The lightshow was spectacular.
Lasers, miniature stars, forcefields, explosions, all of it glowing eerily through the rain… and mixed in among it, seven figures flying, weaving dazzling patterns in the air as they sought advantage against one another, or stooped to strike some target on the ground. I couldn't really see what was happening that low: too much dust and smoke. It looked like the fight was taking place above a residential neighbourhood, some of which was definitely on fire, rain or no rain.
I shifted swarms in an effort to get a closer look, forming another crude array telescope, even as my body broke into a jog toward my scooter.
Six of them looked like New Wave — the color of the lasers, the texture of the forcefields, the way they flew — which was more fliers than I'd thought New Wave had. Also, they seemed to be fighting each other. A group of two, and a group of four.
Cousins? Something stranger?
The seventh was unmistakable, even from this distance: Eidolon.
Green-lit cowl and cape billowing in the sky, thick with muscle beneath his skintight suit, he took what should have been a cliche and turned it into something heavy with the promise of power. The strongest hero in the Protectorate, and — perhaps barring Scion — strongest in the world. The man with whatever power — or powers — he needed.
Frankly, he could have worn whatever he wanted — Scion had been flying around naked for years before donning his white suit — and people would have taken him seriously; the fact that he, like Alexandria, was one of the few who could make an actual cape look dignified only added to the effect.
Tonight, apparently, the powers he needed involved some kind of flight, and maybe a Thinker or possibly a Trump power: he was floating through the hail of lasers and projectiles untouched, not doing anything I could see. I wasn't even sure if he was getting wet in the rain.
One of the two fliers zigged when she should have zagged, and passed near one of the erratically moving balls of flame. She came out the other side in an uncontrolled tumble, and Eidolon turned his head, one hand palm up. She slowed, and dropped to the ground, the follow-on lasers always just off. Telekinesis? Aerokinesis? And was he dodging for both of them right now?
With the aerial fight now one on four, it grew more desperate still, a remarkable display of midair agility and lasers, the misses setting fresh fires on the ground beneath. Eidolon remained a man apart, undisturbed by either misses or direct attacks.
Eidolon clapped his hands, and suddenly there were only two capes in the air — and four small sets of expanding concentric circles, neon-green in color, where the other fliers had been, the clouds above separating as if the ripples shoved them away.
A slight warm breeze reached me, defying everything I knew about how blast fronts worked.
Someone was still active on the ground: the miniature stars continued to swing toward Eidolon.
They didn't hit him — again, he didn't seem to do anything but drift, but they missed, and came round again, giving the impression that they were simply in very eccentric orbits.
He gestured again, and the stars careening about the sky vanished, the large blue one just before the pair of smaller red ones.
A moment, and then the New Wave flier by him dove for the ground, no lasers preceding her.
The fires crackled, but there was no sign of further parahuman combat.
Eidolon hung there for almost half a minute, and then rotated in place. Where his gaze fell, the fires snuffed out. That done, he too descended.
I reached my scooter and started it, pulling out of the parking lot.
Whatever that had been, it hadn't taken long. A few minutes, perhaps, plus whatever had taken place before it got so very visible.
I thought about heading there, but it looked like it was under control. I turned my wheels toward home.
I'd call Carol in the morning and get the story then.
···---···
I still wasn't sleeping well.
No reason I should, really.
Still, I'd take bad dreams over deaths among the heroes or the innocents.
I just hoped that it worked. So far, I'd done a lot of damage, but I wasn't sure that I'd made any lasting difference. And last night… was there any real difference between what I'd done to Krieg and what I'd done to Kaiser? Beyond it being more personal last night?
The Empire ruined lives, and killed. I had personally seen Krieg kill people last week. That… was one of things that made him a villain.
Was I one?
I had personally seen Brandish kill someone last week, and I didn't think of her as a villain.
Why not?
Was it the offer to take Coil's surrender? Was it her catching him red-handed with a kidnapped little girl?
Did the fact that I didn't think I could make Krieg surrender, or even safely ask the question, matter at all?
I didn't have an answer. I wasn't sure that I would have an answer anytime soon.
I wasn't sure my lifetime would be long enough to reach an answer.
