Recoil (a Worm fanfic)

[tenchifew]

I don't see why, other than morality, she couldn't have just disintegrated him in the apartment. No body, no evidence, no consequences, no further harassment.

Click to shrink...

Her power seems to be extruding molting hot metal out of her hands.
There would have been plenty of evidence left that something terribly freaky went on.

Scion was already around, so parahumans are known.
It could, and probably would, go bad for her quickly.

Besides learning to kill is a process, one Taylor had behind her, and Aster did not.

 

[Ack]

I'm surprised that Aster/Ruth was able to go so long without using her powers, even in secret. The drive for conflict would be difficult for a child to resist. Maybe the time travel had something to do with it.

Click to shrink...

She had the perfect memory of Phir Se saying "Do not use your powers." Plus, she did use them, a few times.

Nice one. That doctor Friedrich is loathsome. Even more than some villains.

Click to shrink...

An asshole is bad. An asshole with power is worse.

Great chapter.
And Ruth Goldstein, daughter of Purity.
The irony is delicious.

Click to shrink...

It's meant to be.

And I take it this is not the end of Aster's tale?
Because it would explain why she did not appear in Brockton Bay till '91, but Taylor was there till '93, if I remember correctly?

Click to shrink...

Not the end. Another chapter is on the way.

Depending on what Ruth's powers are, if she ever becomes active as a parahuman she can use Aster as a codename.

Click to shrink...

Oh, her codename will come to her

I don't see why, other than morality, she couldn't have just disintegrated him in the apartment. No body, no evidence, no consequences, no further harassment.

Click to shrink...

Her power seems to be extruding molting hot metal out of her hands.
There would have been plenty of evidence left that something terribly freaky went on.

Scion was already around, so parahumans are known.
It could, and probably would, go bad for her quickly.

Besides learning to kill is a process, one Taylor had behind her, and Aster did not.

Click to shrink...

Also, she doesn't want to upset the timeline too badly. And killing a reasonably prominent surgeon is not the way to keep things quiet.
Also also, people knew she was going there.

 

[Datcord]

"Goo goo ga ga," she said, apropos of nothing. Let's get this show on the road.

Click to shrink...

Heh. This bit reminds me a LOT of Barry Ween (Boy Genius). His first words were, canonically, "Jesus, it's cold out here!" (It startled the OB/GYN a bit.)

 

[Kolejny dzień]

I can only hope his comeuppance contains the word fired.

 

[Ack]

Heh. This bit reminds me a LOT of Barry Ween (Boy Genius). His first words were, canonically, "Jesus, it's cold out here!" (It startled the OB/GYN a bit.)

Click to shrink...

Hahahahaha love it.

I can only hope his comeuppance contains the word fired.

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mayyybe?

 

[Zackarix]

I can only hope his comeuppance contains the word fired.

Click to shrink...

Hopefully out of a cannon

 

[macdjord]

*ponders* Surprised a professional smooth talker like Dr. Asshole couldn't have covered his ass a bit better than that.

 

[Ack]

*ponders* Surprised a professional smooth talker like Dr. Asshole couldn't have covered his ass a bit better than that.

Click to shrink...

We shall see

 

[macdjord]

We shall see

Click to shrink...

I mean, just off the top of my head: "Look, I'm sorry about Pete. The thing is... he's a great friend: loyal, funny, always willing to drop everything to help out if I called. But... he's also a misogynistic ass who never grew out of the 'frat boy' stage. If I told him about how much I love you, how I could fall into your deep $COLOUR eyes... he'd laugh and call me a pussy. So, I tell him what he expects to hear. About how good the sex is, about how kinky we get. I know I shouldn't brag, but it's really hard not to when I have a girlfriend as wonderful, brilliant, and hot as you.
"It's- look, the way I talk when I'm speaking to my patients is different from the way I talk to you, my girlfriend, in the privacy of our home, which is different yet from how I talk to my respected colleague Dr. Goldstein in the workplace. What you heard - crude, boorish, and explicit - is just how I speak to a guy like him when it's 'just us guys'. I know I really shouldn't put up with a friend that requires me to lower myself to that level, but... I owe the guy too much to cut him off."

 

[Ack]

I mean, just off the top of my head: "Look, I'm sorry about Pete. The thing is... he's a great friend: loyal, funny, always willing to drop everything to help out if I called. But... he's also a misogynistic ass who never grew out of the 'frat boy' stage. If I told him about how much I love you, how I could fall into your deep $COLOUR eyes... he'd laugh and call me a pussy. So, I tell him what he expects to hear. About how good the sex is, about how kinky we get. I know I shouldn't brag, but it's really hard not to when I have a girlfriend as wonderful, brilliant, and hot as you.
"It's- look, the way I talk to my patients is different from the way I talk to you, my girlfriend, which is different yet from how I talk to my respected colleague Dr. Goldstein. What you heard - crude, boorish, and explicit - is just how I speak to a guy like him. I know I really shouldn't put up with a friend that requires me to lower myself to that level, but... I owe the guy too much to cut him off."

Click to shrink...

Hmm.. Pity he didn't think of that at the time. He was arrogant enough to think that he could talk her around.

 

[Ack]

Recoil​

Part 5-7: (Aster's Story, Part Three) Behind the Scenes​

Stumbling to her feet, Aster reached for the phone. As she dialled, she looked up at the clock on the wall. Just after seven. It'll be after ten there. I hope Nina's awake.

