A Young Girl’s Criminal Record

by Crossposted

A crossposting of TorontoTower’s SpaceBattles Fanfiction on SpaceBattles, all credit goes to the original author.

31. Interlude 1D

2.D

-- Cpl. Otto Richter Blitz --

"You can use Miss Degurechaff's name, Otto. We already know it."

I eyed the gendarme suspiciously. Lieutenant Wilfong -- she'd introduced herself as a lieutenant, at least, though she wasn't wearing any insignia that I could see -- looked back impassively. And Robin had claimed the PRT wasn't associated with the American military despite employing so many mages. It was becoming more and more clear to me something wasn't right here.

"With respect, Ma'am, that doesn't change my orders."

"We appreciate your dutifulness," the other one -- Gardner, no rank -- said. "But you're not a soldier anymore. You're free of that now."

Of that, he said. Because I wasn't actually free, just free of the military. Of what was I not free? I scowled at him.

"I'm no deserter."

"No one said you were," Lieutenant Wilfong reassured. "You didn't choose to leave your post. But you can hardly be a member of a military that doesn't exist on this world."

That line of reasoning had seemed a lot more convincing yesterday. Earlier today? I hadn't gotten a chance to check the time when this pair dragged me out of bed. I'd actually expected something like this earlier, but they'd seemed to have had other priorities.

"Doesn't it? I'm here, after all."

"That's not what you said in your M/S interview," Gardner noted. "What's changed, I wonder?"

"I was confused about the situation. My training didn't cover this scenario."

Sure, that recording didn't sound good, but refusing orders now would look much worse. They couldn't blackmail me into doing the latter so they wouldn't release the former.

"Conscripting minors is a heinous violation of human rights, Miss Degurechaff's no less than yours. Why insist on something you never wanted in the first place?" Wilfong asked.

I stared at her. They sure hadn't wasted any time in conscripting me. But what could you even say in the face of such shamelessness?

"It doesn't matter what I want or wanted. I have a duty and I'll fulfill it. And Argent wasn't conscripted."

As I'd hoped, they jumped on the last part. Public knowledge, nothing confidential.

"She volunteered? Did she tell you why?" Gardner asked.

I blinked.

"Do you imagine the Argent Silver confides in me? She does not."

"Come on," he wheedled. "You recognized her in costume. You must know her pretty well."

"How many hundred thirty centimeter lieutenant colonels do you think there are? And I recognized her magic."

"She recognized you, too." Wilfong broke in. "Immediately. And your costume is pretty concealing. Did she... Excuse me, recognize your magic?"

"I wasn't using any." I shrugged at their looks. "Honest, we've only spoken a couple times. You can't judge Argent by normal standards."

"Then how do you know she wasn't conscripted?" Gardner asked almost before I finished.

"She's too young. Conscription age for mages was fifteen before the war, fourteen now."

"So young, even before the war?" he asked doubtfully.

Did he think I was lying about a matter of national policy? Though, uh, I suppose there weren't too many other people he could ask.

"Magical combat is very physically demanding and very deadly. One in five or six combat capable mages are between fifteen and seventeen. Every other major power does the same thing, you know. Hell, the Francois conscript illiterate Malgerian farmers at fourteen; it's a wonder they can fly at all."

"Then why not twelve?" he asked, disgusted. "Wouldn't that get you another twenty percent?"

"Magic demands a certain level of mental discipline. Fourteen is pushing it, honestly."

They glanced at each other, taken aback.

"Another rule to which Argent is the exception, I take it?" Wilfong asked.

I frowned as I nodded. That clearly wasn't what had tripped them up.

"Maybe you're not best friends," Gardner redirected, "but you've heard things, clearly."

I didn't like where this was going, but he hadn't actually asked a question yet. They both stared at me for a couple moments before it became clear I wasn't going to speak up. Wilfong started shuffling through her papers.

"What can you tell us about..." She tapped the paper. "Arene?"

I shrugged, a puzzled look on my face.

"Sounds Francois?"

Wilfong shot me a disappointed look. Gardner sighed and spoke up.

"Kid, she's not here."

I shrugged. She's not supposed to be in this universe, excuse me if a kilometer or two doesn't feel like enough. And did they think I didn't realize they were recording this conversation?

"We've already heard from Indomitable and Valiant," Wilfong said, dispensing with the pretense this hadn't been the whole focus of the interrogation. "Do you want to provide the Imperial side of the story or leave us with their version of events?"

I scowled.

"What do they know about the Rhine? They weren't there."

They stared.

Oh. I, uh, might have just admitted to knowing about Arene after all. Though truthfully, I don't know much. Just rumors, really, and not the sort it would be wise to share.

"I'm confident all Imperial forces acted in accordance with international law," I said stiffly, then affirmatively closed my mouth.

They didn't seem too put off by my refusal.

"We will protect you from her," Wilfong said. "The Wards program has handled many similar cases."

"Of course, witness protection is reserved for witnesses," Gardner clarified. "You need to cooperate."

I looked between them in bafflement. Was that supposed to be a joke? No, apparently not. Were they really that dumb or did they just think I was?

"Why would I need protection from an Imperial war hero?" I asked coldly.

"Interesting choice of words," Gardner mused. "What if we told you she wasn't the patriot she pretends to be?"

... What a bizarre fabrication. Even if I believed it, what would it change?

"I'd call you a liar. A very bad one."

