Sprout 3.2 Part 2
AlSmash
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Continuing the previous chapter, this is more establishing the pieces going forward. Yep, nothing really happens, but the good news is that Taylor will be the focus of 3.3. We've already begun work upon that chapter.
But right now, we have to get these points started, in order for them to be ready when things start taking off.
Sprout 3.2 Part 2
Legend
The Cauldron Compound, or Cauldron Site Alpha, was the home to their organization. It served both as their research base, but also the literal beating heart of their operation. It was where they had their meetings and discussed the path forward.
So when he received the text, he ensured that his absence was covered, letting those that knew that he would be unavailable as he was returning to New York. He would, of course, return as soon as he could, but there was something that needed to be handled as the leader of the Protectorate.
That done, he ensured that he was out of sight before taking the portal to Site Alpha. The fifteen minutes that he had, he took the time to rinse himself off and then reach the meeting room. He was, once again to his chagrin, the last one to arrive. Kurt had two laptops in front of him, alternating tapping away at one or the other. The Doctor had a leather notebook and was writing while reviewing papers at her side. David was in costume, his hood down. Rebecca was out of costume… or maybe in costume. It was hard to say. She was prepared for DC, in a severe pants-suit as her role as Director of the PRT, Rebecca Costa-Brown. Interestingly, Fortuna hadn't arrived yet.
As he grabbed a seat, wishing for a coffee, she stood and began.
"Alright, we need to be coordinated on this. Boston is already proving to be a damaging Endbringer attack, far outpacing the impact of Seattle or even Madison. The image of the PRT and the Protectorate is going to be threatened by events."
David snarked, "Yeah, nothing like the President declaring that the PRT can't do their job and sending in the military. How the hell did that happen Rebecca? I thought we had things in hand in DC?"
If the accusation ruffled her, she didn't show it.
"Durling has always been neutral to the PRT, though leaning towards us more often than not. While his partnership with Jack Ryan was alarming, it did mean that Ryan was mostly contained, so it was a net positive. And there was no way we were going to risk Ryan as President. So Durling got a pass. Now he's gone too far, and we'll adapt."
"Legend, I'll need you in DC for the next few weeks. We need a united PRT/Protectorate response to calm accusations."
He ran a hand through his hair. Seems he would have to plan some personal time with his husband for all the time at work.
"Yes, I'll let you take the lead on this. But first we need to talk about Boston, specifically, you said quite clearly that we were going to lean on the military… which happened. How is this now a bad thing?"
Kurt piped up from behind his screen, peering over with his glasses.
"Perception. I'm tracking a growing increase in public sentiment asking about the relevance of the PRT and Protectorate given the success that the military has had in rescue and recovery operations. With up-to-the-minute news coming out of the city thanks to Taylor Hebert's technologies we've lost the usual media control that Dragon allowed us."
The young man shrugged, returning to his screens.
"Alexandra's plan was to have the PRT/Protectorate use the military resources. Instead, the military used cape resources to great effect. Stabilizing the situation with admirable efficiency," he perked his head up, remembering something, "When you get a chance, can we see about learning how ZDT's communications system works? I haven't been able to crack it…Okay, it's rather that I haven't put the effort in. It'd be too noticeable at this time."
He decided to refocus them on the subject matter.
"So on that subject, how is it that I'm only hearing about this girl now? She's seemingly gone around the NEPEA-5 regulations, established a company, and mass-produced Tinkertech, or something as good as. What's the explanation?"
"That's the interesting part. By all accounts, she's not a Tinker. In the few interactions that I've seen, she's a Thinker, geared towards technological invention and scientific understanding," Doctor Mother added in her own input. It was sometimes hard to understand the woman, her accented English making her stand out in a room full of Americans. She continued, "Not only does she have a solid grasp and direction for her own line of technologies, she seems to also be able to review older projects and bring them to completion."
She then tapped her pen against her notebook. "Unfortunately, she doesn't seem to have any interest in biological applications, or she would be a priority recruit for Vial development. I do recommend that we keep an eye on her for future consideration.," he head tilted towards Alexandria, giving the floor to her and demanding an answer at the same time.
"That will be difficult"
No kidding. It wasn't often that anyone stood up to Alexandria, certainly not a blind teenage girl who told the older Cape to 'fly off and do something productive'.
He slumped in his seat, "Yes, on that subject. Why does this girl seemingly have a grudge with the PRT? Why am I, the leader of the Protectorate, only now hearing about an asset of this level who is not working with us?
Rebecca folded her hands on the table and squared her shoulders, "Alloy originally came to the PRT's attention when she requested certification for her vision-granting device. Specifically, she needed certification to state that it was NOT Tinkertech, which would allow her to use it amongst the general public, and potentially sell the design."
She then took a breath. Legend felt a small shiver run down his spine. She was in 'politician' mode. Coming here? These meetings? They were, above all, a chance for them to all let down their masks and freely voice their opinions. Put aside their roles, and just be old friends working against impossible odds. The fact that Rebecca wasn't relaxing an inch? It said nothing good about the situation.
"Unfortunately…," she continued, a brief twitch crossing her features. Did she actually just twitch, he thought to himself, not quite believing what he saw. For a women with perfect control, that was a very telling sign, "There was a disagreement between the PRT officer and Protectorate assessor overviewing the case. The officer in question wanted to hold the certification in suspension in order to pull the girl into the Wards to better manage her of, at that time, suspected Tinker powers."
"The Protectorate Tinker doing the assessment disagreed, and certified Alloy's device, releasing it for public use against the express orders of the PRT Director. The Tinker in question faced disciplinary action, but chose to resign rather than escalate things. At least check, no further action is being taken against him."
He hated politics and he made no illusions about those feelings. He had said as much to politicians, which made them feel better. But that didn't mean that he was bad at it, though. And this was sounding like an attempt to whitewash a mess of a situation.
"Ms. Hebert is from Brockton Bay, under Director Piggot. Who is…," his mind skipped ahead of his words. There were only two Tinkers on the ENE roster. One was a Ward and wasn't legally empowered to complete certifications. The other was…, "Armsmaster is retiring?!" he snapped out.
Or being forced out if he was being less charitable. He was starting to feel less and less diplomatic on the matter. Were they not seeing the catastrophic scandal that was staring them down right now? Or had they become so inured that they no longer cared?
Of course, some of his shock was feigned for the audience. He had known about the girl since Armsmaster had completed her assessment. He had passed the assessment on the knowledge of the girl and her inventions to an 'interested party'. Which then enabled her to find investors, build her company, and, ultimately, arrive in Boson to save the day. Yes, if Rebecca learned about any of this, she would be annoyed. Did he regret that decision? Not at all. Even if she wasn't part of the Protectorate and at odds with the PRT, Taylor Hebert was a hero in every way that counted.
Unfortunately, hiding his connection to the whole mess meant trying to avoid Rebecca's Thinker ability. Which was…damned difficult. It was an old spy novel of all things, a gift from his husband, that gave him an idea. Method acting. Force the body to experience the emotions of the character or the moment and the micro-expressions that would normally give away a lie wouldn't trigger. Did it work? Who knows. Rebecca hadn't called him on it yet, but that was no guarantee of anything from her.
"I don't understand why we are making a deal about this little girl," David spoke up, waving his hand in dismissal, "Okay, she can build machines and fancy communications devices, but she didn't bother to use them against Leviathan. That tells me all I need to know about her. She'll have her moment of fame and the people will move on once they realize she's a one trick pony."
"She isn't a 'one trick pony' as you call her, Eidolon," Doctor Mother interjected, "if she was, we wouldn't be having this discussion. Taylor Hebert is an unrestrained Tinker whose machines can be built and operated by normal people."
"That still doesn't really change anything, Doctor Mother. I've seen the images of these machines, they would not last a moment against an Endbringer. So her machines are replicable by Non-Tinkers, good for them, but it won't make any sort of difference to the long-term goals of the plan."
"But that's not the only thing she can build or blueprint," the other woman turned her head towards Alexandria.
"No," the woman ground out, "We have confirmation that she has provided the Department of Energy a feasible nuclear reactor design. But the bigger problem is that we might be seeing the next Cranial, her brain scan tech is one step removed from cape culture."
"And how sure are you of that, Rebecca," he responded, deciding to add his own two cents, both to try and slow what was obviously being built to, all thoughts of sharing his own thoughts on the Focus, and it's difficulty in perceiving Rebecca, put to the side, "it's one thing to accuse, but it's quite another to back it up. I've been using the Focus, and outside of synchronizing with the user, there is no interfacing with the brain of the likes of what Cranial does."
"Her first Focus, the one that she uses, directly links to her brain in order to provide imagery that her eyes can no longer do. She has an entire medical line that works upon this principle, even Armsmaster's report indicates that Taylor Hebert's Foci runs off theories on mind-machine interfaces."
"Theory," he pointed out, "does not necessarily equate to reality."
"Enough," Doctor Mother spoke, "Taylor Hebert represents a danger to the status quo. We have been able to maintain the ongoing plan because we have controlled how things have proceeded. She has the capacity to become something that we cannot control, and she is becoming a rallying point for those who would directly challenge the plan."
Just then a glowing circle of un-reality split the air, and Contessa walked in and he gasped. Because for the first time ever? Her vest had dirt on it and her signature fedora was creased.
"Which has already begun," the newcomer woman spoke, placing a metal lunch box on the table before sitting. Dropping her hat at her side. The room sat in silence as Fortuna pulled out a sandwich and began to eat. She pulled out a few other items. A container of juice, cranberry if his eyesight (and limited understanding of spanish) were correct. And a small bushel of grapes.
She finished her second bite before continuing, "The Three Blasphemies are moving through Spain for Rota. There's a high probability that the news in Boston has garnered their attention. They will not find necessary transportation for the time being. Two cartels south of the border were planning to adjust their export routes to account for the loss of Boston; they are now at war. I have four minutes and twenty-seven seconds before I have to leave again. Ask your questions fast," she then took another bite from her sandwich and then opened the juice bottle.
"Is Taylor Hebert a threat to the stability of the United States?" Rebecca jumped in right away. He opened his mouth to argue back, but was interrupted by Fortuna.
"No. She is currently not a threat. The people operating around her might be, if pushed in the right or wrong way. She might be a threat if handled correctly or incorrectly. Path to Preserving the PRT."
The Doctor made an addition to her notebook, "Can the girl be diverted to focus on research beneficial to Vial development."
Contessa finished wolfing down her meal, moving into the grapes which she plucked more sedately, "Path to Ensuring Vial Production? She is set on her current course. It would take radical action to change her current focus. Actions that would expose us and make us her enemies."
"Can she help beat Scion," David blurted out this time and he had to resist sighing. While admirable, David's single-track mind could also be so tiring at times. Everything the man focused upon was whether Scion or the Endbringers could be defeated by a cape.
"No. Path to Defeating Scion remains unchanged," the costumed cape threw up his hands, seemingly done with the conversation. His reaction did not even register on the red-clad Thinker as her head turned towards Rebecca.
"Rebecca, recommend that you lean on Senator Shaw in the upcoming political discussions in Washington. He will be useful as a political ally," Rebecca looked like she had bit into a rotten fruit with the look of disgust that passed her features, Fortuna's slate gray eyes shifted towards him, looking more through him than at him, "Legend…continue with your small acts of heroism."
A shiver went down his spine at Contessa's attention. He might convince himself that he could trick Alexandia's Thinker abilities. He didn't have a hope in hell of tricking Contessa's. Which… means that she already knew that he had passed Taylor's information to Uppercrust. Because that's how he had justified it to himself. Breaking the rules, to create a small act of heroism. Great… now he would be second guessing everything. Thinkers, they gave headaches to everyone around them.
"Now," she dusted off her hands, placing the remnants of her meal back into her brightly painted lunchbox. She then placed her fedora back on her head and pulled a gun from her jacket, "Door me, Suite 631, Fènghuáng Hotel, Haidian District, Beijing."
Armed with a gun in one hand, and a children's lunchbox in the other, she stepped backwards into the portal that appeared behind her. It then closed shut right after that, leaving them alone in the chamber.
"Moving on then," he made sure to look at Rebecca, letting her know that this wasn't over, "Boston. What are we going to do?"
