War Games

Part Fourteen: Hard Truths

[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

Protectorate New York

Legend

"It's not my fault."

Keith looked around at the familiar voice as he was prepping to open the window of his office. Standing there in the previously empty room was Contessa, looking like (as his paternal grandmother would've put it) 'someone who just bit into an apple and found half a worm'.

Frowning, he turned toward her. "Are you okay?" For someone as supremely self-sufficient as Fortuna was, that opening statement made for one hell of a cry for help.

"I'm okay," she assured him. "Never better. You're not going to be so happy, pretty shortly. And yes, I'd do something about it, but none of my Paths actually fix the situation, and most of them make it significantly worse." Now, she looked frustrated.

"Could you perhaps be a little more obscure?" He didn't often resort to snark, but this seemed to call for it. "I'm not totally in the dark yet."

She sighed, and sat down in his expensive office chair. "I've just learned something that's potentially hugely problematic. It fits every fact available to me, but I have no way of verifying it one way or the other. Also, in a separate but connected situation, three people in Brockton Bay have just been informed by those assholes in that spaceship that Becky is Alexandria."

Contessa didn't usually get petty with her insults, but Keith had zero trouble figuring out who she meant by that. The rest of it definitely got his attention, though. "They did that? Why? And who did they tell?" He'd already been aware that they knew of Rebecca Costa-Brown's masquerade, but every indication had pointed toward them having no intention of spilling those particular beans. "What's changed? Is it the other thing, the one you're carefully not telling me about?"

"What changed is the fact that they figured out something none of us knew about, not even me." She sounded more than a little pissed-off about that.

"If it's true." He felt duty bound to make that point. "You don't sound one hundred percent sure about it."

She turned haggard eyes to his. "I can't ignore the chance that it's true. Even if it was only a ten percent probability, I still couldn't ignore it, and I'm pretty sure it's higher than that."

"Okay, so who did they tell? And have you brought Doctor Mother into the loop on this one?" He caught the flicker of her eye. "You haven't? Why not?"

This time, her sigh was longer and more aggravated. "Director Piggot, Armsmaster, and Miss Militia. And I haven't brought her into the loop on this because no Path I ran with that aspect built into it turned out well."

"Jesus." He ran his fingers through his hair. "So, what is it? What's got you so twisted into knots that you can barely function?"

She avoided his eyes, something else that she never did. "I … don't think I should tell you yet. You'll find out from Piggot and the others soon enough. They're intending to read you in once they can arrange a suitably secure venue."

There was an almost audible click as a piece of the puzzle fell into place. "And they're telling me instead of Alexandria because they don't trust her due to how she's breaking her own rules." Something else occurred to him and he frowned. "Read me in? Not David?"

The lack of eye contact intensified, and her knuckles whitened as they curled around the ends of his chair arms.

A creeping sensation of horror inched its way down his spine. "Why's David being cut out of this?" Please don't say what I think you're going to say.

The words could not have been more reluctant if they'd been forced out of her with red-hot pokers and strategically applied alligator clips. "He's theoretically the problem."

Goddamn it. "Him? How can he possibly be the problem? What do they have against him? What do they have on him?" He thought back to his interactions with Geneva, Sean, and Reynaud. The deceptively young-looking captain of the Bond James Bond had impressed him with her competence and professionalism, and he could think of no possible scenario under which she would turn on the Triumvirate like that, at least without good reason.

Now she was looking at him again. "Exactly. There's got to be a reason. I just don't want to jump in either direction without further information."

"It's that U-space detector they've got built into the ship, isn't it?" More pieces were slotting into place as he thought about it. "They've spotted something about his powers, or think they have. They are aware that he's the world's most powerful Trump, right? Things might not work the same with him as they do with everyone else."

"They're aware of all that, yes." She kept her words clipped, her phrasing tight. "And yes, that's what they've done. But they're still giving us the information so we can make our own judgement on the matter."

"And you're not going to tell me ahead of time what it is that he's supposed to have done."

"No. I'm not." She glanced at his phone, lying on the desk. Half a second later, it began to ring. "That'll be Director Piggot, now."

He gave her a medium stink-eye as he picked the phone up. "You knew that, but you didn't see this coming?" Without giving her the chance to respond, he hit the answer icon. "You've got Legend."