"There are ways to tell, you know," he said. "People who can read emotions, intentions, histories..."

"I said you were lying, not mistaken." They didn't look like they were about to give up... whatever this was. "You want to hear rumors about the Argent Silver? Fine. I heard she was terribly burned in a research accident. Nearly lost a hand. Of course the researchers were horrified and outraged and demanded the program be shut down. And little ten-year-old Argent, only half healed, said she had another hand and called the lot of them cowards and traitors for impeding the war effort. That's who you're telling me is a fake patriot."

Wilfong had dropped her face into her hands and Gardner had a sour expression.

"We've heard that one, actually," he said.

"Then why'd you think I'd believe that nonsense?" I shook my head, then had a thought. "Wait, where did you hear that?"

He sighed.

"Forget about it... Look, kid, this isn't getting us anywhere. Are you going to cooperate or not?"

I hesitated. Could they protect me from Rusted Silver? Obviously not. But would she protect me from them? She certainly could, but she wasn't here. And I, dragged off in my night clothes, didn't have my orb. I had no way to contact her and I had no way to defend myself. Well, maybe I could manage enough reinforcement to beat these two hand-to-hand... But without letting either draw the futuristic pistols on their belts or alert the rest of the base? Not likely.

But they didn't know that, right? We'd all agreed to keep the secret of computation orbs from them. For all they knew they were threatening a fully capable combat mage who could kill them a dozen different ways without moving a muscle. If they were planning to have me tortured or executed for refusing them, they'd have brought their own mages. Of course, they could just go get their own mages if I really pissed them off.

"I will cooperate to the extent my duty permits," I answered carefully.

Gardner snorted but Wilfong spoke before he could.

"And if we made you choose, I take it we wouldn't like your choice?"

I remained silent. She sighed.

"Fine. We just want the information we need to help Argent like we helped you, but I can see you're not going to accept that today."

Probably not tomorrow, either. Seriously, it was starting to worry me just how poorly they were handling this. Was it some sort of setup?

"Let's talk about something else," Gardner said. "Why don't you show us some magic?"

Uh...

"I'm not some dog to do tricks on command."

"No, you're a Ward," he said. "You are expected to do tricks on command, though."

"Public relations are one of your primary responsibilities," Wilfong informed. "Showing off your powers is a big part of that. Entertaining children, normalizing non-violent power use, inspiring new parahumans to join, that sort of thing."

"... I don't see any children here."

"Come on, just do it and we can be done," Gardner said. "I know I want to get back to bed." He frowned as though struck by a sudden thought. "You do have powers, right? If you've been lying about that, we'll have to have a very different conversation. The director's not going to be in a good mood if we have to wake her up."

Fuck. Well, I should be able to manage something...

After a few seconds I waved a hand grandly and produced a bright flash of light. The hard part of making illusions is realism, not brightness. But after blinking the light out of her eyes, Wilfong shook her head.

"What, is that all you've got? Not much of a showman, are you?"

"The children will eat you alive if you can't do better than that," Gardner advised.

I slowly narrowed my eyes, trying to concentrate.

"Fine, I said and... fumbled the spell.

I frantically struggled to keep anything from showing on my face as I grabbed the manna and... there.

I made an even grander gesture and Wilfong's stack of notes burst into flames.

That got a reaction. There was shouting and flailing and clattering chairs and by the time they'd stamped the fire out I was at least confident they weren't going to ask for any more magic tricks I may or may not be able to perform.

They didn't look too happy with me, though.

"We ask for showmanship and you go straight for arson?" Wilfong demanded. "What's wrong with you?"

"How--" Gardner was cut off by the door slamming open, framing Miss Militia.

She took in the situation at a glance while we waited like guilty children.

"What exactly is going on here?"

Wilfong and Gardner shared a look.

"We were discussing Blitz's fitness plan," Wilfong said. "I asked for a demonstration of his power and it... got out of hand."

Wait, what?

"At one thirty in the morning?" Miss Militia asked dryly.

"The director--"

"Director Piggot asked you to wake up a Ward in the middle of the night to... discuss his fitness plan? I find that very surprising, and I'm sure Mrs. Rodriguez will too."

Gardner shot the mage a venomous sneer while Wilfong stared back at her impassively.

"The director didn't specify a time frame," she finally admitted.

"I see. We will be discussing this with both the director and Mrs. Rodriguez in the morning. For now, clean up this mess and I'll get Otto back to bed."

She put a hand on my shoulder and gently guided me out of the room. Once we were out of earshot, my confusion got the better of me.

"Miss, what's going on? What fitness plan?"

She gave me a considering look.

"I take it that's not what they wanted to discuss?"

I shook my head.

"I thought so. If they'd interrogated you formally, you'd be legally entitled to an advocate. The Youth Guard would have had to have been informed. They'd have needed to keep a recording that would have been subject to independent audit. But Wilfong and Gardner are volunteer personal trainers for the Wards, not interrogators. That Director Piggot... Well, don't you worry about that, I'll take care of it. Though without firm evidence... I'll do what I can. If anything like this happens again, you ask for me and Elena Rodriguez, the Brockton Youth Guard rep. And don't say another word until they've gotten us."

I thought about that.

"Oh. Well, that's a relief."

She arched an eyebrow.

"A relief?"

"They didn't do a very good job."

She startled herself with a chuckle but I wasn't done.

"I was worried you weren't taking Argent seriously."

Her humor instantly drained away.

