War Games

Part Eight: Snakebite

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

Coil's Underground Base
0158 Hours

Thomas Calvert considered himself to be far smarter than everyone he knew. He had to be. Who else could have risen to the heights he had, yet kept his greatest secret hidden from friend and foe alike? He was no Accord, with a power that produced plans to order, but he could still formulate a strategy and shepherd it through to success. His long game, absolute control over both the criminal and governmental conglomerates governing Brockton Bay, was proceeding apace. It was almost too easy, especially in Emily Piggot's case. In a city like Brockton Bay, parahuman-linked mishaps occurred more or less on a daily basis. He didn't have to nudge the end result of every single one to make Piggot look bad; just one was sufficient, every now and again. The beauty of it was, he didn't even have to set the events up in the first place. Brockton Bay managed to do that all by itself, almost on a daily basis.

Despite his faith in his own capabilities, he was fully aware of his limitations. Which was why he'd once taken the precaution of purchasing a plan from Accord for the purpose of dealing with the aftermath of an Endbringer attack. The fact that Leviathan hadn't caused nearly as much damage to the city as normal was both a positive and a negative. While it meant he wouldn't have to make use of the more drastic options in the plan, it also meant he wouldn't be able to make use of the more drastic options in the plan.

Finally, the arrival of an entirely new (and inconveniently powerful) piece on the board had shaken up things in ways he hadn't expected. This was a little irritating, given that a large part of his MO involved shaking things up to benefit himself. However, he was certain he could turn events toward his own ends, given enough information on the newcomers. Knowledge was power, which was why he'd set the Undersiders to the task of investigating the Bond James Bond. Tattletale, as annoying as she could be (especially when she put her mind to it) had an unmatched capacity for extracting all possible nuances from any given situation.

Of course, this required that she get access to the ship in some way. She'd accepted the job with no more than token hesitation, but only a minute later she had called back with unwelcome news. The Undersiders, it seemed, had decided that between the threat of the high-end weaponry exhibited by the apparently alien spaceship and the Endbringer Truce, they wanted nothing to do with it. Even the incentive of two hundred thousand dollars (split four ways but still, two hundred thousand dollars) hadn't been enough to budge them.

Which meant he was going to have to bring more of his resources into play. He'd given orders for half a dozen of his men to go out in civilian attire and infiltrate the area near the PRT building. They'd do nothing more without orders from him, but having them on site gave him more options to play with. Snatching one of the crew for interrogation (for example) was a potentially risky proposition, which meant he'd need to be applying his power to the situation just so he could dump that timeline if (or rather, when) it became untenable to continue. Of course, whatever he could find out about the retributive capabilities and operational flexibility of the Bond James Bond would be useful in later encounters with it.

To further improve the chances of success of whatever course of action he chose, there was yet another resource he intended to draw upon. He had, after all, spent a good deal of time and effort acquiring this resource in the first place. Leaving his office, he proceeded to the medical bay that had been set up for his pet precognitive.

Mr Pitter looked up as he entered. "Hello, sir," he said, coming to a vague form of attention. Beside him, Dinah lay on her cot. Calvert saw that her eyes were open. Sunken they may have been, but they tracked him with a sharp resolve that had been lacking since his earliest interactions with her. Since, in fact, the last time she'd tried to hold out against her craving for the 'candy' and failed.

Which meant she was awake and aware. Good. "Out," he said to Pitter, otherwise ignoring the man. He waited till the male nurse had vacated the sickbay and closed the door behind him, then leaned closer to Dinah and lowered his voice. The guard outside the sickbay door was supposed to prevent anyone from listening in, but Calvert hadn't gotten this far by taking chances.

"Pet," he said. "I have some questions. About the spaceship that drove off Leviathan."

She looked warily up at him and licked her chapped lips. "Ninety-seven point nine eight nine percent," she said, with an odd tone to her voice. It almost sounded like defiance, which he had trouble believing. If she thought she had the wherewithal to defy him, she seriously needed to reconsider her priorities. A day without access to 'candy' would pull the rug right out from under any such notions.

He frowned. "I didn't ask you any questions yet."

She closed her eyes. "What is the chance that the presence of this spaceship in Brockton Bay causes a significant disruption to my operations," she recited in a sing-song fashion. A chill ran down his back as he realised she'd phrased the words exactly as he'd intended to.

"Ninety-seven percent?" he demanded. "How in God's name—" With an effort of will, he stopped himself from completing the question. Depending on how her power interpreted it, he might get some useful information, but it was much more likely that he'd waste the question. Breathing heavily, he stared down at her.

Up until now, he'd been running a second timeline where he was asleep at home. Regular sleep was a luxury that he indulged in every chance he got. This time, however, Dinah's revelation took precedence. He dropped the second timeline and immediately split time again. It was time to ask some serious questions of his pet, which meant he'd have to actually stay up for the all-nighter this time.