I hoped it would be long enough to let me find a way to sleep soundly again.
Well, no way out but through.
Time to get up or give up.
I rose, showered, and dressed myself. Fixed a simple breakfast — tea and toast, with different honeys — and sat down to think.
I could move against E88… but it wouldn't really help much. Right now, I needed to wait. To let them realize that Krieg was gone, to fragment. If they fragmented. Kaiser's death had been a very public failure; Krieg's disappearance might not be confirmed for days. Hookwolf might take over as interim leader and be firmly established by the time a new official leader was chosen, leaving no room for another round of civil war. Worst case, it might not even disturb their ties with Gesellschaft. And then what?
Hookwolf would be a hard one to disappear.
On the other hand, for all his skill in personal combat, I didn't think he was a tenth as dangerous as Krieg had been. Waiting for Krieg to make a mistake would have been a bad risk. Waiting for Hookwolf to do so… might be a good strategy. Too early to tell — not that I'd ever know for sure, except in hindsight.
I swirled the tea in my mug, feeling the warmth spin round within my hands, and looked out at the drizzling rain.
Two days.
I could spare that much to observe the impact of removing Krieg, see how the Empire reacted.
What to do, in the meantime?
I could keep working on silk production, but I'd do that whether or not I was physically present. Most of it was breeding the spiders to breed the spiders to breed the spiders that I'd use to make the silk. Black widows could have several hundred offspring per egg sac, all of which could survive if I suppressed the cannibalism, and lay a little more than an egg sac per week if I pushed it… but they still took almost two months to reach adulthood. At which point I could start the process again. Even taking a personal hand in it, not all of them would be good spinners, so the numbers weren't quite as exponential as they looked. And if I was trying to make costumes for the entire Protectorate, and maybe the PRT team-members too, I needed all the spiders I could get.
And next week, when my Darwin's Bark spiders arrived, I'd need to think about retooling. And I was pretty sure they'd be more finicky to handle in every sense of the word. Best known silk in the world, though.
I rested my head on the table before me. Maybe I could just save that for my own costumes, maybe a few special orders? Use the black widows for the bulk production?
I might even have to start shipping in food: I'd been managing the local insect ecosystem to provide sufficient protein for my spider ranch, and I could always recycle the spiders which didn't make the cut, but outfitting everyone who needed it would take a lot of spiders.
On the up side, Quinn had gotten a 'half-down, half on delivery' structure into the contract. The initial order had been small, testing the waters, but even so… I had a lot of money, now.
Not enough to dredge the harbor, or anything like that, but enough that I didn't really need to worry about money anymore.
Though I did now need to pay people to worry about my money for me: taxes were apparently a real issue. And not just once a year, either!
Quarterly.
So what to do with this day off?
Groceries. I had bread, hot water, tea leaves, and more oatmeal than I wanted to think about… and not much else, beyond the honey of my bees.
Maybe start furnishing this place, or the apartment.
Starting with a proper bed.
···---···
Two hours later, I had a bed picked out, and sheets, and towels and… well, there were a lot of little things I could do to make the farmhouse more livable. And they'd be delivered Friday, which beat trying to cram all of that on my scooter. It could have been a larger load, even: I was trying to take it slow, not to spend money just because I had it, but it was nice to take a day away from the hunt, and simply focus on ways to make the house more of a home.
I stopped in the parking lot.
Home?
Is that what it was?
Is that what it would have to be?
A minute later, I wiped my face and made my way to where I'd parked.
I dialed Carol, holding the phone inside my hood and out of the rain, but it went straight to voicemail.
I'd try again later, or hear about it second-hand.
Meanwhile… what next?
Faultline.
I still didn't know much about her at all, and while the Empire was still at the top of the list, it couldn't hurt to do a little work on my day off.
···---···
Faultline laired in a sleek nightclub two blocks off of Lord Street: Palanquin.
Just before lunch wasn't exactly a nightclub's peak time. I ducked out of the rain and into one of the many restaurants on Lord Street (Indian, for variety), and began to search through the nightclub with my insects.
