush leather couches, pastel-painted walls and lots of ferns in pots. A glass wall separated the sitting area from a series of opaque glass walls that permitted light, but no detail.
A tall man with balding hair and thick glasses hanging off the tip of a very long nose stepped through the glass. "Miss Hebert, this way, please."
Taylor stood, expecting the agents to follow her. They did not. Instead, the man who she knew from a casual glance at his mind was Dr. Malory, led her to a spacious office with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out across slightly arid hills that seemed to stretch forever under a beautiful, cloudless sky.
"Please have a seat at the table," Malory said.
He motioned to a large wooden table set near the outer windows. Two pencils were placed beside a stack of scantron tests.
"What, SATs?" she asked dryly.
"Oh, much worse than that. The Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory," Malory said. "My specialty is psychology. I'm here to do your psychological assessment."
She couldn't help but stare. "Really? On a villain?"
"In this room, Taylor, there are no heroes or villains. I'm not interested in your power except how it might affect your thoughts. I'm not interested in your past except for how it affects your present and future. I'm not here to hurt you, or bring up painful memories. I'm here to get to know you as much as I can in a day, and maybe in the process help you know yourself a little better. But the Bureaucratic gods need their sacrifice, so let's get started on the tests, shall we?"
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
The psychological tests went well past lunch and into early evening. She felt emotionally drained by the time Dr. Malory signaled her escorts. "I think you have one more battery of tests today, Taylor," he said. "Just remember, refusing to do a test, in and of itself, is not a lack of cooperation."
After a dinner of meatloaf, boiled peas and reconstituted mashed potatoes in an otherwise empty cafeteria, flanked by her escorts (all of whom were different from this morning), she went to her next round of tests.
She spent the next hour plucking random images and words out of the minds of three masked people reading from hidden teleprompters. She found herself fighting a yawn as she kept hitting the various symbols the researchers were using for control purposes.
Then came the last test for the day. Malory had returned to escort her to this one. They stopped in front of a glass door. Within sat a handsome young man drumming his fingers on the table.
"Given your observed usage, we have to test for Master powers," Malory said. "It's actually a federal mandate where the possibility exists. We have a set of tasks we would like that young man to perform. Know that he is a paid volunteer, and no task will harm him." Any attempt to harm him will get you shot.
He didn't speak the last thought, but he was looking her in the face and saw how she paled.
"I think you understand," he said with a wry smile. "Part of the federal mandate I'm required to say for a test of this nature. I don't believe for a moment there is any risk of you harming him, but I am legally required to make sure you understand."
"I understand," Taylor said.
"Then please go in and begin."
She stepped in without another word and sat down opposite the young man.
The first thing she noticed was that he worked out. She could see well-defined muscles under the polo he wore. He had a defined chin and a wide nose, but the type of dark eyes a girl could melt into. He also projected nervousness bordering on abject terror behind his handsome smile. His name was Jaquan, and he was the subject for her Master test.
The lab was paying him $100 per hour from what she gathered from his plans to buy new rims for his '09 Avanti convertible. Dark purple, 6-cylinder two door automatic, with the spinners he wanted it would be sick. Couldn't drive it much with gas so expensive, but he just knew Sha'ree with go out with him if he had that ride.
"You don't have to be nervous," she said softly, her stomach roiling nervously. "I promise I won't hurt you."
"Oh, I'm not nervous," he assured her. She could feel a spark of his pride briefly overcome the nervous fear. Very briefly. "Not at all."
It was so easy to reach out with the force to feel his thoughts. "Well, okay. You feel a little nervous to me, but if you stand up on the table and touch your nose, I'll know you aren't."
"I can do that!" He didn't just stand, he pushed back his chair and did a standing jump onto the table in a very impressive display of agility that didn't end in disaster only because the table was bolted to the floor. He then very proudly touched his nose, until Taylor's suggestion wore off.
"Why am I doing this?"
He just sounded so…cute. Taylor grinned. "To prove you weren't nervous."
"That doesn't make sense."
"I know."
