2.B
-- Lina Sommer Notarin --
"Fascinating. The war didn't start until 1923? What sparked the Russian Revolution, then?"
The director clearly found my questions irritating, but I didn't care. She was the one asking me for a favor, after all, and obviously hiding something about it. Pissing off the uniform might have been a problem, but he looked interested himself.
"I don't know. Frankly, I don't have time or manpower to spend on historical curiosity. If you do, you can investigate on your own time. I have other responsibilities."
I caught a glimpse of a stack of paperwork. Handwritten paperwork. I winced. OK, maybe I could give her a break.
"Well, let's get to it, then. Call her in."
It wasn't quite that easy. There was a bit of technical fiddling to get through first. A few seconds later, the Tinker switched my view from the laptop's webcam to the security camera setup. I blinked at the excellent quality. The view was evenly split, so I could see both sides of the room at once. Well, I suppose it is Tinker tech. I don't have to be able to see my subject, strictly speaking, but it can help.
On the other hand, it took more than a minute to get me an overlay with their 'real-time Thinker analysis.' I drummed my fingers on my knee. A dead man's dodgy lie detector and their empath's finger twitches. For that matter, the poor kid looked half dead himself. I almost told them not to bother, but I was aware enough to realize how asking that they show more respect for my time would look. Instead, I reviewed the people already in the room, grabbing their files from the stack I'd prepared.
Director Piggot, sitting behind her big desk, tapping away at her Tinker tech laptop. Nilbog survivor. Reports on her competence were mixed. Bit of a hard-ass personally, but a pragmatist and a moderate by the standards of the directorate. Rumored to have had a great deal of respect for Costa-Brown. The file hadn't been updated since her outing.
And hadn't that been a glorious mess? I'd already known, of course, though I'd respected her polite request not to blab. And it was polite. The threat was all in how we'd had that conversation: taken from my home and dragged hundreds of meters into the air before I even knew what was happening, where the only thing between me and the ground was her whim. To see that secret and so many more revealed through her own incompetence was more than a little gratifying, for all the problems it was causing.
Miss Militia. Moderately well known even outside the States, as one of the original Wards. Recently promoted to the head of Protectorate ENE after Armsmaster's death. She sat beside Piggot, visibly nervous. I frowned, skimming through the file. Right, she'd been a child soldier herself. Triggered there, almost certainly. Was it really wise to invite her to this meeting? Then again, I wasn't the person who'd have had to try to keep her out.
The Wards, Gallant and Kid Win, stood off to the side, failing to appear unassuming in their power armor. They were here as Thinker support, only present because having the meeting in an interrogation room with a one-way mirror was judged too confrontational. They'd been instructed not to speak, but I was dubious how that'd hold up.
Finally, on the other line-- Ah, the overlay finally popped up. Director Piggot wasted no time in moving things along.
"Come in," she called out.
And then there she was, just as described, darting through the door ahead of the others and taking in the room in a glance. A figure straight out of a history book, aside from the flight. And the age. And the sex. And the... flashing eyes? Like, I could swear they actually glowed for an instant.
"What? A Lieutenant Colonel?" Keller grumbled.
Was that even a real rank? Guess he'd know. Whatever.
Gallant flinched despite the warning, hands rising. Argent's eyes snapped to him a bare instant before her hands snapped to her rifle, but she didn't point it. He noticed a moment later and hastily let them fall. Her own hands followed, but she didn't otherwise look any more relaxed.
What was that about? Oh, right, Thinker/Blaster. Well, I'm no empath, but -- the 'suspicion' bar shot up on my overlay as he belatedly relayed his observations instead of reacting to them -- I kind of doubted that was an aggression response. I raised my eyebrows as the bar kept on going up. Really? There wasn't a hint of all that on her face, though she didn't exactly look trusting either. Well, the system was pretty slapdash. Maybe they hadn't calibrated it. Or I was looking at a skilled actor and a genuine Grade-A paranoiac, as if I don't already get enough of that. Yeah, why lie to myself? It was that one.
The others filed in behind her. My eyes glided right over the grunt to the teenager in a purple catsuit. That was -- I glanced over the file -- Tattletale. Thinker 7-- 7? And not restricted to combat, either. She ran with a crew of small-time thieves? Why? She wasn't even in charge! Not for the money, that's for sure. Well, with a little patience I might discover the answer soon enough.
She gave the room a brief appraisal of her own, before focusing in on Director Piggot.
"Well, what is it? Believe me, you want to just get this out into the open. Argent hates surprises."