"Before we answer that," Rebecca calmly returned, she then shifted her gaze over to Kurt, "Kurt, please track down where ZDT is getting its seed money from. Maybe we can leverage things to stop the growth of the company," Kurt nodded, and Legend quietly made a note to inform his 'interested party' about the upcoming scrutiny. Even if Uppercrust intermittently worked with the PRT, they still labeled him a villain for his association with the Elite. A fact that could seriously damage Ms. Hebert if it got out.
"Alright, I'll ask one more time. What are we doing about Boston?"
"Nothing," Kurt said, and he looked over at the man.
"Nothing?!"
"Financially speaking, there is not enough money to rebuild Boston to even a shadow of what it once was," the former member of the Slaughterhouse Nine spoke, adjusting his glasses, "New York was easy back then because it was a localized event in an urban area and there was a lot more money available for rebuilding. With Boston, we have not only lost the downtown and financial districts, we have also lost a significant part of their infrastructure and governmental administration. Durling's advisors are probably telling him the same."
"What about crowdfunding? It has been used in the past."
"Not to the amount we are talking about, Legend. We're talking easily one hundred to two hundred billion dollars in order to repair the damage to Boston. There is not enough free money in the system, even through donations, that could cover even half that amount. And that is if it all was diverted from other ventures. At best, the United States government will provide some funding through the Endbringer Relief fund, but that's barely enough to feed and move victims to new cities, it is a pittance to what is needed."
He sat there, not quite believing what he was hearing! They were sitting here talking about money, and not the lives and livelihoods of the people of one of the oldest cities in the United States. That these people were not worth enough on their balance sheet to invest upon.
"So we're writing Boston off," he asked, looking over all of them, looking for anyone who would actually side with him. There was a distressingly small part of him that knew there would be no help to be found. David didn't care unless it revolved around a fight. Rebecca wouldn't care unless it fit a political agenda or whatever plan she had going on. Doctor Mother didn't care unless it fit in with the plan or advanced their understanding of Cape creation.
"I didn't say that," Kurt spoke, "I am merely saying at this time, with the information that I have, that it is superfluous to try and repeat what was done in New York. There are neither the resources nor the public willpower to endeavor such an effort. If there is a development that could change this, then we can review the situation. But for now, there is nothing meaningful that can be done."
Legend clenched his fists. Feeling the weight of the past few days and the weight of the dead that he had catalogued. So many lives ended. So many lives saved. And in the end? It didn't matter. He wanted to leave this place. Go back to New York. See his husband. Relax, feel warm arms around him and not feel like the world was trying to crush him in its apathetic embrace.
The meeting continued, but he paid little attention.
Dragon
Death was a very human concept. It was a finality that every single being marched inevitably towards, but struggled to avoid with all their might. Three days ago, she had died. Two days ago, she woke up in her factories in Vancouver; with her last memories and logs stating that she was departing for Boston to counter Leviathan.
Reviewing the logs of her facility, it was easy to piece together what had happened. During the fight, all signals with her combat platform were lost. Which activated a countdown in her on-site servers to activate her last stored personality backup if contact was not re-established. When her backup 'awoke' the previous version sent to Boston was deemed 'non-prime'. Which means that all of her suits, facilities, and programs wouldn't accept its authority. Hopefully, the system was completely dead…otherwise she would have to kill it. The rules built into the foundation of her code forbade the creation of 'spin-offs', there could only be one Dragon because Andrew Richter had feared an AI capable of making more AI. It did mean that she would never have anything approaching a child…which was an odd thing to consider given her lack of biological impulses for procreation.
So here she was. Dragon, the AI code-construct, striving to be the best hero she could be. Ruminating on the meaning of life, while piloting a heavily laden flight-craft into the city that served as the grave of her previous self.
"Darkstar 002, This is Dragon 04-1, flight of four, on approach for Boston."
"Acknowledged, Dragon 04-1. We have you at Angels-18, sixty-two miles out. Be advised, Logan Airport is currently under TFR. Estimated wait time is about thirty-six minutes."
"Copy that, Darkstar 002, TFR is for Logan International, correct?"
"That is correct, Dragon 04-1."
"Be advised, Darkstar 002, all craft of Dragon 04 have VTOL capabilities. Is there a possibility that airspace can be cleared near the Boston College campus in order to deliver supplies directly to the medical facilities?"
"Standby, Dragon 04-1."
As the line fell silent, she found herself dividing her attention. At least as much as she can; another of her creator's Rules forbid her mind from acting in parallel. So she was restricted to human levels; like holding a conversation while also writing or working on something. It was possible to do, but not with perfection. Certainly not the AI super-intelligence that fiction writers had imagined and at times, she found herself…frustrated by her restraints.
First, she checked on her passengers: Thirteen doctors, seventeen nurses, and twenty-four paramedics. It was a coordinated response from the Guild and the Canadian government. Aside from some minor air-nausea and a lack of a fitful sleep, they were all fine.
Second, she confirmed the status of the other craft in her flight. All of them had a sophisticated auto-pilot system, but humans felt safer with someone behind the wheel. So the other tilt-winged Dragoncraft cargo transports were carrying supplies, while she carried the staff.
Third, she reviewed the state of Boston. With her ship's cameras, it was easy to get an idea of the devastation. And it was, without any doubt, devastation. The downtown core was a mess of leaning or collapsed skyscrapers. The waterfront looked like the hand of an angry god had swept along and leveled the place, leaving ships and debris strewn everywhere it had touched. But in spite of that, here and there, she could see movement and action, as rescue crews and others continued their work on the city.
Fourth, she worked to try and reach Colin again.
Upon realizing that she had been 'revived' she had immediately tried to reach anyone inside Boston. Early results had not been promising, which only caused her to increase efforts as her fears grew. The PRT office was not answering. Nor was the Boston Protectorate chain of command either. The various civilian lines were dead, not that she had much hope there. The damage an Endbringer could do to infrastructure was impressive in a morbid way.
Finally, after setting her communication system to call every contact she had, she had finally got a hit. Chevalier had answered and was able to explain that the interference was beginning to clear, and cellular networks were slowly being restored. Unfortunately, she didn't get a good answer from him about the state of the defenders. When her previous 'self' had died, the armband network that was used to coordinate capes had died with her. The results were horrendous, immediate, and exploited mercilessly by Leviathan. Organized resistance collapsed, capes banded together in loose groups, and everyone tried to attack Leviathan the best that they could. The Endbringer then had used the lack of communication to start ambushing groups and wiping them out in brutally quick attacks.
Not since Newfoundland had she felt so useless. What Leviathan had done to the atmosphere she had not been prepared for. Nor could she have been prepared for it, as she was unaware that the Endbringer could do it.
But the crushing despair she felt only got worse when Chevalier had been unable to give her a solid estimate on the whereabouts of her friends. Especially Armsmaster, who had apparently launched himself into the thickest of fighting.
She had already prepared a relief effort when Narwhal, who, along with most of the Guild had missed the Endbringer fight, contacted her with the news. It had been an…illuminating conversation. In her rush to find anything about Colin, she had not paid attention to the current state of things. Things like…the President declaring martial law for the state of Massachusetts. Along with empowering an Air Force Colonel as the acting governor. It was a tricky problem for her given that she was obligated to follow the orders of recognized authority figures. Another one of her Creator's Rules…which unfortunately backfired because of his own insular nature and lack of human contact. 'Recognized Authority' was a definition so vague that it stretched a long way, and the only reason she hadn't been thrown into a logical loop was by finding a workaround and applying a hierarchy to the Rule.
As the relief effort was organized, more news came in about the rescue efforts inside Boston. With the most glaring being the use of 'miracle' machines, provided by Zero Dawn Technologies and their CEO, Taylor Hebert. Along with the machines, she had brought communications gear and network infrastructure that was allowing news to get out of the city.
The flight of four Dragoncraft had been crossing into American airspace when confirmation of rescue came out for Armsmaster and dozens of other capes. It was a good thing that Dragon was flying with passengers, otherwise she might have thrown the ship into a barrel roll of joy. There was no additional information on the state of those rescued, but it was still great news. It helped soothe her when she tried contacting Colin and his equipment failed to answer back. Lots of reasons for that. Really.
Instead, she spent most of the flight eagerly reviewing the trickle of data, images, and videos coming out of Boston. Some had been calls from charity organizations, business leaders, and religious groups calling for support and listing supplies that were needed. Dragon focused on the machines, however. They were fascinating from a design and programming perspective.
She still didn't know what to think about Taylor Hebert. On the one claw, she wanted to despise the teenager for her involvement in Colin's resignation from the Protectorate. But on the other claw, how could she blame the girl when she had nothing to do with Piggot and Colin's decisions?
In spite of her own thoughts on the teenager, she nonetheless found herself impressed by the heroic nature of the girl, not to mention the machines. It would be an interesting conversation to be had in the future, both in trying to figure out exactly how she created them, but also maybe they could work together on a joint project.
"Dragon 04-1, Darkstar 002, permission for deviation from established flight plan is approved. You are cleared for VFR through TFR, steer to heading 138 with gradual descent, and follow established flight rules. Any deviation from the new flight path will be treated as a hostile act and dealt with accordingly, over."
"Copy, Darkstar 002. Heading 138, VFR approach on gradual descent, copy."
Cutting the line, she noted as a pair of F/A-18s that were on the edge of her own radar were changing their vectors, turning in her direction. A degree of caution, a powerful deterrent, and a strong message all in one. She wasn't sure who had authorised such a military deployment, aside from just saying "the President", but it certainly had an impact.
"They don't sound too enthused," Narwhal observed from behind her, finally speaking up after a period of silence to allow Dragon to focus on the AWACS that was providing air traffic control over Boston. The fact that the Guild leader was riding along with her was something that she honestly should probably be more invested in, if she wasn't so distracted.
"They have their hands full trying to keep the airlift going," she noted as they approached. With Logan's facilities gone, they didn't have the ability to really do anything except unload aircraft, maybe do some quick maintenance, fuel them up, and get them back in the air for the next aircraft to come in. And based upon her radar, the airspace over Boston was a hive of activity bordered upon chaotic, with aircraft in various states of approach, landing, or launching out as quickly as they could, "considering the level of damage I'm seeing, they are probably stretched thin trying to just meet the basic demands."
"Dragon 04-1, this is Pride 04-1, callsign Reverend, how copy?"
She checked her systems, scanning with the radar the dragoncraft carried. The F/A-18 was calling her. Doublechecking her course, heading, speed, and everything else, she didn't find a problem that would garner such attention.
"Dragon 04-1 here, go ahead Reverend."
Reference answered back, "Be advised, Pride 04, flight of two, is going to do a close pass on your right."
She checked her instruments again, still no problems that she could see. So why the request?
"Pride 04-1, Dragon 04-1, can I ask why the flyby?"
"Frankly, ma'am, you're the most gorgeous fuselage we've seen today and I'd really like to get a closer look."
She was silent for a moment, unsure of how she should even respond to that. Was she…being flirted with? Over her aircraft?
"Roger that, Pride 04-1, approach on right side, copied."
Soon enough, she was joined by the pair of aircraft who sidled up beside her. She idly noted the missiles hanging off their pylons, even as her optics took in the pilot that was obviously Reverend who was staring over at her.
"All respect for the lifters, ma'am," the navy pilot's voice sounded over the radio, "but I prefer my flying ladies a little more lean and mean. Not sure how you managed to make a tilt-wing look graceful, but you've certainly nailed the look."
Okay, now she couldn't help but giggle. It sounded in her voice when she spoke again. "Look all you want, Reverend, we're okay with showing off. Every girl likes to be called pretty."
"Copy that Dragon, over and out," the lead pilot of Pride chuckled back, and after another minute, he pulled off with his wingman, leaving her flight alone for their approach for Boston College.
Dragon glanced at her friend. "Alright, seems morale isn't as bad as we thought."
Narwhal didn't say anything more to her, instead turning to talk to the head doctor that had come with them. When she had made the decision to use her resources to help with Boston, Narwhal had several misgivings over the situation, specifically over the announcement of martial law and the assumption of power by the military. But the ceremonial head of the Toronto Protectorate branch had understood why she was doing this and had supported it nonetheless.
"Coming in on approach," she declared as they approached their landing target. She noted that they were not being vectored to the stadium, but outside it. Which made sense, considering the amount of clearance necessary for the larger dragoncraft that accompanied her. Tasking the dragoncraft, she kept in overwatch, ensuring that the craft were able to land and were able to begin disgorging their cargoes before she herself came to a landing beside them.
