Chapter Text
Hannah probably shouldn’t have been surprised to find a gleaming blue coin-shaped piece of tinkertech, inscribed with Blue Lantern’s symbol, in her mail when she arrived at work after a long, desperately needed weekend away from the Protectorate. It really wasn’t an unreasonable thing to get from a friendly Tinker – they tended to gift tech when they thought it would come in handy. Equally unsurprising was Collin’s presence in her office, the man having obviously waited impatiently for her to arrive.
“Hannah,” he said as soon as her briefcase was on the desk. “Blue Lantern has –”
“Sent me mail,” she finished for him. She tapped the coin with the edge of her briefcase. “I noticed.”
“Yes, but it isn’t just a gift. It’s some form of Tinkertech, and I believe that it’s sending a very weak signal somewhere outside of the building.” He ignored or missed her exasperated sigh at the admission that he’d already examined it and tapped a button on his arm, and his hologram projector – not the best she’d ever seen, which was why he rarely used it, but effective enough – sprung to life, showing the results of a number of scans he’d taken. None were even remotely comprehensible to her.
“Collin, please, I just got here.” She popped open her briefcase and retrieved her laptop and a few files she’d taken home with her, replacing them in their cabinets and plugging the laptop in. Her monitors sprung to life with her passcode. “Did Blue Lantern send a note with this?”
“She did,” Collin confirmed. He did something to his onboard computer, and the screen changed to a scan of the note, which seemed to have been written on a typewriter.
Miss Militia,
As the Director requested, this is me reaching out for that debrief. Go ahead and press the center of the coin when you’re available to talk and I’ll answer any time before eight or after four and we can set up a good time. Thank you for your patience in setting this up.
Blue Lantern
Hannah looked at Collin. “Was the note taped to the coin?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still have it?”
“No, I disposed of it after I scanned it.”
Hannah sighed. “Of course you did. Alright. It’s only about 7:15, let’s see if this thing works.” She tapped the center of the coin, which made a pleasant chiming noise and rose into the air. It spun once, flashed, and was replaced with a 3D image of Blue Lantern in full costume, her hair soaking wet.
“Miss Militia!” Lantern squawked, jerking. “Uh, good timing!”
“Sorry if I interrupted a shower,” Hannah winced.
“No, no, no, don’t worry about it!” Lantern said quickly. “I just got out. What can I do for you? Is this about the debrief?”
“Yes,” Collin agreed. “It would be preferable to do it at the Rig as soon as possible. Will you be available later today? Perhaps around 5 o’clock?”
“I’m not sure I want to go to the Rig,” Lantern said cautiously. “I’ve got some concerns about – what?” She looked out of frame for a moment and listened to someone say something that neither Hannah nor Collin could hear, presumably from the filtering effect of the device. “Oh. You think?” Another pause to listen. “I get it. If you’re sure, then.” She turned back to the heroes. “Yeah, that’s fine. I can be there earlier than five, if you like; four o’clock would be fine by me.”
“Four o’clock, then,” Collin agreed, and tapped the center of the coin. Nothing happened. Lantern and Hannah stared at him.
“Did you just try to hang up on me?” Lantern asked, incredulous.
“I made an incorrect assumption as to the function of your device,” Collin said without a lot of inflection. “Does it work some other way?”
“...yeah,” Lantern said at length. “I’ll just turn it off. See you guys at four, then.” With that, her image winked out and the coin blinked briefly before vanishing into thin air. Hannah glared at Collin.
“What?” he asked.
_-0-_
When Taylor landed on the loading dock of the Rig, where she’d seen tourist boats arrive in the past, she was pleasantly surprised to find that none of the PRT officers there tried to shoot at her. Instead, one of them approached with a scanner, which she used to check Taylor over for a moment before nodding in satisfaction and waving her forward.
“Your transponder is accurate, and according to Dauntless that’s built into your tech,” the woman explained waggling the scanner. “Miss Militia said it was as good as an ID if you’re close.”
“I see,” Taylor nodded. “Good to know. Will that get me into the Rig any time?”
“No,” Miss Militia said from above them, trotting down the stairs. Her weapon was in the form of a green-black tonfa at her side at the moment. “The Rig will fire on any unauthorized Parahuman in its airspace if the shield is down, and if it’s up you’d need to be throwing a lot of damage at it to get it down at all. How are you today?”