Argent grimaced a bit at that, but she didn't object.
"... What are you talking about?"
"Whatever you've been setting up for the last twenty minutes."
The director shot her a flat look.
"I'm a busy woman and you didn't make an appointment. You can't expect me to just drop everything for you."
"You had more important things to worry about? Than the S-Class in your city? No one's buying that."
She paused to let Piggot explain. She didn't. She sighed and squinted at her, shaking her head after a moment.
"It's nothing."-- Argent's 'suspicion' bar dropped while 'relief' rose --"They didn't believe us. They were just arranging for an outside Thinker to listen in." The bars snapped right back. Yep, definite paranoiac.
"Who? How does their power work?"
Tattletale shrugged, but Argent wasn't looking at her, eyes fixed on the "probable threats." Tattletale finally spoke up, her voice expressing some of my exasperation.
"I don't know."
Argent quirked an eyebrow at the director.
"You want me to explain the weaknesses in our verification process? No."
She narrowed her eyes, irritation rising on the display. Suspicion was already maxed out, but I suspected that actually was a calibration issue.
"Verification is your responsibility," she finally responded, tone clipped. "In time the absence of the Nine will become obvious. If you refuse to payout on their bounties, who will ever trust the bounty system again? I'll certainly have to seek alternative sources of funding. Tell me who you have or I walk."
The lie detector output didn't twitch. Not bluffing. Director Piggot narrowed her eyes right back. Fortunately, Tattletale sabotaged the ultimatum. Not quite so willing to abandon her cut?
"If you walk away from this kind of money to avoid Thinker attention, you'll end up with a hundred times as much, and they won't all be so easy to avoid."
That raised an interesting question. Did she actually have secrets worth protecting? She clearly thought she did, but that meant nothing with her type. I once mentioned Geoff's favorite coffee shop in an interview and he never went there again. 'It would make the ideal venue for an ambush,' apparently. He still sometimes tried to guilt me into getting him takeout.
Argent's jaw tightened, just a bit. I might not have noticed it if not for the concurrent jump in irritation on the graph. Tattletale definitely noticed, despite standing behind her. The silence stretched for a few seconds. Gallant put some fear on the graph, then a spike of grief. What was that about? And could he only enter one at a time? No, he did two before... Weird. It had subsided by the time she spoke.
"Very well. What do you need?"
The director relaxed slightly, satisfied in her small victory.
"Take a seat, for one," she offered, a hint of conciliation in her firm tone. "Sounds like you've had a long day."
"I'd rather not," she bit out. Then, recognizing the harshness of the rejection, she unbent a little herself. "A bit of light exercise, nothing more. Practically a relaxing vacation from the Front."
Little though that was, I was still able to catch a couple still frames. The wreckage of a forest seen from above, liberally dotted with fires and craters and uniformed corpses. One jagged gash stretched a good two hundred meters. A man gasping soundlessly as he slid off my bayonet to a kilometers-long fall, my eyes already turning away.
I blinked. That bayonet. And those eyes.
Piggot frowned down at her laptop for a moment, which naturally displayed 'truth.' I belatedly tapped out my own confirmation. She looked back up, considering.
"As you like, then."
"Well, I'd like a seat," Tattletale brashly interjected, stepping forward and taking one.
Gallant was only reporting on Argent's emotions, but I didn't need the help to recognize the brittle edge in her voice. But it did cut the tension a bit.
"Briefly describe the circumstances surrounding each bounty you're claiming," Piggot ordered. After a moment, she tacked on, "Please."
And Argent did, and in each case I was right there with her, seeing through her eyes. Riveting. Nausea inducing, but riveting. The director had told her to be brief, but the couple sentences she gave each were substantially longer than the fights they described. That was the first thing I'd noticed: she was fast. Not the flight -- her top speed was above average, but not really special -- but just in general.
In a fight her eyes hardly ever rested on anything, darting to the next thing while I was still processing the last. Mirrors sometimes appeared in the air and moved in time with her eyes, as though turning her head would be too slow. Other times regions of her vision would 'zoom in,' like an invisible telescope. And that's probably just what it was; I didn't get power-based senses, so it'd have to be a real optical effect viewed through normal vision. It was overwhelming. If not for my power-provided perfect memory for the experiences it showed me, I doubted I'd have any clue what was going on in them at all. Even with that advantage, I struggled. And that was just her vision.