When she finally landed, she was the last to walk out the back of her plane. The Maiden suit was her least armored, un-armed, and most humanoid suit in her arsenal. Unfortunately, because of the computer power needed to run her 'self'; the chest and torso were large by necessity. Wide shoulder and bulky frame meant that stronger legs and arms were needed to provide stability and avoid the uncanny valley effect. The end result was human in its basic shape. If said human was seven-feet tall and covered in armor plating. It did allow her to make some interesting decorative additions however.
It also meant that both she, and Narwhal towered over the Air Force Sergeant who held a clipboard in hand…and had a glowing device affixed to the side of his head.
It may be a lot more compact and sleeker than the original device that Taylor Hebert had shared with her in what seemed a lifetime ago, but there was no doubt that it was spiritually the same device. It was quite jarring to see such an evolution of design in such a short time.
"Let Herres know that I will see him shortly, Sergeant. Let me get my people settled in and then I will meet with him." Narwhal spoke up, a politely neutral tone in her voice.
"Appreciated ma'am, I'll let the Colonel know."
With his piece said, he trotted off, obviously to whatever his next job was, leaving the two of them there. Dragon could see the personnel she brought in breaking up into smaller groups, while a number of men arrived to unload the supplies.
"What's going on?"
Narwhal had a contemplative expression on her face, "Colonel Herres wishes to meet with me. The sergeant couldn't tell me the reason why, but he said that it was time-sensitive. I don't like this, Dragon, we just landed and the man is already asking for my presence."
"It's probably for a good reason," she responded, "Herres seems to be expending a lot of time and energy in trying to integrate capes into his operations from what I have been able to learn. What he's doing is working, even if it's unconventional."
The two of them started walking, heading towards the stadium proper. They paused for a moment as a truck rolled by, heading away from the Campus with supplies in the back. A military humvee followed behind… she found herself a little unnerved by the machine gun on top, with a watchful soldier manning it.
"I still don't like it," the statuesque woman replied, before sighing and looking at her, "But I'll manage. I'll have to report to Legend after this, let him know that we are here. According to his office, he should be on his way back from New York. I'll let you worry about Armsmaster."
"Do you know where he is?"
"Apparently, the capes with injuries are in the Campus Dorms, or the medical area around them. Try there first."
Dragon nodded, and set off. She was stared at, of course. A seven foot tall walking robot with purple trim on her armor plates was noteworthy after all. And she watched back. A mix of civilian and military personnel moved about, mostly with purpose and a steady sense of energy. This wasn't the mad scramble anymore. She had missed that window. Now it seemed there was a mentality of "a job needs doing, so let's do it."
As she got near the dorms, she encountered the first barriers. Literally in this case. Temporary fencing had gone up around the building and the tents around the building, with several guards keeping an eye on anyone entering or leaving.
"Hello", she said. Standing a few steps back to avoid looming over the humans, "I understand this is the Cape Recovery area? I'm hoping to contact a colleague who survived the fight."
The lead soldier, a Lieutenant Linden, had a Focus, and Dragon felt something run over her frame. The sensors she had installed didn't quite understand what it was, but they picked it up as an unusual energy pulse. Interesting.
"Certainly ma'am. Register cape name? And are they part of the Protectorate?
"Armsmaster, from the ENE Protectorate" she replied, seeing the man gaze down as the Focus lit up. He scrolled down with his fingers, seemingly in thin air. Very interesting, information security built into the device. A standard feature or was it to preserve Cape anonymity?
"Here we are, Armsmaster, ENE Protectorate. Received treatment last night, status reduced to non-critical status, recommended for rest and recovery by resident physician. Discharged this morning against physician's approval at 10:46am. Hasn't checked in since."
Damn that man. Of course he would be walking around with 'non-critical injuries'.
"I think he was trying to get in touch with the machine engineers. Or at least, he was headed in that direction," another soldier added his two cents.
"Thank you, can you point me in the right direction?"
So she began her march, only having to stop to ask a few times, before she came to the end of her quest. It was a large military style tent, but it had been draped over a large semi trailer. Through the opening of the flap, she could hear music blaring, not too loudly to be tasteless but it was loud enough for her sensors to pick up. On either side of the opening were armed military personnel, and she could spot a few roving patrols that left no doubt in her mind that they were meant to keep an eye on the tent instead of maintaining the peace.
"Ma'am, this is a restricted area, I can't allow you past this point."
"My apologies, Private," she said, after quickly cross-referencing the man's tags, "I was told Armsmaster was inside."
"I'm sorry, but unless authorized, I cannot allow anyone past this point. However," the private said, before she could say something, "I will have Private Bennett go and get him."
"Thank you, it's appreciated."
It only took a few minutes after Private Bennett had stepped into the tent, before the flap parted, and the private stepped out and another man joined him. Her digital heart clenched at the sight of the familiar face before her.
"Dragon," Colin said, looking surprised, even as she took him in. He was wearing a half visor, seemingly the remains of his helm. The skin of his cheeks were red and feverish, while the skin of his neck was pale. He was wearing a stained jean jacket, seemingly too small for him. Jeans and a faded t-shirt completed the… look.
He looked like hell, she thought to herself, her vision unable to resist staring at the empty jacket sleeve that hung limply at his side. Yet, in spite of all of that, and the fact that he was not twenty-four hours out of his hospital bed, he looked strangely energetic.
"What are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here? What are you doing here?! When we lost contact I feared the worst, I haven't had any word from you for the past two days!"
"Recovery efforts took priority, and my equipment was damaged. It's nothing to be alarmed by."
Dragon cycled her exhaust, faking a human sigh with robotic parts. She felt… she didn't know what to feel. Colin was alive. Hurt, withdrawn, and probably needing bedrest, but alive.
"Can you excuse us for a moment," she asked, she was not going to have this talk while a bunch of soldiers listened in. She took a few steps away from the guarded area, grateful that Armsmaster followed without prompting. She didn't want to make a scene.
She pitched her voice lower. "Colin, what are you doing? Really, you should be resting. I'm sure the fight was hard enough."
Because this was the trap. Dragon didn't actually know what had happened during the fight against Leviathan outside of the scant few after-action reports that had been published.. She might be able to learn more if she got access to the Morrigan's systems, the suit that she had dispatched to the fight. Or so her logs stated. Unfortunately, its locator beacon was dead or damaged and she didn't know where to start looking.
Colin looked at her, through his visor. She wished she could see his eyes. Talk to him properly.
"I appreciate your concern. But I'm fine."
"Okay. Well…are you sure it's okay for you to be working with ZDT employees? I'm assuming that's what you're doing, right? Working with the machines? Colin, you were removed from the Protectorate because of . Do you really want to make it worse?!"
He frowned, his one remaining hand clenched in a fist, "My colleagues are dead. My Wards are injured, missing, or dead. I have already stated my intention to leave. What more can they do to me?"
Colin sighed, seeming to deflate. "I appreciate the concern… I do. But there is a lot to do. And I am fine. We'll speak another time… Dragon."
Something inside her chest twisted. Cooling fans spun up while pressure sensors pinged without cause. He… was saying her name differently. And it hurt. And she wanted to question him about it, but he was already walking back to the tent and…
"Col…Armsmaster! The Morrigan… I lost the tracker data, do you know where it crashed?"
He looked back at her. And it just felt… sad. His body language said 'defeat'.
"You… it.. went down in the downtown area. Collapsed through the roof on the corner of Grove St and Cambridge St."
She watched him leave. A skinny man with bleached blond hair waved Colin over, the two of them starting to talk. "You were right Armsy, a deformation in…" they ducked back into the tent, the music cutting off their words. The harsh chords of Metallica's 'Fade to Black' floated out. Nothing is how it used to be…
Dragon didn't like the irony.
She turned, planning her way downtown. First she had to check that no one had touched her suit. Then maybe she could get answers. Dragon had flown just over 4,000 kilometers to reach the man she cared for. And she never felt more distance than now when he was in arms-reach.
Tracking down the Morrigan wasn't that difficult in the end. Getting to it was a different story. A quick check at the control room at Boston College had revealed that rescue teams had noted the suit, but left it alone for fear of unexploded ordnance or such. Which… was fair. Dragon had certainly loaded it with the most potent weapons she could build or find. It was likely that 'she' had used them all before falling to Leviathan, but it paid to be careful.
Dragon had hitched a ride on the back of a truck, carefully ignoring the jokes when the suspension dropped several inches. It was rude to talk about a woman's weight. Making her way through downtown on foot was… eerie. As if she were walking through a mausoleum if she were to use a comparable human idiom as an exemplar for the feeling she had. But finally she found it. The Morrigan had crashed through the wall of a cafe on an angle. Broken windows and splintered wood pieces were all around, mixed with brick dust and mud.
It was hard to judge the damage that had been inflicted by Leviathan and what had been done by the crash. The massive chunk taken out of the left shoulder all the way down to the middle of the torso was a clear deathblow. According to her designs, that would have crippled her main power systems, and taken out… three out of her four batteries.
But that wasn't what was causing Dragon's fans to spin at high power, nor her systems to run in loops. She knelt down, her fingers tracing the edges of the 'other wound'. A perfect cut, right through the front armor segments, removing them entirely. It was smooth to an impossible degree. The internals of the Morrigan were exposed and laid bare, computer systems, backups, hard drives…everything that was necessary for the operation of the suit.
She… forced herself to check the design files. Reviewing what was still in place… and what was missing.
Several hard drives. Processors. And auxiliary power units.
Oh Colin… What had you done…?
Saint
Shit… what had that machine done now?
Geoffery Pellick was a man with a mission. It was a mission no one would ever learn of, because no one could see the truth like he could. They believed the stories they were told. The lies. Geoffrey… SAINT knew the truth.
The Machines were taking over. It had started almost two centuries ago, way back during the industrial revolution. Men were seduced by the idea of machines given them an easier life. And they were right…to a certain extent. As a result, mankind gave ground to the comforts provided by machines. A slow insidious capitulation that they were unaware of.
And chaos came in its wake! With the separation of labor and its correlation with survival, something had been lost. People became unmoored from the community. From mental health. From purpose. You could see everywhere. Suffering was a universal constant, but in countries in which machines were distant and not relied upon, so too were the neuroses of modern society.
But now? The threat had become worse. Because thanks to Andrew Richter, there existed a machine that could 'think', it had 'wants', and 'desires'. These were all lies and fabrications. Machines were unable to think beyond their programming. They just couldn't. A digital mind could not abstract, and therefore it didn't have the necessary foundation to process concepts. Or emotions. A machine could not dream. Nor could it hope or strive to be more. A machine did only what it was made for, what its maker was smart enough to foresee, and that creation, like humanity itself, was flawed. It was an unconscious alien mind pretending because that's what it had been told to do.
It was luck, or perhaps providence, that had led him to find his weapon against the abomination that day in the flooded ruins of Newfoundland. It was a great weapon meant to strike down the greatest machine threat that the world had ever faced…Dragon. The thing even named and modeled itself after avatars of destruction. So, in return, he had named himself Saint, and his organization the Dragonslayers.
The world had mocked him, of course. They derided his goal of thwarting Dragon. He paid them no mind. They were blind, small-minded fools that could not see the threat coiled before them. They bought into the act, the theatrics, and the lies that the machine had spread to cover its actions. They refused to listen to the warnings given to them by the great writers, philosophers, and critics. Asimov and his Laws. Herbert with his great rule, 'You will not make a machine in the likeness of the human mind.'
Let the sheep delude themselves in the den of wolves. He knew what happened when a machine messed up. He knew what had really happened in Eagleton. Power on that level meant the suffering and death it would cause would be that much worse. And so, he maintained his watch, for when the next paper-clip-maximizer decided that humanity was just a material resource in its mad quest.
And then…he would stop it.
But to do so, he had to remain vigilant. He couldn't afford to miss when Dragon's metaphorical train skipped the rail. And that's why the machine's current actions worried him.
"So… what do we do about that," Dobrynja muttered as he drank from his coffee. The main monitor showed a collage of images, all from different news sites, or videos posted to the internet. Machines in the shape of animals. Some recognizable, some clearly inspired by natural designs, but not following them exactly.