The phone rang, and then rang again. On the third ring, it was picked up. "Hello?"

Aster's heart sank. "Sally? Is Nina there? Can you wake her up?"

"No," Sally's sleep-blurred voice mumbled. "She's not here. She's out. In the storm."

"Storm?" Automatically, Aster looked out the window. It was fine and clear, with a few moths swirling under a street-light. "What storm?" Then she recalled the dream, or vision, or whatever it was. There'd sure as hell been a storm going on there.

Clicks and pops interrupted Sally's voice. "Big-ass storm just blew up today. There's some yachts out in it. Nina went out on one of the rescue boats. Rose and me, we've been watching it on the TV and trying to stay awake. I'm worried for her. It's a really big storm." There was a pleading note in her voice, as if she wanted to be reassured.

Oh shit. Pieces clicked together in Aster's head. I told her that Taylor would probably show up in a disaster or something so she didn't get noticed. And I was right. So Nina's gone out to see if this is it. God, I hope she doesn't get hurt because of me. A new worry introduced itself. God, I hope they save Taylor. Because I have no idea how to save the world.

"Don't worry," she told Sally. "Those rescue boats are really tough. Their crews know what they're doing. They'll keep Nina safe."

"Oh. Okay. Thanks. Did you want me to tell her you called?"

"Yeah, thanks, if you could?" Aster breathed deeply. Please let them both be safe.

"Okay. Night."

"Night."

Aster put the phone down and stumbled off toward bed.

Okay, that's a start …

-ooo-​

Thursday, 19 October 1989
Aster's Apartment
9:21 AM EDT

Ring ring

Ring ring

Ring ring

A blind fumble for the phone. "H'lo?"

"Arjee! Are you awake?"

"Neens? 'sat you?"

"Yeah, it's me. You rang last night, while I was out on the boat."

Aster's mind began to clear, slowly and reluctantly. "Boat. Yeah. Rescue boat?"

"Yes, the rescue boat. And guess what we found?"

The suppressed excitement in Nina's voice finally got through to Aster. She forced her eyes open and sat up in bed. "You found her. You found Taylor."

"We found Taylor. She fell more or less into my lap. She got rescued by the boat I was on."

Adrenaline flooded through Aster's veins. "Holy shit, Neens. Holy shit. Uh … holy. Shit. You did it." She paused. "Is she all right?"

"She's reasonably healthy. A little hypothermic when we pulled her out of the water, but that was easily taken care of. Took a whack to the back of the head while she was in the water. She's claiming amnesia now, but I'm taking that with a grain of salt."

Aster smiled. Amnesia. Right. "Well, it could be true."

"Or it could be a way for someone who doesn't want her past to be known to skate by. Anyway, she's a sweet kid. About as hyper-aware as anyone I've known, though. Always watching, always thinking. You can see the wheels turning in her head, all the time."

Aster thought back to the TV news she had seen of Skitter and of Weaver when she was just an infant. Yes, that sounds about right. Skitter, the warlord of Brockton Bay. "Well, good. I'll see if I can't wangle some vacation time and get out that way to get to know her."

"Excellent. We just got back in. We're at the police station right now."

Aster froze. "Police station? What for?"

Nina chuckled. "To see if they have any idea who she is, of course. Are they going to find anything?"

Aster took a deep breath. "... probably not."

"Hmm. That's … interesting." Nina's voice was now intrigued, then she changed topics. "Anyway, it's probably too late today, but tomorrow I'm thinking of taking her to get checked over and maybe shopping for clothes."

Aster grinned. She knew how much Nina liked shopping. "Go nuts. I'll pay you back."

Nina laughed. "Now you're playing my song."

"I'll talk to you later. I've got to get up and get showered. I've got a shift starting this afternoon, so I need to get in to see the Director this morning."

"Okay, I'll let you go. Later, Arjee."

"Later, Neens."

"And don't forget that you owe me an explanation. There's a lot that doesn't add up about this kid."

"You'll get one." Once I can figure out what to tell you so you don't freak.

"I'll hold you to that."

"Bye, Neens."

"Bye, Arjee."

Aster put the phone down and jumped out of bed, ignoring the complaints from her muscles. She's here, she's alive, she's all right!

She danced all the way to the shower.

-ooo-​

Cauldron Base
Some Other Earth

Doctor Mother's office was well-furnished, but there wasn't much in the way of decoration. However, Contessa wasn't paying attention to that. "Something weird is going on."

The head of Cauldron leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. "You're going to have to give me more than that." We run a super-secret organisation that's trying to avert the apocalypse, she didn't have to say. Weird is what we do.

Contessa's expression was, rarely enough for her, frustrated. "All I can tell you is that something very strange happened in Brockton Bay last night. It only changed some minor factors, but these will have knock-on effects."

"Will these knock-on effects be good or bad for us?" The dark-skinned woman's tone of voice indicated her pessimism in the matter.

"It depends. If we interfere too closely, they're likely to be bad. If we keep our hands off, mostly good. But even in the good scenarios, we're going to lose a few potential assets."

Doctor Mother frowned. "Hmm. Is there any way we can offset this?"

Contessa hesitated, which was again very unusual for her. "There is. But it involves bringing an outsider into Cauldron. Or at least, part of the way in."

Before she had even finished speaking, Doctor Mother was shaking her head. "No. Out of the question."