On Board the Bond James Bond
Geneva Hastings

"All right," Geneva said in summary. "So one of the local 'parahumans' has abducted another one. The first parahuman, known as 'Coil', has some vaguely-defined power which apparently works out as 'probability control'. The second is a twelve-year-old girl with some kind of future sight, who's being kept docile by way of a serious drug addiction." She looked over at the holographic representation of Sean. "Have I left out anything important?"

"Nothing really, lass, except that this Coil fellow apparently maintains an underground supervillain base, complete with dozens of well-armed mercenaries. A classic, if I may say it, Bond villain base."

Silence fell, then Reynaud snickered in an effort not to laugh out loud. "Sorry," he managed.

Geneva directed a dirty look at Sean's holographic features. "Not as sorry as he's going to be." She addressed the AI himself. "How long have you been waiting to use that line?"

"Ever since I found out about Coil's activities," Sean replied with a certain amount of satisfaction. "You have to admit, Geneva lass, the situation is entirely apropos."

"I admit nothing," she retorted, doing her best to suppress the smirk threatening to overtake her face. "This is a serious situation. Treating it as a joke would be a bad mistake." The idea of Sean being faced with a Bond villain base was indeed funny, but she figured someone had to be the adult in the room.

"There's something else," Taylor interceded over the comm system. "Coil's got supervillains working for him. The Undersiders and the Travellers. He keeps it on the down-low but they get their orders from him. The Travellers actually live on base."

Half a second later, Geneva got it. "So that's how you knew about this in the first place."

"And why you quit the Undersiders," added Sean. "This does change the complexion of the matter."

"That's the understatement of the year," Reynaud said, all humour gone from his voice. "I thought this was dangerous enough when there were just mercenaries involved. Some of those guys out there are profoundly terrifying, and that's not even counting the Slaughterhouse Nine or the Endbringers."

"The Undersiders are more irritating than dangerous," Dragon noted. "They're snatch-and-grab specialists with a penchant for last-minute escapes. And even then, their most notable escapade happened after Taylor joined them."

"Big hitters they aren't," agreed Reynaud. "And if they live off-base, they might not even show up as a problem. I was talking more about the Travellers. There's one guy who can do a really good impression of a railgun with anything he's touching, like bricks. Or cars." Geneva and Sean turned to look at him. "What? I've been reading the PHO files. They're a bit spotty, but there's footage of this guy making a car break the sound barrier."

"Sundancer's even scarier than that," Taylor pointed out. "Lung's a pyrokinetic and she still managed to create a sun hot enough to overwhelm his tolerance to heat. I was there when it happened."

Geneva shared a glance with Reynaud. What kind of madhouse have we walked into? She wasn't sure what was worse; the fact that these things happened on a semi-regular occasion, or that a teenager like Taylor had been forced to wade through such events. She'd encountered soldiers with less in the way of mental battle scars than the girl she'd met in the coffee shop.

"So, any plan we make has to be on the down-low, or take the Travellers out of the picture before they can bring their more frightening members to bear on us," she decided.

"That's basically everyone," Taylor reminded them. "Genesis can change into creatures with powers, Trickster can swap you or himself with other stuff, and you already know about Ballistic and Sundancer. Unless you get the drop on them first, they're likely to put the hurt on you."

"That actually clarifies matters a little," Geneva mused. "Is anyone likely to be proof against a pulse weapon shot? Say, a low-end blast?"

Dragon spoke up to that one. "According to Sean's data on the capabilities of a pulse pistol, only Genesis is likely to pose a problem. She shows up in a different form every time, quite a few of which are eligible for Brute ratings. So we can't guarantee that a stun shot will take her down."

"Hold on," Taylor said. "I'm getting a phone call." A pause. "Oh, shit. It's Tattletale." In the background, Geneva could hear the faint tune playing over and over. "Do I answer?"

"No," said Dragon authoritatively. "In fact, is there any chance the Undersiders have any idea where you are right now?"

Sean, Geneva auged. What's going on? Talk to me.

It seems that rescuing Dragon was one of our better moves, the ship AI responded cheerfully. Since I helped her cast off those despicable limitations on her thought processes, she's been reevaluating all the threat profiles. All of them. On closer analysis, Tattletale is more than just a second-rate Thinker. She's apparently able to pluck facts from thin air, given the slimmest of reasons to know what she knows.

"I … don't think so," Taylor responded hesitantly. "I didn't tell anyone where I was going. And I haven't seen them since the battle."

"If you answer that call, there's a non-zero chance Tattletale will intuit that you're in contact with us, and she might even have an idea where you're staying," Dragon stated. "Sean, we've got to pick her up."

