A Waken 11.E
It was Thursday. Emily didn't like Thursdays, though that wasn't special. She didn't like Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Fridays, or Saturdays. She liked Sundays briefly, mostly for the personal time it afforded her. Her kidneys might be the problem, but her back was killing her. Ergonomic chairs never made it high in the budget and everyone suffered for it.
So, yes. Sundays were okay. But it wasn't Sunday.
"Is there an escape risk?" Prism asked from her seat. "Teacher has never cared about his pets before, has he?"
Armsmaster stood at the far end of the conference table, stiff as always. Cheater. Power armor makes everything easier, like standing at attention for hours.
"No," he said. "However, we've never found a pet this highly placed before and some of the actions I've linked to former Deputy Director Calvert's activities seem profoundly personal."
Yes. The current cause of her rotten day. Thomas fucking Calvert. Emily felt her blood pressure rising every moment she thought of the man. She'd been thinking of him for most of the past three days.
He'd probably ruin her Sunday too.
"We've never established how much free will Teacher's pets have," acting Deputy Director Renick noted. "You think Calvert points to more, rather than less?"
"One data point is insufficient," Armsmaster replied. "Several behaviors point at a degree of personal interest. Accumulation of wealth and property for personal reasons. Several affairs with women of no apparent importance. Using his HOA to evict several tenants from his neighborhood for frivolous personal slights."
"He had an HOA," Stratos grumbled. "He is evil."
Emily frowned at the man's glib. Not that it did any good.
"So, he might have a plan in place for escape?" Triumph asked.
"If nothing else, escaping would embarrass the PRT even more," Dauntless pointed out. "That is Teacher's deal."
"Right," Prism agreed. "Precautions away."
"The Undersiders?" Emily asked.
Armsmaster explained, "I've confirmed that Calvert was in regular contact with Tattletale, Sovereign, and occasionally Grue. There are other contacts I've yet to identify in Boston, New York, and Chicago. One contact in Toronto is potentially familiar and received a substantial fee just after his arrest."
"Mercenaries on retainer," Dauntless suggested from across the table.
"Or moles," Stratos proposed from his seat.
"I've selected the guards," Commander Noa said from behind Emily. "They're the best men we have. I'll vouch for them."
"I've checked the troopers as best I can." Dragon looked into the room from the screen behind Armsmaster. "They're clean, and I've confirmed the results with Arbiter and Justicar."
"The Undersiders are not so foolish as to assault the PRT building," Armsmaster thought. "While they are formidable, that would invite more risk than they want."
Emily found her faith in Protectorate thinkers profoundly shaken, but it would likely have to do. She didn't exactly have an abundance of options. One of the oft under-appreciated aspects of command.
No one makes a decision with a picture-perfect idea of what is happening.
The Undersiders would be fools to attack the PRT directly, unless Calvert prepared well. Dragon was scouring their system for any traps or backdoors. The entire IT department was in M/S quarantine just to be certain.
She hated it.
There were far too many possibilities. Especially, with her foremost problem. A problem any capable thinker—like Tattletale—could exploit with the right system access or power contrivance.
"We're holding too many villains," Miss Militia said, echoing Emily's silent thoughts.
"Dragon and I agree," Armsmaster replied. "Coordination between Calvert, the Undersiders, and The Empire could well become a joint rescue effort. Even a failed break out could result in substantial damage. As such, we have formulated a plan with Commander Noa."
Half the room turned to the head of the table. Old habit, one she'd taken care to enforce. Some might call it ego, but the chain of command needed to be maintained even in an informal hierarchy.
A failure in command carried down the chain.
"Go on," Emily permitted, keeping herself focused.
"We'll load the prisoners into transports," Armsmaster explained. "In total there are seven; Cricket, Fenja, Krieg, Hookwolf, Lung, Menja, Stormtiger. We will use five transports to move them."
Dragon's face vanished, showing a distribution of captured villains across five armored trucks. Stormtiger in the first. Then Krieg. Fenja and Menja. Lung and Hookwolf. And then Cricket.
"Triumph will accompany Cricket," Armsmaster explained. "His power is a good match for hers. Her restraints will include a full mask to cover her eyes. If she attempts escape, Triumph need only roar to blind her completely."
Triumph nodded, clearly beaming at the praise.
"Krieg will be fully restrained to neutralize his own powers," Dragon added. "Armsmaster and I have modified a full body jacket. It is up to the task."
"Dauntless will guard Krieg," Armsmaster ordered. "The Arclance will not be neutralized at close range."
Dauntless nodded.
"Stormtiger is trickier," Dragon continued. "His power does not require movement."
"It does require him to sense the air however," Armsmaster clarified. "We've modified one transport with a diving bell. Stormtiger will be confined inside with a separate oxygen supply."
"Where did we get a diving bell?" Dauntless asked.