Her movements felt abrupt and graceless, but somehow always ended with things in just the right place. Her shooting was technically correct, more or less, though I thought she was cheating somehow with the recoil. But the big thing was that she could aim and fire before I could resolve a sight picture. In melee her attacks felt like random flailing, but each strike landed, and each one had a purpose.
And the less said about the few flight maneuvers I experienced, the better. I felt like I was going to be sick just remembering them. Well, maybe a couple notes were warranted. While the top speed might not be too high, the acceleration she could manage was genuinely impressive. I could say with confidence she had a Brute power from that evidence alone. And she made full use of it, tying her path into impossible knots.
All and all, I was struggling to come up with an explanation. No, that was a lie. I was struggling to come up with an explanation other than fully generalized mental acceleration because that would be absurd. It'd be a decent power all on its own. For a Brute, Blaster, Mover, Shaker, Stranger, and Striker? The highest number on her sheet would have to be Thinker.
Probability manipulation, maybe? Something precognitive? Combat analysis? They didn't quite fit. Well, they'd said Case 91s were different. Not very much on how, but I suppose I was discovering that for myself.
The events themselves had... mostly matched her descriptions. Well, they'd exactly matched the words she actually said. She obviously knew about the lie detector. She had merely omitted a few interesting details. So many fascinating little tidbits hidden in that 'brief conversation' with Ms. Vasil. Familiar regret welled up that I couldn't recursively dive into the events I heard described through my power. I'd had to dig pretty far into my stack of files to find the name 'Regent,' but... ah, they'd already known about that connection. Hijack? Well, the sandbagging spoke well of him, given what his real power could do.
That was the real prize, but I'd also gotten some intriguing context on the Siberian fight. It had naturally warranted some additional discussion, given 'her' ostensible invincibility.
There was a valuable glimpse into group dynamics, intra- and inter-. I'd have to dig into their relationship with these 'Undersiders.' And hadn't there been a mention of an arrangement with Coil, everyone's least favorite Thinker?
But the Undersiders were interesting. I pulled out Skitter's file. Master 8/Thinker 1? I couldn't disagree. Finding and targeting someone from hundreds of meters away through walls and floors and whatever else? She could kill most capes while sipping a latte in a cafe down the street, and she could coordinate her allies in a way most Thinkers couldn't. Seriously, what's up with this group? Two sevens and an eight with good archetypes and they'd barely been on the radar until the last month. The Brockton Bay scene is supposed to be pretty intense, but still.
I skimmed through the pile for the others. Definitely not as strong as those three, but not slouches either. Bitch provided some much needed muscle and mobility, but she wasn't great at either. Imp would be terrifying if not for her easily exploitable weakness to cameras. Though I'd imagine that would be much less problematic against other villains, who wouldn't be so organized. Grue rounded things out with more disruption, crowd control, and stealth.
I frowned. This wasn't some random collection of down-on-their-luck teenagers, like a lot of small-time gangs. No Brutes or Blasters, the most common classifications. Too much synergy, like they'd been assembled from a large pool for a specific purpose, and there weren't a lot of villain organizations who had a large pool to pull from. In the States, at least -- Gesellschaft sometimes did things like that, but the Undersiders obviously weren't their cat's paw. The Elite? It wasn't really their style, but they'd wanted to break into the East coast for a while. Or maybe Tattletale was just that good.
Well, maybe I could work out a bigger deal than we'd planned. Their ties to the area couldn't be that strong if they had been pulled from all over. I doubted the director would complain.
Some insights into their powers, too. I'd gotten the impression the Case 91s all had the same abilities, if not the same skill in using them, but Argent implied only she could take out a low rise in a single shot. Never mind that that would put her near the very top of the Blaster power scale -- not quite on Legend's level, but not far from it -- why only her? And, actually, she hadn't seemed nearly so confident when she didn't know there was a building in the way. Clearly, there was something I was missing there. A limited pool? Shared abilities that waxed and waned, like a cluster? Too little to say. It'd certainly help if the locals would let me interview their Case 91s, but they'd been reluctant to say the least.
And one potentially awkward fact. Civilian casualties happened occasionally -- more often than anyone would like to admit, especially in S-Class scenarios -- but it was never a good look. More often than the vast majority of people knew, actually. I often enjoyed watching press conferences after big fights, but sometimes the discrepancies my power revealed were more tragic than funny.
So, I knew full well the PRT certainly wouldn't have hesitated to sweep it under the rug for a Protectorate hero, and hesitated only long enough for an independent to force them into the fold. For a villain? Well, the incentives pointed the other way. Scarier villains mean more funding, less embarrassing failures, and more glorious successes. And a pissed off villain, of course, but that was normally a worthwhile trade. Most villains couldn't take out the Slaughterhouse Nine in an afternoon, though.