Frowning in confusion, he sat back down. "So, what's it like being a cape?"
"I can tell you, but only if you do a handstand against the wall there, and do three inverted push-ups."
"Hah, that's nothing!" He then proved that his arms were as strong as his legs. His polo rode up his chest, revealing a finely sculpted set of abs.
Taylor's grin faded, though, when she realized that she was literally playing with this handsome young man. He gracefully came back to his feet, frowning again in confusion.
"I'm…I'm sorry," she said. She turned to the featureless wall behind which she could feel her observers. "Dr. Malory, I'm sorry, but I don't feel comfortable with this test."
"Whoa, whoa," Jaquan said. "We don't have to stop, I'm fine." He was now thinking of the money.
Taylor tried to force her smile. "I know. You really do seem nice. I just…I was making you do silly things, and that's…that's not right. It's not right and I don't want to do it anymore."
The door opened and Dr. Malory stepped in. Her escort stood in the hallway outside.
"That's fine, Taylor," he said gently. "Jaquan, don't worry. You'll be paid for your agreed hours. We appreciate you coming in."
Instantly he relaxed, relieved both for the fact his ordeal was over, and that he was still going to get paid.
"Cool. Well, nice to meet you," he said with a wave to Taylor before he stepped out of the room.
"So, $100 an hour?" she asked.
"It should come as no shock that we have a hard time recruiting people to volunteer for parahuman power testing," Malory said with a wry smile. "Still, I think we're done for the day. Go back to your room and relax."
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
She came back to her room to discover a half-quart carton of Dutch chocolate ice cream softening on her desk, and the television and movie streaming service connected. A post-it note by the ice cream told her why. Thank you for your cooperation.
She snuggled up on her bed with the ice cream, a cheap plastic spoon, and the '84 version of Henry V.
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
The Testing Control Center for the Lawrence Livermore Parahuman Research Initiative was nestled in the center of the cylindrical glass building that housed the PHRI. Each test had its own command 'pit', a segregated area lined with wall-mounted large-screen monitors and smaller monitors for the five-staff members necessary to run each test.
For controlled environments, they used imbedded tinkertech scanners to record every aspect of a parahuman's physiology while they exercised their various powers. For outdoor tests, they used contact sensors.
There were twelve such 'pits' built around the open center observation room, where Nurugesh and assorted guests could watch any particular test in comfort, taking notes. Nutcracker, having flowing in on the same flight as Taylor herself from Brockton Bay, leaned back in a comfortable leather recliner, a glass of tea in hand, while Assistant Directors Seneca and Robin Barlow, from the South LA PRT Office, spoke quietly about the interior combat test results for their mutual firebrands, Flambé and Ashwinder.
Nutcracker forced himself to focus on the conversation.
"…Flambé do in the field?" Seneca was asking.
"Once he has fire in his hands, he's completely different. When he activates his power, it calms him down far better than risperidone or any of the antipsychotics we've tried," Barlow answered. "He's not as high on the spectrum as some, but his medical records indicate he did suffer brain damage at birth."
"Yes, the use of power can have a powerful physiological and psychological impact on a parahuman," Surugesh said from where he stood, arms crossed and one hand rubbing his close-shaven chin. "A good example is Burnscar, from the Slaughter House Nine. She was the subject of a study on just that aspect of power at the Asylum ENE. A relatively moral young woman driven to unspeakable acts by the relief she gained from using her power, until the morality itself was simply lost by the need to survive."
"Is that true for all parahumans?" Barlow asked.
"Apparently not," Surugesh said. "Observe one the exceptions we've found so far."
Nutcracker looked back to the main monitor that hung from the ceiling in front of them. The sixth-floor interior obstacle course was designed by the PRT for close combat simulations. This environment tended to favor strikers and brutes, whereas the open course favored blasters and movers. The young figure in the orange jumpsuit looked nervous as she rubbed at her wrists.
"I don't envy you that one," Barlow said to Seneca with a divisive snort.
"Yes, it is a shame that the girl who risked her freedom to save my daughter is back in Seattle," Seneca said.