"This is Director Piggot. I'm with Armsmaster and Miss Militia right now. There's an issue that you need to be briefed in on, soonest. How quickly can you be free?"

So far, everything was tracking exactly as Fortuna had told him. Still, he decided to throw in a little test. "Just me? What about Alexandria and Eidolon?"

The speed and smoothness of the response told him that Piggot had anticipated the question. "We'll get to them next. Right now, this is something that you personally need to know. What's your availability?"

He took a deep breath, then looked around for Contessa. Predictably, she'd used his temporary distraction to slip away through a Doorway; he was alone in the room. "I can be there in ten. Where am I meeting you?"

"PRT building. You'll get directions from there. No electronics. This is a zero-recording session."

Which confirmed once more how seriously Piggot and the others were taking the allegations they'd been given. Despite how dubious he was feeling about all this, he felt a shiver of worry; whatever it was they'd been told, it had to be bad.

Which made no sense. David was a good guy, one of the best. He was forever pushing himself to exceed his own boundaries, to be the best hero he could be. Wherever an Endbringer attacked, he was in the front lines, and he hung in there until the monster was driven off. That was just how he was.

"I'll be there." He ended the call, and put the phone back on his desk. This whole thing had to be a serious misunderstanding. How serious was underlined by the fact that they'd outed Alexandria to Director Piggot and her Protectorate cohorts, after making a very definite point of saying they'd do no such thing under any circumstances. I guess it's up to me to figure out where they're going wrong, and explain their mistake.

Opening the window, he stepped out onto empty air and closed it again from the outside. The only real upside of this, he mused as he started north at somewhat more than the speed of sound, was that Captain Hastings had chosen the three people who were least likely to release Alexandria's real identity from malice or carelessness.

On the downside, it was unlikely that Piggot would want to let go of that little tidbit of information. No matter what else happened, Rebecca Costa-Brown would probably have to step down from her position as Chief Director of the Parahuman Response Teams, citing personal reasons or something of the sort. It would be the end of an era, one he'd been personally ambivalent about—rules were rules for a reason, after all—but which he'd never quite felt strongly enough about to protest.

Whether it would turn out to be a good thing in the end, he had no way of telling.

I wonder how Becky's going to take it?

A Few Moments Before

Washington DC, the Office of the Chief Director of the PRT

Rebecca glanced down as her phone pinged with a message. Need to see you. C.

Busy,

she typed back without pausing in her conversation with her strike squad leaders.

Urgent, came the reply, almost before she'd sent the message.

How urgent? She wouldn't have asked this question of anyone outside of Cauldron.

NOW.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen," she said smoothly. "It seems something's come up that I need to deal with. We'll table this briefing and take it up again in half an hour." If Contessa felt her time was absolutely required, then she could carve that much time out of her schedule. But it had better be damn well important.

They rose from their chairs, murmuring their acknowledgements, and filed out of the room. Turning, she nodded to her assistant. "You too please, Kayla."

"Ma'am." Kayla rose from her seat at the side of the desk and exited the office, closing the door behind her. If she felt any curiosity about her boss needing the office to herself, she never showed it; this had happened before, but rarely.

The moment the door shut, Rebecca pressed the button under her desk to electronically lock it. "Okay," she said out loud. "What's the big emergency?"

The Doorway was already opening in the middle of the room. Contessa stepped out of it and faced Rebecca off across the desk. "You're going to need to retire."

Rebecca blinked. "… what?" Of all the things she'd expected the enigmatic woman to say, that wasn't in even the top one hundred.

"Emily Piggot, Armsmaster, and Miss Militia have been made aware of your secret identity," Contessa went on blithely. "They do not intend to sit on this information forever. In order to prevent the PRT from suffering a massive public-relations hit, you could retire and remove the need for it ever to come out."

"Wait." Rebecca's brain had caught up with the news and was now racing ahead. "The people from the Bond James Bond are behind this, aren't they? Piggot and the others couldn't have found out from anyone else."

"That's exactly what happened," agreed Contessa. "They had their reasons, mainly because they had potentially catastrophic information to pass on to the PRT and Protectorate, and questions were being asked as to why they weren't telling you directly."