The director was a practical woman, but was she practical enough to let this go? It was an understandable mistake, as these things go, but those without my advantages often find it hard to empathize with enemies. I briefly considered just not bringing it up, but that was a bad habit to get into. Thinkers live and die on their reputation, and cross checking their work wasn't uncommon, at least at my level. Well, she'd proposed this arrangement, so she'd hopefully be willing to compromise a little to make it work.
I typed up a summary of my findings as I thought, leading to a lull after Argent finished her report and Piggot frowned at her laptop. I could see her face morph into a scowl when she reached those last lines, and she directed it at Argent once she finished reading.
"Anything you're leaving out?"
Argent shrugged, cool as could be, though the graph revealed a spike of anxiety.
"Plenty. You asked for brief descriptions. I don't believe any of it is germane to the matter at hand."
And she didn't, the lie detector confirmed. Not untrue, exactly, but cold. The director was undeterred.
"What about Jack and Bonesaw?"
"They got away. I never claimed otherwise."
"... And the decoys?"
Argent stared back impassively for a moment. The paranoia that had edged down through the report shot back up.
"Ah, your mystery Thinker." She turned to Tattletale. "Does that give you enough?"
"Hmm. That's a leap. Not purely analysis based, I think, which is surprising given that it works over the phone. Powerful. Director Piggot doesn't have the pull to call in someone on that level on her own account, so she's either got backing from the higher ups or whoever it is has a particular interest. Neither of which would be especially surprising, considering."
Not bad. Not bad at all. She really was wasting her ability. Then again, maybe that was changing if she had fallen in with Argent.
Argent considered Tattletale's words for a moment, then turned back.
"That has no bearing on the bounty proceedings. I have nothing to say on the matter."
Director Piggot leaned back, pretending to drop the matter.
"Well, I suppose that's alright. You didn't take the shot, after all. It's your associate we'd have to talk to about that."
Tattletale had preemptively winced and started scooting her chair away halfway through. Her caution proved warranted as Argent abruptly rose twenty centimeters, allowing her to effectively look down on the director, expression hard. Her eyes were undeniably glowing now, a piercing silver. Gallant flinched again, but he was quicker this time to put the fear and anger on the graph.
"Absolutely not!" she barked, then moderated her volume and tone with some effort. "Soldiers acting faithfully under orders cannot be held liable for those actions. I would not have permitted insubordination from them and I will not permit prosecution from you!"
"Untrue. Soldiers who obey illegal orders are liable under--"
"My duty is to uphold Imperial law, not foreign barbarism. If you have an issue with my men, you will take it up with me."
Piggot looked up at her with level intensity.
"You're young and sympathetic. If I asked the district attorney to charge a child soldier for the actions of her adult subordinate, I'd be laughed out of the room. I have no way to hold you responsible for this unless you force the issue. Are you sure you want to die on this hill?"
"Dying on hills is for infantry," she growled. "I'm certainly willing to kill on it."
The lie detector agreed. I wasn't sure how it handled awkwardly extended metaphors, but I suspected she was being literal. Well, I'd already thought that was a sore point.
"Very well." The director grunted and leaned back, a hint of respect in her eyes. "I suggest you explain yourself, then. It might not impact bounty proceedings, but it will impact your treatment going forward."
She thought for a moment, eyes dimming. She descended too, but not quite back down to eye level.
"Not with the mystery Thinker. I suggest you consider who has more to lose should relations deteriorate."
Piggot narrowed her eyes at her, weighing her options. Kid Win spoke up before she could decide.
"You know, the way you say things like that really makes me think you want to lie to us."
Argent glanced at him, surprised that he spoke up. Director Piggot pointedly did not look at him, muscle in her jaw twitching.
"If I wanted to lie to you, I'd have to object to your presence, wouldn't I? My concern is inadvertently leaking tactical information."
True. Though that didn't mean she didn't also want to deceive us. Actually, I was certain she did.
Miss Militia, who had struggled to keep her mouth closed up to now, thought she saw an opportunity to get things back on track.
"You don't have to worry about that. The truce forbids taking advantage of that sort of thing."
"And you'd follow that rule? Tattletale, what do you think?"
"Well, Miss Militia might. Everyone else? Hell no."
Ah, the biggest issue with the truce. No one really trusted it, because, well, it wasn't trustworthy.
Piggot was back to scowling.