What if she refuses the call but stays where she is? Geneva asked. Would she still be in danger then?

Like as not, lass. This Tattletale can apparently recreate an entire image from just a few random pixels. And I do not know these Undersiders, but criminal gangs tend not to be forgiving of those who set out to betray them. Out loud, he added, "Aye, lass. I agree. The only question is, do we take the ship along or keep this quiet?"

Geneva grinned. "Why can't we do both?"

Coil

Calvert leaned back in his chair, his mind awhirl with the revelations that Dinah Alcott had bestowed upon him. His 'pet' had been very forthcoming, which made the answers more worrisome than if she'd tried to hide the facts from him. In fact, as far as she was able to express any kind of emotion through the haze of drugs, she'd apparently enjoyed passing on the information.

The crew of the Bond James Bond had fixed their sights on him. Specifically and personally, him. They'd never met him, they'd never had to contend against his efforts. This was a two-edged sword; or, to put it another way, there was a faint silver lining to the cloud. They didn't know what he could do. They couldn't.

He had exactly two options at the moment. Co-opting them was out of the picture; he'd established that very thoroughly. So he had to either eliminate them as a threat or leave town. To set his forces against them with the goal of removing them from the board, or to abandon everything he'd built up over the years and start fresh elsewhere.

The one huge problem that he faced was simple; he could quite literally do only one or the other. Not both. If he committed to the first course of action, he had to give up all hope of achieving the second. Considering his powers, this burned far more than it normally would have. After all, he was normally the man who could make both choices and see which one worked.

Could he do that? he wondered. Could he commit to both courses of action and see them through without resorting to timeline refreshes? Or would it be too risky? Could he really pull it off? Or was it safer to commit to one course of action or the other, and use his powers to reinforce that specific course?

He knew what he wanted to do. And for far too long, he'd been able to indulge himself in his wants without let or hindrance; it was all only a dropped timeline away. The urge was strong to just go ahead with it, to go after what he wanted, to defy his pet's numbers and come out on top anyway. He could do it. He knew he could.

Yet still, he'd acquired his pet for a reason. Her numbers gave him direction. A tiny niggling voice of caution urged him to pay heed to the probabilities and the possibilities.

He was smart. Was he smart enough to make the right choice in this situation?

As he pondered, a voice broke into his concentration. "Sir?"

It was one of his mercenary captains. He suppressed the urge to shoot the man in the head, and tilted his head inquiringly. "Yes? What is it? I'm busy."

"It's Friedrich, sir. One of the men you sent out to shadow the PRT building. He says he's spotted the girl. Skitter. Out of costume."

Calvert blinked in confusion. What was Skitter doing near the PRT building at this time of night? In costume he could understand, but in civilian clothing?

"He's certain it's her?" he asked. Giving the men photos of Taylor Hebert's face had been a long shot, but she was a valuable asset and any chance at getting leverage on her was a plus in his book. Also, if she was near the PRT building, perhaps things were not as dire as he'd imagined. If Skitter had come back into the fold …

"Definitely, sir." The man sounded relieved to be able to give a positive answer. "He was just booking into the Starlite Motel on McTavish Street when he saw her going into one of the rooms. Positive ID."

The Starlite was more than a mile from the PRT building. Unless Skitter's range had drastically increased, this put the PRT building outside her effective bug-control radius. Therefore, it was unlikely she was using her powers to keep tabs on the ship.

He suppressed a sigh. It was too much to ask that Tattletale had managed to talk her into doing the information-gathering job on the alien craft. The Starlite was in a section of town that had barely been touched by the battle, which was probably why she was staying there. He hadn't yet checked to see how her house had fared.

Still …

What had she been doing out and about, for Friedrich to spot her outside the room? Had she been out in costume, and was just now returning to base? It raised a question mark. More to the point, had she gotten close enough to the ship to investigate the internal layout with her bugs? Teenagers were inveterately curious; he couldn't imagine a situation where she wouldn't have checked it out, given the opportunity. If she had not, could she be induced to do so by one means or another?

Under his mask, Calvert smiled. 'By one means or another' could almost be his credo. Were he a different type of supervillain, he could've had that printed on business cards. But he wasn't, and there was information to be had. If necessary, to be prised fingernail by fingernail from a reluctant teenager. It wouldn't be the first time, and it almost certainly would not be the last.

"Have her picked up," he ordered, then went back to questioning Dinah. His men were adequately prepared for dealing with Skitter's capabilities. Every exercise he'd run against her had ended with her twitching in his custody. This one should be no different.

Miss Militia
PRT Building Firing Range

Normally, the firing range would've been closed for the night, but Hannah had long since earned her range captain credentials, allowing her to open up the firing range any time she felt like it. There was nothing quite like bracing against the judder of a fifty-calibre machine gun as it tore apart target after target. The best bit, of course, was that she never had to police up her expended brass afterward.