"Because this." Rebecca groaned and face-palmed. "So, who are Piggot and the others going to be telling about this information? And what is this information anyway? And finally, why the goddamn fuck did you not nip this in the bud before it went too far?"

"In order of asking: Legend; I'd prefer not to say right now; and because I only found out shortly before they got told, and none of my Paths from that point on actually made it any better."

Rebecca gritted her teeth. "I thought they weren't a blind-spot for you."

"Technically they aren't, but they found out something about a blind-spot. I didn't learn what it was until they told someone that I can actually get to and question." The implication was perfectly understandable: nobody on the crew of the Bond James Bond fell within that classification. "And now they've told three people, and they would absolutely react very badly if fatal 'accidents' were to happen to those three people. We do not want them reacting badly to the PRT or Protectorate; the sheer firepower at their disposal makes them an asset that we want to maintain our current friendly relationship with." Contessa didn't say any more than that, but she didn't have to.

"So now I'm the inconvenient one?" Rebecca tried not to let the bitterness leak into her tone, but it was there all the same. "Do you have any idea of how many problems I've stopped in their tracks because I had access to my current position? How much harder all this is going to be if I'm not in this seat, making the right decisions? You can't tell me Doctor Mother's signed off on this." This utter bullshit, she thought but didn't say. Not that it needed to be said out loud, around Contessa.

"I'm keeping her out of the loop for this one." Only Contessa could pull off a line like that, almost casually dismissing the input of one of their most valued members.

"Why not? Because you came to this decision all by yourself, and you don't want her sending you to bed without your supper?" Rebecca knew it was petty before she even said it, but she wanted to break through to Contessa somehow. If it took reminding the woman that Doctor Mother was the closest person she had to a parental figure and had been the driving force behind the formation of Cauldron, that was what she would do.

The look she got from Contessa reminded her in turn that the other woman had been doing this for longer than she had and was far better at the game. "No. Because there was no possible input she could give that would improve the situation, and she would be far more likely to cause or exacerbate any problems. If, for instance, you decided to do something rash to preserve your secret identity, she would most probably back your play over my objections. Also, she never sent me to bed without supper. Not even once."

"Fine, granted." She could see Doctor Mother doing exactly what Contessa had said, so it should have come as no real surprise that the move had been not only anticipated but forestalled. "But you couldn't have come up with some way to sidestep all this?"

Contessa sighed. "Do you honestly think that I wouldn't have, if I could? I've been blindsided by this almost as badly as you have. Right now, Legend is on his way to speak to Piggot and the others. They're going to brief him on what they were told by the Bond James Bond people. It could be a fundamental game-changer for good or ill, or it could be nothing. But whatever else happens, your identity's out there now, so this is going to change matters."

"Losing my Chief Director position deprives us of much of our influence with the PRT, even if we can get a competent but cooperative patsy into this office," argued Rebecca. It went without saying that the effort would be made. "Is keeping them on side really worth losing that?"

"If it was just the one hyper-tech spacecraft that's demonstrated the ability to lay down serious damage against an Endbringer, I'd be a lot less certain about that." Contessa raised a finger. "However, I'd bet dollars to donuts that they're capable of building more ships of a similar tech capability, given the resources and time to do so, and training people to crew them."

As she paused meaningfully, Rebecca thought about that. One ship with the throw weight of the Bond James Bond was formidable as fuck. Two such ships would be impressively deadly. She envisaged ten of them facing off against the next Endbringer attack, and was forced to admit that Contessa's point was valid. "Okay, granted."

"I'm not done." Contessa raised a second finger. "If they can get here from their time-space coordinates, then they can get back. If they can get back, then they can ask their Polity for help. As far as I can tell, they're flying around in a moderately used smallish attack craft. Can you imagine what sort of impact one of the Polity's top-of-the-line full-sized warships would have on the Endbringers?" She paused again for effect. "On Scion?"

It wasn't often that Rebecca was taken aback like that. Up until now, she'd been subconsciously seeing the Bond James Bond as Tinkertech-adjacent, as a way of fitting it into her worldview. The thing with Tinkers was that they could usually build one thing (or class of things) really well, but that was it. Having more (and bigger) ships of the same technology base showing up and disposing of the recurrent (and looming) problems threatening Earth Bet was something she had legitimately not considered.