"Fine. We'll leave it for afterward. How confident are you that Siberian truly was a projection, and that the man you killed was the Master?"
"She did disappear when he died. It could be a ruse, but I'm not seeing the point. If she were genuinely unstoppable, she'd hardly need to resort to tricks. Call it ninety percent."
So it was less than ninety percent when she shot him?
"Ninety-nine for me," Tattletale chipped in. "Powers have weaknesses. Siberian's didn't make sense."
That and you were present to judge Cherie's truthfulness. Actually, it was about time to dig into that. I asked the director to inquire.
"And how did you come to cooperate on that? You've only been in the city a couple days, right?"
"We got to speaking after my team took out Mannequin, who'd been harassing them," Argent responded nonchalantly. "I was impressed by Tattletale's power and decided to consult with her after my run-in with Ms. Vasil."
Uh, wow. Is it even worth bothering with the lie detector at this point? Well, I hadn't gotten quite enough to fully understand the situation. I tapped out another message, relaying what I knew about their involvement and telling her to push.
"And how did you meet?"
That one merited a moment of thought, at least.
"Oh, originally? We ran into the Undersiders pretty much first thing. They were hunting down the clone that summoned us. We spoke briefly, but your people interrupted before we could get very far. I found the sequence of events suspicious. Of course, that was before--"
"Don't bother," Tattletale broke in, eyes narrowed. "They've already figured it out. Our eavesdropper, I mean."
Argent shut up and stared down at the director, consternation peaking on the graph.
"Fine, then. Tattletale has entered my employ and is under my protection. I don't think anything more needs to be said on the subject."
The director paused, taken aback by the abrupt reversal, then went back on the attack.
"And you're working for Coil?"
"No comment. Are we done?"
Her tone made it clear she was done letting things slip, though I suspected she was more irritated with herself than with us.
"What about the rest of the Undersiders?" Miss Militia asked.
Piggot shot her a glance but seemed to decide the question had merit. She looked back at Argent, who was herself looking back from Tattletale. The graph revealed some ambivalence. Yeah, made sense. They were a very solid team, but Argent's was world class. Only Tattletale and maybe Skitter were really worth carting around on that level, but that didn't mean they were willing to abandon their friends.
"... Them too."
Piggot nodded.
"That should give us enough to start on bounty proceedings. Before we move on, though, I'd like to introduce you to a couple people."
I straightened and smiled at the webcam as Piggot tapped a couple buttons and turned the laptop around. Keller just straightened. He'd seemed less and less enamored of the little officer as the conversation progressed, though I wasn't sure what exactly was rubbing him the wrong way.
"This is Notarin of the Meisters and Brigadier General Maxwell Keller of the German Army."
Argent locked up. My own smile froze as I noticed the graph. Panic and rage and a dash of guilt and embarrassment. Wasn't that all a little much? She snapped out of it after a moment, ignoring me to address Keller.
"General. Have we met? I'm afraid I don't recognize you."
Her tone was superficially cordial, but I could hear the steel underneath.
"We have not, Colonel. I'm from this world, not yours."
She nodded, mask slipping a little. All performative? For whose benefit?
"I suspected as much. In that case, I'm not sure what we have to discuss."
My eyes were drawn away by a flash in the corner of the screen: the lie detector activating for the very first time. Partial truth.
Keller proceeded easily.
"Interdimensional travel jurisprudence is an under-explored field, but there's been some preparatory work. The European Union has issued a directive that dimensional refugees are to retain their national and institutional affiliations, transferred over to their equivalents on Bet. The latter was primarily intended to refer to parahuman organizations, given that parahumans were thought to be the most likely examples, but it should cover military affiliation, too."
"And you believe that directive applies in this case?" she asked dangerously.
Keller bulled through, looking annoyed.
"I do, though I don't plan on remaining your superior for long. Article 12a paragraph 7 of the Grundgesetz requires that all German parahumans serve with the Meisters or an affiliate organization, and I am ordering you to do so. Discuss the details with Notarin, here. That is all, Colonel."
He moved to hang up, but she spoke up before he could.
"What a curious thing... What do you call a general of a nation that has not known war in his whole career?"
He dropped his hand and looked right back into the camera, stone faced.
"You call him 'sir.'"
"Oh, I'm sure you do," Argent immediately bit back. "Without opportunities to prove your worth in the field, what's left but brown-nosing? You seem the type. I'll tell you what I'd call him: 'a jumped-up bureaucrat wearing the clothes of better men.' Or perhaps 'a vestigial organ of a once-great nation turned parasitical.' Miss Militia is more of a soldier than you, and I'd sooner take orders from her."