"Oh?" she asked carefully. "What makes you say that?"

I took ten long seconds to consider my response.

"Whatever else she might be, there's no question Argent is the"-- deadliest --"greatest combat mage alive. To ever live, maybe. I've seen her do incredible things on the battlefield, impossible things. The whole African Front might have been lost if not for her. I doubt Indomitable and Valiant would tell you any different." And they'd probably be willing to tell her the things I didn't dare voice, too. "Just... It's better to be her friend than her enemy. Much better."

She nodded, finally.

"That was already my preference. Let's get you to bed."

But a few seconds after I entered my quarters I burst right back out, catching Miss Militia at the hallway door.

"I've been robbed!"

Fifteen minutes later Miss Militia and I sat across from a disheveled Deputy Director Renick.

"--rules concerning unapproved and potentially dangerous Tinker tech."

"What do you mean, 'Tinker tech?'" I tried.

But apparently playing dumb just wasn't working for me today. Renick shot me a cool look and Miss Militia looked vaguely disappointed.

"I don't appreciate being lied to, Mr. Richter. Indomitable and Valiant have already filled us in."

I scowled. Traitors, but what can you expect?

"And did you take their orbs?"

He shrugged.

"They're adults. They're entitled to waive their right to equipment that has been tested and proven safe. You are not."

I somehow doubted that was the real reason.

"It's not having it that's dangerous! I'd have died a hundred times without it!"

"And you won't be put in that situation again," Miss Militia said.

Renick nodded.

"Fortunately, we're not planning on sending you into battle," he said. "Frankly, even if it were shown to be safe to use, we couldn't countenance a minor wielding a deadly weapon."

This couldn't be happening. Even Miss Militia didn't look sympathetic. Actually...

"Weren't you a Ward, Miss?"

She shrugged.

"Unfortunately my weapon can't be taken from me."

She didn't sound like she thought that was especially unfortunate.

"... Well, it's my property. Even if I can't use it, you have no right to steal it."

Once I had it, of course, they might have some difficulty preventing me from using it.

Renick frowned.

"We do have the right to confiscate dangerous Tinker tech, actually. There's an appeals process that... Well, I don't think that's relevant. Is it your property? I understand they're extraordinarily expensive to build. Surely it's the property of your government?"

Well... yes.

"Who entrusted it to me," I tried. "I'm responsible for it, and that's a responsibility they take very seriously. I could be executed for allowing it to fall into the hands of a foreign power."

He blinked, taken aback.

"... Well, we certainly won't permit that. If and when we make contact with your world, we'll work something out."

"In the worst case, I promise you'll be allowed to stay here," Miss Militia said, steel in her voice.

I immediately shook my head.

"No, that's not good enough... I quit. If you're going to steal my orb, working with you is treason."

Renick's expression hardened.

"I'm afraid you don't have that option. You're under investigation for several murders and the terms..."

-- PRT Sgt. Patrick Stockton --

"Good morning, Sergeant. What can I do for you?"

Militia's tone was polite, but she didn't look up from the tome she was flipping through. Huh. You don't often catch her with reference material.

"Brushing up? Thought you didn't need to do that."

"I was careless the first time through this one. Some sections are out of focus in my memory." Her tone cooled a little. "Is there something you wanted? If you're just here to chat, I'm a little busy."

"I'm trying to get access to some records. I was hoping you could give me permission."

She did pause then, giving my face plate a searching stare.

"Records you'd need my permission to access? Regarding what, exactly?"

"The Case 91 interviews, Ma'am." She wasn't technically in my chain of command, but politeness never hurt. "The new ones. Any attendant analysis. The dossier on Argent."

The book snapped shut, letting me catch the title: 'Standards of judicial practice, care and protection proceedings.' Not that that gave me any hints about its contents. I had her full attention, now. The knife at her belt blurred into a pistol.

"Atlanta eight-one-four. Confirm."

"Columbus three-six-three."

"Take off your helmet."

I did.

"Your scar's on the right side... What are you playing at, Stockton? If this about Feld--"

"No Ma'am," I blurted. "I'm not looking for revenge. I just... need to understand."

Her expression softened a little.

"She's not Hailey, you know. Earth 91 is eighty years behind and all the alternates we've found are from that period."

"I realize that."

She thought for a couple moments.

"Both Sarah's paternal grandparents immigrated from Austria."

"There's a point where that crosses over from endearing to creepy, you know."

She chuckled.

"So I've been told, though not in the last three years, five months and eleven days."

"Where did you even... Hailey's ninth birthday party?"

She nodded.

"You were at the grill when the subject came up."

"I don't think they're related. It's not about that. Just... she's not Hailey, but she could have been, right? What does that to a kid?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, pained.

"Are you sure you want to ask that question? You're not going to like the answer."

"I don't expect to, Ma'am."

She drummed her fingers on the book, thinking.

"There's a lot of attention on those records right now and there's going to be a lot more. Irregularities in the access logs will be noticed."

"I'm a pilot. Engaging fliers is in my job description. I need to know what I'd be getting into, right?"

She shook her head.

"Sure, you'll get the tactical brief along with everyone else -- though I'll tell you right you'll never get approval to engage them -- but that's not what you're looking for. Maybe when we get our transfers you can watch over a shoulder." She hesitated. "For now... Your shift has been over for twenty minutes and I doubt you want to sleep on base and leave your family alone. Want a ride home on my bike? We can... talk it over."