Contessa folded her arms in turn. "You asked."

The frown turned to a grimace. "There's no other way?"

"Not without a lot of problems. She doesn't need to know everything." Especially the part where we abduct people and give them powers.

"Just that we exist, and our overall goals." It wasn't quite a question. Contessa waited; she didn't need to say any more. Again, the older woman grimaced. "I still don't like it."

"I'm reasonably sure that she's linked in some way to the Brockton Bay thing. I'm just not sure how."

That got her a flat stare. "And your powers can't give you chapter and verse?"

Contessa shrugged, very slightly. "I get anomalous readings."

"Hmm." Doctor Mother shot her a dark look. "Do it. But make sure that there's nothing that can come back to bite us in the ass."

"Of course." Contessa stood and left the office. Step one, complete.

-ooo-​

Los Angeles, Earth Bet
A Little Later in the Day

Director Goodman looked up. "Come in, Doctor Goldstein. You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, thank you, Director." Aster pulled the chair back and sat down in it. "I have a favour to ask of you."

"A … favour?" The Director seemed to be just a little taken aback.

It took Aster a moment to figure it out, then she realised what was going on. She was expecting me to complain about the shifts I've been getting. She's probably got a whole carefully-arranged explanation set up to shoot me down. Asking her for a favour put her on the back foot.

"Yes." Aster put a serious expression on her face. "I've got a friend on the east coast who needs some help, so I was wondering if I could take some vacation time starting perhaps … tomorrow? Or the next day?"

"Vacation time?" Director Goodman seemed to puzzle over the words, then her eyes clicked into focus. "Ah … for that, you'll have to speak to the Chief of Surgery. Doctor Friedrich. He'll know if we need you or not."

"Oh. Okay. Thank you." Damn it, I was hoping to not have to deal with him on this.

Oh well, once more unto the breach.

-ooo-​

It was remarkably easy to locate Doctor Friedrich. It's almost as if he wants me to find him. Fancy that. By now, Aster was almost sure that Friedrich and Goodman were colluding on matters regarding her. She wasn't certain who was taking the lead, but she strongly suspected that they were sleeping with each other. She can have him. Why can't they just leave me alone?

The answer to that, of course, was also reasonably obvious. Because Friedrich wants to have his cake and eat it too. And Goodman's not complaining, so long as she gets a piece of him as well.

He was in the ER, checking on one of the new patients, when she found him. He noticed her, but finished with the examination before turning toward her. "Yes, Doctor Goldstein?" he asked, handing off his clipboard to a nurse.

"May I speak with you for a moment, Doctor Friedrich?" she asked politely.

"Certainly," he agreed warmly. "Walk with me."

They strolled off down the corridor toward the commissary, for all the world like two medical colleagues conferring over a difficult matter. He was as handsome as ever, she noted clinically. His well-practised charming manner must be making the girls in the bars he attended swoon over him on a daily basis. Because he's not getting much in here.

But that was neither here nor there. "I have a favour to ask you," she said. "A friend of mine on the east coast needs my help for a week or so. I have the vacation days saved up. Can I take the next week or two off?"

"Hmm," he mused thoughtfully. "Possibly difficult to arrange. Other staff are taking their vacations, there are sick days coming up … I'm really not sure we can manage this."

Her lips tightened. "So that's a no?"

He bestowed his most charming smile on her. "Well, you can always come and say pretty please to me sometime. You remember how to do that, don't you?"

She remembered. Dark anger rose in her, but she tamped it down. He's still holding that over my head. Abruptly, she stopped; he moved a few more steps on, then turned back toward her. "Ruth, seriously. I still don't see what your problem is. We're consenting adults. I know you like it."

Me liking it is beyond the point. "If I did that for you, then I would be selling myself to get what I want. And you don't see a problem with that?"

He spread his hands. "We all sell ourselves to get what we want. How is this different?"

Self-respect is what makes it different. But she wasn't going to bring up that argument again. "We're done here. Thanks for your time." Turning, she walked away.

"So that's it? No negotiation?" He was following her, now.

She didn't look at him. "I told you what I wanted. Your price is too high. We're done here."

This time, he let her walk away. It was probably a good thing; she was seething inside, partly at him and partly at her own stubborn pride that would not let her make that compromise.

God damn it.

-ooo-​

That Evening

With a sigh, Aster picked up the phone and dialled. And I wonder why my phone bill's so high.

The phone was picked up after just two rings. "Hello, Nina speaking."

"Neens. Hi. How's our mystery girl?"

"Oh, hi, Arjee. Yeah, it went just like you said. Nobody knows nuthin'. But we got a surname for her."

"Really? What is it?" Hebert, Hebert, Hebert …

"Snow."

Aster's thoughts came to a screeching halt. "Uh, Snow?"

"Yeah. Like, frozen water. Bit of an odd name, but it suits her."

"Huh. Okay." I have no idea where she got that one from.

"Were you expecting a different surname? It sounds like you were."

"I … can I take the Fifth on that?"

"Boy, this is gonna be one doozy of an explanation, I can tell. So anyway, I found her a place to stay for the moment."

"Not with you?"

"Haha, nope. You've never met Sally or Rose, have you?"

"Um, nope."

"They're a couple. If Taylor moved in, it would be a race to see who made moves on her first."

"Oh. Right." God, that could be a disaster. "So where's she staying? Someone you can trust, I hope?"