Now, of course, she couldn't not consider it.

"That's … definitely something to think about," she allowed cautiously. "But again, you're certain there's no way we could make this work without having me resign from the PRT?"

"Under these time constraints, not without antagonising them to the point that they choose to cut ties with us." Contessa shook her head. "They have to be the biggest break we've had so far."

Rebecca had to cut in there. "The formulas—"

"I know they produced your powers," acknowledged Contessa. "But for all of Doctor Mother's work with trying to develop more Triumvirate-scale capes, after thirty years it's still very much hit and miss. Mostly miss."

"Dragon's free of her shackles and is apparently a lot more capable than she was before," Rebecca observed. "If she can inspire other Tinkers—"

Contessa shook her head. "Tinkertech is exactly as reliable as the capes that make it. While Dragon's free of the limiters that kept her clock speed down near ours, it doesn't make her tech any more powerful, or allow her to make her production lines run any faster. And you're aware of how he can shut down Endbringer power effects more or less at will?"

"Yes." Rebecca recalled more than one occasion when Scion had stilled the waves, then she caught up with what Contessa was saying. "Wait, you're not saying …"

"I have no way of telling for sure until he does it, but Tinkertech is a product of powers. It may well be that he can also disable that if he really needs to."

Rebecca's grimace was heartfelt. "If true, that makes the Bond James Bond and its crew even more crucial to our salvation than we previously realised."

One perfect eyebrow raised. "Than you realised, you mean."

"Oh, shut up."

On Board the Bond James Bond

Geneva

A ping coming into Geneva's aug made her sit up in the pilot's seat.

Heads up, lass, Sean said cheerfully. Legend is incoming, and he's not stopping to smell the roses.

She accessed the sensor sweep that he'd sent to her, and mentally nodded. Looks like we called it.

Is it any surprise?

His tone was entirely rhetorical. After the bombshell we dropped on them about their dear Chief Director, they're not going to trust her with a lunch menu.

On her mental screen, the U-space trace that indicated Legend's presence swooped around and landed in front of the damaged (but still operational) PRT building. I would dearly love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.

He chuckled warmly. As would I, lass, but on the slim chance we were caught sneaking surveillance devices into their top-secret conversations, it would irreparably damage the relationship we're building with them. We are merely going to have to wait and see the old-fashioned way.

Oh, I know. I just hate leaving things up to chance. I guess we can count ourselves lucky that Legend is as reasonable as he is.

If there's one thing I've learned over my career, lass, it's that you take your luck where you can find it.

Ain't that the truth.

Legend

Keith looked around at the damage to the PRT building as he strode into the lobby. The heat ray hadn't reached this far down, but the explosion that had gouged a huge crater in the street outside had peppered the frontage with shrapnel. In doing so, it had shattered the supposedly impact-proof polycarbonate sliding doors, and partially destroyed the reception desk.

Not that the building was open for casual visitors, but there were PRT troopers on duty anyway. One of them nodded to him. "Right this way, sir. The Director is waiting in Conference Room A, on the tenth floor."

"Thank you." He passed them by and entered the elevator. In any ordinary building, the loss of the top two floors would've rendered it inoperable, but Tinkertech had a way of bypassing that sort of thing. When he pressed the button for the tenth floor, the doors interleaved together as neatly as ever. He felt no movement but when they opened a moment later, he was on the tenth floor.

There was another PRT trooper waiting in the corridor; without waiting for Keith to speak, he pointed to the left. "That way, sir."

Keith nodded his thanks and proceeded down the corridor until he reached Conference Room A. The PRT trooper there opened the door for him, then closed it once he had entered. He heard the lock being secured behind him.

"Thank you for coming," Director Piggot said, standing up from her seat at the head of the table. "Armsmaster?"

Standing beside Miss Militia, Armsmaster pressed the button on top of a Tinkertech box sitting on the table before him. "Anti-surveillance measures coming online now." A vaguely irritating buzz filled the air, like a particularly persistent mosquito trying to climb into his ear. Aside from the white noise, rainbow flickers danced in the corners of the room. "We should be proof against any sort of surveillance, except maybe by the people from that ship."