"If he attempts to disrupt the supply," Dragon answered, "it will be shut down until he passes out, then reactivated."
"I will guard Stormtiger," Armsmaster picked up. Did they coordinate this? "Miss Militia will guard Fenja and Menja. Both will be equipped with collars. Any attempt to grow on their part, or manipulate the collars, will tranquilize them with a powerful sedative."
"They'll be unconscious for eight hours."
"Lung and Hookwolf?" Prism asked.
"Hookwolf is blind as Panacea has refused to heal his eyes."
"Shame," Stratos quipped with a shake of his head.
"It substantially lowers his threat potential," Armsmaster noted, "but per protocol he and Lung will be sedated pending arrival at the Birdcage."
"My suit will fly over the whole convoy, but my priority will be Lung and Hookwolf."
The screen changed at Dragon's command, showing a route out of Brockton Bay, across the state, and into New York.
"We will separate at the Canadian border. I'll take Lung and Hookwolf to the Birdcage and the Protectorate will hand off the Empire to Warden and his team in Buffalo."
"We're going to drive that far?" Triumph asked.
Armsmaster nodded. "As Brockton Bay is currently absent any major violent criminal element, it is feasible."
"We have nothing better to do," Stratos said.
"That's good?" Triumph asked.
"In a manner of speaking," Miss Militia offered with a smile.
"This will allows us to consolidate remaining resources in Brockton Bay on former Deputy Director Calvert," Armsmaster suggested.
"I have a squad of troopers assigned to each transport," Noa stated, "and I've arranged for three decoy vehicles to go with the convoy. We'll get support from PRT in New York, Boston, and the state troopers the entire way."
Eyes turned toward Emily. Obviously, she had the final say.
She reviewed what Armsmaster said mentally. She needed no visual aids or files. She remembered every word.
The precautions against escape were all solid. Quite solid, in fact. Specialized restraints. Distance to prevent coordination. People who bitched about villains escaping never considered that. Emily would love to see the public think up a way to confine human weapons without violating the Bill of Rights.
Emily would call it a joke if it weren't so unfunny. The ability of capes to flee meaningful justice made her want to advocate the Birdcage for all of them. Not that she'd ever get it.
That solved the potential disaster that came from housing too many villains at one time. It opened an opposing problem, unfortunately.
"This plan stretches us thin," Emily warned, looking over the plan. "Even with Stratos, Prism, and the Wards"—Emily paused, thinking—"Sovereign is the problem."
"We've considered that," Armsmaster agreed.
"I am bringing two suits," Dragon offered. "One, a newer model, will accompany the convoy. The other will remain here in plain sight."
Emily nodded.
Dragon wouldn't be affected by a master in Brockton Bay. They'd learned much of the girl's power. She had range, but she could only control so many at once, and only effectively from relatively close. Any feasible plan to assault the building hinged on her.
"Weld and Valiant should also be unaffected by Sovereign's power," Armsmaster said. "It is the best we can manage against a potent master."
"What if she subverts the other Wards?" Renick asked. "Or Prism or Stratos?"
"She's avoided controlling other capes before," Miss Militia pointed out.
"Sovereign manipulates emotions," Dragon expanded. "She does not have fine control over her victim's actions."
"She likely recognizes that manipulating the emotions of another cape is potentially disastrous," Armsmaster proposed. "But it is a possibility. I would advise Stratos positioning himself off-site, just in case. His power unleashed without restraint would be exceptionally disastrous."
The man grunted, but didn't disagree.
"Proceed," Emily permitted.
"For the convoys," Armsmaster continued. "Kaiser is the only cape who has any direct reason to interfere. We should expect him to. He does not have the luxury of time and may well make a desperate move."
"Bakuda?" Prism asked.
"She assisted in Lung's capture," Dragon said. "I doubt she wants him to escape. We should consider that the Undersiders may assist Kaiser. Freeing Empire capes would make a later attempt to free Thomas Calvert more feasible."
Emily agreed. If they were rational, that was exactly what they'd do. But Capes were often the opposite of rational.
It was a good plan, though. The precautions were all there. The security concerns were accounted for. No plan was perfect, but all this considered this might be as close as they'd get. At the very least it kept potential defeats separate.
"Do it," Piggot decided.
Armsmaster gave a slight nod.
The capes started filtering out. Noa followed. Only Renick lingered, gathering up papers and files. He'd do a good job as Deputy Director. Emily regretted passing him over for Calvert.
The damn snake.
Renick came over to collect the files in front of her. She held a hand up to stop.
"Director," he said.
"It's fine." She'd review them again later. One last triple check. She'd go to hell before she let Calvert slither away to some hole. She'd drag him down herself if need be. "I have one more meeting, if you wouldn't mind showing her in."
He nodded and turned to leave.
Emily turned her chair to look out over the city.