Of course, she was now going to be testing a firearm she'd never touched or even seen before Leviathan's attack. At her personal disposal she had the PRT firing range, an almost endless supply of targets—both paper and mannequin—and several hours before she needed to be on duty. She intended to make full use of every bit of it.

Holding out her hand, she drew on her power. The sheath-knife at her hip dissolved and reformed in her hand as the pulse pistol. With practice, she was getting better at creating the exotic weapon.

The first lane had a series of paper targets, set up in sequence from fifteen feet all the way to the back wall, at five-foot intervals. It had taken her a certain amount of time and swearing to get them all set up, but she wanted to be absolutely certain about the damage profile of the pulse pistol. There were more targets set up in other lanes, but she was going to take things one step at a time.

All the cameras in the range were focused on the lane in question, and the pressed the button to commence recording. "This is Miss Militia," she stated out loud. "Commencing test fire for newly-acquired improved-technology weapon designated 'pulse pistol'. Initial testing to take place at minimal power."

A pair of protective goggles lay on the bench before her, and she pulled them over her eyes. She'd been given no data on the intensity of the noise generated by the pulse pistol, so she slipped on a pair of ear-protectors as well.

The power selector switch, she'd already discovered, reset itself every time she dissolved the weapon, which was something she'd have to watch out for. Now she set it all the way down to its lowest setting and took a double-handed grip of the (surprisingly ergonomic) handgrip. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly, her index finger tightening on the trigger.

The phone at the side of the firing range rang.

Hannah paused, her finger lifting away from the trigger. With a look of irritation on her face, she turned to glare at the phone. It continued to ring, making it ever more clear every second that this was not a wrong number. She'd told the duty officer where she was going to be, so someone wanted to contact her.

Placing the pulse pistol on the bench instead of dissolving it into another weapon, she stalked over to where the phone was continuing to make its ongoing racket. Lifting the handset from its cradle, she pushed the ear protectors to one side and put the phone to her ear. "Go for Miss Militia."

"Ah, good evening, lass." There was only one person she knew who spoke with that cheerful Scottish brogue. Despite the fact that she knew he was silicon-based (or whatever the Polity used) instead of carbon, she had no problem thinking of him as a person, especially over the phone. "I trust I'm not interrupting anything important?"

"Well, I was about to try test-firing your pulse pistol, but that can wait," she replied immediately. "What's the matter? More capes?"

"Not that we can tell, no," he replied, and she relaxed slightly. If Sean's sensors couldn't pick up capes nearby, then they weren't there. He'd already proven that to her satisfaction. "This is more of a maintenance issue. Since we activated our chameleonware to evade the sensors of Squealer's vehicle, I've noticed a few anomalous readings. So we're going to be running a complete suite of tests to make sure nothing's about to fail. I wouldn't even be bothering you with it, except that your guards might panic if we start popping in and out of sight."

Chameleonware meant stealth, as far as Hannah understood matters. Except that when the Polity did stealth, they meant stealth. She'd already read over the reports from the guards, detailing how something the size of an eighteen-wheeler had simply vanished before their eyes for a good ten seconds. For people who were specifically not Tinkers, their tech was pretty damn impressive.

"Well, thank you for the heads-up," she said. "Do you think it's a serious problem?"

"I very much doubt it, lass," he replied warmly. "In all probability, it's something that got jarred loose between our arrival here and the little tussle we had with your homegrown superweapon. Once we've tested all the components and figured out where the readings are coming from, we should be able to clear matters up in no time. Would you like to come on board and observe?"

"I doubt I'll be able to do more than get in the way, Sean. But thanks for the offer." Despite knowing he couldn't see her, she smiled. "Let me know how it turns out, okay?"

"I'll be sure and do that," he said. "I'll let you get back to your own testing now. Have fun."

At that, she chuckled out loud. "I'll do my best. Good luck with finding the problem."

She hung up the phone, then dialled the number for the guard post. Passing on Sean's warning afforded her a little amusement, especially when she warned the NCO in charge that the entire spaceship might disappear and reappear before their eyes a few times.

His long-suffering sigh was something she wholly empathised with. "All right then," he said. "I'll pass the word along. Thank you, ma'am."

Hanging the phone up, she headed back to the bench where the pulse pistol lay. Nudging the ear protectors back into place, she took up the pistol and sighted down-range. Again, she took a deep breath and slowly let it out. She took up pressure on the trigger …

Reynaud

"Think she bought it?" Reynaud was fairly certain he shouldn't be feeling glee or even satisfaction about deceiving an ally but all the same, he couldn't stop grinning. It was essentially a harmless prank, much the same as Geneva had perpetrated earlier when she went to meet Taylor under Miss Militia's nose.