“I’m fine,” Taylor said, shaking the other cape’s hand. “Kind of honored it’s you, honestly. I sort of thought you’d send someone to do the boring debrief for you, like Assault.”
“We don’t let Assault do debriefs anymore,” Miss Militia said. “And if you’d seen that many string beans at once, you wouldn’t either. In any case, this was a high-profile case, since it involved the kidnapping of a Ward and a Director at the same time. Shadow Stalker is fine, by the way, but she’s been transferred out of Brockton Bay.”
“Ah. No other reasons?” Taylor asked cautiously.
“None. And if there were, the Protectorate doesn’t make a habit of revealing the details of young Parahumans’ locations and movements.” This was said with a degree of flat firmness, and Taylor decided to back down on the subject before she accidentally revealed her identity to the other cape.
“Right.” There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Taylor coughed. “Uh, what’s the procedure here, anyway? You might have noticed I’m pretty new to all this.”
“It’s simple enough, when working with friendly capes. You’ll create a user profile in the PRT database, so you can access low-security data in the future; that’s something we encourage all friendly capes to do, so we have a way to contact them in emergencies and Endbringer fights. Then we’ll do a written report, followed by a verbal one. If we have clarifying questions, we’ll call you, and if you wind up in any trouble for this – which is unlikely, considering how you responded to the detonation – we'll initiate legal proceedings as we are able. As you might imagine most capes don’t show up for court dates.”
“Yeah, I can imagine,” Taylor winced. “But I will if I have to. The things I’m trying to do are important, and going along with the usual mysterious cape stuff everyone else does, at least for that, would only hurt me and others long-term.” She’d discussed that with her dad. It was an important piece of context for what they were doing; the cape community was famously reluctant to allow for legal connection, largely because it was so difficult to prove an alibi if you habitually wore a mask, but if they wanted to make progress on setting up a future for capes everywhere they’d need to have a precedent set, and she was the one to set it.
Miss Militia led her to what was probably a dressed-up version of an interrogation room. Instead of a bare concrete room with a steel table, it was a bare concrete room with a steel desk, on which sat a pair of laptops, and two uncomfortable metal chairs that were, thankfully, at least padded. Taylor quickly set up a computer login with the Protectorate as an affiliate, then frowned at the web interface.
“Can I access this anywhere?” she asked. “Like, is it an internet thing?”
“This level of it is,” Miss Militia said. “Something more involved would require you to come in to the PRT or Protectorate bases and use a terminal running our software.”
“Okay, then let me just...” Taylor focused on her ring, and with a subliminal buzz it scanned the webpage. Then she manifested a screen in the air before her, complete with a keyboard, and pulsed a laser hardline back to the room’s small wifi router. Miss Militia stared.
“There we go, much better,” Taylor said cheerfully. “I should have the webpage down just fine, if you need the computer.”
“Uh...sure, thanks,” Miss Militia said, obviously confused. “Did you hack our wifi or something?”
“No, just plugged in via the same password the computer was using, like a piggyback thing,” Taylor shrugged. “Ethernet is faster, and all.”
“Right,” Miss Militia said. “Okay, sure. Go ahead and fill that out, then. I’m going to confirm that you aren’t hacking us or anything.”
“Will do!” Taylor agreed, and started on the document. It required a fair amount of detail, but her ring’s recording function was up to the task of showing replays of specific moments. As she did, Miss Militia spoke quietly with someone who was probably Armsmaster via an earpiece, eventually nodding in satisfaction as Taylor was finishing. Taylor hit the submit button, turned off her screen, and turned to face the other heroine.
“Okay, you’re clean. Thank you for not blatantly hacking a government team as soon as you walked into the room, it’s not as common a courtesy as you’d expect with Tinkers.”
“I’m not a Tinker,” Taylor said, confused.
“You’re good enough for the PRT,” Miss Militia shrugged. “Technically speaking, someone like Armsmaster isn’t a Mover, but he gets a Mover rating because he has a Tinkertech motorcycle that gets him around more quickly than any normal human could be expected to travel. The same goes for Glory Girl: her aura is effectively a Master ability, but since it’s short term she gets a Shaker rating since that’s how it acts. You too, now, with your hope aura.”