"As they're the ones who ensured this meeting would happen, I doubt they'll be trying all that hard to listen in," Director Piggot observed dryly. "And if they were, we'd never know about it."

"They told you something, didn't they?" Keith asked. It was a reasonable assumption under the circumstances, so he felt confident in just coming out and saying it. "Something that's highly problematic, but which I need to know about anyway."

Miss Militia nodded, but did not speak. Armsmaster just looked incredibly uncomfortable.

"You could say that," agreed Piggot. "If you wanted to commit gross understatement, that is." She nodded to Armsmaster. "Put it up on the screen."

"Yes, ma'am." Armsmaster had a remote in his hand; he pressed a button on it, and the wall-screen at the end of the room came to life. "Sir, this is taken from my helmet-cam recording. It might not be perfect, but it's still possible to see what we saw. I'll start the playback at the beginning."

The image, of a hologram above the emitter in the Bond James Bond, began to move. Off to the side, Geneva Hastings was speaking. "So, to begin. As we've already told you, U-space—underspace—serves as a conduit for the powers that your parahumans use every day …"

Grue

Brian turned to Tattletale. "So, where did you say they'd be waiting for us?" He gestured at the empty lot before them, which was manifestly empty of anything resembling a spaceship from the future, or any other kind of spaceship for that matter. "Are you sure we've come to the right place?"

"Wow," Regent snarked through the speakers on the telefactor. "For someone who spends a lot of time sneaking around in the dark, our fearless leader has trouble seeing stuff when it's right in front of him, doesn't he?"

"Now, be nice." From the sound of her voice, Skitter was trying not to smile. "We've got advantages he doesn't."

"Something's there," Bitch added. "Dogs can smell it."

"Not something that often comes up in hard vacuum," Geneva Hastings said as the hatchway opened about ten feet in front of them, apparently hanging in midair. A moment later, the ramp extended down to ground level. "Or in atmosphere, for that matter. Well done, by the way. Sean says he's seen worse teamwork in trained soldiers."

"Thanks." Brian led the way into the ship, trading nods with Reynaud on the way past. "So, what happens now? Is there any more fallout from the other ship that we need to worry about?"

"What he means is," Alec chimed in as he lifted the helmet off his head, "are there any more messes you need us to clean up for you?"

"Not for the moment, no." Geneva gestured to the seats. "Though it is probably time to talk about our plans going forward."

Brian headed over and sat down. "That sounds a little ominous."

Shaking her head and giving him a grin, Tattletale plopped down next to him. "Trust me, employment negotiations with this crew are gonna be a lot less one-sided than Coil's version. Coil's a control freak and a sadist, and his power lets him indulge both of those bad habits on the regular."

"Believe me, I had far too many glimpses of what he was capable of." Dinah came over and gave Skitter a hug. "Thank you for getting me out of there."

A little surprised, the taller girl returned it. "You're welcome, but it was Tattletale and Grue who did the heavy lifting."

"I know, but you're the one who was pushing for it even before Geneva and the others came to town."

"Ouch," murmured Tattletale, having lost her grin altogether. "I do believe we've been called out."

Brian nodded ruefully. It was all well and good to fall back on excuses like 'it wasn't really our business', but that was all they really were: just excuses. The truth was, they'd been riding high on success, and Brian had made the conscious choice to put his villainous career over the welfare of a little girl.

"Let's shelve that for a moment," Geneva suggested, because of course she would've heard the comment. "Coil's probably our next big issue. We may have deprived him of his probability-predictor, his base, and his deal with Kramer, but I imagine that he's not without resources all the same. He's not likely to take this lying down."

"You imagine correctly," Tattletale confirmed. "The asshole knows we screwed him over, and he can hold a grudge like nobody's business. And we left his mercenaries alive."

"But can he pay them?" Bitch was as pragmatic as ever. "No money, no mercenaries."

Tattletale nodded. "It is kinda built into the word, yeah. Between us, Dragon and I were able to clear out most of his accounts, but you can bet for damn sure he's digging into some rainy-day stashes right now. He's not down, he's definitely not out, and we can not afford to turn our backs on him, even for a second."

Skitter's head came up. "He knows who I am, yeah? Even if he can't get to me, what if he goes after Dad?"