Face rapidly reddening, Keller tried to interrupt, but she just raised her voice and continued over him. Miss Militia looked like she'd been slapped, though it was doubtful Argent knew about her past.
"Your predecessors were hardly better, of course. They lost the Great War. They turned their backs on the Kaiser and their own people, just to leash themselves to the perverse ambitions of a madman. They plunged the nation into ruin and allowed it to get parceled out among the lesser powers and the fucking communists. You are simply the natural product of that tradition of insanity and profound incompetence."
She took a breath, starting again before Keller could collect himself.
"The Republic of Germany is not my Fatherland. It's got the land, granted. Well, it's got half of it, barely. The crown of the world, reduced to a tame Anglo puppet state. A broken people who have rejected the very idea of national pride. How dare you claim national continuity when every other aspect of your culture repudiates mine? Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"
What a fascinating view of recent history. When did she even have the time? Well, if I've ever wondered what my ancestors would think of me, I guess I've got my answer. The general's curiosity had fled entirely, unfortunately. He was shaking with rage, barely able to speak.
"I can see we have nothing to talk about after all, fascist. You are no daughter of my Fatherland. You're not welcome here."
He hung up.
I'd lost track of the overlay somewhere in that exchange, but I looked back now. She was... pleased? The fear had mostly receded, though the anger was still simmering. Huh, no actual contempt, despite how much had been dripping from her words. Was it all performative? A hell of a performance, if so. But why? Surely she realized there was nothing he could do if she just said 'no?' Why make an influential enemy? I decided it was about time to make my pitch. Maybe skip the hard sell.
"You know, that's not actually his decision to make." And fuck him for trying to make it, when it was my team who'd have to try to enforce it. "I'm not going to try to order you around, but would you at least visit? No pressure. You've only had a couple days to read up, it might not be as bad as you think. See how the century has transformed Berlin? And you simply can't get a proper beer in the States."
She stared back at me blankly.
"... I'm not old enough to drink. You... are the Thinker, right?"
"... Right." She did have a way of making you forget that, didn't she? It's not just me? Tattletale rolled her eyes. "Well, how about the food? I know a place with the best sauerbraten mit spätzle."
She grimaced and ignored me. Really? Some patriot she was.
"Notarin... How does your power work, then?"
"Well, I could tell you, but I'm curious how much your friend has figured out."
I shot her a smug smile, trying to regain some control over the conversation.
"Cut the--" Argent started, but Tattletale spoke over her, smirk in her voice. Argent wasn't happy about that, but she let it go.
"Not analysis based, but it works over a video call... Goes by 'Notary,' and attests to events she didn't witness. Keyed off speech, right? Right... Voice psychometry. When she hears someone describe something they experienced, she experiences it just as they did. But that's not a complete power... Ah, she can inflict those experiences on others by repeating the words they used, though she can't just use it on a whole crowd, for some reason." She glanced over at Argent and hastily added, "That's sound-based, too. Just deafen yourself if she tries it."
Argent considered for a moment, then nodded.
"I thought there were no mind reading powers?"
"It's not mind reading. She experiences the event, not your memory of it. It's purely sensory, no thoughts or emotions, beyond what she can pick up from body language."
"Impressive," I commented, smile still on my face.
"Oh, fuck off. I don't need your validation."
I raised my eyebrows. Don't you? Why are you showing off to me, then? She scowled at me.
Argent ignored the byplay.
"As much a weakness as a weapon, isn't it?"
Tattletale shrugged.
"Some powers are like that. Most, honestly, though it's usually more subtle. It's still very strong. We've seen enough of that in just this meeting."
I was sitting across from Piggot's desk, carefully keeping my gaze off the note as I slid it across to Miss Militia while everyone was focused on the conversation. No one–
I was myself again. I stared at Tattletale. Her eyes widened slightly, and then she gave me a wink. Huh.
"It is." Argent responded, startling me. "And if it's triggered off a transmitted voice--"
"Doesn't work on recordings," I broke in. "It was like the third thing I tried. I thought some of Nixon's speeches would be hilarious."
"What? But there's always some delay in transm--"
"Don't bother trying to make sense of it," Piggot advised. "Greater minds than yours have broken themselves on that rock."
She didn't look satisfied, but she nodded.
"Well, I don't see what I'd have to say to you I didn't already say to your... associate."