“Huh,” Taylor said. “That’s surprisingly egalitarian. I like it.”
“Better than the old version. They used to call Blasters Nukers, which didn’t work very well for people like me.” Miss Militia glanced at the laptop she’d reclaimed, nodded, and stood up. “Alright, the system has accepted your report. Now Armsmaster and I will conduct the verbal report in his lab, where there’s the lowest possible chance of being overheard. Tinker labs tend to be hard to hack, and all that.”
“Alright,” Taylor agreed, standing. “This is kind of exciting. I’ve always wanted to see a real Tinker lab, after how much people talk them up.”
“It’s an interesting place,” Miss Militia agreed, leading the way. “Though he should have most of his most sensitive equipment and information out of the way, since you have an extremely low clearance level. If your actions hadn’t been so critical, we wouldn’t be doing it there at all.”
“I understand,” Taylor assured her. “I won’t touch anything.”
“Good.” Just a few turns later – the base was large, but it was an old oil rig, so it wasn’t massive – they found themselves outside of a futuristic sliding chrome door, a panel of lights blinking on the wall beside it. Miss Militia typed in a pair of passwords without hesitating, obviously accustomed to the high-tech equipment, and entered the room.
A Tinker’s workshop, it turned out, was like a shinier version of the machine shops Taylor had spent her childhood looking at with her dad. There were three different lathes against one wall, all lined up – one massive old brute of a machine, probably made during the last World War and designed to hog down entire bars of steel, and two of an increasingly smaller size. The last was barely larger than a computer tower, and seemed to be running itself quietly as it machined out miniscule parts from a bar of some unfamiliar greenish-blue metal. The theme continued throughout the room, too: there were a half-dozen mechanical arms hanging from the ceiling, each holding a tool or piece of what looked like one of Armsmaster’s halberds, assembling it with minute precision, while an arm that just had a dozen other tiny arms did something to the internals. A forge glowed with precise heat, rumbling from what might have been internal fans, and a dozen screens showed calculations and information readouts throughout the room. Everywhere Taylor looked, tiny versions of machinery she already knew, and more she didn’t, hummed away at incredibly precise work.
Armsmaster himself was standing in a corner given over to perfectly normal weights, wearing his iconic blue armor and holding a barbell that weighed, according to the numbers on the side, over eight hundred pounds. He was obviously straining, but – critically – not at his limit.
“Armsmaster, you can stop showing off,” Miss Militia called as they entered. “I have Blue Lantern here for her debrief.”
“I was merely completing my routine,” Armsmaster said in tones that suggested it was an old familiar argument between them. All things considered, Taylor could see the prickly cape considering it efficient to show off his armor’s capabilities and do a workout at the same time. It was probably going to be best not to tell him her own upper weight limit, consider that she didn’t know if she even had one.
“Right,” Miss Militia said drily. “Have you thought to put chairs in here just yet?”
“Ah,” he said. “Not as such, no. I have a few equipment cases I can...”
“Allow me,” Taylor said quickly, projecting a set of three comfortable chairs for them, and then a table as well when she glanced at the one in the corner where what looked very much like a 3D printer was somehow performing microwelds on an unfamiliar piece of tech. Armsmaster frowned at his chair and sat down more quickly than she’d thought he would with such heavy armor, but evidently he’d trusted her construct, because it held without trouble. Maybe he’d somehow known it could?
“Alright,” Armsmaster said once they’d sat. “Lantern, I’ll be recording this for later perusal, as per PRT and Protectorate protocol. Is that acceptable?”
“Yes,” Taylor said. “For the record, so will I.”
“Very well. This is Armsmaster of the Protectorate, interviewing independent hero Blue Lantern in interview facility C on the Protectorate ENE base. The reference number is 2011020315876, additional interviewing hero Protectorate ENE Second in Command Miss Militia. Blue Lantern, please state for the record that you consent to this interview and the Protectorate and PRT’s use of any information revealed for future investigations and operations.”
“I consent,” Taylor said clearly.
“Thank you. In your own words, please state the events that took place three days ago on January 31, 2011.”