Nine years in Brockton Bay. From Deputy Director to Director. She remembered the years of Marquis. The rise of the Brockton Bay Brigade, and their transition to New Wave. The Teeth. The Slaughterhouse Nine.
Of those who'd first fought the good fight with her all those years ago, only Armsmaster remained. He'd been a senior Protectorate member then, not a team leader. Militia was barely out of the Wards. The girl entering the room would have been in the first grade? Second?
Emily supposed it didn't matter.
Her thoughts were the ruminations of an old soldier finally being put out to pasture.
"Amazing how you can love and hate something in equal measure," Emily mused. "When I was assigned here it was supposed to be short-term. Work a few more years to get my pension. Retire."
The girl stopped. "What happened?"
"I'm a workaholic," Emily answered. "I love the job."
That didn't earn much response. Emily supposed it didn't matter. They weren't here to talk about her.
"Sit down, please."
The girl hesitated. That was fair.
Eventually, she did pull up a seat and sat down. Emily saw the girl's reflection in the mirror.
"No mask?"
"No point."
"I suppose not."
Emily liked to think of herself as a consummate soldier. A professional. Someone who kept their personal feelings and their duty separate. She'd be the first to admit she didn't always succeed, but she tried and felt no qualms in saying she'd done the best she could.
In this moment, that wall seemed frivolous. Perhaps Emily did feel guilty. Everything Thomas did, all his suggestions. How much of what happened was the result of his machinations? How far back did it go?
Emily walled that personal feeling off.
So many ifs, ands, and maybes.
They were cancer in command. No one could afford it. Command needed to be firm. Strict. Stubborn. Not necessarily perfect. Things always slipped through the cracks. You hoped you did more good than harm. That the cracks were small.
Taylor Hebert's crack was not small, but they were beyond lamentations, apologies, and confessions. Emily imagined the girl might like to hear them. She didn't think for a second they were what the young woman needed.
"I should have seen it," Emily admitted. "He told me once that he hoped he'd trigger. The disappointment on his face when he thought he couldn't." She felt a familiar revulsion thinking about it. "A man like that doesn't change."
The girl hesitated, but Emily could guess the question on her mind.
"Ellisburg," Emily explained. "I was there. Thomas too. It was the moment that proved it. The only way to fight capes, is with capes. There isn't enough training or equipment in the world to do it any other way."
Not everyone could be Ali Al-Saachez. Emily felt fortunate not to be. That kind of talent for murder…Some things might be worse than capes.
"The irony of course, was that all the capes at Ellisburg ran away when the shit hit the fan."
The girl frowned. "Would anything have changed if they didn't?"
A curious question from her, though not an unfair one.
"Probably not," Emily admitted. "But I've never forgotten. There were men and women who did not run at Ellisburg. Most of them didn't have powers. They fought anyway. Their reward was a plaque, a quiet ceremony, and being forgotten by the end of the year. Not enough spandex, I suppose."
Emily inhaled.
"Sometimes the number of dead heroes is just the measure of failure."
"Sorry. That's not right."
"No. It's not."
People could be bizarrely unmoved by statistics. Twisted it may be, but Stalin had a point. A cape dies on a school bus and everyone sees it as a tragedy. A hundred men and women die fighting a monster, and it's simply a number for adequately describing failure.
"Everyone knew that the future was people with powers all the same," Emily continued. "Thomas is the kind of man who would take that lesson in the worst way. I should have seen it."
"Is this your apology?"
"I don't do apologies. And frankly, I don't think it would mean much to you now."
"You're not wrong."
Emily let herself smile.
"That's the job. Anyone in a position of authority with no regrets and no mistakes probably never did anything worthwhile. I suspect you'll learn that faster than most, if you haven't already."
The nice thing of dropping the divide between professional and personal.
She waited, watching the girl's reflection in the window. Old habits die hard. The need to control the conversation never really died once you got accustomed to it. It's a subtle art learning to coax people into asking the questions you wanted them to ask.
That would be an adjustment.
"Is that what you wanted to say?" the girl asked. "Some self-justifications about how you did your best?"
Ever quick with her tongue. Suppose Emily could afford to smile about that now. Removed from the responsibilities and duties of both she could express real pride in seeing a young woman with the balls.
She supposed that was why she didn't reprimand Miss Militia after the incident at the memorial. Or Kid Win, for that matter. She liked seeing Militia finally do what she thought was right, rather than what she was told. She never imagined Kid Win had it in him.
Emily no longer needed to worry about insubordination. That would be her replacement's problem. She could take personal pleasure in those things now.
"Consider it a commentary on the fickle nature of politics," Emily suggested. "No one cares what you've done. Memory is a fickle thing. People brag about respecting sacrifice, but they forget it easily."
"Speaking from experience I see."
A low jab, but Emily let it slide. The girl owed her some good punches anyway. She didn't have much time left to get them in.