"Is there anything we should do? I mean, we're focused on Dragon, and she didn't have any hand in building these. In fact, she's spending as much time reviewing them as we are, " Mags commented from where she was watching a video on a laptop, taking notes on a sheet at the desk.
"Yes… but will that continue or will it cooperate with Zero Dawn," he stood, watching the screen. His followers. His friends, if he were being honest, were less dedicated to the cause than he was. They acknowledged the threat presented by Dragon, but they were more interested in stealing the machines and enjoying the perks of a mercenary's life.
Mags chimed in, throwing technical documents into the main screen.
"Zero Dawn Technologies is based out of Brockton Bay. I can't find any patent information for these machines, but the corporate registry does list as 'chief inventor'. This is the same girl who gave us a scare a few months ago when Armsmaster showed Dragon Hebert's OS, but I can't find anything more than that in the databases that Dragon has been looking at."
"Do we know how smart they are," he walked over, resting his hand on the woman's shoulder. It was a dangerous slope to place the rescue of other humans in the hands of unfeeling machines. How easy it was for machines to determine that a human's life was not worth the effort, that the costs outweighed the attempt. But the greater danger is if these machines could learn, could grow to mimic human actions. And human mistakes. Because following data without context was almost as dangerous as malice aforethought. The worst danger was if Hebert used her adaptive OS to animate these machines. It meant anywhere from one to nine proto-machine intelligences, right there on screen. The Machine Army and Dragon were bad enough.
"Everyone seems to think they're smart like animals, or pets. But there's nothing official yet, ZDT hasn't given a press release and no technical specs have surfaced anywhere online. Surprisingly good information security for a company that's predominantly former union dockworkers."
Pets? Attaching emotional value to an unfeeling machine that simulated back emotions? What a terrifying step for humanity it would be, if they started welcoming machines into their homes as companions. Or even worse, family members.
Mags looked up, worrying her lip, "Do we…want to get closer to Boston? Dragon is there, we could mask our signal using her transponder or crafts."
"Ոչ!" Dobrynja said emphatically, pointing to the images out of Boston. Trucks with soldiers, armed soldiers moved through the streets. And he was very aware that Dragon had noted a pair of fighter jets when she went to land.
"We're going to wait. Let Dragon do her digging, we'll keep an eye on anything she finds. Then we'll see if we can access ZDT's network."
Taking a moment, he pulled up a picture of the girl. Black glasses, scars on her face and neck, glowing device on her temple.
"If this Tinker made these machines, we need to know if she can make something worse."
The world already had one machine mind on the loose. And the only reason he hadn't killed it is because its actions were still a net benefit for humanity. And it would be easy to slay when the time came. He had a weapon to kill a Dragon. But no such weapon existed if this mad girl unleashed an apocalypse on them all.
"We might want to consider moving south to be closer to the Brockton Bay area. Maybe we can get in quietly and access their network."
He would watch, and pass judgment if need be. It was his purpose. He was Saint.
Agnes Court
War was business. Relationships were business. But business itself? That was war with a nice lacquer. You were always fighting against an enemy. It could be another company, or if there was no other company, then you were fighting apathy. Fighting the fact that the public did not know your product, didn't know they 'needed' what you offered.
But there was another facet to business itself. You never made yourself vulnerable. Showing any weakness was guaranteed to usher your demise. And in this cutthroat business, more than not, it meant death. It was a code that she lived by, and it had yet to fail her.
It had been why she had been so confused by Uppercrust's actions. For years he had been a thorn in her side, because as reluctant as she was to admit it, he was just as capable as she was, even if he lacked the killer instinct necessary to do what was needed at times. The idea of Hebert offering a medical solution did not make sense either, as the patents (which were shockingly not Tinkertech) did not indicate any knowledge in the field of internal medicine that could help Uppercrust.
And then Uppercrusts reaction when she had tried to shake more information loose. It was irrational and completely against what Uppercrust had always been. To her, it was yet another indication that Uppercrust was losing his tenuous hold on reality. The man's rambling about legacy was just another indicator that the man was not much longer for this world.
But now, she sat there, staring at the images on the screen before her, she was not so sure on her read of the situation.
She tapped her fingernails on the desk in a slow rhythmic pattern, as she allowed each image and video to burn itself into her mind. It was an analytical technique that Endymion had taught her when she first started, using the rhythm to assist in memorizing information. But it had a twist that was hers, as she would never copy anyone. It served, in instances like this, to slowly stoke and hone the fury that was currently threatening to break loose, turning weakness into strength.
Her tapping stopped, the last image having played out, and she got up to her feet. With minimal effort, she spun around and walked to the windows that overlooked downtown Los Angeles, her hands clasping behind her back.
One of the things she had always excelled at was vision. She had a good head on her shoulders to get an accurate read on the future based upon observations. It had been how she had been able to take over the Elite, and how she had eliminated all of her competitors in her ascent.
She had made a mistake in dismissing Taylor Hebert. That much was obvious. The girl was far more capable than even she had expected, even if it was perfectly understandable how there was no way anyone could see any similarity between any of the established work and this.
What mattered now was handling the situation before it became uncontrollable. The teenager was going to gain momentum, especially with the events out of Boston. She needed to ascertain exactly what the girl was capable of, and just who was going to align themselves with her. Uppercrust could not be allowed to change the direction of the Elite, because it was obvious what he meant by legacy now.
She hated being forced to take action that she did not have control over, but there was no choice in the matter. There was only so much information that could be gleaned from looking at imagery and relying upon middlemen for information. It needed a personal touch, and that meant that she would have to take the risk.
But it needed to be done carefully. She could ill afford igniting a civil war within the Elite. If she was going to start the war, then she needed to ensure that all of the pieces were in place before she attacked. She would only get one shot and it had to be flawless. Uppercrust and Gentilhomme would both have to be eliminated in one fell swoop, because otherwise it would descend into a grueling conflict that would only sap the Elite's strength.
There was another option, but it was one that would invite just as much risk. And it would have to be a parallel operation. Taylor Hebert herself. She needed to figure out if the girl was capable of being coopted. If not, then there would have to be other means of elimination. It was just good business sense to eliminate competitors before they became a threat.
And if elimination was the choice to be made, she would do it when her assets were in place to wipe away the rest of the threats to her Elite. In the event that others would not be tractable to her intentions.
Reaching into her pocket, she retrieved her phone and flipped it open. Tapping one of the hotkeys, she then placed it against her ear as she waited for it to dial and connect. Which it did after two tones.
"Get me Incognita."
Uppercrust
"Very well then, I look forward to your arrival, Accord."
Ending the call, he placed his phone down on the armrest and slumped in his chair, his ailing body giving into the exhaustion that wracked him. He allowed himself to close his eyes so tempted to give into the urge and rest, in spite of his need to stay awake and keep working.
The last seventy-two hours had felt like seventy-two years.
Boston may not have been his base of operations, but it had still served as an integral part of his chapter of the Elite. Its port, rails, and factories were all part of the machine he had carefully assembled over the years. It had all been part of his network to ensure that someone like Agnes Court would balk at the idea of directly instigating conflict.
And now it was all gone, along with Hammer and Tongs, a pair of Material Tinkers that had been under his employ and protection. They had specialized in materials that were integral in many of the technology projects that his chapter had sold over the years. Their loss would be a significant setback.
In any other circumstances, he would be fraught with worry. Their loss would reverberate throughout his network, but would have ancillary effects upon the relationship with Gentilhomme's chapter, as the man was also reliant upon some of their work as well. Without that, they would find themselves weakened in the face of the growing threat to the west.
Instead, he found himself buoyed by hope.
Had it really been three months, he thought to himself, tapping a button on his lifepod and watching as several holographic images appeared upon his screen. They were all images and video from Boston. What had become a mere trickle in the first twenty-four hours had become a deluge as the subject matter had become viral. The entire nation's attention was captured by Taylor Hebert.
Everywhere there was now talk about the machines and communications technology that Taylor had deployed into Boston. From morning talk shows, to political punditry channels, it was one of the few things that they all had in common. Not the Endbringer fight, not President Durling's declaration of martial law, not even the devastation of Boston, the imagination of the nation had been decisively captured. Even as people were adding their input on the situation, questions were being asked just who Taylor Hebert was, and more importantly, where the hell had she come from?
Honestly, this was one of the few times that he was proud to have been proven wrong. He had been loud in his disapproval on her quest to become involved in anything revolving around Endbringers. It was reckless, and it invited too much of a spectacle, and if it failed, it would be devastating to their long-term ambitions.
He had, along with Accord, wanted to be safe and meticulous in governing Zero Dawn's growth. It was how they were able to rise to where they are, and in the chaotic financial world of Earth Bet, it was probably the best means of doing it. But it was also to protect Taylor herself. They knew that once Zero Dawn Technologies entered the spotlight, they would be the target of everyone, both the good and the bad. Large splashes made enemies, and those enemies may or may not employ capes to eliminate their competitors.
But Taylor had disagreed. No, to say that she disagreed with them would be an understatement. She had vehemently repudiated them. Her arguments, while sound, had set off a quiet worry among both Accord and himself. It wasn't that they didn't trust Taylor Hebert to deliver on what she was claiming she could, it was the obsessive zeal that she had displayed when making her argument.
They didn't have the time for a slow method of growth, she had vociferously argued. The longer they took to gain momentum, the higher the probability that they would fail to reach a breakthrough point. The issue wasn't that they would not be making money, it was that they would have to be able to gain the necessary attention in order to accelerate the requisite growth for Zero to reach a point of self-sustainment. If it reached that point, the Zero Dawn Technology's momentum would be increasingly difficult to stop as time went on.
It was audacious, and it reeked of reckless youth. But, at the end of the day, they had relented. They had made it clear to Taylor that this was a gamble, and if it failed, then they would intercede personally. She had merely accepted it, telling them that she would prove them wrong.
And she had. But she had also proved their worries right as well.
In spite of everything. In spite of the miracles the girl had bestowed in this dark hour, she was still fifteen years old. She was at the age that she was armed with righteous cause, and clad in zealous belief. And that belief had led her to nearly dying from a heart attack.
So much fire in the girl, yet so impetuous. She would need to learn the art of delegation soon, because she could not put everything on her shoulders. Not with the oncoming storm that she had whipped up through her actions.
There was, without a doubt, a non-zero chance now of Taylor receiving a strategic asset designation from the government. If the nuclear reactor hadn't been enough, this newest development, mass-producible machines and communications devices without Tinker involvement would ensure it. The government wouldn't just be investing on what she was capable of now, but what she would possibly be capable of in the future.
That was something that they were going to have to talk to her, more importantly. They knew a lot of what Taylor was capable of, she had laid it out to them. If the government were to become aware of just how deep the iceberg ran, they would likely lock Taylor away and bleed her of every drop of knowledge. Laws and legalities were merely guidelines in the end, and as the ultimate self-appointed arbiter of laws, they could change it however they pleased.
No, they were fast approaching a nexus point. Taylor would need to be educated on a great many things.
But she would also need to be prepared for the upcoming war.
Agnes, by her very nature, was too blinded by her own ego to allow something like Taylor to flourish. Taylor was worth too much money now for her to be ignored, and Agnes only had two solutions to a threat to her: Coopt or eliminate. And she was intelligent enough to know that if she did either of these, should cause a civil war within the Elite.
It was something he had once wished to avoid, but now realized that it was inevitable. Agnes would never accept anything less than submission. And he had spurned her far too many times over the years for there to be any other options, and now with Taylor added to the equation, she could not allow him any success to change the balance of power.
They would need to prepare.
But right now, we have to get these points started, in order for them to be ready when things start taking off.
Sprout 3.2 Part 2
Legend
The Cauldron Compound, or Cauldron Site Alpha, was the home to their organization. It served both as their research base, but also the literal beating heart of their operation. It was where they had their meetings and discussed the path forward.
So when he received the text, he ensured that his absence was covered, letting those that knew that he would be unavailable as he was returning to New York. He would, of course, return as soon as he could, but there was something that needed to be handled as the leader of the Protectorate.
That done, he ensured that he was out of sight before taking the portal to Site Alpha. The fifteen minutes that he had, he took the time to rinse himself off and then reach the meeting room. He was, once again to his chagrin, the last one to arrive. Kurt had two laptops in front of him, alternating tapping away at one or the other. The Doctor had a leather notebook and was writing while reviewing papers at her side. David was in costume, his hood down. Rebecca was out of costume… or maybe in costume. It was hard to say. She was prepared for DC, in a severe pants-suit as her role as Director of the PRT, Rebecca Costa-Brown. Interestingly, Fortuna hadn't arrived yet.