“It started when the part-time villain and part-time rogue Leet, with whom I had a previous relationship thanks to an interaction on the Boardwalk, flagged me down near the PRT base that afternoon...” Taylor gave a mostly complete summary of the events, the heroes asking clarifying questions every once in a while. Miss Militia seemed most interested in interactive stuff, like how she’d gotten the unions in town to work with her, while Armsmaster focused more on how her powers worked. He was remarkably good at it, too frequently drawing more information out of her on them than she’d really meant to reveal.
You probably didn’t get to be a Protectorate leader by collecting bottlecaps, she supposed.
“And then the bombs went off,” Taylor said, having arrived at what she’d said to Armsmaster as she approached Director Piggot. “I wasn’t really expecting that.”
“No one expects their first big explosion,” Miss Militia snorted. “That’s usually part of the problem, unfortunately. Capes get caught off guard and suddenly there’s nothing they can do but die.”
“Yeah,” Taylor winced. “Thankfully I’m pretty tough.”
“How did you decide to create the shield so quickly?” Armsmaster asked, leaning forward with a whine of servomotors. “If you hadn’t expected for things to explode, surely it would be difficult to prepare a defense.”
“Not that we’re upset that you did, mind,” Miss Militia put in.
“I...don’t know,” Taylor admitted. “Maybe I can think a little faster than usual when I’m using my power, or something? I haven’t exactly been in a situation that dire before.”
“Interesting,” Armsmaster said, and typed a note into his wrist computer. “Carry on.”
“After that, I had some trouble keeping the shield up for everyone,” Taylor said. “They were all injured at least a little, you probably noticed. Did you guys get whoever the criminal was, by the way?”
“No,” Armsmaster said. “He’s eluded us so far. Nothing of any use was left in the warehouse beyond the chemical traces of his explosives, which are frustratingly easy to get in Brockton Bay. His mercenaries were able to tell us a little, but he was smart; none of them knew exactly who they were working for, and several were told they were working for different criminals. Even the Undersiders were named by one, though we feel confident that he was only trying to send us on a wild goose chase.”
“Huh. Hope we find him,” Taylor said. Miss Militia hid a snort at that. “Anyway, it became clear once we’d landed that Director Piggot was too injured to survive the ordeal. I don’t know what he did to her, but she was in terrible shape, and I...” Here Taylor paused and grimaced. “You guys know about the rumors for PRT directors in Brockton Bay, right? How they never last? Piggot actually has.” It had been a joke, for a while, between some of the Dockworkers Taylor had spent time around as a child, that no PRT Director lasted more than six months on the job, either transferring out or being killed in action. Piggot had changed that.
“It’s a frustrating reality, to be sure,” Armsmaster agreed. “Director Piggot has done an admirable job of retaining her position in spite of numerous difficulties since taking it.”
“Right. Plus it was kind of my fault for not protecting them better in the first place. I was able to use my r – uh, my powers to have a sort of mind-to-mind conversation with her about it, get permission to heal her. I guess that’s sort of important for her?”
“Director Piggot is not so shortsighted as to have made official record in her paperwork that she refuses parahuman healing, emergencies being what they are, but she has never accepted it when it was offered by other heroes, or for that matter villains,” Armsmaster said.
“But asking permission is definitely the right course of action when that sort of thing is possible at all,” Miss Militia continued. “Legal battles have been started on less secure grounds than life-saving medical care.”
“There’s a level of healing, I’m not sure where, where I can’t actually do more than basic life-saving stuff without the subject wanting it,” Taylor said. “Again, I’m not sure how hard and fast that rule is – presumably at a major disaster I wouldn’t need to get permission from everyone to fix them up – but I think if someone was truly against being healed at all I wouldn’t have a lot of luck. It’s sort of confusing, though.”
“Fascinating,” Armsmaster said. “But perhaps a subject for another day. Was there anything else to add?”
“Nothing you didn’t see, other than taking off the scanners off the other vehicles once we were done with them,” Taylor shrugged. “Though I did that when I busted into the warehouse, since it was a lot of information to be keeping up with.”
“I understand,” Armsmaster said. He tapped a button on his armor and nodded. “Alright, we’re done with our recording. Miss Militia?”
“Yes, of course. As an independent hero recently affiliated with the Protectorate, I’ve been asked to give you the full Protectorate-Wards pitch. I understand Armsmaster already tried?”
“Yeah, after Skidmark,” Taylor agreed. “It was...look, I do know Danny Hebert at the DWU. I’ve heard better pitches before.”
