A/N: As promised, here is my first Tuesday posting in... since Christmas before last, if I remember correctly. Before that? Never. Like normal, review responses are in my forums for anyone interested. Next post will be Saturday morning like normal. I hope everyone stays safe.
Chapter Thirty-Eight: License to Thrive
"I really should have given you more time with the Social Worker," Dan said as he walked her through the PRT headquarters toward the PR office. "We knew that Ms. Ishikawa was using; she's actually wanted on several counts of underage possession and DWI. She just uses her power and walks out of custody. Because her behavior was not a public risk, the Seattle PD and PRT both deferred it as a minor PRT issue."
Taylor had to admit she appreciated the fact that Dan showed up with Mrs. Gutierrez for the second inspection. It went much better—with the many bottles of alcohol safely hidden and all signs of the drugs fed into the hopper of her main furnace—Gutierrez had nothing to complain about. It wasn't many teenaged girls who could claim a 12,000 square foot home with unlimited running water and electricity free from any mortgage or city bills.
Sarah had to go in for her own duties, so Dan drove her back north to the PRT headquarters. And their first destination, once they were in, was the Public Relations Department.
Horizon was waiting for her, grinning.
"Busted, 'eh?" she asked with a laugh. "And here we thought Quintessence was all squeaky clean."
Dan chuckled. "When Cheryl demanded if Taylor was drunk, she said, 'I'm not now.'"
The two adults laughed uproariously.
Taylor snorted. "My dad ran a Dockworker's union. I've been sneaking his Jameson since I was ten. And I can use my power to get sober again in seconds."
Horizon's laugh died. "That is so unfair."
Taylor shrugged. "I can heal hangovers, too."
With that, they got to work determining Taylor's official Wards costume. Needless to say they weren't going to let her keep her old costume.
However, once they sat down with the department's PR designer, Mary Courtmanche and saw the first sketch ideas, it became obvious that Seneca and Horizon had radically different ideas. Courtmanche and Seneca seemed to be on the same page, having drawn up between them an innocuous bodysuit in primary colors of blue and yellow, with a skirt and a little epaulette on her left shoulder. It looked bland, generic and harmless.
And Horizon would have nothing to do with it.
"She's going to be in combat," the older cape said for the third time that morning. "She doesn't need to wear a costume that says, 'Here I am, shoot me!'. She needs tactical gear!"
"She's sixteen!" Seneca said. "If we dress her up like a soldier, the press will have a field day!"
They'd been going at for half an hour now, the four of them standing around a graphic design table. Taylor stepped closer to Courtmanche, who appeared to be a young, attractive woman in her twenties in a slimming pinstripe skirt and blouse. She reminded Taylor of Entourage, if she were honest.
"So, Insight tells me I'm a Winter," Taylor said quietly to the designer as Seneca and Horizon argued. "It's pretty obvious I'm going to have two costumes. I'll take care of my tactical costume—I'm going to incorporate some tinker elements into it anyway. For my public Wards costume, could we go with earthen colors? I'd also want loose and flexible, not this skin-tight stuff. Darker slacks—maybe brown with a matching half skirt, open in the front."
Courtmanche sketched as Taylor spoke. The costume looked simple and slightly militaristic in the half-jacket that went over the polycarbonate fiber weave that Courtmanche insisted on for the tunic—it was the same tinker fabric the Triumvirate used in their costumes.
She took Courtmanche's light pen and sketched out the Bendu symbol—one black flame, one white, with a saber point rising between them over a field of counter-colored stars. White on black, black on white.
"I've never seen that symbol," Courtmanche said. "What does it mean?"
"Balance," Taylor said. "My power works best when my emotions are balanced. What do you think?"
"I like it," the designer said. "Mask?"
Taylor shook her head. "Not for my light duty costume. I'm already outed."
She became aware of the fact that the argument between Seneca and Horizon was done. They were both looking at the sketch.
"Still looks vaguely like a cadet uniform," Seneca said. "Are you sure about going unmasked?"
"In this costume? Yeah." She looked at Horizon. "We can talk later about tactical loadouts."
"I'm…" Seneca cleared his throat. "I'm not comfortable with this agreement, Horizon. She's sixteen. You're recruiting a child onto a combat team. You're making her a child soldier."
He cared. Taylor could sense that he wasn't trying to be difficult, he actually cared about her well being. "Dan, I am a child soldier," she said. "It's not right, but nothing we're going up against is worse than Leviathan."
"Child soldiers die young," Dan said.
"I know. Think of it this way. The world's ending. The Endbringers are going to bring it all crashing down within my lifetime. At least this way, I'll be fighting to try and keep things going a little longer. So, are we good with my Ward costume?"