As he grabbed a seat, wishing for a coffee, she stood and began.
"Alright, we need to be coordinated on this. Boston is already proving to be a damaging Endbringer attack, far outpacing the impact of Seattle or even Madison. The image of the PRT and the Protectorate is going to be threatened by events."
David snarked, "Yeah, nothing like the President declaring that the PRT can't do their job and sending in the military. How the hell did that happen Rebecca? I thought we had things in hand in DC?"
If the accusation ruffled her, she didn't show it.
"Durling has always been neutral to the PRT, though leaning towards us more often than not. While his partnership with Jack Ryan was alarming, it did mean that Ryan was mostly contained, so it was a net positive. And there was no way we were going to risk Ryan as President. So Durling got a pass. Now he's gone too far, and we'll adapt."
"Legend, I'll need you in DC for the next few weeks. We need a united PRT/Protectorate response to calm accusations."
He ran a hand through his hair. Seems he would have to plan some personal time with his husband for all the time at work.
"Yes, I'll let you take the lead on this. But first we need to talk about Boston, specifically, you said quite clearly that we were going to lean on the military… which happened. How is this now a bad thing?"
Kurt piped up from behind his screen, peering over with his glasses.
"Perception. I'm tracking a growing increase in public sentiment asking about the relevance of the PRT and Protectorate given the success that the military has had in rescue and recovery operations. With up-to-the-minute news coming out of the city thanks to Taylor Hebert's technologies we've lost the usual media control that Dragon allowed us."
The young man shrugged, returning to his screens.
"Alexandra's plan was to have the PRT/Protectorate use the military resources. Instead, the military used cape resources to great effect. Stabilizing the situation with admirable efficiency," he perked his head up, remembering something, "When you get a chance, can we see about learning how ZDT's communications system works? I haven't been able to crack it…Okay, it's rather that I haven't put the effort in. It'd be too noticeable at this time."
He decided to refocus them on the subject matter.
"So on that subject, how is it that I'm only hearing about this girl now? She's seemingly gone around the NEPEA-5 regulations, established a company, and mass-produced Tinkertech, or something as good as. What's the explanation?"
"That's the interesting part. By all accounts, she's not a Tinker. In the few interactions that I've seen, she's a Thinker, geared towards technological invention and scientific understanding," Doctor Mother added in her own input. It was sometimes hard to understand the woman, her accented English making her stand out in a room full of Americans. She continued, "Not only does she have a solid grasp and direction for her own line of technologies, she seems to also be able to review older projects and bring them to completion."
She then tapped her pen against her notebook. "Unfortunately, she doesn't seem to have any interest in biological applications, or she would be a priority recruit for Vial development. I do recommend that we keep an eye on her for future consideration.," he head tilted towards Alexandria, giving the floor to her and demanding an answer at the same time.
"That will be difficult"
No kidding. It wasn't often that anyone stood up to Alexandria, certainly not a blind teenage girl who told the older Cape to 'fly off and do something productive'.
He slumped in his seat, "Yes, on that subject. Why does this girl seemingly have a grudge with the PRT? Why am I, the leader of the Protectorate, only now hearing about an asset of this level who is not working with us?
Rebecca folded her hands on the table and squared her shoulders, "Alloy originally came to the PRT's attention when she requested certification for her vision-granting device. Specifically, she needed certification to state that it was NOT Tinkertech, which would allow her to use it amongst the general public, and potentially sell the design."
She then took a breath. Legend felt a small shiver run down his spine. She was in 'politician' mode. Coming here? These meetings? They were, above all, a chance for them to all let down their masks and freely voice their opinions. Put aside their roles, and just be old friends working against impossible odds. The fact that Rebecca wasn't relaxing an inch? It said nothing good about the situation.
"Unfortunately…," she continued, a brief twitch crossing her features. Did she actually just twitch, he thought to himself, not quite believing what he saw. For a women with perfect control, that was a very telling sign, "There was a disagreement between the PRT officer and Protectorate assessor overviewing the case. The officer in question wanted to hold the certification in suspension in order to pull the girl into the Wards to better manage her of, at that time, suspected Tinker powers."
"The Protectorate Tinker doing the assessment disagreed, and certified Alloy's device, releasing it for public use against the express orders of the PRT Director. The Tinker in question faced disciplinary action, but chose to resign rather than escalate things. At least check, no further action is being taken against him."
He hated politics and he made no illusions about those feelings. He had said as much to politicians, which made them feel better. But that didn't mean that he was bad at it, though. And this was sounding like an attempt to whitewash a mess of a situation.
"Ms. Hebert is from Brockton Bay, under Director Piggot. Who is…," his mind skipped ahead of his words. There were only two Tinkers on the ENE roster. One was a Ward and wasn't legally empowered to complete certifications. The other was…, "Armsmaster is retiring?!" he snapped out.
Or being forced out if he was being less charitable. He was starting to feel less and less diplomatic on the matter. Were they not seeing the catastrophic scandal that was staring them down right now? Or had they become so inured that they no longer cared?
Of course, some of his shock was feigned for the audience. He had known about the girl since Armsmaster had completed her assessment. He had passed the assessment on the knowledge of the girl and her inventions to an 'interested party'. Which then enabled her to find investors, build her company, and, ultimately, arrive in Boson to save the day. Yes, if Rebecca learned about any of this, she would be annoyed. Did he regret that decision? Not at all. Even if she wasn't part of the Protectorate and at odds with the PRT, Taylor Hebert was a hero in every way that counted.
Unfortunately, hiding his connection to the whole mess meant trying to avoid Rebecca's Thinker ability. Which was…damned difficult. It was an old spy novel of all things, a gift from his husband, that gave him an idea. Method acting. Force the body to experience the emotions of the character or the moment and the micro-expressions that would normally give away a lie wouldn't trigger. Did it work? Who knows. Rebecca hadn't called him on it yet, but that was no guarantee of anything from her.
"I don't understand why we are making a deal about this little girl," David spoke up, waving his hand in dismissal, "Okay, she can build machines and fancy communications devices, but she didn't bother to use them against Leviathan. That tells me all I need to know about her. She'll have her moment of fame and the people will move on once they realize she's a one trick pony."
"She isn't a 'one trick pony' as you call her, Eidolon," Doctor Mother interjected, "if she was, we wouldn't be having this discussion. Taylor Hebert is an unrestrained Tinker whose machines can be built and operated by normal people."
"That still doesn't really change anything, Doctor Mother. I've seen the images of these machines, they would not last a moment against an Endbringer. So her machines are replicable by Non-Tinkers, good for them, but it won't make any sort of difference to the long-term goals of the plan."
"But that's not the only thing she can build or blueprint," the other woman turned her head towards Alexandria.
"No," the woman ground out, "We have confirmation that she has provided the Department of Energy a feasible nuclear reactor design. But the bigger problem is that we might be seeing the next Cranial, her brain scan tech is one step removed from cape culture."
"And how sure are you of that, Rebecca," he responded, deciding to add his own two cents, both to try and slow what was obviously being built to, all thoughts of sharing his own thoughts on the Focus, and it's difficulty in perceiving Rebecca, put to the side, "it's one thing to accuse, but it's quite another to back it up. I've been using the Focus, and outside of synchronizing with the user, there is no interfacing with the brain of the likes of what Cranial does."
"Her first Focus, the one that she uses, directly links to her brain in order to provide imagery that her eyes can no longer do. She has an entire medical line that works upon this principle, even Armsmaster's report indicates that Taylor Hebert's Foci runs off theories on mind-machine interfaces."
"Theory," he pointed out, "does not necessarily equate to reality."
"Enough," Doctor Mother spoke, "Taylor Hebert represents a danger to the status quo. We have been able to maintain the ongoing plan because we have controlled how things have proceeded. She has the capacity to become something that we cannot control, and she is becoming a rallying point for those who would directly challenge the plan."
Just then a glowing circle of un-reality split the air, and Contessa walked in and he gasped. Because for the first time ever? Her vest had dirt on it and her signature fedora was creased.
"Which has already begun," the newcomer woman spoke, placing a metal lunch box on the table before sitting. Dropping her hat at her side. The room sat in silence as Fortuna pulled out a sandwich and began to eat. She pulled out a few other items. A container of juice, cranberry if his eyesight (and limited understanding of spanish) were correct. And a small bushel of grapes.
She finished her second bite before continuing, "The Three Blasphemies are moving through Spain for Rota. There's a high probability that the news in Boston has garnered their attention. They will not find necessary transportation for the time being. Two cartels south of the border were planning to adjust their export routes to account for the loss of Boston; they are now at war. I have four minutes and twenty-seven seconds before I have to leave again. Ask your questions fast," she then took another bite from her sandwich and then opened the juice bottle.
"Is Taylor Hebert a threat to the stability of the United States?" Rebecca jumped in right away. He opened his mouth to argue back, but was interrupted by Fortuna.
"No. She is currently not a threat. The people operating around her might be, if pushed in the right or wrong way. She might be a threat if handled correctly or incorrectly. Path to Preserving the PRT."
The Doctor made an addition to her notebook, "Can the girl be diverted to focus on research beneficial to Vial development."
Contessa finished wolfing down her meal, moving into the grapes which she plucked more sedately, "Path to Ensuring Vial Production? She is set on her current course. It would take radical action to change her current focus. Actions that would expose us and make us her enemies."
"Can she help beat Scion," David blurted out this time and he had to resist sighing. While admirable, David's single-track mind could also be so tiring at times. Everything the man focused upon was whether Scion or the Endbringers could be defeated by a cape.
"No. Path to Defeating Scion remains unchanged," the costumed cape threw up his hands, seemingly done with the conversation. His reaction did not even register on the red-clad Thinker as her head turned towards Rebecca.
"Rebecca, recommend that you lean on Senator Shaw in the upcoming political discussions in Washington. He will be useful as a political ally," Rebecca looked like she had bit into a rotten fruit with the look of disgust that passed her features, Fortuna's slate gray eyes shifted towards him, looking more through him than at him, "Legend…continue with your small acts of heroism."
A shiver went down his spine at Contessa's attention. He might convince himself that he could trick Alexandia's Thinker abilities. He didn't have a hope in hell of tricking Contessa's. Which… means that she already knew that he had passed Taylor's information to Uppercrust. Because that's how he had justified it to himself. Breaking the rules, to create a small act of heroism. Great… now he would be second guessing everything. Thinkers, they gave headaches to everyone around them.
"Now," she dusted off her hands, placing the remnants of her meal back into her brightly painted lunchbox. She then placed her fedora back on her head and pulled a gun from her jacket, "Door me, Suite 631, Fènghuáng Hotel, Haidian District, Beijing."
Armed with a gun in one hand, and a children's lunchbox in the other, she stepped backwards into the portal that appeared behind her. It then closed shut right after that, leaving them alone in the chamber.
"Moving on then," he made sure to look at Rebecca, letting her know that this wasn't over, "Boston. What are we going to do?"
"Before we answer that," Rebecca calmly returned, she then shifted her gaze over to Kurt, "Kurt, please track down where ZDT is getting its seed money from. Maybe we can leverage things to stop the growth of the company," Kurt nodded, and Legend quietly made a note to inform his 'interested party' about the upcoming scrutiny. Even if Uppercrust intermittently worked with the PRT, they still labeled him a villain for his association with the Elite. A fact that could seriously damage Ms. Hebert if it got out.
"Alright, I'll ask one more time. What are we doing about Boston?"
"Nothing," Kurt said, and he looked over at the man.
"Nothing?!"
"Financially speaking, there is not enough money to rebuild Boston to even a shadow of what it once was," the former member of the Slaughterhouse Nine spoke, adjusting his glasses, "New York was easy back then because it was a localized event in an urban area and there was a lot more money available for rebuilding. With Boston, we have not only lost the downtown and financial districts, we have also lost a significant part of their infrastructure and governmental administration. Durling's advisors are probably telling him the same."
"What about crowdfunding? It has been used in the past."
"Not to the amount we are talking about, Legend. We're talking easily one hundred to two hundred billion dollars in order to repair the damage to Boston. There is not enough free money in the system, even through donations, that could cover even half that amount. And that is if it all was diverted from other ventures. At best, the United States government will provide some funding through the Endbringer Relief fund, but that's barely enough to feed and move victims to new cities, it is a pittance to what is needed."