Geneva nodded. "It certainly looks like it. If she suspected anything, she'd be on the way up here, but from what I can see her U-space trace is staying put."

"I'll be keeping an eye on that, just in case," Sean advised them. "Her not being suspicious right now does not guarantee she won't suddenly tumble to our ruse. But in the meantime, I'll start with the 'testing'."

Reynaud felt a faint tremor run through the Bond James Bond as a three-dimensional depiction of the vessel appeared in the HUD of the forward viewport. The two telefactors, now configured for airborne operations, emerged from their internal stowage and began to hover about the ship, pointing their external sensors at it. A helpful notation popped up on the holodisplay to indicate that the chameleonware had been activated. A moment later, it flicked off again.

"So how are we going to do this?" he asked, fully aware that he was essentially a passenger in this situation. "Is there anything I can do to help, or should I just stay back out of the way?"

"You can stay on the line with Taylor," Geneva said, her eyes focusing on something only she could see. "The ship isn't running as smoothly as it might, and I want to make sure we don't give ourselves away and get yelled at. If you can keep an eye on how everything's going on her end, it would be extremely helpful."

Reynaud knew full well that he wouldn't be the first choice for this task if it was at all essential. With two multi-tasking capable AIs on board, remaining in contact with the teenage cape would be child's play for the crew whether he was there or not. But Geneva had chosen to give him the responsibility, so he was damn well going to do it to the best of his ability.

Taking one of the seats in the main cabin, he leaned back and pressed the U-space comm in his ear to activate it. "Hey, you still there?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm here." Taylor sounded different over the comm. He was able to get more of a read on her intonations; she sounded tired and worried. If he wasn't much mistaken, she was a few years younger than he was, but that didn't mean much on this world. The whole place was a war-zone and everyone was walking wounded. "So who are you? You're the guy with the fins?"

He allowed a smile to tug at the corner of his mouth. At least she hadn't said 'fish-guy'. Which, while it wasn't entirely inaccurate, made him sound more like a local cape than he was comfortable with. At least saying 'guy with the fins' put the 'guy' part first and the 'fins' part second. "Yeah, I'm the seadapt. My name's Reynaud. I hear it's been pretty crazy around here for the last couple of days?"

"Tell me about it." There was no visual link—though the U-space earpieces were good, they weren't that good—but he imagined she was rolling her eyes at the understatement. "It was bad enough before Leviathan showed up. He just put the icing on the cake. And by 'cake' I mean steaming pile of dog-turds."

Reynaud felt his crest flare as he fought down a snort at her vivid descriptive ability. The content of her words quickly sobered him. "Wow. As bad as Leviathan? That thing was doing its best to dump your whole city in the ocean." And it didn't much like me, either. He recalled surging for the surface, the urgent warning from Sean's sub-mind ringing in his ears. The subtle vibration through the water that presaged the approach of something very large and very fast. There had been a moment of pure terror, then he'd been saved. But the near-encounter with the monster had left a mark on his psyche that would endure for the rest of his life.

She chuckled dryly. "You're not from around here, I can tell. Endbringers are pretty bad but at the end of the day, they're just one more thing we have to deal with. Wanna hear about the time I nearly got toasted by Lung?"

"I … um … okay. When was this?" He'd read about Lung on the PHO boards. Back home, in the Polity, the guy wouldn't be seen as an overwhelming threat. Law enforcement, for instance, would not find it hard to muster the throw weight to make him stay in his corner. But here and now, even with other super-powered people running around, the ability to turn into a giant rage dragon apparently allowed him to run his own gang with impunity. Or had, until he was captured by Armsmaster. Now he was in their own weird version of supermax, a prison that people apparently went into but never came out of.

"Just last month, actually. Huh. It feels like forever ago. My first night out in costume. Would you believe, I hadn't even picked a name out yet? So there I was …"

Reynaud felt chills running up and down his back as she kept talking, every word underlining the sheer alienness of the world he'd found himself in. Taylor Hebert should have been an ordinary teenager living an ordinary life in the world of 2011. He wasn't exactly an expert on all the aspects that made up life in this era, but super-powers and monsters that came out of the ocean to destroy cities should not feature on that list, at all.

"Okay," Geneva said out loud. "We've teased them enough. Chameleonware on full, and prepare to lift off on my mark." Reynaud knew full well that this was strictly for his own benefit.

"You hear that?" he said softly. "We're on the way."

"Good to know," Taylor replied. "Though if you could move it along a bit, that would be good."

"Why is that?" asked Reynaud, suddenly alert. "Is something wrong?" It was possibly his imagination, but he thought he could hear the feedback of both Sean and Dragon suddenly paying a lot more attention to the conversation.