By the time my samosas arrived, I had a sense of the place. Looking at the door arrangements, it was clearly divided into an 'outer' section and an 'inner' section. The nightclub, and a less easily categorized melange of rooms. Most of the building was a nightclub, but I focused my attention on the inner part: some offices; a residential section; what looked to be a very well equipped gymnasium, arranged primarily for something other than the usual machines, weightlifting, or aerobics. Training her people in the use of their powers?
Much more organized than anything I'd seen outside the Protectorate.
And therefore more dangerous?
Better to take precautions accordingly — overestimating someone was embarassing; underestimating could be lethal. Absentmindedly, I noted the security camera coverage: decent externally, exhaustive in the nightclub, nothing in the inner area. Hacking concerns?
Faultline didn't make the headlines much. She ran a team of mercenaries who weren't above taking criminal jobs, but took legitimate jobs too and didn't commit crimes independently. It was a fine line to walk, one which kept Protectorate attention focused on her employers instead of her employees.
It was also exactly the right kind of air of apparent-but-not-real danger to sell a nightclub, even without the rumors that at least one of her employees could make novel — and safe — intoxicants.
I wondered which of her business ventures was primary.
Well, no time like the present. I bit down on a samosa, pulled together a swarm clone in one of the blind spots in the alley behind Palanquin, went to the service door, and 'knocked.'
Turning a knob when what you have to work with is a very large group of insects, some flying, some not… proved tricky. Not impossible, though it did involve a great deal of precise coordination. It proved simplest to wrap the knob in silk and then pull it to generate rotational force, recollecting the silk afterward, but some of the more elaborate constructs would have been interesting…
Though nothing would have been simpler than to slip in through a crevice, and assemble my swarm within the building without bothering to go through the door. Two things stopped me: that wasn't a capability I wanted to reveal, and — since I was invited — there was no call to be impolite.
The door opened, giving a view on a very basic kitchen.
The kitchen assistant cleaning out the deep-fryers turned at the sound of the door opening, screamed, and fainted.
I felt slightly offended. None of the staff at Somer's Rock had even batted an eye.
Three more people barreled into the kitchen in quick succession, piling up in the door as they arrived.
The swarm-clone buzzed "I'm here to see Faultline."
That calmed them down, a little. One of them turned around, presumably to pass the message, while the other two employees stayed in the door, keeping an eye on me. I wasn't really sure what they thought they could do, and was disappointed that no one had moved to help the kitchen assistant.
The minutes that passed while they figured out what to do were enough for me to finish my samosas and decide on palak paneer for lunch.
Eventually, the orange one I remembered from the truce meeting came down and told the other two to grab the kitchen assistant. After they'd cleared out, he smiled.
"Newter. Glad you came by, sorry about the screaming welcome. This way."
Handsome enough when he smiled, about my age, and fit enough to carry off being shirtless and barefoot. Blue eyes matching blue-dyed hair, bright orange skin, hairless and unmarked except for a stylized tattooed 'U' just above his heart… and a tail, threaded through a rip in the back of his jeans. He didn't offer to shake hands.
As I followed him through corridors and up a set of stairs, I landed a bug on his shoulder. It promptly fell off, twitching.
This would be the one with the hallucinogenic sweat, then.
I put tracking bugs on his jeans, instead.
I could feel where he was leading me towards — an office. A woman, presumably Faultline, had left and returned in the last few minutes. Changing into her costume?
Either way, I was let into the office. The furnishings were quite nice: oak desk, comfortable leather chairs. The quality was nicer than Carol's law firm; not as nice as Quinn's. No windows. Was she concerned about surveillance?
Behind the desk, wearing the same costume — a funny mix between a dress and a gi, with body armor incorporated, and topped off by a stylized welder's mask — that I'd seen her in at the truce meeting, was Faultline.
She stood as I entered.
"Skitter. Welcome. Have a seat?"
'I' nodded, and moved to one of the chairs before the desk. Behind me, Newter shut the door and went into another room just down the hall. Two others were gathered there, a very large man and a small woman, and as Newter entered the man bent over to tap something on a table.
For a moment, I was distracting by hearing Faultline's voice doubled, as she spoke to my swarm clone and the words also came out of the speaker. I blinked, and thanked the waiter bringing my palak paneer and naan.
"Life can be difficult for those who seem different."