"I can get this approved," Courtmanche said with a nod.
Scowling, Seneca nodded too.
"Great. So, I heard someone mention an accelerated licensing course?"
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
The accelerated licensing course was supposed to be a three-day, twenty-four hour concentrated learning course to give Wards a chance to get their licenses quickly. According to the information booklet, it was ideal for young Tinkers who built their own vehicles.
The course started with a pen and paper test, and then the rest of the day she and the instructor, Mina Pistenmaa, drove around the city.
It felt odd because Pistenmaa, for one, dressed in her casual clothes. She didn't even have a PRT badge, just dark slacks and a blue sweater. Two, Taylor just drove. Pistenmaa asked Taylor about her experiences driving, and about how her power affected her. She even got a demonstration when the Force warned Taylor of a semi blowing through a red light that would otherwise have hit them.
When they got back after almost four non-stop hours of driving, with only a break where she had Taylor go through a drive-through for lunch, they returned to the PRT field course where she then took another test on Motorcycles, and spend another four hours riding a motorcycle.
As six rolled around, the instructor led Taylor back into the detached field-house behind the PRT headquarters building.
"Go stand in front of that white screen, please," Pistenmaa said.
Taylor did so. Minutes later, the older woman handed her a driver's license. "Congratulations, you drive better than most adults."
"But I thought there were a bunch of course ours and…"
"I'm not PRT, I'm with the state Department of Licensing. PRT put in a request for expedited licensing. You passed your written exams for a teen's license with a motorcycle endorsement. You'll have to reapply when you're eighteen, but for now you're legal."
Taylor beamed. "Thanks! Now I can go build my hoverbike!"
The woman looked startled, then laughed when she thought Taylor was joking.
The poor woman.
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
"So, when are you going to be released to do patrols?"
Romulus still sounded nervous when he spoke to her Tuesday after he finished school. Taylor was scheduled to start classes at Chief Sealth High School the next day.
Without his mask, Bill Steader looked like a typical teenaged boy—pimples and all. He obviously worked out and took his training regimen seriously, but even so he was still a scrawny-looking kid. The only reason he was the leader of the Wards team was because the elder Ward needed weed to activate her power. That was a PR nightmare the PRT tried to avoid as much as they could.
In fact, Alice was draped half-conscious over the couch buzzing so hard Taylor could feel the drug-induced euphoria like a cloud around the girl. The other two Wards, Strobelight and Ashwinder, were both on patrol in one of the nicer parts of the town, near the UW campus.
Insight handled the console duties, while also working on her own laptop for Horizon and the team they were still putting together.
Bill appeared torn between staring with ill-concealed interest at Sarah's chest as she leaned over and worked on the laptop, and Taylor's ass whenever she moved. Irritated, she'd done a little probing and discovered with a sense of shock that he wasn't even aware of what he was doing. There was a complete disconnect between his eyes and his thoughts. He felt eager to be friendly and make a good impression on his teammates.
And he wanted to look at girls. Pretty girls were better, but any girls were enough to make him look. The two imperatives worked on completely different tracks of the boy's brain. He wasn't even aware of his staring.
"We're scheduled for our introductory press conference next Monday, after Taylor gets out of school," Sarah said without looking up. "But we're not going to be patrolling with you guys. Sorry."
"But why not?" Bill whined. Yes, he whined. "Our biggest hitter is a druggie who's more interested in eating chips than fighting crime! I'm a freakin' werewolf, not even a Brute 3. We need someone who can make a difference and not burn the city down in the process."
Taylor read about Ashwinder's first night patrolling. A gas station and four cars were forever obliterated in her quest to catch a drug-addled purse-snatcher.
"You know you've totally had sex with Alice," Sarah said with one of her meaner grins, not just derailing his thoughts, but nuking them from orbit.
Bill's face turned so incandescent three of his pimples began to look like sunspots. "What… but…how…it's…"
"Sarah, leave him alone," Taylor said. "He's not staring to be a perv. You're pretty, he wasn't even aware he was staring at your chest."
"Sure thing, boss."
Now he blanched the color of bone. "I wasn't…I…"
From the couch, without sitting up to look, Alice sang out, "You totally were, you little perv."
"You shut up. How do you even know?"
Alice had already gone back to sleep before she could answer.
Taylor sighed. "Bill, it's okay. I'm telepathic and Sarah might as well be, we get it. We've been tapped for a different team. I'll be public here, and who knows, maybe I will go on a patrol or two. But mainly I'm going to be working with Horizon on a different project. We're just kind of in limbo until everything's official."