She sounded brisk, now that we were back on subject, but not angry. I honestly had no idea what was going on with that. Well, all I could do was my best.
"The general can be pretty abrasive." I mean, I assume. He didn't really get a chance to show it. "I understand there's been some unpleasantness here, but I don't care about that. I want to issue a formal invitation on behalf of the Meisters. A soldier from our nation's past, our own Hiroo Onoda... Maybe things have changed, but you have a home here, if you want it. Oh, and we'll take the Undersiders too, provided they can pass my interview process."
She was scowling now. What did I say?
"You can just say no."
"No." A moment later she tacked on, "Thank you."
"Well, offer's open. Pass it on to the others, will you?"
OK, that had been the wrong thing to say. She didn't bother with the physical threat displays this time, but she – jaw clenched, nostrils flaring – was every bit as angry as when... Oh. Paranoiac. She thought this whole thing was a plot to steal her team out from under her. She immediately moved to thoroughly de-legitimize the general, but I didn't have the same putative authority. I wasn't really a threat until I implied I was just trying to catch more flies with honey.
Well, leaving her in charge of her people would have been... flatly impossible, honestly. You can only bend the rules so far. If that was a hard line, probably better to learn that here, where if she broke things, they at least wouldn't be our things. I was honestly looking forward to my rant, though I wished I'd had the time to ask some more questions about her world, first.
"Soliciting desertion, is it? So little respect for an Imperial soldier's dedication to their duty, but what can you expect from a nation that has given up on duty? Let me tell you a little story to... demonstrate the point."
Oh, fuck me. I wasn't looking forward to this anymore.
"Dr. Schugel promised me he'd fixed the explosion issue and I believed him. For all his many faults, he rarely lied about his work; that's what's truly important to him. The improved cooling system was integrated into the orb's function on a fundamental level and had more than enough capacity to handle all the energy released by a spontaneous desynchronization event, he said, at least for the relatively light flight tests we were doing at the time."
I looked up -- so far up! -- at the older monocled gentleman as he shot me a smile that he presumably meant to be reassuring. I heard him speak in time with Argent's description. I took the device from his hand after a long moment's hesitation and affixed it at my neck.
"Every word true. What I failed to realize at the time was that for the orb to cool its surroundings must heat."
I was kilometers in the air and rising fast. I twitched at a sudden sputtering hiss, near deafening, then violently flinched from the burning at my throat. It was useless, of course. The device was securely fastened in place.
"He knew, I'm sure. There's no way he could have designed the mechanism without understanding what it--"
"OK, that's enough! I get it!" I half yelled, slipping into German in my haste.
She didn't stop, or pause, or even stutter.
"--would do. Perhaps he thought it a fitting punishment for failing to manage the device -- he was always quick to blame others for his failures -- or maybe he really thought he'd solved the desynchronization problem, though I doubt he was quite that delusional. Not just then. Most likely, he simply didn't consider it. He could always requisition a new mage, after all. That's what he did after killing my predecessor, and his predecessor before him, and who knows how many more?"
There was a branding iron at my neck, and it was only getting hotter. I couldn't breathe. My hands were pulling at the tight collar of my uniform, trying to hold it away. It wasn't nearly enough. I wanted to pull harder, to rip it away and toss it. I could have; I could feel the latent strength in my limbs. But they didn't obey my commands.
"Of course, it would have been terribly negligent of me to foist that inconvenience on him. Fortunately, one core maintained partial functionality. Enough for a controlled descent, if only just. But to do that, I had to hold onto the orb."
Or you could have just worn a parachute! You fucking psycho! I tried to focus on the real world, to interrupt, to hang up, to use my power, anything. I failed. I was cooking. I was dying. My right hand released my collar, then returned. My left released and started to reach towards the device, then hesitated. I fiddled with the sleeve for a couple seconds, trying to work it up over my hand. The uniform was closely tailored. I failed. I knew what was coming then.
In a moment of supreme, terror-fueled will, I swiped my real arm across my desk, sending things crashing down. The voice continued, muffled but audible.
"Still, I needed to take some action. If I left it in place at my neck I risked fatal damage to my airway and critical blood vessels. Dr. Schugel had several skilled medical mages on permanent detachment for simple convenience, but they couldn't help me if I died before I reached the ground. Not a complicated problem."
I hesitated for one more long moment, hand poised. With a final full body shudder my hand wrapped itself firmly around the orb, near molten glass deforming under the pressure. I tried to scream, but my lungs were empty. I twisted and it came free from its mount. I pulled it away from my neck and then I could breathe again, the pain in my throat hardly registering. And then I did scream, piercing and girlish. And then I did it again.