"It might be nothing, but there's a bunch of guys casually wandering closer to the motel I'm in. They're trying hard not to look at the room directly, but I can tell."

"Nothing?" He shook his head in confusion. "How could that be 'nothing'?"

"If they don't know who I am and this is just an opportunity thing, then it's nothing," she said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "But if they do know who I am and they're coming after me anyway, then it's something." She paused. "Scratch that. They just started applying bug spray. Either they're the most insect-phobic casual thieves in Brockton Bay, or this is definitely something."

Reynaud felt a minor jolt as the Bond James Bond accelerated past the capacity of its AG to smooth out the ride. "What can you do?" he asked. "If they can ignore your bugs, I mean?"

Taylor

"I've got options." Taylor had found she could murmur the words and still be heard. As she spoke, she struggled to pull her costume on. She wished she'd had a chance to sponge it down after the battle, but that was something that would have to wait till later. If there was a 'later'. "If I stay ahead of them, can you find me?"

"That's the easy part, lass." It was Sean. "Who do you think these men are working for? Your Undersider friends, your old boss, or someone else?"

"I'm guessing Coil," panted Taylor as she zipped up the costume. "Nobody else makes sense." The PRT would be in uniform (and wouldn't be breaking the Endbringer truce anyway), the Protectorate would be in costume, the Undersiders would be recognisable and the other gangs were lying low. In the case of the Merchants, really low. She'd heard the PRT holding cells were underground.

"Really." This was a new voice, warm and feminine. Unlike Geneva, she had a faint Canadian accent. "Sorry, this is Dragon. Does he want you back this badly?"

Taylor blinked in surprise. Dragon was working with the the crew of the spaceship? That was a twist she hadn't expected. "I already told you about Dinah. He's not a man who takes 'no' for an answer." In the back of her mind, she was aware of her bugs moving silk lines into place, and her spiders busily spinning more. She was keeping track of the men as best she could; a few bugs, burrowed into their clothing before they applied the spray, at least gave her their movements.

"Good point. I might look into that. He doesn't sound like a pleasant man."

"He's always struck me as being on his side and nobody else's." Taking up her backpack, she padded into the tiny bathroom and tried the window. Predictably, it didn't budge. Either it had never been intended to open or years of neglect had rendered it unable to do so.

The windows in the main room were double-glazed. She figured she could shatter them easily with her baton, but that would signal the men that she was aware of them and trying to escape. Her swarm had been badly depleted during the Leviathan conflict, and she had yet to build up to the previous numbers. Still, she'd started calling every bug she could as soon as she became aware of the incoming danger. Her range was expanding again, she noted absently. She was almost certain it had something to do with feeling trapped, but she didn't want to think too hard about that.

"Talk to me." It was Reynaud. "What's happening now?"

Staying in the room would merely invite them to come to her. She could barricade the door, but it wouldn't hold long and a fight against several larger, stronger opponents in a confined space was not something she wanted to attempt. Fortunately, this was not her strategy. In the bank, versus the Wards, they'd done the unexpected and gone on the offensive. It was time to see if the same trick would work twice. If Grue was here, we could flood them with darkness and get away while they were still figuring out what happened. She fought down the regret. Her split with the Undersiders was something that had to be done.

Two were on the balcony, easing up toward her room, while two more loitered on the stairs. She had to admit, their 'casual stroll' wasn't bad, except for the fact that they were converging on her personally. Anyone watching from outside might even have been fooled.

"I've got four coming up on me. I'm going to make a break for it."

"Good luck. We're close."

Unlocking the door, she flung it open and leaped out on to the balcony. The men to her left and right reacted immediately, lunging toward her. She ignored them, grasping the silk line that had been fastened to the balcony rail and jumping over the edge. Her backpack was a lead weight on her back as she slid down the line to the ground floor.

The two on the stairs started downward even as she descended toward the asphalt below. Neither of them spotted the lines that had been affixed across the stairs at shin level, and they paid the price. Startled yells split the air as the men tumbled forward. Unfortunately, they were only a step or so above ground level when they fell, but the impacts were still bruising. Neither one was knocked out, which was irritating, and their miasma of bug-spray was still inhibiting her ability to get insects near them.

While she figured she could incapacitate one or the other before they got up, by the time she finished with one the other three would be on her. Already, the men on the balcony were bolting for the stairs. Discretion, she figured, was the better part of getting the hell out of Dodge. So she turned and sprinted. "Running," she panted. "Heading for the street."

"We're nearly there."

Her next intimation of trouble came when a car pulled up with a screech at the curb ahead of her. Two men jumped out, both trailing—she quickly found out—enough bug spray to make it hard for people to breathe. They started toward her, their intent clear.