Miss Militia smirked, but Armsmaster clenched his jaw. “I apologize on his behalf if he was rude, then. Simply put: we could use you, Blue Lantern. You’ve proven yourself an incredibly effective and remarkably powerful cape, especially considering how recently you entered the scene. With training, a team, and guidance, you could do a great deal more. To say nothing of the benefits of working with us.”
“I guess heroes are pretty well compensated, huh?” Taylor asked.
“Particularly if they have extremely marketable looks and powers,” Miss Militia agreed, sounding amused. “Glen Chambers would love you.”
“I understand. But I’m not looking to join the Protectorate at this time,” Taylor said as calmly as she could. This was another discussion she’d had with her dad: the Protectorate was famous for being a little heavy-handed with the recruitment tactics, and any cape they could leverage into the team often was. Sometimes that was a good thing, as in the case of extremely destructive new vigilantes who ran around blowing up buildings because no one would rein them in, but it didn’t mesh at all with what Taylor needed to do.
“Are you certain?” Miss Militia asked, eyes flashing. She’d sensed weakness. “You don’t look old. If you’re too young, it’s entirely too easy for gangs and worse to snap up promising young capes and force them to work for them, between things like blackmail, medical issues, financial threats...and you’d be a catch for any gang, that I assure you.”
“If you continue as you have been, Kaiser will find a way to either force you into the fold or kill you,” Armsmaster warned. “It has happened before. Rumors suggest that his cape Victor was nothing more than a low-life criminal before he got his hooks into him, and the last parahuman Lung had besides Oni Lee was an unfortunate young man who was forced to work for him until he was murdered by the Merchants. It is a dangerous world out there.”
“I understand, but I have backup,” Taylor said firmly. “More than you’d think. The Dockworkers are looking out for me.”
“An unpowered and severely under-funded dying union is your protection?” Armsmaster asked, voice dripping with doubt. There was a subtle clang and a brief expression of pain from Miss Militia; she’d probably kicked him.
“The Dockworkers have a lot more life in them than you think,” Taylor said warningly. “And they’ve helped me already. You might have noticed that I did some testing by the water a few weeks ago?”
“Yes, our –” Another clang. “That is, we saw some of it.”
“Well, that’s just the start. I think I can do more good with them than I could with you guys. No offense, but you don’t really fix things. Just slow down the breaking, and then only a little.”
“The Protectorate is –” Armsmaster started to reply angrily, but Miss Militia cut him off.
“Not always the best at such things, you’re right.” She gave Armsmaster a warning look. “But we are most capable of protecting new capes in trouble. I understand that you don’t want in now, but if it ever comes up, please don’t hesitate to reach out. Can I give you my card?”
“Sure,” Taylor said warily. Miss Militia handed her a piece of paper, and after scanning it into her contact list Taylor scrawled her own cape number on the back and handed it back. “In case you need something,” she added, at the woman’s confused expression. “Uh...specifically Mastering issues. I might be able to help a Mastering victim out, but I don’t know any. Will you let me know?”
“If any drop onto our doorstep, sure,” Miss Militia agreed. “But Mastering victims are difficult to catch before either the Mastery wears off or they have something horrible happen to them, so it may be a while. And everyone is wary about testing a new cape’s powers on Simurgh victims.”
“I can understand that,” Taylor agreed readily. “Still, if anything comes up.”
“Of course,” Miss Militia agreed. “I think that’s all. Armsmaster, would you open the wall?” The man didn’t reply, but he did stand and pull a hefty-looking lever, a little out of place in this room full of delicate machinery, on the wall, which caused the wall facing the exterior of the base to grind open with a surprisingly quiet whir of machinery.
“Hey, thanks!” Taylor said, and floated out. “Anything else you guys need from me?”
“No, that’s all,” Miss Militia said. “Thank you for your time, and please consider our offer.”
“I will,” Taylor said, not particularly intending to do any such thing. “Later!” And she flew away from the Rig and towards the DWU compound.
_-0-_
“Well?” Danny asked as Taylor landed in his office.
“They didn’t notice,” Taylor confirmed. “I feel kinda bad, honestly. Sneaking around a hero base sounds like something a hero shouldn’t do, you know?”