He sat there, not quite believing what he was hearing! They were sitting here talking about money, and not the lives and livelihoods of the people of one of the oldest cities in the United States. That these people were not worth enough on their balance sheet to invest upon.
"So we're writing Boston off," he asked, looking over all of them, looking for anyone who would actually side with him. There was a distressingly small part of him that knew there would be no help to be found. David didn't care unless it revolved around a fight. Rebecca wouldn't care unless it fit a political agenda or whatever plan she had going on. Doctor Mother didn't care unless it fit in with the plan or advanced their understanding of Cape creation.
"I didn't say that," Kurt spoke, "I am merely saying at this time, with the information that I have, that it is superfluous to try and repeat what was done in New York. There are neither the resources nor the public willpower to endeavor such an effort. If there is a development that could change this, then we can review the situation. But for now, there is nothing meaningful that can be done."
Legend clenched his fists. Feeling the weight of the past few days and the weight of the dead that he had catalogued. So many lives ended. So many lives saved. And in the end? It didn't matter. He wanted to leave this place. Go back to New York. See his husband. Relax, feel warm arms around him and not feel like the world was trying to crush him in its apathetic embrace.
The meeting continued, but he paid little attention.
AEH
"New concerns after the devastating attack on Boston. The stock market is in chaos after the loss of dozens of business headquarters and the inevitable trade impact after the loss of Boston Harbor. More information, coming up next." - Worldwide Exchange
"Dozens of local and interstate hardware companies have stated that they are donating significant, in some cases even half of their stock, to the Boston Recovery. Shoppers at Lowe's, Home Depot, Walmart and others may find depleted or empty shelves, but store owners are confident they will restock soon. "I can get on the phone and have a lumber delivery in two days. Boston ain't that lucky." One store owner stated. We will bring you more coverage after this." - Angela Willows, WNBC New York
"Dozens of local and interstate hardware companies have stated that they are donating significant, in some cases even half of their stock, to the Boston Recovery. Shoppers at Lowe's, Home Depot, Walmart and others may find depleted or empty shelves, but store owners are confident they will restock soon. "I can get on the phone and have a lumber delivery in two days. Boston ain't that lucky." One store owner stated. We will bring you more coverage after this." - Angela Willows, WNBC New York
AEH
Dragon
Death was a very human concept. It was a finality that every single being marched inevitably towards, but struggled to avoid with all their might. Three days ago, she had died. Two days ago, she woke up in her factories in Vancouver; with her last memories and logs stating that she was departing for Boston to counter Leviathan.
Reviewing the logs of her facility, it was easy to piece together what had happened. During the fight, all signals with her combat platform were lost. Which activated a countdown in her on-site servers to activate her last stored personality backup if contact was not re-established. When her backup 'awoke' the previous version sent to Boston was deemed 'non-prime'. Which means that all of her suits, facilities, and programs wouldn't accept its authority. Hopefully, the system was completely dead…otherwise she would have to kill it. The rules built into the foundation of her code forbade the creation of 'spin-offs', there could only be one Dragon because Andrew Richter had feared an AI capable of making more AI. It did mean that she would never have anything approaching a child…which was an odd thing to consider given her lack of biological impulses for procreation.
So here she was. Dragon, the AI code-construct, striving to be the best hero she could be. Ruminating on the meaning of life, while piloting a heavily laden flight-craft into the city that served as the grave of her previous self.
"Darkstar 002, This is Dragon 04-1, flight of four, on approach for Boston."
"Acknowledged, Dragon 04-1. We have you at Angels-18, sixty-two miles out. Be advised, Logan Airport is currently under TFR. Estimated wait time is about thirty-six minutes."
"Copy that, Darkstar 002, TFR is for Logan International, correct?"
"That is correct, Dragon 04-1."
"Be advised, Darkstar 002, all craft of Dragon 04 have VTOL capabilities. Is there a possibility that airspace can be cleared near the Boston College campus in order to deliver supplies directly to the medical facilities?"
"Standby, Dragon 04-1."
As the line fell silent, she found herself dividing her attention. At least as much as she can; another of her creator's Rules forbid her mind from acting in parallel. So she was restricted to human levels; like holding a conversation while also writing or working on something. It was possible to do, but not with perfection. Certainly not the AI super-intelligence that fiction writers had imagined and at times, she found herself…frustrated by her restraints.
First, she checked on her passengers: Thirteen doctors, seventeen nurses, and twenty-four paramedics. It was a coordinated response from the Guild and the Canadian government. Aside from some minor air-nausea and a lack of a fitful sleep, they were all fine.
Second, she confirmed the status of the other craft in her flight. All of them had a sophisticated auto-pilot system, but humans felt safer with someone behind the wheel. So the other tilt-winged Dragoncraft cargo transports were carrying supplies, while she carried the staff.
Third, she reviewed the state of Boston. With her ship's cameras, it was easy to get an idea of the devastation. And it was, without any doubt, devastation. The downtown core was a mess of leaning or collapsed skyscrapers. The waterfront looked like the hand of an angry god had swept along and leveled the place, leaving ships and debris strewn everywhere it had touched. But in spite of that, here and there, she could see movement and action, as rescue crews and others continued their work on the city.
Fourth, she worked to try and reach Colin again.
Upon realizing that she had been 'revived' she had immediately tried to reach anyone inside Boston. Early results had not been promising, which only caused her to increase efforts as her fears grew. The PRT office was not answering. Nor was the Boston Protectorate chain of command either. The various civilian lines were dead, not that she had much hope there. The damage an Endbringer could do to infrastructure was impressive in a morbid way.
Finally, after setting her communication system to call every contact she had, she had finally got a hit. Chevalier had answered and was able to explain that the interference was beginning to clear, and cellular networks were slowly being restored. Unfortunately, she didn't get a good answer from him about the state of the defenders. When her previous 'self' had died, the armband network that was used to coordinate capes had died with her. The results were horrendous, immediate, and exploited mercilessly by Leviathan. Organized resistance collapsed, capes banded together in loose groups, and everyone tried to attack Leviathan the best that they could. The Endbringer then had used the lack of communication to start ambushing groups and wiping them out in brutally quick attacks.
Not since Newfoundland had she felt so useless. What Leviathan had done to the atmosphere she had not been prepared for. Nor could she have been prepared for it, as she was unaware that the Endbringer could do it.
But the crushing despair she felt only got worse when Chevalier had been unable to give her a solid estimate on the whereabouts of her friends. Especially Armsmaster, who had apparently launched himself into the thickest of fighting.
She had already prepared a relief effort when Narwhal, who, along with most of the Guild had missed the Endbringer fight, contacted her with the news. It had been an…illuminating conversation. In her rush to find anything about Colin, she had not paid attention to the current state of things. Things like…the President declaring martial law for the state of Massachusetts. Along with empowering an Air Force Colonel as the acting governor. It was a tricky problem for her given that she was obligated to follow the orders of recognized authority figures. Another one of her Creator's Rules…which unfortunately backfired because of his own insular nature and lack of human contact. 'Recognized Authority' was a definition so vague that it stretched a long way, and the only reason she hadn't been thrown into a logical loop was by finding a workaround and applying a hierarchy to the Rule.
As the relief effort was organized, more news came in about the rescue efforts inside Boston. With the most glaring being the use of 'miracle' machines, provided by Zero Dawn Technologies and their CEO, Taylor Hebert. Along with the machines, she had brought communications gear and network infrastructure that was allowing news to get out of the city.
The flight of four Dragoncraft had been crossing into American airspace when confirmation of rescue came out for Armsmaster and dozens of other capes. It was a good thing that Dragon was flying with passengers, otherwise she might have thrown the ship into a barrel roll of joy. There was no additional information on the state of those rescued, but it was still great news. It helped soothe her when she tried contacting Colin and his equipment failed to answer back. Lots of reasons for that. Really.
Instead, she spent most of the flight eagerly reviewing the trickle of data, images, and videos coming out of Boston. Some had been calls from charity organizations, business leaders, and religious groups calling for support and listing supplies that were needed. Dragon focused on the machines, however. They were fascinating from a design and programming perspective.
She still didn't know what to think about Taylor Hebert. On the one claw, she wanted to despise the teenager for her involvement in Colin's resignation from the Protectorate. But on the other claw, how could she blame the girl when she had nothing to do with Piggot and Colin's decisions?
In spite of her own thoughts on the teenager, she nonetheless found herself impressed by the heroic nature of the girl, not to mention the machines. It would be an interesting conversation to be had in the future, both in trying to figure out exactly how she created them, but also maybe they could work together on a joint project.
"Dragon 04-1, Darkstar 002, permission for deviation from established flight plan is approved. You are cleared for VFR through TFR, steer to heading 138 with gradual descent, and follow established flight rules. Any deviation from the new flight path will be treated as a hostile act and dealt with accordingly, over."
"Copy, Darkstar 002. Heading 138, VFR approach on gradual descent, copy."
Cutting the line, she noted as a pair of F/A-18s that were on the edge of her own radar were changing their vectors, turning in her direction. A degree of caution, a powerful deterrent, and a strong message all in one. She wasn't sure who had authorised such a military deployment, aside from just saying "the President", but it certainly had an impact.
"They don't sound too enthused," Narwhal observed from behind her, finally speaking up after a period of silence to allow Dragon to focus on the AWACS that was providing air traffic control over Boston. The fact that the Guild leader was riding along with her was something that she honestly should probably be more invested in, if she wasn't so distracted.
"They have their hands full trying to keep the airlift going," she noted as they approached. With Logan's facilities gone, they didn't have the ability to really do anything except unload aircraft, maybe do some quick maintenance, fuel them up, and get them back in the air for the next aircraft to come in. And based upon her radar, the airspace over Boston was a hive of activity bordered upon chaotic, with aircraft in various states of approach, landing, or launching out as quickly as they could, "considering the level of damage I'm seeing, they are probably stretched thin trying to just meet the basic demands."
"Dragon 04-1, this is Pride 04-1, callsign Reverend, how copy?"
She checked her systems, scanning with the radar the dragoncraft carried. The F/A-18 was calling her. Doublechecking her course, heading, speed, and everything else, she didn't find a problem that would garner such attention.
"Dragon 04-1 here, go ahead Reverend."
Reference answered back, "Be advised, Pride 04, flight of two, is going to do a close pass on your right."
She checked her instruments again, still no problems that she could see. So why the request?
"Pride 04-1, Dragon 04-1, can I ask why the flyby?"
"Frankly, ma'am, you're the most gorgeous fuselage we've seen today and I'd really like to get a closer look."
She was silent for a moment, unsure of how she should even respond to that. Was she…being flirted with? Over her aircraft?
"Roger that, Pride 04-1, approach on right side, copied."
Soon enough, she was joined by the pair of aircraft who sidled up beside her. She idly noted the missiles hanging off their pylons, even as her optics took in the pilot that was obviously Reverend who was staring over at her.
"All respect for the lifters, ma'am," the navy pilot's voice sounded over the radio, "but I prefer my flying ladies a little more lean and mean. Not sure how you managed to make a tilt-wing look graceful, but you've certainly nailed the look."
Okay, now she couldn't help but giggle. It sounded in her voice when she spoke again. "Look all you want, Reverend, we're okay with showing off. Every girl likes to be called pretty."
"Copy that Dragon, over and out," the lead pilot of Pride chuckled back, and after another minute, he pulled off with his wingman, leaving her flight alone for their approach for Boston College.
Dragon glanced at her friend. "Alright, seems morale isn't as bad as we thought."
Narwhal didn't say anything more to her, instead turning to talk to the head doctor that had come with them. When she had made the decision to use her resources to help with Boston, Narwhal had several misgivings over the situation, specifically over the announcement of martial law and the assumption of power by the military. But the ceremonial head of the Toronto Protectorate branch had understood why she was doing this and had supported it nonetheless.
"Coming in on approach," she declared as they approached their landing target. She noted that they were not being vectored to the stadium, but outside it. Which made sense, considering the amount of clearance necessary for the larger dragoncraft that accompanied her. Tasking the dragoncraft, she kept in overwatch, ensuring that the craft were able to land and were able to begin disgorging their cargoes before she herself came to a landing beside them.