"Actually, that's less of an issue than it might otherwise be." Dragon sounded quite pleased with herself. "Following your dramatic rescue, Coil spoke at length with the team leader sent to grab you. From all the body language I've been able to lift off the security tape of the interview, he was taken aback by what he heard. In his subsequent planning, he even deleted all information he had on you from his files."

From the sound of Skitter's voice, she was frowning. "So … you rescuing me made him think twice about going after my family? That doesn't sound like him."

"Well, no, it doesn't," Tattletale agreed. "But when I looked at the footage, the guy said something about you walking into a doorway in the middle of the air, and Coil looked like something had bitten him hard. So, I'm inclined to think he's decided to go hands-off on you, even if we aren't exactly sure of the reasons."

"I'm sure it's not out of the goodness of his heart." Geneva shrugged. "In any case, that doesn't mean he's choosing to leave us alone, which makes him a perfectly valid target. In snatching Miss Alcott out of his base, you put yourselves on his radar, so I'd like to offer you—the Undersiders—temporary crew status, at least until he's been captured and handed over to the PRT."

Brian raised his head. "By 'temporary crew status', you mean we'll be working for you, and going after Coil and his guys?"

Geneva nodded. "That's the general idea of what being 'crew' means, yes. Reynaud is not combat-capable, there's only one of me, and I'm sure Director Piggot would vastly prefer we infiltrated buildings and captured the people inside as opposed to making craters out of them."

"Oh, I dunno." Regent leaned back in his seat and stretched. "I could probably stand to see you make craters out of a few more buildings. In some parts of the city, it'd be called 'gentrification'."

Brian rolled his eyes. "Can't you be serious for ten seconds?"

"No, no, it's fine." Geneva shook her head, a grin on her lips. "Regent did a good job with his telefactor, and I've seen worse quirks in some of the AIs I've associated with." She looked at the Undersiders. "So, will we be working together?"

Skitter was already nodding. "Count me in. The city isn't safe with that man on the loose."

"Wait," Regent said. "Wasn't this supposed to be a team thing? All for one and one for all? Because I'm not saying no, but she doesn't speak for me."

Skitter turned her head to look over at him. "Not totally sure that I'd even joined the team again, just saying."

Bitch snorted. "Nobody asked me if you were coming back in."

"Wasn't aware that I had to."

Before the snark could escalate, Brian put his oar in. "Whether she is or not doesn't matter. This isn't a group decision. Each of us has to decide for ourselves. You want in, you're in. You want to sit it out, there'll be no hard feelings on either side."

"Well, maybe a few hard feelings," Regent just had to add.

"None at all." Brian knew he had to shut that shit down right now. "I'll be going with, but I've got no problem if anyone wants to take a step back. Coil's a mean bastard, and he's got a lot of men working for him."

Tattletale put her hand up briefly. "Me, too. I've got a score to settle with him, and this looks like the best way of achieving that."

Bitch shook her head. "I'm out. There's a lot of stray dogs out there right now, and someone needs to take care of them."

"That's fair," agreed Geneva. Along with everyone else, she looked over at Regent. "And how about you?"

"Well, duh, I'm in." Brian was pretty sure he'd just rolled his eyes, but his mask made it hard to tell. "Don't look so damn surprised. Running that telefactor was the most fun I've had in years. If I could hook that control rig up to a console, I'd pwn everyone else in the game, all at once."

Geneva raised a silvery eyebrow. "I have no doubt. And once this is done, we might be able to rig one up for that purpose, just to see how badly you can shred their reputations. But for now, we'll stick to business. Ms Lindt, let Sean know where to drop you off, then we'll see about locating Coil."

An Extremely Anonymous Warehouse

Coil

Calvert sat in the glassed-in office space high above the warehouse floor, and watched as his mercenaries unpacked the supplies that they'd salvaged from the ruins of his primary base. The facilities would not be nearly as comfortable as those in the primary, but his resources (and opportunities) had not extended as far as procuring two Endbringer shelters for his own use.

The thought made him grit his teeth and clench his fists. He'd poured so much money and time into making that one base the perfect nerve centre for his operations, and that damn space ship had ruined everything by coring a hole right through it, just to destroy the Travellers' monster girl. Equally infuriating was how they'd suborned the Undersiders to abscond with his pet precog and most of his money while his back was turned, thus effectively bringing him back to square one after literal years of planning and effort.