"Yeah, actually. People I know in Brockton Bay. A guy I know called George Hebert. He's the captain of the boat I was on, his boy's the one who pulled her out of the water."

Aster froze again. "Uh, how old is his boy?"

"About twenty, I think. Why? You got a thing for heroes? 'Cause I watched this kid jump into stormy waters to pull her to safety. They don't come much more heroic."

"No … I'm fine … just … wow." Holy shit, that's gotta be her father. This could get really, really complicated. And I can't even tell her not to let them get involved.

"Okay then. Um, listen, I don't want to cut you off or anything, but it's late and I'd like to be up early. Can we talk another time?"

"Oh, sorry. I keep forgetting the time difference."

"Well, when you get out here, we can catch up face to face."

Aster grimaced. "Uh, yeah, that's kinda what I was calling about."

"Why does that sound ominous?"

A sigh. "Because my boss who's also my ex is still holding a grudge, and he won't let me take a couple of weeks off. I can get vacation days off, but I can't string them together."

"Well. Fuck."

"On the upside, I'm pulling in lots of overtime. So I'll send you money to reimburse you and the Heberts for any expenses. Okay?"

"I'd like to say no, I'm fine, but … yeah, thanks. Appreciated."

"Hey, you're doing me the big favour here."

"And trust me, you're gonna be repaying in full someday." But there was a smile in her voice as she said it.

"Count on it. Bye, Neens."

"Bye, Arjee."

Aster put the phone down. I can't help Nina, except financially. She's on her own with Taylor. But maybe I can help myself. Picking up the phone book, she began looking through it. There was a number she needed to find.

-ooo-​

Friday, 27 October 1989

"Doctor Friedrich? Can I have a word, please?"

Henry looked around at Ruth. She had taken care with her appearance today, more than she normally did. There was a touch more makeup on her face, bringing out her eyes nicely, and she was wearing an attractive hairband.

"Why, Doctor Goldstein. You're looking ravishing today," he noted. "Special occasion?"

"Oh, nothing in particular," she replied with a smile. It had been some time since she had smiled at him, and he wondered what was going on. "I just … I need to ask a favour."

"Well, then, shall we walk?" he offered.

They strolled off down the corridor, side by side. He could not help but notice the subtle tension in her posture. "So what's the favour?" he asked, when she didn't speak.

"It's my friend on the east coast," she began. "She really, desperately needs my help. I need three weeks off. I have the vacation days. I just need you to sign off on me taking them all at once."

"I see." Henry smiled. She's finally coming around. "Well, there should be no problem with that. Just so long as you're willing to say pretty please to me first."

She turned to look at him, deadpan. "Pretty please."

Playing hard to get, I see. "No, not like that."

She looked just a little puzzled. "I'm not sure what you mean, Doctor Friedrich."

He glanced around. "Not out here." There was a storeroom nearby; he opened the door and ushered her inside.

She watched, apparently slightly apprehensive, as he locked the door from the inside. There's playing hard to get, but this is getting irritating. "Back when we were seeing each other. That sort of pretty please."

"But we're not seeing each other now," she pointed out.

"And?" he countered.

"Uh … Couldn't you just, you know, let me have the vacation days? Please?"

He had the power now, and knew it. "I'm sorry, Ruth, but there's a price to be paid. If you don't do what I want, I can guarantee that you'll never get all that time off at once."

A sigh. "What exactly do I need to do?"

That's more like it. His smile widened. Up until her change of heart, Ruth had been the most compliant of his recent conquests. Now it looked like she was coming around. I've been looking forward to this. "Well, to start with …"

-ooo-​

Aster worked at keeping her expression level while he related his requirements to her. They were very detailed, not to mention … explicit. Some were things she was already familiar with, while others … okay, wow. Just wow. I never knew he was into that.

Overall, it took him a little under two minutes to explain what he wanted from her.

-ooo-​

"... with your feet."

She blinked. That's a mental image that I wish I could forget. Barf.

He was looking at her expectantly. "Well?"

"Well what?" she asked.

"The sooner you begin, the sooner I sign off on your vacation days," he prompted. "I have half an hour free." He began to unbutton his lab coat.

She shook her head. "But I don't. I've got patients to get back to." Turning, she moved toward the storeroom door.

He put a hand on her arm, stopping her. "Where do you think you're going?"

"This was a bad idea," she said. "I'm going back to my patients. Please let go of my arm, Doctor Friedrich."

"It's the only way you're going to get what you want," he prompted.

She pulled her arm free; he let her. After opening the door, she glanced back. "You won't change your mind?"

"Not unless you change yours first," he replied with a grin.

She pretended to hesitate for a long moment, then stepped out through the doorway.

"Wait!" he called out from behind her. "You can't just leave me hanging!"

"I'm sorry," she replied over her shoulder. "I have to think about this."

As she walked off down the corridor, she reached into her pocket and pressed STOP on the minicassette recorder that resided there.

-ooo-​

Saturday, 28 October 1989
Los Angeles Offices of the American Medical Association

"I have to think about this."

Dan Sullivan was thirty-nine, married, with two daughters. One was starting college just that year. He liked to think of himself as a reasonable man, but the demands that had been made of the woman before him, by her boss of all people, made him want to punch something. Or someone.

If someone tried that on one of my girls, I'd feed him his feet.

The click as the recording ended roused him from his thoughts. He glanced up from the pad where he'd been jotting notes. Doctor Goldstein was still sitting there, as composed as ever.