“We don’t always get black-and-white moral choices,” Danny said apologetically. “Except when that choice is whether or not to humiliate the Empire, of course. And I hope they’ll thank us if it comes to anything, since we’re just looking for one specific issue.”
“Yeah,” Taylor agreed, and activated her ring. You sure they didn't notice this?
No certainty is possible, but the construct device was not transmitting at the time of its placement, and the contents of the scan were transmitted, saved, and the scan deleted before departure , her ring told her. That was probably as good as they were going to get, so Taylor activated the archive function of her ring and pulled up the contents of the database scan she’d done at the Rig.
Sure enough, a screen popped up with the Protectorate logo on it, and Taylor nodded in satisfaction. “What are we looking for, anyway?”
“I guess anything that brings up the DWU or you?”
“Basic scan of Protectorate computer network commencing,” her ring told her. “Readouts available.” A holographic representation of the Protectorate’s computer network appeared, and Taylor and her dad stared at it for a while.
“I can’t understand any of this,” Dannys aid eventually.
“Yeah, me either,” Taylor admitted. “What are we even looking at?”
“Physical representation of digital architecture limited,” the ring admitted. “For ideal results, please consult with programming experts.”
“So, you can’t tell us anything we don’t already know?” Taylor asked, dismayed.
“Incorrect. Analysis of current scan will reveal significant data concerning security systems, leaks, and weaknesses of Protectorate information technology security,” the ring replied. “However, such analysis will take time."
"Is there anything we can’t see, based on their security? You can hack, right?”
"Much of Protectorate Database Scan locked behind firewalls at present, though automatic hacking processes will begin. However, significant portion of Protectorate information technology network was blackboxed away from other systems outside of multiple digital airlock defenses,” it said. “Information suggests that said systems were not primary to the function of Protectorate information technology network and are significantly more powerful.”
“That’s probably Armsmaster,” Taylor decided. “I bet he’s paranoid enough to do that. What about unknown outside links?”
“Analysis required to determine non-standard or unauthorized links,” the ring said. “Analysis commencing.”
“Is their security, like, suspiciously impressive or anything?” Taylor asked. Danny snorted at her. “What? It’s a valid question!”
“Yeah, but the phrasing is funny,” he snickered.
“There are no ‘suspicious’ elements of the Protectorate computer system’s defenses outside of inaccessible blackboxed systems, but they are very complete and highly paranoid.”
“Maybe a programming Tinker?” Taylor suggested. “They have those, right?”
“Elements of the programming available for perusal do resemble some of the anomalous black-boxed examples in the technology used by subject: Skidmark, subject: Armsmaster, subject: Gallant and subject: Leet. Continue with hack?”
“Yeah, we might as well,” Danny nodded. “We can leave it running in the background for now and avoid telling them we have their whole system in the long run. Hopefully we don’t need to go back in there and get another scan. I think they’d notice it if we did it regularly.”
“Order acknowledged. Should an order from Primary Wielder Taylor Hebert countermand the order from Secondary Wielder One Danny Hebert, Secondary Wielder One Danny Hebert’s order will be deleted.”
“What about our main goal? Are they compromised?”
“No certain answer can be determined at this time,” the ring said. “A baseline for the functions of the Protectorate does not yet exist, and Secondary Wielder Danny Hebert has requested to avoid a second scan. Countermand order?”
“No, leave it. We can go looking if we need to later on. ”
“Acknowledged.”
“Thank you,” Taylor sighed. That made Danny snicker again.
“Reading some of my stuff now, are you?” he teased. “Sci-fi has made it very clear that the best way to make AI friendly to you is to be polite, after all.”
“I might have glanced through a few things,” Taylor admitted. “My ring can digitize books just as easily as superhero computers, and it’s kind of interesting to read and fly as long as I’m up high enough. Not that I’m giving up physical books, mind you!”
“You’d better not, Miss Hebert,” he said warningly. “Your mother would never let us live it down.” They both laughed, and it felt good to laugh about Annette Hebert again. It had hung over their heads as a black cloud for too long, every object a sharp-edged memory and every day a reminder of what they had laughed.
“She’d want us to laugh,” she said, seeing the same thoughts on his face.
“She would,” he agreed. “She really would.” They stood at the window for a while, staring out at the ship, in silence for a long few minutes.