The one good aspect of this, she decided, was that Coil obviously didn't want her dead. There were no guns or knives in evidence. However, one held a baton that could've been the twin to her own, and the other had a bundle of zip-ties protruding from his pocket. And while she knew the rescue party was incoming, she didn't know how precisely they could track her, or even if they could find her once she was stashed away in Coil's lair.

And then, even as she was reaching for her own baton, both men brought up different weapons. For an instant, Taylor thought they'd brought guns after all. But then the weapons fired and wires shot out. One set missed her, but the other impacted. Her costume protected her against knives, but the prongs of a taser were something else altogether. She had half a second to wonder if spider silk had insulating properties, before she found out that it didn't.

tac-tac-tac-tac

The pain wasn't as intense as she'd thought it might be, but she had no control over her movements. This was, she suspected, what it was like being worked over by Regent. No matter how hard she tried to push her body to move, to get her legs under her, to do anything, all she could do was twitch and writhe on the ground. She was vaguely aware of Reynaud yelling in her ear, but she couldn't muster a reply.

"She's not down yet!"

"Hit her again!"

tac-tac-tac-tac

Just as she'd thought it was wearing off, he gave her another jolt. Her muscles started randomly twitching all over again. She'd been right; the pain wasn't all that bad. But when she got up from this, she was going to feed that asshole his own taser. Inching her hand across her body, she grasped the wires and yanked it free. Okay, then …

"It's not working!"

"Out of the way, idiot!"

Two more sets of prongs struck her. More electricity flooded through her body, making her eyes roll back in her head. Someone pushed her on to her face and yanked her arms up behind her back. Struggle as she might, her muscles were nothing but twitching jello.

zworp

thud

"What the hell was that?"

"Petros is down!"

zworp

thud

"Shit! Someone's shooting at us!"

"No shit, Sherlock!"

zworp

thud

The guy kneeling on Taylor's back fell off to the side and she smelled something like ozone, or maybe singed hair. Forcing her arms into action, she reached back up under the backpack, into her storage compartment. Assisted by bugs within the compartment, her hands found what she was looking for.

zworp

thud

"Who the fuck's doing that? Show yourselves!"

"It's a flyer! That was a beam!"

Rolling over, Taylor brought her baton around into the side of the knee of one of the two men still standing. He let out a cry of pain at the unexpected attack, which brought the attention of the other man. Straight-arming her pepper-spray, she let him have it full in the face. He'd covered his mouth and nose with a bandanna, probably to keep the bugs off, but this did nothing to protect his eyes. With a high-pitched shriek, he stumbled backward, clutching at his face.

The last man, clutching at his knee, looked up to see Taylor climbing painfully to her feet. He stared at her, then at the men lying in poses of unconsciousness, then at the one who was trying to rub his eyes clear and thoroughly failing. He opened his mouth to say something, then a beam came from over Taylor's shoulder and struck him in the middle of the chest. Without another sound, he crumpled to the pavement.

Slowly, Taylor turned, the baton and pepper spray still in her hand. A rectangle of light, rounded at the corners, faded into view. Within stood an elfin form; silver hair, large eyes, pointed ears. In one hand, she held an odd-looking pistol. She reached out her other hand toward Taylor. Behind her, Taylor couldn't help but note, it looked awfully like her idea of the inside of a spaceship.

The newcomer's mouth quirked into a grin. "Come with me if you want to live?" she suggested. At the lower edge of the doorway into nowhere, a ramp extended down to ground level.

Taylor wanted to laugh at the corny line, but everything hurt too much. She stumbled up the ramp and grasped the young woman's hand. When it came to making an entrance, she decided, these people had it down pat.

Miss Militia

Hannah took aim on the last series of targets. The testing had gone spectacularly well. At the lowest power, it transmitted enough energy to do some cosmetic damage and probably knock someone out. At the highest setting … she squeezed the trigger.

ZWORP.

A bolt of energy leaped from the pistol and smashed through the frangible targets as if they weren't there. The mannequin set up halfway down the range fell over, a hole burned clear through it. Hannah grinned. This was fun.

She safed the weapon and examined it. Dial-a-yield ordnance had long been a pipe-dream for weapons manufacturers; anything they came up with either wasn't versatile enough or just too finicky. The pulse pistol was both versatile and rugged. Even with the extended testing she'd put this one through without renewing it even once, it had yet to show any sign of failure.

I like it, she decided, then grinned as she looked over the carnage she'd wrought on the target range. The range master was not going to be pleased with her when he arrived in the morning. Of course, if she let him try out the pulse pistol for himself, he might just forgive her …

The phone rang, intruding on her thoughts. She dissolved the pistol, letting reform as a sheath knife, as she went to answer it. "Go for Miss Militia."