"Well," he said heavily at last. "That was … definitive."

She nodded. "Yes."

"One thing I have to ask you," he noted. "Doctor Friedrich mentioned a relationship between the two of you. Is it still ongoing?"

"No." She shook her head very positively. "We were engaged in a physical relationship, but I ended it two weeks before I was due to start work. I found out what sort of a man he was, and what he really thought of me. So I broke up with him."

He frowned. "He got you the job, yes?" For which we're going to have to have a little talk with Doctor Friedrich, on top of everything else. Favouritism like that is a big no-no.

She coloured. "I'm qualified for it," she replied, a little defensively. Oh? Feeling guilty for jumping the queue? "I'm a good surgeon. Ask anyone."

"If you weren't, this would be an entirely different conversation. My point is that once you broke up with him, I'm surprised you managed to retain the position."

"I didn't want it!" she burst out.

His eyebrows shot up. "Wait. Despite the fact that you broke up with him, and you didn't want the job any more, he didn't fire you, or even just let you go?" In Dan's experience – not personal, thankfully – both parties to a breakup like that usually couldn't wait to get as far from one another as possible. The fact that Friedrich hadn't done this was … odd.

"I tried to get out of the contract," she explained. "They invoked the penalty clause. Which I couldn't afford to pay off."

"'They'?"

"Doctor Friedrich and Director Goodman. I got the very distinct impression that they wanted me to stay. Or at least, Doctor Friedrich wanted me to stay, and Director Goodman backed him up."

"So you stayed."

She shrugged. "I didn't have much of a choice. I mean, it's not like I was under involuntary servitude; they were paying me, after all. It's just that I didn't want to be in the same hospital as him. Or have him as my boss. Which turned out to be justified. However, he hasn't seen it that way. Each time I've requested vacation days, that's the demand he's made of me."

"Which you've been unwilling to carry out." It wasn't a question.

"Well, yes." She spread her hands. "I don't like the man. I don't want to be near him. Can you blame me?"

"Hmm." He frowned. "Well, you've done the right thing. We don't need this sort of thing happening in our hospitals. Can I get a copy of that tape?"

"Keep this one," the surgeon replied briskly, popping the minicassette from the player and putting it on the desk. "I've already copied it."

For the first time, Sullivan smiled. "You really do have all your ducks in a row, don't you?"

She tilted her head in acknowledgement. "I try."

He took the tape; she retrieved her player from the desk.

"You do realise that it will take a little time to get an investigation under way," he advised her. "We have to get all of our ducks in a row as well. Don't do or say anything that might arouse his suspicions."

She nodded. "I understand. Just so long as you do something."

"Oh, trust me," he told her. "With evidence like this, our investigators can definitely do more than 'something'."

"Good."

They shook hands before she left his office.

This is a big one, he decided, looking over his notes. Time to pass this on to the CEJA.

The Council on Ethical and Judicial Affairs, Sullivan knew, looked very poorly on matters such as this.

-ooo-​

Thursday, 17 November 1989
Director Goodman's Office

"What the hell have you done, Goldstein?"

Aster had seen Director Goodman pleased, irritated and triumphant. She'd never seen the Director actually angry. The statuesque brunette was standing up behind her desk, glaring at Aster.

"I -"

Goodman cut her off. "I've had AMA investigators going through my private life. Through Doctor Friedrich's private life. Asking questions about his conduct with the nurses! With the other female staff! And all because of you!"

Aster composed herself, waiting for the Director to finish. After a moment or so, Goodman seemed to realise this. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I never wanted to work here. You know that." It was the first thing that came to mind.

"But that's no excuse for ruining the life, the career, of a damn fine surgeon!" The Director's voice rose to a shout.

"No. It's not." Aster's agreement took the Director aback. "But I didn't do this to Doctor Friedrich. He did it to himself. He chose to keep me here when I just wanted to leave. He wouldn't sign off on giving me any sort of substantial vacation time unless I slept with him. And everything he ever did with the nurses? I didn't make that up. He actually did that."

"You could have come to me. We could have talked about it!"

Aster's voice was firm. "I did come to you. You referred me to Doctor Friedrich."

Goodman's voice rose to a shout once more. "You didn't have to go over my head!"

"I'm sorry, Director, but I felt that I wasn't being treated fairly here. I had no other choice."

"Well, I feel that I have no choice as well. You won't be working at this hospital any longer than I can help it."

Aster tilted her head. "Are you firing me for exposing a colleague's wrongdoing?"

"No." Goodman bit the word off sharply. "We're recognising that you're unhappy here, and we're paying out your contract in full."

"Without reference to the penalty clause."

If Goodman compressed her lips any harder, they might disappear altogether. "Without, as you say, reference to the penalty clause."

"And all unused vacation and sick days paid out in full."

Despite her own powers, Aster was lucky that the Director wasn't a parahuman, because the look on the older woman's face should have incinerated her on the spot. "Agreed."

"Thank you, Director." Aster didn't quite smile, although she felt like dancing on the spot. I'm finally getting out of here!

"The paperwork will be drawn up and mailed to you," Goodman told her venomously. "You leave today. I don't want you in my hospital for one moment longer than necessary."

"The feeling is mutual." Aster paused. "But do me a favour, and don't make any mistakes on the paperwork?" She took her minicassette recorder from her pocket. "This conversation, and your agreement, has been recorded." As the Director's eyes widened, she nodded politely. "Good day, Director."