How the hell is it even legal for them to be flying around with something as dangerous as that just mounted on their damn ship anyway? The question was largely moot, as he well knew. Once a certain level of firepower was achieved, the very fact that you were carrying a big gun was the main reason that people didn't try to take that gun away from you. And the sheer amount of firepower the ship had brought into play against Leviathan made everyone leery of testing out just how much gun they had left after the conflict.

This did not in any way reduce his need to somehow gain control of the ship. In fact, it exacerbated said need, not least because the crew of the ship had already screwed him over once and were quite likely aiming to do it again. Absent the Undersiders, the Travellers and Dinah Alcott, he was bereft of nearly all the parahuman assets he'd painstakingly gathered for his personal use; his only real chance of beating the Bond James Bond was to capture it and turn it to his own use. Then, and only then, could he go forward with his plans of taking over the city on every level.

When I'm the one with the big gun, nobody will dare mess with my operations.

Brockton Bay PRT Building, Conference Room A

Legend

"That's all we had to show you, Director Piggot." A moment later, the recording stopped, and Keith leaned back in his chair. He'd begun watching the presentation standing, but at some point he'd dragged the chair out and dropped into it because his legs were no longer up to holding his weight. It was significant that they'd also played the part where Alexandria was revealed to be the Chief Director, where they could've concealed that understanding from him.

After it finished the first time, he'd asked for them to play it back over again while he studied every part of it with the intensity that only someone with his advanced visual capabilities could manage. He'd heard about the U-space detector, but this was the first time he'd seen in action, if only via recording. While he might have been tempted to assume the footage had been rigged up to produce the desired effect, its feat of accurately picking out Rebecca's power signature indicated that they had the genuine article on board the Bond James Bond.

It took him a while to speak, given that his head was still spinning with the horrific revelations. He'd thought he knew Eidolon, but this proved that notion to be a lie. David, what the hell have you been doing? Do you even have any idea, or is this a subconscious thing, like they're saying?

"Well," he said at last. "That's … ah … disturbing. Very disturbing. I can see why you brought it to me." He took a deep breath and looked over at Armsmaster. "I understand you've been working on a lie detector for your helmet. How complete is it, and what kind of readings did you get?"

It wasn't that he didn't believe the footage, or that he was fishing for a reason to disbelieve it, but fact-checking was a vastly underrated art; too many people just took bad news at face value. More than one cape had had their reputation tank undeservedly because of one unsubstantiated rumour or another. If he was going to act on this information, he needed to know exactly how reliable it was.

"It's working as well as I can make it," Armsmaster replied steadily. "I can't say that it's perfect—it's been spoofed on occasion—but it's got a reliability index of better than eighty-five percent. Ninety-five when I've got definitive statements made with both video and audio to analyse." He rubbed his chin, then smoothed his beard: a nervous habit, apparently. "While I can't guarantee that Captain Hastings doesn't have specific training to beat it—she's shown distinct competence in a number of other fields, and I can't even begin to predict what her body mods are capable of letting her do—all my readings indicate that she was being entirely truthful, the whole way through."

"Right. Thank you." Keith ran his hand over his forehead. "Regarding the Alexandria aspect; what do you intend to do about that?" Because of course that was the other hot potato he was having to juggle right now. He felt vague gratitude toward Contessa for giving him the heads-up before he'd left his office, because he really didn't know how functional he'd be right now if he had to deal with all of it at once.

"The PRTCJ is quite clear on the matter," Director Piggot's tone was uncompromising. "Chapter three covers it in detail. While parahumans can be employed by the PRT, they are not permitted to hold any position that would empower them to make decisions about the dispositions of other parahumans, and the PRT by definition needs to know that they have powers. She needs to step down, the sooner the better."

"The Director's right." Miss Militia had been quiet up until now, but her voice held certitude. "Alexandria can still be a superhero, but Rebecca Costa-Brown is legally not permitted to be Chief Director."