"And…you have a healing appointment," Sarah added. "Mr. Wallace just showed up, he's going to the infirmary wing now. You ready?"
Taylor nodded, then smiled at the disappointed and flummoxed Bill. "And Bill? She's a little messed up, but I think Alice does like you. Just treat her right, okay?"
He was flushing again as Taylor walked out. Her costume wasn't finished yet, so she just wore jeans and a T-shirt with her ID badge. It felt odd to be able to walk around the secure PRT building without restraints. She sensed people watching her—agents and civilian employees alike. She knew they didn't trust her quiet yet, but that didn't matter. She didn't plan to work out of this building any more than necessary.
It did not surprise her one bit when Dr. White met her at the door to the infirmary.
"Let me get a look at you," the shorter, stouter woman said. "You look well. Getting enough to eat?"
"Yes, mom. I'm fine. What room is he in?"
"Four-B. I've heard about the man—from his medical file he should still be in traction."
"He's motivated."
"He's insane," White corrected. "I take that back. He's a high-functioning autistitc."
She led Taylor into the examination room. Colin Wallace stood stiffly inside the room—there was a chair, but she knew it would have hurt him both to sit, and then stand again.
He nodded to her. "Quintessence. Thank you for agreeing to this."
"Strip," she said by way of answer. "Down to your skivvies, please."
He didn't even blink an eye as he started to disrobe. He was even skinnier without his shirt and slacks, with bony, hairy legs and protruding ribs. Dr. White clicked her tongue in disapproval.
"Let's do your kidneys and back first," Taylor said. "Lay down on your stomach, please."
It's been a while since she'd healed, but the Force still flowed as strong as ever when she sent healing energy into his abused kidneys. She moved on to the various injuries in his spine. Then his knee.
By the time she finished, he laid on his back with his eyes closed. "You're healing is much more soothing that Panacea's," he noted.
"Oh?" That was Dr. White. "You've had healing from both?"
He sat up, much more at ease than before. "Yes. Panacea is a striker—a biokinetic. She shapes and molds flesh. While this makes her an incredible healer and capable of regenerating lost limbs, eyes or anything else, I have come to believe the healing is a side effect of her power. If she is unhappy with you, you can feel what she does to your body and it can be disconcerting. Quintessence's power feels much more soothing. The only analogy I can think of is a space heater in a cold room."
He stretched until his back popped. He met Taylor's eyes. "Thank you. Have you considered what we spoke of earlier?"
"Yes, and I'll do it. It'll take time, though. Are you going to be around?"
Wallace nodded. "I'll be in Vancouver. Dragon is helping me design a prosthetic arm. We'll be employing some of Overmind's technology to allow me to mentally move the limb."
Taylor snorted. "Really? A wi-fi controlled arm? Just implant a T-com nerve shunt on your shoulder, you could have full sensory and muscle control with a plasma fiber relay."
He stared at her. White stared at her.
"How much?" Armsmaster finally said.
Taylor sighed. "I'll just license the design through Dragon. I've got too much else going on."
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
Late that afternoon, Taylor received a summons to meet with the actual PRT WNW director for the first time.
"Good luck," Sarah said. She made it sound ominous, for some reason.
The director's office was at the top of the six floor PRT building. Taylor took the elevator with her badge and hand-print. The elevator let her out into a little lobby area with a surprising amount of sunlight. Two armed PRT agents in casual uniforms looked up when she stepped out.
"Quintessence," one said. "Director is ready. To your right, door will open when you reach it."
The door to her right opened to reveal a virtual ocean of cubicles, not reaching her shoulders. She felt conscious when dozens of eyes followed her hesitant steps into what looked like the administrative heart of the agency.
Something stepped into her immediate Force presence; something that hurt. It felt like a walking, talking tear in the fabric of the Force itself. Wincing, she turned to see Gasconade emerge from around the corner of the interior wall that separated the lobby and elevators from the work floor.
"Come on," he said in a bored tone.
Taylor followed the Protectorate leader through the floor to the far wall, where a line of offices ended the sea of cubicles. It surprised her, when she reached the office, how small it was. For some reason, she was expecting a huge office with expansive views.
The office was large enough for a sizable U-shaped desk, several full bookshelves, two lateral filing cabinets, and a small circular table with four chairs around it. Two more chairs faced the desk.
Director Katherine Foote was not a small woman, by any measure. She looked to be 5'10 and two hundred and fifty pounds. She wore her white hair in a massive beehive that was five decades out of style, with large, gaudy costume jewelry on her wrists. She wore the heavy-handed lipstick, base and blush Taylor had seen with other older women.
Her Force presence, though, felt like that of a soldier.
"Have a seat, Miss Hebert," the director said, motioning to one of the two chairs in front of her desk.