Slipping out through the door, she closed it just before something heavy – probably the marble paperweight from the Director's desk – crashed into the wall.

I'm now unemployed, but that was so worth it.

-ooo-​

Aster let herself in through the front door of her apartment. I can't believe it's finally over. I'm done with Friedrich forever. Whatever he's got coming to him, he deserves it. I think I'm going to have a drink. A big one. I've earned it. Then I'm going to call up Nina and tell her the good news. And Darlene, too.

Locking the door behind her, Aster continued on through the living room to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, she took out a carton of juice and drank from it, enjoying the fresh taste running down her throat. There are perks to living alone. Such as drinking from the carton.

And then, just as she was starting to reach for the bottle of wine she had stashed at the back of the fridge, she heard the voice behind her.

-ooo-​

Contessa

Step seventeen: Say "Hello, Aster. We need to talk."

Contessa had been certain that the woman's name was Ruth, but it definitely looked as though the name meant something to her. Or perhaps that was always how she reacted to a stranger in her apartment. She straightened up and came around fast, fists clenched. A glow seemed to build up around them in the dim apartment, almost matched by her eyes, which had become orbs of swirling silver and red. An odour of burned metal came to Contessa's nostrils.

Step eighteen: say the following words.

-ooo-​

Aster

"Who are you?" demanded Aster. "What are you doing in my apartment?"

She felt her power surge along with her anger; trickles of steel collected in each hand, and she could feel her eyes filling with the metal as well. Oddly enough, she could still see, although her vision had shifted to shades of heat. Everywhere under her skin, she felt molten steel welling to the surface, trying to break through, to annihilate her enemies. But before she could take the last irrevocable step, the woman in the business suit spoke quietly.

"Brockton Bay. Nineteen eighty-nine. Find Weaver. She knows how to save the world. Help her. Do not use your powers."

Pure stunned surprise broke Aster out of the anger; she stopped, trying to process what she had just heard. " … what?" she asked, even as her vision faded back to normal. "Where did you …"

-ooo-​

Contessa

That was … interesting. She's definitely a parahuman. A powerful one, if I'm any judge.

Step nineteen: Three words. Smile. Twenty-three words. Tilt the head. Twelve words.

"... hear those words?" Contessa smiled. "You would be surprised. I am a friend, Aster. Our goals are one and the same. We both want to save the world." She tilted her head fractionally. "Can we talk now, or do you still want to incinerate me?"

Aster breathed heavily; the scent of burned metal was no longer detectable on her breath. "I don't want to incinerate you. But I would like to know what this is all about. And I notice that you haven't given me your name yet."

Step twenty: suggest a cup of tea.

-ooo-​

Aster

Tea was a good idea. Contessa, as she had introduced herself, sat composedly at the kitchen table while Aster went through the motions of making the beverage. The dribbles of steel that had leaked from her palms had since hardened, so she surreptitiously discarded them in the trash can.

Carrying the teapot and cups to the table, she sat down opposite … well, she supposed that Contessa was effectively her guest. "So why did you break into my apartment?" she asked. "Was it just to meet me? Because you could have made an appointment."

"Here and now was the best place and time to meet you," Contessa replied, taking the teapot and pouring the beverage into Aster's cup. Then she added a precise amount of milk before completing it with two lumps of sugar. Gently, she replaced it on the saucer and slid it Aster's way.

Aster blinked, then stirred her tea and sipped at it. It was perfect; just the way she liked it.

"All right," she ventured. "Should I be asking how you managed to do that?"

Contessa smiled slightly. "You already know the answer."

She was right; Aster was merely asking for confirmation. "You're a parahuman, like me." It wasn't something she could deny either.

"Correct." Contessa took a cookie from the jar on the table and nibbled on it.

"So I'm a parahuman. You wanted to meet with me, why exactly? I'm sure I'm not all that special."

The smile she got from Contessa was one that she'd gotten from one of her professors at university; You and I both know better than that.

"You've had powers literally longer than anyone else on Earth," Contessa pointed out. "But that's not why I'm here. I'm here because of Weaver."

A chill snaked down Aster's spine. This woman knows way too much. "What about Weaver?"

"She's … problematic. I can't influence her in a particular direction, because if I try, she will do something different." There was the distinct sound of irritation in Contessa's voice. "She is, of course, of considerable interest to me, and thus to my home organisation."

Aster made a stab in the dark. "Because she knows how to save the world?"

"The person who gave you those instructions thought she did. He may well be right."

"Well, good." Aster spread her hands. "I'll be going to Brockton Bay just as soon as I can finish up here. I'll be making contact with her -"

"No." Contessa's voice, though quiet, brought her up short.

"Why not?" Aster frowned. "I was sent back to -"

"Find Weaver and help her," Contessa completed. "She is currently undergoing a process of toughening her mind and body. At the moment, she thinks that she is the sole traveller from your time; this gives her impetus to ever improve her edge and refine her focus. When the time is right, you should reveal yourself, but not before then. In the meantime, you can help her from a distance, and we can help you keep track of her."

"And of course, whoever you're working with can quite possibly make use of the capabilities of a powerful as-yet-unknown parahuman, correct?" Aster smiled, sipping at her tea. Saw that coming.

Contessa chuckled. "Why, yes. I suppose we could."