"The analgesic formula might not be too expensive in terms of power, but it's quite complicated. A slight deviation might interfere with muscular control, or make it impossible to feel anything but pain. Casting it on a single damaged core on top of the flight spell? Pure fantasy. But so what? What's some pain next to survival? So I took the orb in my hand. And when my muscles started to fail and I feared I would drop it, I wrapped my other hand around the first. And when that proved insufficient, I held my hand in the crook of my other elbow."
And so did I. Every bit of it, my power stretching the moments of affectless description into minutes, ensuring I got to enjoy the full experience. Each second was a choice between burning and falling. And so I burned because she had made the choice for both of us. It was like--
I blinked up at Sternenhimmel, detached cable in hand. I was lying on my back in my office. All my limbs were intact, though there was a bruise forming on my right wrist. My throat -- my throat -- was sore, my cheeks wet. Ah, I'd presumably been making enough noise to attract his notice. Not the first time. I sat up, still a little shaky.
"Recruitment didn't go well, I take it?"
"Not especially, no." I chuckled. "That little shit!"
My foster brother shot me a confused look.
"Everyone tries to hurt you through your power. Your 'weakness' is the worst kept secret in the country. You tell us not to interrupt whenever anyone makes you relive their fucked up story."
"And yet..."
I glared at him. He turned his nose up.
"Some of us have work to do, you know. We can't all lie down on the job."
I glared some more. He didn't even sleep.
He broke character after a second.
"You alright? That sounded pretty bad. And you broke your monitor."
I waved his words off.
"Have I ever not been?"
"Were you ever, really?" He paused, then continued when I didn't take the bait. "You know, it's actually pretty creepy, how you bounce back like that."
"The part where I bounce back is creepy? Not the part where I'm wailing in agony for no visible reason?"
"I call it like I see it. So, what was special about this one, then?"
"It's not that she did it, it's what she chose to show me."
"Oh?"
"Well, help me up first. Don't think I'm welcome back into that meeting, so let's grab coffee."
He did and we did. I took a minute in the bathroom to put myself back together. We settled down in the lounge, claiming the good couch, not that there was much competition for it this time of night.
"Go on, then."
"OK, you heard about that hiker who cut his own arm off with a Swiss army knife?"
"What? Why?"
"It was trapped under a rock or something. I don't know."
He waited for me to continue. I didn't. He sighed.
"Why do you always do this?"
"Oh, is letting me tell the story my way too boring? Do you want to watch it instead?"
"No, no, your way is good. Great, even," he assured, vigorously shaking his head the whole time. "So... she cut her arm off because it was trapped under a rock or something?"
I snorted.
"Not exactly, but the same idea. Like, 'I was able to do this to myself when I needed a step stool to reach the kitchen counter, because I'm not a little bitch. You, on the other hand...'"
"Talk about asserting dominance." He chuckled, then shot me a quizzical look. "Though that would have fallen flat if you weren't actually a little bitch. How'd she know?"
Well, if he was going to ask for it...
"Not a complicated problem."
He violently jerked, gasping, barely missing his coffee on the table.
"Fuck! Fuck! OK, dominance asserted. Fuck!"
He slowly settled back down. Other people couldn't shake off my power quite like I could, but the sensations themselves didn't linger. And he was used to it.
"Damn, that's hardcore. You sure we don't want her? The PR would be great, too. Like that Japanese holdout you were talking about, right?"
"I'm sure she doesn't want us. Do you want to try to push the issue?"
"You know, I really don't. The others?"
"That's the question that set her off. Doesn't approve of poaching."
"Ah. Oh well."
"The locals were hiding something about her, too. Could be... a lot of things that came up in that meeting, honestly, but I think it was something I missed. And the PR would only be good until she started going off about the spirit of the German people, or whatever."
"Oh... Yeah, that could be awkward."
"Honestly, I think she's just bullshitting about that, but she's really convincing. It's probably reflex by this point."
"Oh?" he probed, tone much more serious. "And how was that? They do look a little similar, too."
"It's been nearly a decade. People can get over things, you know."
"They can..."
He pointedly didn't say 'you have.'
I glared at him, but without too much heat. He was right, after all.
"Nah, she was fine. A sociopath, maybe or maybe not, but definitely not the kind that preys on others' sympathies. She wouldn't know what to do with them if she got them, I think."
"Oh... That's a little sad."
I shrugged.
"That's the job."
"True enough."