Gasconade closed the door and then drifted to one of the two windows in the office. Taylor was intensely aware of his presence but fought not to pay attention to it.
"Well, let's have a look at you, then," the director said, as if talking to a particularly recalcitrant grandchild. She slipped on a thick pair of glasses and then stared at Taylor for the longest time.
"Not much to look at, are you?"
"I'm probably not going to win any beauty contests," Taylor said carefully.
The director waived the statement away. "Teenaged girls, always thinking they're ugly. Sweetie, you look just as pretty as the next girl. I'm talking about as a cape. Eidolon and Alexandria strike fear into their opponents. Legend makes people want to do better."
"And Narwhal just distracts them with her boobs?"
Rather than be offended, the director chuckled. "It works. Believe me, that woman has turned her breasts into a merchandising empire. No, you're just little old Taylor Hebert, the girl who blasted Leviathan off his feet." She clasped her hands on her desk and leaned over. "Do you have any idea how rare it is to be tried and convicted in one state, but to serve your sentence in another?"
"I…no."
Foote nodded. "Of course not. You don't have enough education to know. One of the principles of law is that you serve your punishment in or near the jurisdiction where you committed the crime. Criminals in Texas are not shipped to prisons in Wyoming unless they also committed a crime in Wyoming. So why did you, a girl convicted of manslaughter in New Hampshire, serve your time in Seattle?"
"I know why I wanted to," Taylor admitted. "But I don't know why they agreed."
"You didn't use your power to read their thoughts?"
Taylor felt a smidgeon of hostility from the director. "I work hard to keep my mind closed, Director. I only open it when I think I'm in danger."
"I see." The woman pulled out a thick manila folder and opened it. "You were remanded to custody here for two reasons. One, Watchdog and Washington wanted to do everything they could to ensure your successful transition to the Wards, and everyone agreed that such would not occur if you were anywhere near Brockton Bay."
"And the second?"
"So that you were close enough that Alexandria could kill you if you decided to go villain," Foote said. She didn't even blink as she said it. "It's a common tactic for the more powerful but problematic capes. Legend might have been a better counter, but he refuses to kill anyone. Alexandria doesn't have that compunction."
She'd said it to elicit a response. Taylor chose not to give it to her. "It makes sense. I'm not Manton-limited, so they'd want to have a big-gun available."
"You don't care?"
"I didn't say that, Director. Just that it makes sense."
"Could you kill her?"
Taylor remembered their brief spar before the Overmind campaign. "Perhaps, but I doubt I'd survive the fight myself. And I don't doubt Eidolon could finish me off if I did."
"What about our capes? Do you think you could kill Gasconade there?"
Taylor shuddered and remembered how both Seneca and Sarah agreed there would be a bad power interaction. She understood what they meant, now. "He's already dead. His breaker state froze him at the time of his death. What you see and speak to is an echo of the man he used to be. I couldn't kill him; I'd just have to remove him from the fight."
"But you could?"
Taylor fought back a sigh. "Director, I could probably take your whole department if I had to. But doing so would just force Alexandria or Eidolon to respond. I know that. I never wanted to be a villain. I didn't choose to be a villain. If I had a chance to go back in time, I would not have killed Miss Militia or those girls in Winslow. If I haven't paid my penance for them yet, it's because the Simurgh hasn't attacked since then. I want to help people. And ma'am, with respect, I think I've proven that."
"Perhaps you have," Foote allowed. "I suppose we'll find out."
She pulled something out of the folder—a slick black pocket folder—and slid it toward Taylor. She opened it up and stared at the embossed seal at the top.
"That's your court order declaring you an emancipated adult. Now that the order has been issued, we can go ahead and finish the normal paperwork. On the left side of the folder are forms to set up your direct deposit for your salary, and your insurance enrollment forms. As a federal employee, you're eligible for paid health insurance, leave and…"
She'd slipped from soldier to bureaucrat so seamlessly Taylor hadn't even noticed.
Half an hour later, Taylor walked back down to the Wards room. Sarah stood just inside the door, smiling.
"So?"
"So, I have a bank account with money in it," Taylor said. She checked the receipt. "From Dad's life insurance, and a legal settlement against Winslow that I didn't know about."
"Yeah, the Youth Guard did that on your behalf," Sarah said. "Jansen sued the school and they settled so that you'd have funds for a legal defense if you decided to go with different attorneys in the future."
Taylor nodded numbly. "The PRT impounded my bike after I got captured. Sold it at auction. So…I'm sensing a motorcycle in my future."
"Oh, are you?" Sarah grinned.
"Well, I am a pre-cog, you know."