"Just so you know, I reserve the right to veto any use of my power that I consider unethical." Aster searched Contessa's face for a reaction.

The only one she got was a slight smile. "Entirely fair."

"Good. And I suppose you'll be training me up. I'm going to need to be on top of my form when we go against Behemoth." If I can even go against him. That scary SOB killed everyone I cared about, and I owe him him for that. And if bowing his ass away and saving the world isn't righteous, I don't know what is.

Gradually, she became aware that Contessa was looking at her, teacup poised in midair. "What?"

"I beg your pardon," Contessa said slowly, obviously thinking out each word in advance, "but who or what is Behemoth?"

-ooo-​

Cauldron Base
Some Other Earth
Later

Contessa hadn't wanted an office, but they gave one to her anyway. There was by far enough room in the base for one to be set aside for her needs. It held a desk and a chair, and was even more Spartan than Doctor Mother's.

She made use of it now, leaning back in the comfortable swivel chair, swinging from side to side as she wrestled with the problem.

At some point in the future, no less than three creatures of truly monstrous capabilities would inflict themselves on the world. Aster hadn't been able to give her much in the way of details, such as when or where these things were due to appear, but she had told Contessa what she recalled of their powers.

The body count was bad enough; Aster had mentioned something about entire islands being sunk, with millions of people dead. But what terrified Contessa the most was that she could not see it. She could not formulate a Path to deal with even one Endbringer – as Aster referred to them – let alone three. Because her powers were blind to them.

How do I deal with something like this?

And who do I tell?

It wasn't an idle question. Aster thought that Weaver held the key to defeating the Endbringers – Behemoth most of all – and saving the world. She did not yet know about Scion; Contessa had held off from telling her that little bit of bad news.

Any Path she formulated that involved telling Alexandria or Doctor Mother about Behemoth and his fellow Endbringers usually ended up in her having to convince that person not to have Weaver, or Aster, or both, hauled in and interrogated. Because this was the kicker: Contessa was the only one who knew that both Aster and Weaver were time travellers.

Left alone, Weaver seemed to be working toward something. If she were to be interfered with, then her plans – whatever they were – might be derailed. And if she knew how to save the world, where nobody in Cauldron did, that could be disastrous.

The conclusion was as inescapable as it was distasteful. I tell nobody. I let Alexandria keep thinking that Weaver is merely a highly talented normal.

When she finds out, she'll be very unhappy with me. But I think it's better than the alternative.

-ooo-​

Saturday Afternoon, 26 November 1989
Brockton Bay

Nina frowned as she heard the knock on the door. Greg was coming around to take her out to the movies, but he wasn't due for a couple of hours. Getting up off the sofa, she went to the door and peered through the peephole.

A moment later, she opened the door wide; with a squeal of joy, she wrapped her arms around her best friend, doing her best to lift Ruth into the air. She found it harder than she expected, but that didn't bother her.

"Arjee! Wow! This is so unexpected! Come on in!" she blurted. "Wait, are those suitcases?"

"Uh, yeah," Ruth replied. "I'm moving to Brockton Bay."

"Awesome! When?"

"Now. I am literally moving to Brockton Bay now."

Nina blinked. "Uh, wow. Kinda sudden. Come on in, come in."

"Thanks." Ruth picked up the cases and brought them inside, then flopped on to the sofa, apparently exhausted.

Nina subsided on to the cushions beside her. "Damn, I can't believe that you're actually here." She paused as a thought struck her. "Wait, what about the overbearing boss who's also your ex?"

Ruth smiled slightly. "Still my ex, no longer my boss. I got let go when I kinda called the AMA on his sleazier practices. Last I heard, people with badges were asking him some very pointed questions."

"Good. But wait, that's not fair." Nina frowned. "They fired you for that?"

"Officially, no. They realised that I didn't want to be there and paid out my contract."

Nina snorted cynically. "And unofficially?"

Ruth's smile was wry. "Out on my ass, never darken our door again, et cetera. They didn't want it to seem that way, so I got a severance payment, all my unused holiday pay, and so forth. But hell yes, I was fired. And therein also lies the bad news."

"I'm not seeing it," Nina said cautiously. "What's the bad news about all that?"

A sigh. "I made a few phone calls and set up interviews with hospitals in the area, both here and Boston. Heck, I even checked with Portland."

Nina was getting a bad feeling. "And?"

Ruth chuckled. It wasn't particularly humorous. "They were enthusiastic, right up until they began to ask around. But it appears that, despite the best of intentions, a whistle-blower is remarkably unpopular among potential employers. Every single interview has been cancelled before I even got to show up."

"Oh, that sucks." Nina leaned over and gave her a companionable squeeze across the shoulders. "But at least you're finally here."

"Yes," Ruth agreed. "How's Taylor going?"

Nina rolled her eyes. "She doesn't believe in making life easy for anyone. First day of school, she nearly got suspended for fighting."

"Fighting?"

"Yeah, a bullying situation. Three other girls picking on someone she'd befriended, and she kind of beat the crap out of them. All at once."

Ruth got a speculative look on her face. "That's … interesting." She didn't sound particularly surprised. "So what happened?"

Nina snorted. "What happened is that Principal Woodbine suggested that she take up JROTC to deal with her spare aggression. Not only did Taylor and her friend take it up, but apparently they're excelling at it."

"I'm sorry, JROTC is …?"