'I' nodded again, my mind occupied with the implications of that room — backup, in case there was a fight? Another set of ears, to catch what she might miss? A pre-scripted interruption to help what was already shaping to be a recruiting pitch?
The silence stretched.
"I wanted to establish a channel for communication, perhaps discuss common interests. Some of my employees are similarly changed, and are interested in the company. Also, I had some questions — I don't intend to pry into your life, but do you recognize this symbol?"
A drawing of Newter's tattoo.
"No."
"Are you sure? Could it be somewhere on one of the insects, or on one of the original insects that were part of you?"
I thought about that.
"I'm pretty sure the first time I've ever seen that symbol was Newter's tattoo."
Faultline put the paper back down on an otherwise bare desk and steepled her fingers.
"Let me approach this another way. Please note, I'm not asking what you remember… but do you remember anything at all about your life before you became as you are?"
'I' nodded. "My memory isn't perfect, but I do remember from my childhood to today."
"And no one made you as you are?"
I moved the column of bugs in an approximation of a head-shake.
She sighed.
Well, since I wasn't at all who she had thought I was… that put a damper on the conversation.
"You think someone's out there making monstrous-looking parahumans? And tattooing them?"
She tilted her head.
"Think? No. But the fact that so many have been found, amnesiac, bearing that mark… it raises questions. I have a client who wants answers."
That kind of work wouldn't be simple. And it wasn't her power doing the work: Faultline could create a crack in inorganic substances with a touch, from cutting hinges to dropping buildings. A strong power, but not one that lent itself to investigations — that had to be her own intelligence. Which meant she was smart enough to be dangerous.
Smart enough to just run her nightclub, and not take the wrong kind of jobs? Maybe. That would make life a lot easier.
I piled more palak paneer on the naan, folded it, and ate.
"I wish I could help you with them."
She nodded.
"Would you like to stay and meet the others?"
I thought about it. I'd rather not get to know someone I'd have to remove — it might make things difficult. And I still didn't know if Faultline was the kind of presence I could permit in Brockton Bay.
"Perhaps another time."
"The door will be open."
She stood, and I felt the other room empty. She then escorted 'me' back to a rear exit — avoiding the kitchen in favor of taking another exit. It wasn't as if I would leave bugs behind wherever I went.
Tracking bugs excepted, of course.
As 'I' moved out into the alley, she spoke again.
"I'm not taking back anything about that open door, but in the near term, we'll be out of town. Chasing another lead, one put off to investigate… you." Somehow I thought she was smiling.
I thought about that. Her leaving my town? To hunt for someone or thing who, if they existed at all, desperately needed stopping? Why couldn't all my issues resolve like this?
There was only one appropriate reply.
"Good hunting."
I moved the swarm clone down the road, noting the massive man two blocks ahead, and Newter following 'me' from the rooftops. Professional of them.
If things went well, we'd never have to see which of us was better prepared.
I found a convenient sewer grate and moved the swarm through it, before dispersing the insects.
There.
That should leave them uncertain about what 'Skitter' could do.
And now? Well, now I had lunch to finish. And, after that, groceries.
Lunch was delicious.
I even indulged in a mango lassi after.
···---···
It was getting on toward sunset when I made my way home, backpack and storage compartment full of groceries instead of bugs for a change. I was looking forward to some variety in my diet. I didn't really have a fully equipped kitchen, but there were still a lot of things I could make with what I had.
As I approached the farmhouse, I felt a presence on my porch. My focus expanded outward even as I homed in on the interloper, and I slowed the scooter to give myself more time to feel out the threat.
No one else I could sense, but that was no guarantee of anything.
I set some insects patrolling, and gathered swarms for combat if necessary. I might not have my normal complement of bugs with me, having been out on a day off — or at least what passed for a day off these days — but here, among my hives… I had all the bugs I could want.
A quick look showed me a hooded figure, slender. Not that size was any measure of danger, when capes were involved.
One swarm to the roof, above the stranger. Another beneath the porch. Two inside the house, and three more flowing into place in the tall grass of the yard. With those preparations in place, I pulled the scooter into the driveway, prepared to lay it down and dive in an instant.
The stranger turned at the sound of the engine, and… Amy?