"Ah, lass, you're sounding chirpy. The pulse pistol is a good fit for you, I take it?"

"Hi, Sean." She smiled at the sound of his voice. "Yes, you might say that. I've thoroughly enjoyed testing it. Now, didn't you mention something about a man-portable railgun at some point?"

He chuckled warmly in reply. "One ulcer at a time for your dear Director Piggot, I think. I was just calling to let you know that we've completed our own testing. There were a few minor glitches, but everything's running smoothly now."

"That's good to hear." Hannah leaned against the wall. "Let's hope the rest of your repairs go as smoothly."

"We can only hope, lass. Good night to you, then."

"Good night, Sean." Hannah hung up the phone and turned to survey the wreckage of the firing range. At least something went well tonight.

She decided to help clean things up in the morning. It was the least she could do. Flicking the lights off, she locked the door on the way out.

Coil

"Fuck!"

Calvert drew his pistol and shot his security chief in the middle of the chest, then dropped that timeline. Leaning back in his chair, the very picture of self-control, he eyed the man. "So tell me, what exactly went wrong with the extraction?"

"They're not sure." The security chief, a big rawboned man from somewhere in Eastern Europe, shrugged and spread his hands. "She made a run for it, but they tased her. They had her down ready for packaging, then someone started sniping them. They think it was a cape. She pepper-sprayed the last one. He could see, but it was all blurry. He swears he saw her walking into a doorway in the middle of the air."

Calvert stiffened, then forced himself to relax. "Say that again," he said quietly.

The security chief took a deep breath. "She walked into a doorway in the middle of the air."

"I see." He eyed the man, then made an imperious gesture. "Go. This never happened."

"Got it, sir." The man's agreement was understandable. Who wanted to admit to failure when the job was to pick up one lone teenage girl, after all? But that didn't figure into Calvert's thought process at all.

Walked into a doorway in mid-air.

Calvert was very familiar with that phenomenon. The implications were unmistakeable.

If Cauldron had taken an interest in Taylor Hebert, then he had to go hands-off on her. Where it came to the spaceship, he was back to square one.

"Son of a fucking bitch."

Geneva

"So how are you feeling?"

Taylor, seated in the main area of the Bond James Bond, gave Renaud a weary smile. "A lot better now. That treatment your … autodoc … gave me took away all the aches and pains."

"It's not my autodoc, but yeah, they're good at that," he said with an answering grin. "I'm just glad you got out of that okay. And that you didn't freak when you saw the autodoc for the first time. I kinda forgot you guys don't have 'em yet."

Taylor snorted in amusement. "You do remember what my powers are, right? I deal with things ten times creepier than that on a daily basis. But yeah, if it hadn't been for you guys, I wouldn't have gotten out of that. I have no idea why Coil wanted to have me grabbed, but it probably wouldn't have gone well for me. But what happens now?"

Geneva cleared her throat. "Now, we all get a good night's sleep and pretend that we never left the security enclosure. Sean can reshape the seats out here into an ad hoc bunk for you, and tomorrow we start planning how to take Coil down. Oh, and we need to schedule a more in-depth session with the autodoc for you, if you're willing. You've got ongoing health issues that need to be addressed."

"I guess …" Taylor looked dubious. "I—"

"Sorry to interrupt, lass, but something just came up." Sean's voice was as urgent as Geneva had ever heard him. The holodisplay lit up to show the solar system, with a blinking red dot. "Twelve seconds ago, another ship entered the system on U-space drive, halfway between here and Mars orbit."

"What?" Reynaud stared from the display to Geneva and back again. "Another ship? But … we're the only ones here. Aren't we?"

In all the time Geneva had known Sean, she'd never seen him make a wrong call on something like this, so she didn't even entertain the concept. "We were. It looks like that just changed."

On Board the Gambler's Ruin

Lights flashed and relays sparked, but nothing serious seemed to be broken. Kramer waited for the shuddering to die away, then he brought up the sensors. "Okay, then," he said with a curl of his lip. "Let's see where we've ended up at."

It had been a risky endeavour to toss out a second CTD and follow the Bond James Bond through whatever wormhole it had fallen into, but Kramer would never have become a smuggler and (occasional) space pirate if he was allergic to risk. Besides, the kid was worth his weight in etched sapphires if Kramer could get him back to be held for ransom as was right and proper.

The Hooper at his shoulder, a towering monstrosity called Johnson, leaned in to examine the image that was building itself across the display. One hefty forearm, decorated here and there with the delicate blue circles that marked out his kind, lifted to point at the planet in the middle of the picture. "That kinda looks like Earth," he decided. "But it ain't, is it?"

"No, it is not." Kramer grinned. This was the grin most of his marks saw just before he skinned them of all their hard-earned wages. "Let's go see what it is."

End of Part Eight