Keith grimaced. He'd read the PRTCJ in its entirety, though he didn't have it memorised. Rebecca would have, of course. She had perfect recollection of everything she'd ever seen or heard. Belatedly, he wondered what had been going through her mind when she helped finalise that chapter of the PRTCJ. Did she see it as useful camouflage or a regrettable necessity? "I honestly don't know how she's going to take the news."

Piggot spoke harshly. "I don't give a good goddamn how she takes it, just so long as she takes it. She can retire for health reasons for all I care, to keep the PRT's name out of the mud and allow her to retain her secret identity, but she cannot stay on as Chief Director."

The strength of will behind that statement could have moved mountains, but Keith also took in the message behind it. If Rebecca dragged her heels in arranging for an early retirement, Piggot would not be content with clutching her non-existent pearls and sending strongly worded memos. Action would be taken, the PRT's good name be damned, and the first shots fired would target Alexandria's secret identity.

"Understood. I'll speak with her as soon as possible. Would I be able to get a copy of that footage? Alexandria will definitely want to see it." If only to take her mind off the other thing.

"I have one right here." Armsmaster handed it over: a USB drive, non-Tinkertech though somewhat more rugged than the norm. "What are we going to do about Eidolon?"

And now, the elephant in the room was finally being scrutinised. "I … don't know yet."

"This is not something that gets swept under the carpet while it's talked over in committee for the next ten years." Director Piggot met his gaze fearlessly. "The Endbringers represent a clear and present danger to modern civilisation—all of it. If that information is correct—and I believe it is—then the threat he poses needs to be neutralised by whatever means necessary." The words 'even if it means neutralising him as well' hung in the air, unspoken but heard by all.

Keith put his hands up to shoulder level, trying not to look or sound defensive. It wasn't easy, given the double bombshell that had been dropped on him in the space of an hour. "When I say 'I don't know', I mean that I haven't spoken with Alexandria and the other Protectorate department heads yet. This sort of thing absolutely requires their input."

"As a suggestion sir," Miss Militia ventured, "show everyone else before you show Eidolon. Just in case it's been an act all this time." Her tone suggested she didn't actually believe that, but the point was made all the same.

"And do us all a favour?" Director Piggot had one last word to say. "Don't let Alexandria use the Eidolon matter as an excuse to put off retirement."

Legend paused. "Just to play devil's advocate for a moment? This sort of thing will require strong leadership to get us through. She's good at that."

"And? She's breaking the law." The woman was implacable. "If nothing else, the Triumvirate needs to set a good example for the rest of you. And unpowered humans are perfectly capable of strong leadership."

Keith sighed. No shit, Sherlock. "I get that, yes." He tucked the memory drive away into a belt pouch. "Was there anything else you needed to fill me in on?"

Armsmaster shook his head. "No, sir, that should be it." He pressed the button again, and the counter-surveillance device began to wind down.

"Good. Thank you for filling me in on this." Keith went to the door and knocked on it. The locks disengaged and it opened. He barely noticed his passage through the building until he was airborne again, heading south.

Jesus Christ. How do I break this to them?

Armsmaster

After Legend left the conference room, Director Piggot gestured to the guard to close and lock the door again. Without needing to be told, Colin pressed the button once more, and the counter-surveillance device resumed its discordant hum. "Ma'am?" he asked.

"It's not enough to pass the word along," the Director said. "Normally, I would trust Legend to do the right thing. But these are not normal circumstances. And even if his heart is in the right place, the others may shut him down, because some people will refuse to see the truth when it's right in front of their eyes. Also, agendas have a way of causing problems."

"Yes …?" Miss Militia's tone was cautious, as though she could see where the Director was going with this (Colin still hadn't worked all the way through it) but wasn't certain about it.

"We need to make plans and preparations of our own, in case Eidolon continues to be a threat." The Director gave them both a direct stare. "In case he needs to be taken down."

Colin blinked, wondering if he'd heard correctly. "Are you saying we need to make plans to assassinate Eidolon?"

Piggot didn't back down. "Just in case. I do not intend to be the person who raised the alarm then assumed it would be dealt with, and it never was."

Miss Militia let out a gusty sigh. "God damn it."

Well, shit, thought Colin. "So … it's not out of our hands yet?"

There was a dangerous glint in the Director's eye. "It never was."

End of Part Fourteen