“It’s about time for phase one, you know,” he said idly. “The bit we don’t need permission for.”
“Yeah,” Taylor agreed, feeling nervous. “Think it’ll work out?”
“It should,” he shrugged. “The Merchants are the easiest gang to really counter, and their base of operations is loose. Makes it hard to pin them down, but hard to seriously fight back, too. And only that Mush guy is all that much of a threat to a cape like you. But don’t get co*cky!”
“No,” Taylor agreed. “Should I ask New Wave for help?”
“Can’t hurt,” Danny shrugged. “Taking on a bunch of crazy drug pushers is exactly the kind of white picket fence family-friendly thing a group like them is meant to do, after all. Especially after the bad press from the Marche way back when.”
“Glory Girl will probably volunteer,” Taylor snickered. “She likes this kind of thing.”
“Then start with her,” he said. “Make your case to other members once you’ve got a few feathers in your cap.” Taylor manifested a jaunty Robin Hood-style hat with a huge plume of peaco*ck feathers in it. “There you go, perfect. Once you guys clear out an area, we’ll sidle in and clean up a few things, seed the area, bribe some informants. It’ll get easier to kick them out the time after that, and maybe a few businesses will think about coming back. Though that’ll be later on.”
“I mean, Brockton Bay has a history of being willing to seize opportunity,” Taylor grinned. “I bet they’ll be fast.”
“We’ll see,” Danny said with satisfaction. “We’ll see.” He glanced at his watch. “Criminey, you’re late. Come on, I’ll drop you off.”
“Oh, thanks,” Taylor said. “I’ll get changed.”
_-0-_
Taylor arrived at the gym Cole had told her about maybe fifteen minutes late, even though she’d had to change clothes, discovered that her old exercise stuff was much too small, and quickly made an outfit from Blue Lantern energy. It was much more comfortable than it had any right to be, and though she knew making all of her clothes blue would be a mistake, she would be exercising like this in the future.
The inside of the gym was a huge, open space broken up by boxes and small structures, some made of bricks and some made of wood, with metal poles and some actual street lights and lamp posts presumably saved from a dump truck at some point. Cole was there with his girlfriend Trish, who wasn’t dressed for exercise, and another girl with pink hair and a shirt that looked like it had been slashed to ribbons and then tied back together over a sports bra. Delsin was doing stretches by a big building as she walked in.
“Taylor, hey,” Cole grinned, waving her over. “Welcome to the Wall. You ready to skin your shins?”
“Don’t scare her off, Cole,” Trish said, smacking him on the shoulder. “Let her scare herself.”
“Ow!”
“Ignore them,” the pink-haired girl said, stepping up. “I’m Fetch Walker. Who’re you?”
“I’m Taylor Hebert,” Taylor introduced herself, shaking her hand.
“What, Barnes’ weird crush-of-murder Taylor Hebert?” Fetch asked, sounding impressed. “You don’t say.”
“Were you at Winslow?” Taylor asked, surprised.
“Not recently,” Fetch shook her head. “Merchants, bad trips, bro freaks out, treatment, yadda-yadda. Wasn’t in school at the start of the year, and now I don’t have to go back.” She grinned at Taylor. “I like that.”
“So do I,” Taylor said darkly. “Winslow is a pit.”
“No argument from me,” Fetch said breezily. “Anyway, Delsin invited me a few weeks ago after we saved each others’ asses from the Empire and the Merchants. I used to free-run back when I was younger. How about you?”
“I don’t really have any hobbies,” Taylor admitted. “And none of the other people I know at Arcadia have any I wanted to get into. But Cole suggested free-running, and it sounded interesting, so...”
“So here you are,” Fetch nodded. “I get that. He’s the best free-runner I’ve ever met. Other than me, obviously.” She grinned, and Taylor did too.
“Okay, let’s get started,” Cole said, stepping up. “The first thing we need to get used to for free-running is a few basic moves – jumping over obstacles, getting up walls, that sort of thing. Everything comes from there. And getting into that requires that you’re warmed up and limbered up, so we’re going to start with stretching and go from there. Fetch, why don’t you show us what you used to do?”
“I was supposed to be stretching?” Fetch asked, dismayed. As Cole sighed and Delsin cackled, Taylor grinned. This might actually be fun.