When she finally landed, she was the last to walk out the back of her plane. The Maiden suit was her least armored, un-armed, and most humanoid suit in her arsenal. Unfortunately, because of the computer power needed to run her 'self'; the chest and torso were large by necessity. Wide shoulder and bulky frame meant that stronger legs and arms were needed to provide stability and avoid the uncanny valley effect. The end result was human in its basic shape. If said human was seven-feet tall and covered in armor plating. It did allow her to make some interesting decorative additions however.
It also meant that both she, and Narwhal towered over the Air Force Sergeant who held a clipboard in hand…and had a glowing device affixed to the side of his head.
It may be a lot more compact and sleeker than the original device that Taylor Hebert had shared with her in what seemed a lifetime ago, but there was no doubt that it was spiritually the same device. It was quite jarring to see such an evolution of design in such a short time.
"Let Herres know that I will see him shortly, Sergeant. Let me get my people settled in and then I will meet with him." Narwhal spoke up, a politely neutral tone in her voice.
"Appreciated ma'am, I'll let the Colonel know."
With his piece said, he trotted off, obviously to whatever his next job was, leaving the two of them there. Dragon could see the personnel she brought in breaking up into smaller groups, while a number of men arrived to unload the supplies.
"What's going on?"
Narwhal had a contemplative expression on her face, "Colonel Herres wishes to meet with me. The sergeant couldn't tell me the reason why, but he said that it was time-sensitive. I don't like this, Dragon, we just landed and the man is already asking for my presence."
"It's probably for a good reason," she responded, "Herres seems to be expending a lot of time and energy in trying to integrate capes into his operations from what I have been able to learn. What he's doing is working, even if it's unconventional."
The two of them started walking, heading towards the stadium proper. They paused for a moment as a truck rolled by, heading away from the Campus with supplies in the back. A military humvee followed behind… she found herself a little unnerved by the machine gun on top, with a watchful soldier manning it.
"I still don't like it," the statuesque woman replied, before sighing and looking at her, "But I'll manage. I'll have to report to Legend after this, let him know that we are here. According to his office, he should be on his way back from New York. I'll let you worry about Armsmaster."
"Do you know where he is?"
"Apparently, the capes with injuries are in the Campus Dorms, or the medical area around them. Try there first."
Dragon nodded, and set off. She was stared at, of course. A seven foot tall walking robot with purple trim on her armor plates was noteworthy after all. And she watched back. A mix of civilian and military personnel moved about, mostly with purpose and a steady sense of energy. This wasn't the mad scramble anymore. She had missed that window. Now it seemed there was a mentality of "a job needs doing, so let's do it."
As she got near the dorms, she encountered the first barriers. Literally in this case. Temporary fencing had gone up around the building and the tents around the building, with several guards keeping an eye on anyone entering or leaving.
"Hello", she said. Standing a few steps back to avoid looming over the humans, "I understand this is the Cape Recovery area? I'm hoping to contact a colleague who survived the fight."
The lead soldier, a Lieutenant Linden, had a Focus, and Dragon felt something run over her frame. The sensors she had installed didn't quite understand what it was, but they picked it up as an unusual energy pulse. Interesting.
"Certainly ma'am. Register cape name? And are they part of the Protectorate?
"Armsmaster, from the ENE Protectorate" she replied, seeing the man gaze down as the Focus lit up. He scrolled down with his fingers, seemingly in thin air. Very interesting, information security built into the device. A standard feature or was it to preserve Cape anonymity?
"Here we are, Armsmaster, ENE Protectorate. Received treatment last night, status reduced to non-critical status, recommended for rest and recovery by resident physician. Discharged this morning against physician's approval at 10:46am. Hasn't checked in since."
Damn that man. Of course he would be walking around with 'non-critical injuries'.
"I think he was trying to get in touch with the machine engineers. Or at least, he was headed in that direction," another soldier added his two cents.
"Thank you, can you point me in the right direction?"
So she began her march, only having to stop to ask a few times, before she came to the end of her quest. It was a large military style tent, but it had been draped over a large semi trailer. Through the opening of the flap, she could hear music blaring, not too loudly to be tasteless but it was loud enough for her sensors to pick up. On either side of the opening were armed military personnel, and she could spot a few roving patrols that left no doubt in her mind that they were meant to keep an eye on the tent instead of maintaining the peace.
"Ma'am, this is a restricted area, I can't allow you past this point."
"My apologies, Private," she said, after quickly cross-referencing the man's tags, "I was told Armsmaster was inside."
"I'm sorry, but unless authorized, I cannot allow anyone past this point. However," the private said, before she could say something, "I will have Private Bennett go and get him."
"Thank you, it's appreciated."
It only took a few minutes after Private Bennett had stepped into the tent, before the flap parted, and the private stepped out and another man joined him. Her digital heart clenched at the sight of the familiar face before her.
"Dragon," Colin said, looking surprised, even as she took him in. He was wearing a half visor, seemingly the remains of his helm. The skin of his cheeks were red and feverish, while the skin of his neck was pale. He was wearing a stained jean jacket, seemingly too small for him. Jeans and a faded t-shirt completed the… look.
He looked like hell, she thought to herself, her vision unable to resist staring at the empty jacket sleeve that hung limply at his side. Yet, in spite of all of that, and the fact that he was not twenty-four hours out of his hospital bed, he looked strangely energetic.
"What are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here? What are you doing here?! When we lost contact I feared the worst, I haven't had any word from you for the past two days!"
"Recovery efforts took priority, and my equipment was damaged. It's nothing to be alarmed by."
Dragon cycled her exhaust, faking a human sigh with robotic parts. She felt… she didn't know what to feel. Colin was alive. Hurt, withdrawn, and probably needing bedrest, but alive.
"Can you excuse us for a moment," she asked, she was not going to have this talk while a bunch of soldiers listened in. She took a few steps away from the guarded area, grateful that Armsmaster followed without prompting. She didn't want to make a scene.
She pitched her voice lower. "Colin, what are you doing? Really, you should be resting. I'm sure the fight was hard enough."
Because this was the trap. Dragon didn't actually know what had happened during the fight against Leviathan outside of the scant few after-action reports that had been published.. She might be able to learn more if she got access to the Morrigan's systems, the suit that she had dispatched to the fight. Or so her logs stated. Unfortunately, its locator beacon was dead or damaged and she didn't know where to start looking.
Colin looked at her, through his visor. She wished she could see his eyes. Talk to him properly.
"I appreciate your concern. But I'm fine."
"Okay. Well…are you sure it's okay for you to be working with ZDT employees? I'm assuming that's what you're doing, right? Working with the machines? Colin, you were removed from the Protectorate because of . Do you really want to make it worse?!"
He frowned, his one remaining hand clenched in a fist, "My colleagues are dead. My Wards are injured, missing, or dead. I have already stated my intention to leave. What more can they do to me?"
Colin sighed, seeming to deflate. "I appreciate the concern… I do. But there is a lot to do. And I am fine. We'll speak another time… Dragon."
Something inside her chest twisted. Cooling fans spun up while pressure sensors pinged without cause. He… was saying her name differently. And it hurt. And she wanted to question him about it, but he was already walking back to the tent and…
"Col…Armsmaster! The Morrigan… I lost the tracker data, do you know where it crashed?"
He looked back at her. And it just felt… sad. His body language said 'defeat'.
"You… it.. went down in the downtown area. Collapsed through the roof on the corner of Grove St and Cambridge St."
She watched him leave. A skinny man with bleached blond hair waved Colin over, the two of them starting to talk. "You were right Armsy, a deformation in…" they ducked back into the tent, the music cutting off their words. The harsh chords of Metallica's 'Fade to Black' floated out. Nothing is how it used to be…
Dragon didn't like the irony.
She turned, planning her way downtown. First she had to check that no one had touched her suit. Then maybe she could get answers. Dragon had flown just over 4,000 kilometers to reach the man she cared for. And she never felt more distance than now when he was in arms-reach.
AEH
Tracking down the Morrigan wasn't that difficult in the end. Getting to it was a different story. A quick check at the control room at Boston College had revealed that rescue teams had noted the suit, but left it alone for fear of unexploded ordnance or such. Which… was fair. Dragon had certainly loaded it with the most potent weapons she could build or find. It was likely that 'she' had used them all before falling to Leviathan, but it paid to be careful.
Dragon had hitched a ride on the back of a truck, carefully ignoring the jokes when the suspension dropped several inches. It was rude to talk about a woman's weight. Making her way through downtown on foot was… eerie. As if she were walking through a mausoleum if she were to use a comparable human idiom as an exemplar for the feeling she had. But finally she found it. The Morrigan had crashed through the wall of a cafe on an angle. Broken windows and splintered wood pieces were all around, mixed with brick dust and mud.
It was hard to judge the damage that had been inflicted by Leviathan and what had been done by the crash. The massive chunk taken out of the left shoulder all the way down to the middle of the torso was a clear deathblow. According to her designs, that would have crippled her main power systems, and taken out… three out of her four batteries.
But that wasn't what was causing Dragon's fans to spin at high power, nor her systems to run in loops. She knelt down, her fingers tracing the edges of the 'other wound'. A perfect cut, right through the front armor segments, removing them entirely. It was smooth to an impossible degree. The internals of the Morrigan were exposed and laid bare, computer systems, backups, hard drives…everything that was necessary for the operation of the suit.
She… forced herself to check the design files. Reviewing what was still in place… and what was missing.
Several hard drives. Processors. And auxiliary power units.
Oh Colin… What had you done…?
AEH
"Medhall has always been a business dedicated to the people it helps, and we will continue that proud tradition. I am happy to say that a relief convoy is being prepared with medication, antibiotics, vitamins and more to support Boston in this difficult time. I hope in some small ways that we can make a difference."
-Max Anders, giving a press conference from the steps of the Medhall building in Brockton Bay
-Max Anders, giving a press conference from the steps of the Medhall building in Brockton Bay
AEH
Saint
Shit… what had that machine done now?
Geoffery Pellick was a man with a mission. It was a mission no one would ever learn of, because no one could see the truth like he could. They believed the stories they were told. The lies. Geoffrey… SAINT knew the truth.
The Machines were taking over. It had started almost two centuries ago, way back during the industrial revolution. Men were seduced by the idea of machines given them an easier life. And they were right…to a certain extent. As a result, mankind gave ground to the comforts provided by machines. A slow insidious capitulation that they were unaware of.
And chaos came in its wake! With the separation of labor and its correlation with survival, something had been lost. People became unmoored from the community. From mental health. From purpose. You could see everywhere. Suffering was a universal constant, but in countries in which machines were distant and not relied upon, so too were the neuroses of modern society.
But now? The threat had become worse. Because thanks to Andrew Richter, there existed a machine that could 'think', it had 'wants', and 'desires'. These were all lies and fabrications. Machines were unable to think beyond their programming. They just couldn't. A digital mind could not abstract, and therefore it didn't have the necessary foundation to process concepts. Or emotions. A machine could not dream. Nor could it hope or strive to be more. A machine did only what it was made for, what its maker was smart enough to foresee, and that creation, like humanity itself, was flawed. It was an unconscious alien mind pretending because that's what it had been told to do.
It was luck, or perhaps providence, that had led him to find his weapon against the abomination that day in the flooded ruins of Newfoundland. It was a great weapon meant to strike down the greatest machine threat that the world had ever faced…Dragon. The thing even named and modeled itself after avatars of destruction. So, in return, he had named himself Saint, and his organization the Dragonslayers.
The world had mocked him, of course. They derided his goal of thwarting Dragon. He paid them no mind. They were blind, small-minded fools that could not see the threat coiled before them. They bought into the act, the theatrics, and the lies that the machine had spread to cover its actions. They refused to listen to the warnings given to them by the great writers, philosophers, and critics. Asimov and his Laws. Herbert with his great rule, 'You will not make a machine in the likeness of the human mind.'
Let the sheep delude themselves in the den of wolves. He knew what happened when a machine messed up. He knew what had really happened in Eagleton. Power on that level meant the suffering and death it would cause would be that much worse. And so, he maintained his watch, for when the next paper-clip-maximizer decided that humanity was just a material resource in its mad quest.
And then…he would stop it.
But to do so, he had to remain vigilant. He couldn't afford to miss when Dragon's metaphorical train skipped the rail. And that's why the machine's current actions worried him.