"I'm stepping down from my position. By the end of the week I will no longer be in the Director's chair."
The girl beside her looked appropriately surprised.
"Because of Calvert?" she asked.
"Because of everything. Your identity becoming public makes keeping Shadow Stalker's actions secret impossible. My deputy director was a pet. My secretary was a pet. The mess with Vista. Too much bad PR. The PRT ENE is more important than whoever is behind the nice desk in the corner office."
"You're stepping down to save the office face?"
"The buck stops at the top. It always stops eventually. Be ready for that."
She looked confused. Figured.
Emily was a bit surprised herself. It's not like she was being fired. Her ego wasn't such that she couldn't handle working a less prestigious or influential job. Professionals didn't quibble and soldiers went where they were needed.
She'd move to a non-public position. Planning. Strategy. Public Relations coordination. The NextGen project was starting up soon. Chambers would be picking up all the free staff he could to coordinate something that ambitious, and her interest had always been relations focused.
Working under Chambers.
Being fired might be easier.
Emily unfolded her hands and pushed herself up from her seat.
"You are a brilliant young woman, Ms. Hebert. Exceptional. It would have made my career to recruit you into the Wards."
"Too late for that now."
"Yes, but not too late to say that you're too brilliant."
The girl tilted her head.
Emily smiled, looking out the window.
"I don't say that to be cruel. I say it as a warning, one I can freely give now that you're soon to be another's problem and there is no longer a need for us to be cordial."
She scoffed. "You want to give me one last lecture?"
"Last chance I'll get."
Emily turned, facing the girl as she sat.
She looked incredulous. Good.
She sat defensively. Good.
Ramius loved the girl. Too much to tell the brutal truth. Her father wasn't equipped to handle someone so headstrong in her power. Armsmaster respected her more and more every day. She captured the interest and attention of the likes of Hero and Dragon.
Sometimes, the truth hurts. You have to face it all the same. And someone has to say it. Taylor Hebert had plenty of people who liked her. She didn't need another.
Turning to face the young woman, absent her mask, Emily looked as stern as she could.
"You assume your enemies are as rational as you are. Stop. Kaiser. Coil. Even Lung and Skidmark. They're planners. They made plans, they played cape politics. Most capes do. Plans were what they did and having a better plan is how you beat them."
That made the girl more confused.
"Do not trap yourself into over-thinking every battle you fight. Do not assume your enemy's intent based on reason. Some capes are not planners. They do not think beyond their immediate needs or interests, and they will not behave rationally."
Emily looked back out to the city.
"Capes like Damsel of Distress were not the norm in Brockton Bay because they could not survive here. They could not stand on their own two feet, and capes that can't stand on their own either join something to give them order, die, or become disorder incarnate."
She turned her eyes north, toward the factory she couldn't see.
"Your situation has changed. You're the power in the city now, not the upstart scoring underdog victories against those who foolishly underestimated you. You're the target in the open. The one with things to lose. Things that can be destroyed. A power vacuum invites chaos, and there are those who thrive on chaos."
Perhaps she could go further and admit to more mistakes, but no. This would be as much as the girl beside her might listen to. The downside of setting yourself up as the overbearing overseer.
You didn't get to be anyone's friend.
"Be prepared for that. Don't outsmart yourself. You're too young to die and, to my infinite chagrin, the world needs heroes."
She rose from her seat, apparently having heard enough of some tired old soldier's ravings. Fair enough. Emily was impressed she sat as long as she did.
What an irony, Emily Piggot trying to give some final parting advice to someone she didn't agree with on anything. Well, personal and professional barriers down.
Newtype made enough mistakes to prove Ms. Alcott was not infallible. The girl was probably smart enough to realize that, but all the same.
People became accustomed to their cycles. To their behaviors. The ins and outs of their lives. Experience built on experience. It was necessary, but also dangerous. Especially when the experiences that made up one's cycles became disrupted by the unexpected.
There were Jack Slashes, Butchers, and Nilbogs in the world.
Capes that could not be predicted by trying to guess their plans. They reveled in sheer violence, in being unpredictable, or by recklessly pursuing their own twisted morality. Trying to fight them like she fought the gangs of Brockton Bay would get Taylor Hebert killed.
Newtype was someone else's professional problem now.
Personally, Emily had seen enough dead children for one lifetime. And…She didn't dislike Taylor Hebert. Not as much as she did other capes. Reckless, headstrong, and arrogant she may be, but maybe the boat needed rocking to wake it from its complacency.
"Good luck, Ms. Hebert."
The girl paused.
"Goodbye, Director."
And this is honestly one of my favorite chapters I've written in this story. This sort of moment where Piggot and Taylor are no longer talking like they're adversarial or annoyed with one another, but like two people who are trying to do the best that they can and trying to work through failure, disappointment, and the annoyance that the best we can do almost never gives us everything we want.