Something she wasn't willing to say here? Offering to let me watch over someone's shoulder was already against regs.

"I'd appreciate that, Ma'am."

-- Amy Dallon Panacea --

"Huh."

...

"Huh?" Vicky finally asked, dragging herself away from Dean. He swayed dangerously without the support.

"Well, he's definitely not from around here. The gut fauna are all wrong and he's got a cold I've never seen before. And--"

"That's confirmation of extra-dimensional disease?" the PRT man barked.

Given the business casual outfit and the clipboard, I'd assumed he was an analyst or something. His attitude was giving me doubts. Asshole.

"Hey, it's a cold. It wasn't dangerous before I cured it."

Well, I might have sequestered a few virions away in bacterial vacuoles for later examination. There are hundreds of viruses that present as a cold, but I've been at this long enough I don't see a new one every day, let alone something so far divorced from the usual suspects.

"I think we'd like independent confirmation on that," he said.

"From whom, exactly? Who do you think is more qualified than Panacea?" Vicky asked, scowling.

Hearing her get angry on my behalf sent a little thrill through me, though I knew it didn't mean much. She didn't need much of an excuse to get angry these days.

"It's gone now, anyway," I lied. "If I find anything potentially dangerous on the others, do you want me to... leave it there? Maybe help it spread to a couple more people, so you have backup samples?"

He squirmed a bit, and rightfully so. If they were taking this seriously, why was I talking to a glorified cop and not a doctor? Well, maybe they were busy. Of course, I had been busy.

"Anyway, I wasn't finished. There are signs of parahuman healing -- broken leg, shrapnel to the shoulder -- but I don't recognize the healer. Not that I know everyone, but it's not a large community."

It was a bit interesting, actually. Very crude by my standards, of course -- I can't tell when I've healed someone before, unless I deliberately leave a mark -- but that was what made it interesting. Most parahuman healing either sped up natural healing processes or employed esoteric bullshit like temporal reversion or symmetricalization. This, on the other hand, was clearly genuine biokinesis applied with a good but imperfect grasp on anatomy. Not a lot of powers required the user to actually know things.

I was about to deliver my final prognosis so we could move on -- really, this guy was fine and I was ignoring a hell of a lot of people who weren't -- but the PRT man interrupted again.

"Is that effect capable of creating bioengineered plagues or self-replicating monsters?"

I paused. That was a dangerous question. I'd just said he'd received healing and they jumped straight to Bonesaw and Nilbog? It was paranoia in this case. If they needed to study anatomy, their power wouldn't just tell them how to make a plague. And I couldn't see any genetic changes at all, despite a moderate predisposition towards heart disease. But how could I explain that without drawing attention to the fact I could do the things this healer couldn't?

"Definitely not. Why are you worried about some random healer in another dimension, anyway? No xenomorph eggs incubating in his chest, I promise."

"The facehuggers come out of the eggs, not the chestbursters. They're, I don't know, xenomorph fetuses," he said.

I stared at him. So did Vicky and even Dean. Maybe he was an analyst after all?

He cleared his throat after a moment.

"You're not authorized to--"

"They all have the same powers, right?" Vicky interrupted as though she'd figured that out herself with no help from Dean at all. "This is about Argent, not whoever healed him."

The guy started quietly freaking out. Really? You were just fine when we were talking about bioengineered plagues and xenomorph eggs-- sorry, fetuses. I kind of wanted to give him shit about it for wasting my time, but he'd clearly been told to keep his mouth shut. Like Dean, who looked away, and the PRT man, who placidly checked his clipboard.

"Anything unusual about the Corona Pollentia?"

Huh, it hadn't occurred to me to check--

"You're not a cape," I blurted.

He raised his eyebrows and abruptly rose a few inches into the air. Without a Gemma. Even if I'd somehow missed it before, active power use should light it up like a Tesla coil. And something was certainly happening in his brain, it just... wasn't a parahuman power.

The PRT man coughed.

"No Corona Pollentia, then?"

"What? No, he's got a Corona. That doesn't mean anything on its own, though, lots of people never trigger. Including this guy, apparently. No Gemma, no powers."

Vicky deliberately looked down at where his feet were conspicuously not touching the floor.

"Isn't it hard to tell the difference sometimes?" she asked.

I waved my free hand dismissively.

"Sure, on an fMRI or CT scan. Not for me."

"... Aren't there Case 53s without Gemmas?"

"Just the ones without identifiable brains."

She looked thoughtful for a couple moments.

"Very odd. And yet,"-- she turned to the PRT man. --"Hale's first guess was that he wouldn't have a Corona at all. Why?"

The PRT man -- Hale, apparently -- didn't even look up from his scribbling. Vicky's eyes narrowed and she rose a few inches herself, trying to get a better angle on the clipboard. He held it against his chest and met her eyes with a touch of visible irritation.

"Miss Dallon, your invitation to the secure area is contingent on appropriate behavior."

I could see the angry retort forming on her lips, but I was faster.

"If she goes, I go."

She shot me a grateful smile that was... well, equal and opposite to Hale's brief glare. What an incredibly easy choice.

"Look," Vicky said, instantly transitioning to wheedling. "I'm sure Amy could give you better information if she knew what you're thinking. And shouldn't you be sharing this stuff, anyway? I understand there are details you want kept from the public, but fellow heroes? We need to know what we're getting into."