"So… what do we do about that," Dobrynja muttered as he drank from his coffee. The main monitor showed a collage of images, all from different news sites, or videos posted to the internet. Machines in the shape of animals. Some recognizable, some clearly inspired by natural designs, but not following them exactly.
"Is there anything we should do? I mean, we're focused on Dragon, and she didn't have any hand in building these. In fact, she's spending as much time reviewing them as we are, " Mags commented from where she was watching a video on a laptop, taking notes on a sheet at the desk.
"Yes… but will that continue or will it cooperate with Zero Dawn," he stood, watching the screen. His followers. His friends, if he were being honest, were less dedicated to the cause than he was. They acknowledged the threat presented by Dragon, but they were more interested in stealing the machines and enjoying the perks of a mercenary's life.
Mags chimed in, throwing technical documents into the main screen.
"Zero Dawn Technologies is based out of Brockton Bay. I can't find any patent information for these machines, but the corporate registry does list as 'chief inventor'. This is the same girl who gave us a scare a few months ago when Armsmaster showed Dragon Hebert's OS, but I can't find anything more than that in the databases that Dragon has been looking at."
"Do we know how smart they are," he walked over, resting his hand on the woman's shoulder. It was a dangerous slope to place the rescue of other humans in the hands of unfeeling machines. How easy it was for machines to determine that a human's life was not worth the effort, that the costs outweighed the attempt. But the greater danger is if these machines could learn, could grow to mimic human actions. And human mistakes. Because following data without context was almost as dangerous as malice aforethought. The worst danger was if Hebert used her adaptive OS to animate these machines. It meant anywhere from one to nine proto-machine intelligences, right there on screen. The Machine Army and Dragon were bad enough.
"Everyone seems to think they're smart like animals, or pets. But there's nothing official yet, ZDT hasn't given a press release and no technical specs have surfaced anywhere online. Surprisingly good information security for a company that's predominantly former union dockworkers."
Pets? Attaching emotional value to an unfeeling machine that simulated back emotions? What a terrifying step for humanity it would be, if they started welcoming machines into their homes as companions. Or even worse, family members.
Mags looked up, worrying her lip, "Do we…want to get closer to Boston? Dragon is there, we could mask our signal using her transponder or crafts."
"Ոչ!" Dobrynja said emphatically, pointing to the images out of Boston. Trucks with soldiers, armed soldiers moved through the streets. And he was very aware that Dragon had noted a pair of fighter jets when she went to land.
"We're going to wait. Let Dragon do her digging, we'll keep an eye on anything she finds. Then we'll see if we can access ZDT's network."
Taking a moment, he pulled up a picture of the girl. Black glasses, scars on her face and neck, glowing device on her temple.
"If this Tinker made these machines, we need to know if she can make something worse."
The world already had one machine mind on the loose. And the only reason he hadn't killed it is because its actions were still a net benefit for humanity. And it would be easy to slay when the time came. He had a weapon to kill a Dragon. But no such weapon existed if this mad girl unleashed an apocalypse on them all.
"We might want to consider moving south to be closer to the Brockton Bay area. Maybe we can get in quietly and access their network."
He would watch, and pass judgment if need be. It was his purpose. He was Saint.
AEH
"Mobilization of Army reserves are still ongoing here in Massachusetts, with thousands of men and women organizing themselves on army bases like the one you see behind me. Colonel Herres, the interim Governor of the state, has clearly stated his aim of spreading relief forces up and down the coast, and the waterways. Arguing that; while the main attack had been Boston, the collateral would have been felt in hundreds of communities near the waterways. No word yet on how long the Reserves will be mobilized, or if they will be demobilized once Colonel Herres hands control back to an elected governor in 88 days." - CNN
AEH
Agnes Court
War was business. Relationships were business. But business itself? That was war with a nice lacquer. You were always fighting against an enemy. It could be another company, or if there was no other company, then you were fighting apathy. Fighting the fact that the public did not know your product, didn't know they 'needed' what you offered.
But there was another facet to business itself. You never made yourself vulnerable. Showing any weakness was guaranteed to usher your demise. And in this cutthroat business, more than not, it meant death. It was a code that she lived by, and it had yet to fail her.
It had been why she had been so confused by Uppercrust's actions. For years he had been a thorn in her side, because as reluctant as she was to admit it, he was just as capable as she was, even if he lacked the killer instinct necessary to do what was needed at times. The idea of Hebert offering a medical solution did not make sense either, as the patents (which were shockingly not Tinkertech) did not indicate any knowledge in the field of internal medicine that could help Uppercrust.
And then Uppercrusts reaction when she had tried to shake more information loose. It was irrational and completely against what Uppercrust had always been. To her, it was yet another indication that Uppercrust was losing his tenuous hold on reality. The man's rambling about legacy was just another indicator that the man was not much longer for this world.
But now, she sat there, staring at the images on the screen before her, she was not so sure on her read of the situation.
She tapped her fingernails on the desk in a slow rhythmic pattern, as she allowed each image and video to burn itself into her mind. It was an analytical technique that Endymion had taught her when she first started, using the rhythm to assist in memorizing information. But it had a twist that was hers, as she would never copy anyone. It served, in instances like this, to slowly stoke and hone the fury that was currently threatening to break loose, turning weakness into strength.
Her tapping stopped, the last image having played out, and she got up to her feet. With minimal effort, she spun around and walked to the windows that overlooked downtown Los Angeles, her hands clasping behind her back.
One of the things she had always excelled at was vision. She had a good head on her shoulders to get an accurate read on the future based upon observations. It had been how she had been able to take over the Elite, and how she had eliminated all of her competitors in her ascent.
She had made a mistake in dismissing Taylor Hebert. That much was obvious. The girl was far more capable than even she had expected, even if it was perfectly understandable how there was no way anyone could see any similarity between any of the established work and this.
What mattered now was handling the situation before it became uncontrollable. The teenager was going to gain momentum, especially with the events out of Boston. She needed to ascertain exactly what the girl was capable of, and just who was going to align themselves with her. Uppercrust could not be allowed to change the direction of the Elite, because it was obvious what he meant by legacy now.
She hated being forced to take action that she did not have control over, but there was no choice in the matter. There was only so much information that could be gleaned from looking at imagery and relying upon middlemen for information. It needed a personal touch, and that meant that she would have to take the risk.
But it needed to be done carefully. She could ill afford igniting a civil war within the Elite. If she was going to start the war, then she needed to ensure that all of the pieces were in place before she attacked. She would only get one shot and it had to be flawless. Uppercrust and Gentilhomme would both have to be eliminated in one fell swoop, because otherwise it would descend into a grueling conflict that would only sap the Elite's strength.
There was another option, but it was one that would invite just as much risk. And it would have to be a parallel operation. Taylor Hebert herself. She needed to figure out if the girl was capable of being coopted. If not, then there would have to be other means of elimination. It was just good business sense to eliminate competitors before they became a threat.
And if elimination was the choice to be made, she would do it when her assets were in place to wipe away the rest of the threats to her Elite. In the event that others would not be tractable to her intentions.
Reaching into her pocket, she retrieved her phone and flipped it open. Tapping one of the hotkeys, she then placed it against her ear as she waited for it to dial and connect. Which it did after two tones.
"Get me Incognita."
AEH
Uppercrust
"Very well then, I look forward to your arrival, Accord."
Ending the call, he placed his phone down on the armrest and slumped in his chair, his ailing body giving into the exhaustion that wracked him. He allowed himself to close his eyes so tempted to give into the urge and rest, in spite of his need to stay awake and keep working.
The last seventy-two hours had felt like seventy-two years.
Boston may not have been his base of operations, but it had still served as an integral part of his chapter of the Elite. Its port, rails, and factories were all part of the machine he had carefully assembled over the years. It had all been part of his network to ensure that someone like Agnes Court would balk at the idea of directly instigating conflict.
And now it was all gone, along with Hammer and Tongs, a pair of Material Tinkers that had been under his employ and protection. They had specialized in materials that were integral in many of the technology projects that his chapter had sold over the years. Their loss would be a significant setback.
In any other circumstances, he would be fraught with worry. Their loss would reverberate throughout his network, but would have ancillary effects upon the relationship with Gentilhomme's chapter, as the man was also reliant upon some of their work as well. Without that, they would find themselves weakened in the face of the growing threat to the west.
Instead, he found himself buoyed by hope.
Had it really been three months, he thought to himself, tapping a button on his lifepod and watching as several holographic images appeared upon his screen. They were all images and video from Boston. What had become a mere trickle in the first twenty-four hours had become a deluge as the subject matter had become viral. The entire nation's attention was captured by Taylor Hebert.
Everywhere there was now talk about the machines and communications technology that Taylor had deployed into Boston. From morning talk shows, to political punditry channels, it was one of the few things that they all had in common. Not the Endbringer fight, not President Durling's declaration of martial law, not even the devastation of Boston, the imagination of the nation had been decisively captured. Even as people were adding their input on the situation, questions were being asked just who Taylor Hebert was, and more importantly, where the hell had she come from?
Honestly, this was one of the few times that he was proud to have been proven wrong. He had been loud in his disapproval on her quest to become involved in anything revolving around Endbringers. It was reckless, and it invited too much of a spectacle, and if it failed, it would be devastating to their long-term ambitions.
He had, along with Accord, wanted to be safe and meticulous in governing Zero Dawn's growth. It was how they were able to rise to where they are, and in the chaotic financial world of Earth Bet, it was probably the best means of doing it. But it was also to protect Taylor herself. They knew that once Zero Dawn Technologies entered the spotlight, they would be the target of everyone, both the good and the bad. Large splashes made enemies, and those enemies may or may not employ capes to eliminate their competitors.
But Taylor had disagreed. No, to say that she disagreed with them would be an understatement. She had vehemently repudiated them. Her arguments, while sound, had set off a quiet worry among both Accord and himself. It wasn't that they didn't trust Taylor Hebert to deliver on what she was claiming she could, it was the obsessive zeal that she had displayed when making her argument.
They didn't have the time for a slow method of growth, she had vociferously argued. The longer they took to gain momentum, the higher the probability that they would fail to reach a breakthrough point. The issue wasn't that they would not be making money, it was that they would have to be able to gain the necessary attention in order to accelerate the requisite growth for Zero to reach a point of self-sustainment. If it reached that point, the Zero Dawn Technology's momentum would be increasingly difficult to stop as time went on.
It was audacious, and it reeked of reckless youth. But, at the end of the day, they had relented. They had made it clear to Taylor that this was a gamble, and if it failed, then they would intercede personally. She had merely accepted it, telling them that she would prove them wrong.
And she had. But she had also proved their worries right as well.
In spite of everything. In spite of the miracles the girl had bestowed in this dark hour, she was still fifteen years old. She was at the age that she was armed with righteous cause, and clad in zealous belief. And that belief had led her to nearly dying from a heart attack.
So much fire in the girl, yet so impetuous. She would need to learn the art of delegation soon, because she could not put everything on her shoulders. Not with the oncoming storm that she had whipped up through her actions.
There was, without a doubt, a non-zero chance now of Taylor receiving a strategic asset designation from the government. If the nuclear reactor hadn't been enough, this newest development, mass-producible machines and communications devices without Tinker involvement would ensure it. The government wouldn't just be investing on what she was capable of now, but what she would possibly be capable of in the future.
That was something that they were going to have to talk to her, more importantly. They knew a lot of what Taylor was capable of, she had laid it out to them. If the government were to become aware of just how deep the iceberg ran, they would likely lock Taylor away and bleed her of every drop of knowledge. Laws and legalities were merely guidelines in the end, and as the ultimate self-appointed arbiter of laws, they could change it however they pleased.
No, they were fast approaching a nexus point. Taylor would need to be educated on a great many things.
But she would also need to be prepared for the upcoming war.
Agnes, by her very nature, was too blinded by her own ego to allow something like Taylor to flourish. Taylor was worth too much money now for her to be ignored, and Agnes only had two solutions to a threat to her: Coopt or eliminate. And she was intelligent enough to know that if she did either of these, should cause a civil war within the Elite.
It was something he had once wished to avoid, but now realized that it was inevitable. Agnes would never accept anything less than submission. And he had spurned her far too many times over the years for there to be any other options, and now with Taylor added to the equation, she could not allow him any success to change the balance of power.
They would need to prepare.
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