Barlow started. "What?"
"I'm not sure we widely released that information, Dan," Nutcracker said.
"Neither is it classified." Dan gave Barlow a kindly smile, the kind that tended to make people nervous. "My wife and I started the procedures to adopt Ashwinder while she was in the burn ward at Bayview West. Third degree burns over 90% of her body with permanent damage to her kidneys, lungs, heart and eyes. You wondered why she hugged Quintessence when she saw her? It's because, despite the fact she was an escaped fugitive, Quintessence agreed heal Ashwinder. She saved that girl's life."
"Which is in part what makes her so fascinating," Surugesh suddenly interrupted. "Have none of you ever wondered why there are so few parahumans taking advantage of the Stansfield Act? It is because their powers urge them to conflict. This we know for a fact—parahumans who do not use their powers at all risk psychotic breaks after a few years. We have here a Trump—a brute, master, blaster, thinker and striker capable of taking on entire armies. And she uses her power to heal for a living. She is a singularly…ah. The test starts."
They couldn't hear the beep that signaled the start of the course, but Quintessence obviously did. She burst forward, moving so fast she was almost horizontal on the walls for tight turns. Then the drones began popping out of the various walls, floors and ceilings. Some were red for villains, some blue for heroes, some white for civilians.
Quintessence didn't dazzle them with any flashy shows of power. Brief, controlled bursts of telekinesis blasted the villains without touching any of the heroes or civilians. She dove, jumped, spun and bent around the obstacles faster than they'd seen so far, with perfect accuracy.
"Ah, there, did you see! And again! Precognition, without a doubt," Surugesh said, pointing.
Indeed, Nutcracker saw on the two occasions where Quintessence had telekinetic blasts in the air split seconds before villain drones even appeared, while continuing to spare heroes and civilians. She somersaulted easily over a barrier that popped up out of the floor, somehow timing her roll to avoid the one that dropped from the ceiling.
"Time?" Surugesh called.
"Twenty seconds," one of the researchers in the pit for this particular test called out.
"Now comes the interesting part," Surugesh said. The man began rocking excitedly on the balls of his feet.
A fully armored PRT agent jumped out with a gun ready, only to cry out in surprise as Quintessence telekinetically yanked her into the wall behind the girl. More agents appeared, only to be easily tossed about. One attacked with a pair of escrima sticks, only to have them yanked from his hands before Quintessence flipped him over her head.
"Interesting," Surugesh said. "Nutcracker, you've had more contact with her. Has she shown a predilection for fighting sticks?"
"You mean like her tinker-tech melee weapons?"
Surugesh laughed. "Ahh, yes. I forget. On top of everything else, she's a tinker!"
Seconds later, the test ended. Twenty PRT agents littered the floor of the course. Those of them in the control center watched, bemused, as their villain wandered back into view of the main camera and knelt down beside one of the fallen agents, who was clutching a broken knee. Quintessence spoke to her briefly.
"Sound, please," Surugesh said.
"…pretty easily."
"It's against protocol," the agent said through obviously gritted teeth.
"She's offering to heal him," Nutcracker surmised.
Surugesh clapped his hand. "Kimbrel, give me speakers."
At the other man's signal, Surugesh spoke. "Quintessence, we would be very happy for you to demonstrate your healing capabilities under controlled circumstances if you are willing. Perhaps you can join the other Wards for lunch afterward."
Seneca and Barlow both sat up in alarm, but Surugesh didn't seem to care.
"Yeah, okay," came the taciturn response.
"Excellent."
The speakers muted. Barlow cleared her throat. "Director, she's…"
"A subject of power testing," Surugesh said, cutting Barlow off. "That includes interacting with her peers. More importantly, we reward cooperation, do we not? She was under no obligation to offer healing to any of those agents."
Seneca stood from his chair. "You're right. Cooperation should be rewarded. The whole point of this is hopefully to make her a hero one day."
"And it will be an excellent opportunity for Dr. Malory to study her reactions to a peer group," Surugesh said with a happy wave of his hands.