"Those are good points," he acknowledged easily. "But it's not up to me. You should bring your concerns up with the director."

Damn, that was pretty smooth. If I didn't know Piggot I might have really thought he was trying to be helpful. Spiteful bastard.

Vicky reached the same conclusion, of course. Her fists clenched and her aura slipped a little.

"That's everything we wanted to check, right?" Dean interrupted the brewing confrontation. "Hale, why don't you get Blitz?"

Hale glanced between the three of us before deciding he didn't have to care that Dean obviously intended to fill us in.

"Any final notes, Panacea?"

I shrugged.

"Prolonged stress, poor diet, sleep deprivation. So he'll feel right at home, I guess."

Hale guided the new guy off towards the private rooms.

"Blitz has been a bit... uncooperative this morning," Dean said. "We should have a few minutes."

"So, what's--"

The sound of the door opening seemed to belie Dean's words, but it was just Vista. No fancy alarm in the PRT HQ; people who weren't cleared to know cape identities were supposed to knock and hope someone was in the common area to let them in.

"Hey Vista," Vicky waved. "Dean was just about to tell us what's up with the new guys."

"New guys?" she asked, shucking her visor to match the rest of us.

"You know, the-- You actually don't, do you? You weren't at the truce meeting. Where have you been?"

She groaned.

"The emergency room."

She pulled up her dress -- she wore shorts under it, obviously -- to show the bandages wrapping her left thigh.

"Ouch," Vicky sympathized.

"Oh, it's really not that bad. I got nicked on the outside, nowhere near the artery. That's why I had to wait seventeen hours to get seen."

"Damn," Dean said. "Why not just come here? You'd have gotten priority treatment. Triumph was in and out in fifteen minutes."

I shot him a surprised look, but I guess enforcing family friendly language hadn't been seen as quite so high a priority recently. Still, unlike him to slip up.

Missy had other concerns, apparently.

"I told Mom that. Repeatedly. She didn't believe me."

Vicky looked briefly upset at the reminder that other people still have moms, but she wasn't about to pick a fight about it like she might have a couple weeks ago. Still, better to interrupt.

"Well, what's done is done," I said. "Let me get that fixed. No reason to stay injured, even if it's not that bad."

She shrugged and extended her hand. I took it and-- And gave her a pointed look. I started dragging her off into the hallway.

"Doctor-patient confidentiality," I called over my shoulder.

Once we were out of earshot I turned to her.

"Was there maybe a reason your mom didn't take your plan to get treatment at the HQ seriously?"

She scowled.

"Yeah, because she doesn't take anything I say seriously."

"Really? You can't think of any other reasons? Did you, perhaps, offer to stitch yourself up first? Like an insane person who obviously can't be trusted to make basic decisions?"

She gaped at me. As in, actual open mouth shock. I didn't think I'd ever seen that expression before in real life.

"Just guessing based on the fact you didn't get all the sutures out last time," I said. "Is that fishing line?"

She pulled herself together pretty quick, at least.

"... Yes. I looked it up, it's the best option for home use. And I sterilized it like you're supposed to."

I stared at her.

"No, Missy, you are not supposed to. What possessed you to think sewing yourself up was a good idea? You realize the Wards program covers your medical expenses, right?"

She shifted from foot to foot.

"I didn't want to admit I got injured in a fight. I'd be stuck on base until my hair went gray. I know how far Hookwolf can stretch now, it's not going to happen again." She looked up at me, pleading. "You're not going to tell anyone, right? Doctor-patient confidentiality?"

I nodded seriously.

"Of course. If I broke doctor-patient confidentiality, you could report me to the medical board and they'd take away my license to practice medicine. Or, well, that's what they would do if I had one." I leaned in, confiding. "I'm not a real doctor."

She kept up a decent front, but I could feel her panic. I smiled at the win, then realized I didn't actually have any interest in reporting this. It'd probably take forever, there'd be lots of shouting, and it would distract everyone from much more important things.

"You owe me. Big time," I finished a little lamely. More because I needed some followup to the threat than because I actually thought the favor would be worth anything.

She hastily nodded.

"Seriously, though," I said, "that was very dumb. You got stabbed in the chest. How did you know there weren't serious internal injuries?" She started to respond and I continued over her. "You didn't. You just assumed anything short of a collapsed lung could be fixed with stitches. And I can tell from the scar how atrocious your technique was -- and no, you little psycho, I'm not saying you need more practice. You probably wouldn't have a scar at all if a professional handled this. And fishing line might not be yarn, but it's still a very bad idea to let it heal over."

Of course, the chewing out was undercut by the fact I was simultaneously erasing all the consequences of her stupidity, but that's the story of my life. I can spend as long as I'd like telling some junkie how lucky they are to be alive and if I feel that wasn't enough, I can tell them again two weeks later.

We returned to a scene I really didn't need to see -- that neither of us needed to see, apparently. I felt a brief surge of compassion for poor little Missy. There wasn't anything wrong with her, really, but even if she'd been old enough, the thought of someone choosing her over Vicky was... well, about as plausible as Vicky realizing she's actually a lesbian and in love with her sister.

I coughed loudly and they jumped apart, startled.

"You were going to tell us about the extra-dimensional soldiers?"

"Extra-dimensional soldiers?" Missy questioned. "And shouldn't we be focusing on the Nine right now?"

"There are no Nine right now," I said. "It's just Bonesaw and Jack's severed head."

She looked between us, barely trying to hide her dismay. Like an insane person.

"You beat them all while I read old issues of Entertainment Weekly?"

"No," Dean said. "Well, the PRT got Crawler without us. The rest were the extra-dimensional soldiers. And the Undersiders, apparently."

I grimaced. Tattletale getting her hooks in someone who could beat Siberian was not a pleasant thought.

Vicky and Dean quickly filled her in on the basics while I zoned out. I'd heard it all before, and only half an hour ago.

"--do you mean that wasn't the first time?" Dean demanded.

Or maybe not?

Vicky frowned, irritated at his tone.

"I mentioned this at the truce meeting. I ran into Argent around two o'clock on Tuesday. She was flying over downtown in civvies. Well, plus the rifle."

It took another couple long moments for Dean's look of confusion to melt into realization.

"Right, sorry, you did mention that... What exactly happened? They're going to want a report. That can't have been more than a couple hours after she arrived on this world."

Vicky hesitated.

"At the time I assumed she was a new trigger. She looked upset, didn't have a mask, and she was tumbling like she'd lost control over her flight. I tried to catch her but I could never quite get a hold on her. I thought she had some automatic dodging thing since she wasn't paying me any attention." Bad move. Vicky hates being ignored. "When I called out to her, she sped off."

"So she just happened to be going around your top speed before?" Missy asked.

Vicky grimaced.

"Yes. She was deliberately fucking with me, I figured that out during the truce meeting. Though... if it had only been a couple hours, maybe she was genuinely upset over the Dauntless thing? Can't have been a pleasant introduction to Bet."

"Bit less pleasant for Dauntless," Missy said darkly.

"I, uh... don't think that's it," Dean said. When that wasn't enough for us, he reluctantly continued. "She described her time in Bet as a relaxing vacation from the Front. Honestly, according to multiple Thinkers. And that wasn't the first or tenth time she's killed someone. I'd be surprised if it was the hundredth."

We took a minute to digest that.

"Come on, you can't just leave things there," Missy said.

"I... really shouldn't say much. There's a lot of attention on this and it's not just Piggot pushing for secrecy."

"Well now you really have to tell us," Vicky insisted. "What's up with the Corona thing, at least?"

He hesitated briefly before giving in.

"I guess you pretty much figured it out already. There's a theory they're not really parahuman. And if they're something else, there's a lot of interest in what that something is. Not sure what to make of a Corona with no Gemma."

Vicky frowned.

"What gave you that idea?"

"No triggers, apparently. And they claim their powers are artificial. Designed."

Vicky scowled.

"Cauldron."

Missy nodded but Dean jerked a little and shook his head.

"We don't think so. Cauldron clearly doesn't have that level of control, or they'd just mass produce Alexandria and Eidolon. Anyway, Cauldron capes must have Gemmas, or they'd have been caught out a long time ago."

Vicky glanced at me, scowl relaxed back into a pensive frown.

"What do you think, Ames?"

I thought Dean was hiding something. Talking too fast, refusing to look Vicky in the eyes, his whole reply had an overacted, guilty feel to it. He noticed me noticing and I smiled. But much as I wanted to call him out, I didn't know what he was hiding. And some secrets need to stay secret. Possibly even some of Dean's. I wasn't about to let it go, but I'd make him tell me before deciding whether to make him tell Vicky.

So I just added a hint of exasperation to my smile and said, "I have no idea, Vicky. You're the cape nerd. It's not like anything else about the Corona makes sense."

She shook her head.

"There are rules. They've tried surgically removing Coronas, you know. The power doesn't go away, but it does become uncontrollable. How--"

"There was some weird brain activity," I said. "I can't interpret that sort of thing, but it was definitely related. Maybe the rest of his brain takes over for the Gemma, somehow?"

"I guess that could explain the control issue," she allowed. "There's zero indication parahumans can do that, but there hasn't been much research into removing Coronas since it became clear it wouldn't remove powers. But how does he have powers to control in the first place? Triggering produces changes in the Corona beyond the development of the Gemma." She turned to Dean. "Do you know anything about the process they use to grant powers? Some mysterious magic potion like Cauldron?"

But Dean was already shaking his head.

"They don't grant anything. Some small fraction of people are inherently capable of learning to use powers."

"Hmm," Vicky mused. "Corona prevalence is... half a percent to two percent, depending on age? Around that many?"

"It hasn't really come up. Less, I think."

"Well, they could just have fewer Coronas. Aleph does."

"So, what?" Missy asked. "Your theory is they figured out how to... jailbreak the Corona to use artificial powers? We don't have a clue how to do that with modern technology and medical knowledge."

Huh. Hadn't thought she was keeping up.

"Well, maybe it's easy and Cauldron has been suppressing research to maintain their monopoly?" Vicky half-heartedly defended.

"Cauldron's process is different, clearly. And how would they go about suppressing all research everywhere, anyway?"

Dean shifted and my suspicions grew.

"Fine," Vicky responded, unaware. "What's your theory, then?"

But of course Missy didn't actually have anything. She just wanted to make Vicky look dumb in front of Dean.

"Powers just work differently on their world," she guessed. "They can't trigger and we can't learn powers. It's not like we know why it works the way it does in the first place."

"Or..." Vicky paused for a moment, considering. "His corona looked normal, right? For someone who hasn't triggered?" I nodded. "It's possible it's new. No one on Aleph had a Corona until Haywire tore open the portal, right? Maybe he couldn't trigger, but now he can."

"That'd be a pretty big coincidence, though, wouldn't it?" Missy disagreed. "Two percent to half a percent, you said. And he's old." He was in his early thirties at most. Which was old to get powers, to be fair. "And he's only been here for... how long?"

"Oh, uh..." Dean trailed off, suddenly forced to count. "Five days?"

"Can a Corona even grow that fast?" Missy asked.

Everyone looked at me.

"Maybe?" I equivocated. "It's not like it's a normal biological process. If it can grow without genetic instructions, I don't see why it couldn't grow super fast."

"Wait," Vicky said. "Coronas aren't genetic? You're sure?"

"... Yes? Isn't that common knowledge?"

Well, maybe not common, but I was certain I'd heard Vicky ramble about it before.

She shook her head.

"It's the consensus theory, but it's not like anyone understands genetics well enough to be sure... Except you, apparently. You could revolutionize the field, couldn't you?"

I hesitated. I really wasn't comfortable with the direction this was going. Oh, sure, it'd start with "What does this gene do?" -- which didn't really sound fun but at least wouldn't be healing -- but it's not like they were any better at editing genes than interpreting them. Substantially worse, actually, and the better they understood what they'd want to change, the more pressure there'd be to find a way to actually do so. And there was no chance actual professional geneticists would miss the implications of my abilities, so all that pressure would land squarely on me. And then-- Well, I didn't want to go there.

I shook my head.

"It's not like I can rattle off base pairs off the top of my head." No, I needed a sample of living cells to observe. Of course, most biological research has the same requirement. "Even if I could, some genes stretch into the millions of base pairs." So instead of trying to relay the information verbally like a fucking moron I'd just cut out the relevant section and let them sequence it normally. "And..." I stalled, struggling to come up with another plausible-sounding pretext.

"And it'd take you away from your healing," Missy offered.

Huh, maybe my bit of extemporaneous blackmail would pay off after all. Though if Missy realized I was just looking for excuses... Nah, she might be insane but that didn't mean she wasn't the most socially perceptive person here. Look at the competition. I nodded and glanced at Vicky and Dean, and, sure enough, they didn't seem the least bit suspicious. Still, time to change the subject.

"Well, let's get back to the point," I said. "What are their powers?"

"Flight, force fields, lasers, strength and durability, mental acceleration, illusions, explosive bullets, and blade enhancement," Dean said.

I blinked.

"What, seriously? They can all do all of that?"

"Yeah, I saw most of that myself," Vicky murmured. "Plus healing apparently. And Trump immunity, though I guess that makes sense if they're not parahuman."

"Oh, and they can sense power use sometimes. And interfere with some Thinker and Master powers. And light things on fire, I'm told," Dean amended. "And that's just what we've directly observed. They claim it's possible to do much more, things like welding and chemical synthesis and sound amplification, but they're soldiers and don't know the right spells."

That startled Vicky out of her contemplation.

"Spells? They're not parahumans so you think they're wizards?"

He winced.

"Sorry, their terminology." Vicky was unimpressed. "Does it really matter what we call them?"

Her face clearly said 'yes,' but she restrained herself.

"Fine, whatever. It's definitely a lot. My whole family plus. But I don't think the individual components are that great. The lasers are weak, I've seen Militia make bigger explosions, Argent wasn't strong enough to lift Hatchet Face, any power can disrupt the illusions, and they wouldn't have focused so much on dodging if their force fields were better than mine."

Missy nodded.

"And I doubt they're faster than Velocity. It's--"

"Uh, Missy..." Dean started, then stalled.

Ah, Dean: the social Thinker who can't handle unpleasant topics. Well, I had plenty of practice here. Not that there's any real skill to it -- it's the fact that's upsetting and the delivery's not going to change that.

"Velocity is dead," I said. "The Nine caught him before the truce meeting. Everyone else is fine."

Her eyes widened and her breath caught. But, well, she'd had some practice here too. Velocity was, what, the ninth Brockton hero to die this month?

"... Well, speed doesn't matter much when I control distance. So how do we leverage all that to beat them? That's--"

"We don't," Dean blurted. "Missy, please. They're way out of our league."

She rolled her eyes.

"I don't mean the three of us, Dean. The whole team. I realize they're individually strong, but they're basically sharing a team's worth of average powers. Like a big cluster or a mini Yàngbǎn. Hardly unbeatable for a full team."

Vicky shook her head.

"They're not sharing the powers like the Yàngbǎn. They each get them at full strength. More importantly, one person with several powers will almost always be way stronger than splitting those powers among several people. Like... Hellhound, right? On her own, she's probably the worst Mover in the city. Well, after Eric, maybe. But because her whole team can ride the dogs, the Undersiders are the most mobile group in the city."

That, uh, wasn't really true anymore. But I wasn't about to remind her how New Wave achieved that position.

"Or Othala," she continued. "If she used those powers herself she'd be pretty mediocre. When she gives Hookwolf super speed or Cricket invulnerability, though, she makes them way stronger by boosting their strengths and covering their weaknesses. Same thing with these guys. You can't compare them to a normal team with a Blaster, Brute, Mover, Thinker, Striker, and Stranger; the comparison would have to be a Blaster/Striker who the Brute takes every hit for, the Mover effortlessly transports, the Thinker telepathically communicates with, and the Stranger hides with perfect coordination. And you can't prioritize the weaker members to break the synergy, either."

Missy scowled.

"How do we win, then?"

Vicky mirrored her expression.

"We don't," she admitted. "They're way out of our league. Well, making use of so many powers simultaneously can't be easy..." She shook her head. "Let's spar with the friendly ones before making any firm decisions."

Missy perked up.

"Right, we've got our own wizards to counter them. Surely we can win with their help."

"Maybe," Vicky allowed. "But we're not calling them wizards."

"Case 91s," Dean said a little helplessly. "I... don't think that's going to work. They're terrified of Argent. All three of them. Even Blitz, who's supposed to be on her side. And she took it as her due. Maybe they've got the same powers, but no one has the slightest doubt who'd win in a fight, even three-on-one"

"Should we just let Shawn's murder go, then?" Missy snapped.

Oh look, another difficult topic. But I wasn't sure I wanted to save him from this one. He very clearly wanted to say 'yes, let it go.' And it wasn't like I couldn't see why. Dauntless had been a decent guy – quite possibly the most tolerable member of the Brockton Protectorate – but there was no denying he had been in the wrong there. And if Argent was half as dangerous as he seemed to believe, pursuing revenge could end very badly. Still, to just drop it? They hadn't even buried him yet.

"We need a different approach," he finally offered. "I don't know what we can do yet, but there must be something."

Was I really the only one who could tell what a load of bullshit that was? His brilliant plan was to wait and watch, which happened to be indistinguishable in practice from just letting it go. Well, maybe that was his plan, but I could offer my own addition.

"Go after the Undersiders first," I said. "Tattletale must know something."

But Dean immediately shook his head.

"Bad idea. It'd just piss her off without any chance of bringing her in."

He really had given up on the language thing, hadn't he? But whatever, what did he mean by--

"Actually, how did you know about that?" he asked suddenly.

I exchanged a look with Vicky.

"You said it yourself," I reminded him. "She worked with the Undersiders to beat the Nine."

"And, if you haven't noticed," Vicky said, "going after the Undersiders is always Amy's plan."

That was... OK, not much of an exaggeration. But what do I know about crime fighting strategy? My job is always healing and always will be healing. But I know better than anyone how dangerous Tattletale is, how she'll only become more of a threat the longer she's given to dig into everyone's secrets. It was intensely frustrating how no one else seemed to realize, how I couldn't even really explain.

"Oh... Right, yeah," he tried to recover. "Argent and Tattletale came in together to turn in the bounties. Did you hear Argent literally pulled out a severed head in the middle of the lobby?"

But it was much too late to throw Vicky off the scent.

"That's not what you meant," she said flatly. "Doesn't explain why Argent would be pissed at us for going after the Undersiders, for one."

He folded immediately of course. There's no fighting back when Vicky uses that tone. Something she'd inherited from Carol.

"... They'd have to tell you anyway, I guess. The Undersiders work for Argent now, and she's made it clear she'll defend them."

I felt my blood chill. I'd been worried about their association before, but this was so much worse than I'd imagined. If Tattletale already had Argent--

"Stop that, Amy," Dean groaned. "Tattletale is almost as scared of Argent as Indomitable is. I don't know what's really going on there, but Tattletale at least doesn't think she has things under control."

He frowned.

"Actually, there's a related topic I really need to tell you about," he said. "Missy, would you mind getting us coffee? Please?"

Damn, exploiting her crush to exclude her? That's cold. And she certainly didn't miss it, but what could she do? She left and Dean turned to me and hesitated. The delay was annoying but I could hardly get him past this unpleasant topic. I didn't know what it was. He eventually gave up and just blurted it out.

"Tattletale said you threatened to give Skitter cancer after Leviathan."

Oh.

I shrugged.

"It's Tattletale. She lies all the time. Skitter doesn't have cancer, does she?"

Vicky wasn't convinced, obviously. She wasn't an idiot. I still held out some hope for persuading Dean, but...

"Well, I guess Armsmaster's lie detector malfunctioned on that one," he said dryly. "And a lot of Thinkers are going to watch that recording. Maybe, if you're very unlucky, all their powers will mysteriously malfunction too. And the threat alone is arguably a violation of the truce... provided one believes Tattletale's lie."

"Most Thinker powers aren't admissible in court," Vicky said.

He shook his head.

"You'd know better than me," he said. "Just, maybe talk to Ca–" Vicky flinched. "...a lawyer," he finished lamely.

I scowled. What the hell was wrong with him? Not that Dean couldn't be fantastically inconsiderate sometimes, but he'd hardly taken his foot out of his mouth all day.

"Hand," I demanded, stretching mine out.

After a moment he complied.

... Well, that explains it.

"Fuck, Dean, were you planning on sleeping this week? You look like a resident coming off back-to-back thirty hour shifts."

"They don't really do that, do they?" Vicky half asked.

"They're certainly not supposed to," I said. "Coffee's really not going to fix this..."

I did what I could, which wasn't too much. I created norepinephrine and melatonin antagonists, removed lactic acid build up in his muscles, and did a dozen other small things... but it's ultimately the brain that needs sleep and I wouldn't -- couldn't -- touch that.

Still, he groaned in relief.

"Thanks Amy."

"Try being less of an ass," I said. "And you actually need to sleep at some point."

He shook his head.

"I'll try. On both points. So, what are we going to do about--"

Hale returned, finally. Without Blitz. He did not look happy.