"Ah. Sorry. Junior Reserve Officers Training Corps. Sort of pre-pre-military training for high school students. Once they hit college, they can go into ROTC, which is the same thing, only more full on. Which is a direct gateway into the military."

"Do you think that's where she's aiming to go, once she leaves college?" asked Ruth.

Nina laughed out loud. "If that's where she wants to go, then that's where she'll go. That girl is driven." She tilted her head slightly, looking at Ruth sideways. "Kind of reminds me of you, just a little bit, when we were younger. Before you grew up and mellowed out."

-ooo-​

Aster wasn't quite sure how to take this. Sure, she'd always had a purpose in mind, but it wasn't as though she didn't have years to complete it. "I guess?" she ventured.

Nina grinned at her. "So, when do you want to come around and meet her? I haven't told her about you yet, but I think she'll be thrilled to meet you."

"Um." Aster grimaced. How do I say this? "I'm thinking … maybe I should leave it for the moment. Stay at arms' length just for a bit longer."

That got her a disbelieving stare. "What the fuck? Arjee, seriously? I go through all of this, take care of her for you, and now you don't even want to say hello? What is it between you, anyway? What in God's name is going on?"

Aster sighed. "God's got nothing to do with it, Neens. But if you want to know what's going on … I can tell you. Some of it. Not all. And not here."

"Okay, where?" Nina stood up from the couch. "And why not here?"

"Because I don't want to chance anyone overhearing us." Aster stood up as well. "We need someplace where we can talk in private."

After a moment, Nina nodded. "I know where we can go."

-ooo-​

There was a notice posted regarding proposed improvements to the observation platform, but Aster thought that the view from the top of Captain's Hill was just fine the way it was. She climbed out of Nina's car and looked around, inhaling the cool breeze with appreciation. "It's nice up here."

"It's also a place where we can talk," Nina pointed out. "Nobody comes up here very much."

"Good." Aster walked over to where the observation platform jutted out over the drop and leaned on the rail. "What I'm about to tell you goes nowhere. You don't tell anyone. Not your mom, not your boyfriend, not Taylor."

Her serious tone was lost on Nina. "Hello?" her friend retorted. "Psychologist, here. I already know about confidentiality. So spill. What's the big deal?"

Aster took a deep breath. "I'm a time traveller from the future." Nina stared at her for so long that she began to feel self-conscious. "What?"

"Mff." Nina covered her mouth with her hand. "Phmmph. Mmmm. Mmmmha. Hahahaha!"

Feeling obscurely insulted, Aster watched as Nina sat down at a picnic table, laughing helplessly. She took a seat opposite her friend, then decided that they wouldn't be able to get any talking done until Nina got it out of her system. So she waited patiently as the laughter turned into chuckles.

"Finished?" she asked sweetly, once Nina had wiped her eyes.

"Heh, yeah. That was a good one." Nina grinned at her. "Got any more?"

Aster tried to frown at her. "It wasn't a joke. I really am a time traveller."

Nina rolled her eyes. "Seriously? I've known you since you started studying medicine. I met your folks more than once. I saw the photos they've got up of you. I've seen your baby photos. You're not a time traveller. Not unless you were about one year old when it happened."

This time, Aster just gave Nina a level stare. At first, Nina looked back at her, slightly puzzled. Then her eyes widened. "Oh, no way."

"Yes way. Dad and his partner found me on the front seat of his police cruiser in 'sixty-one. They only stepped away to get coffees, and nobody came close to the car in that time. Apparently, they got a real roasting over the fact that someone left a baby in the vehicle and nobody saw a thing."

"Doesn't mean a thing," protested Nina. "You could've just been left there. Doesn't prove you're a time traveller. Unless you had, I dunno, a raygun or something else from the future with you."

"No, no rayguns." Aster tapped her head. "You know how I don't forget stuff? I can remember the future. I can remember things that happened just before I was sent back here."

"You can remember what happened when you were one?" Nina shook her head sceptically. "Memory doesn't work that way, Arjee. I should know. I studied this stuff."

"Powers do, though." Aster nodded seriously. "I have a power that lets me remember everything I ever experienced, perfectly."

"Wait, wait." Nina frowned. "You've had this power how long?"

"I triggered just before I was sent back in time. So, since I was one."

"No, see, that's impossible," Nina protested. "The youngest parahumans I've ever heard of are about eleven or twelve. You don't get powers younger than that. And it's usually older."

"Not if you're a second generation cape," Aster pointed out. "They tend to trigger a lot more easily. And third generation is easier still."

"'Cape'. You mean parahuman, right?" Nina seemed to be having trouble taking this in.

"Yeah. Cape, parahuman, same thing, sort of." At least, Aster thought that was the way it worked.

"Right, right. So let me get this straight. Kids of parahumans trigger more easily?"

"That's the way it works. I remember my mom saying that I was third generation, which is probably why I got my powers so young."

"Wait, your parents are in on this?" Nina was looking more flabbergasted by the second.

"No, no. I meant my mom from before." Aster grimaced. "I'm pretty sure she died."

"So … your mom, from … before … she was a parahuman, a cape, as well?"

"Yes." Aster shrugged. "Someone told me she was a hero."

"And you got powers from … well, from her?"

Aster shrugged again. "I … guess?"

"So, what was she, some kind of mind-master or something? Able to remember anything?"

"No." She paused, unsure. "Well, I don't think she had a power like that. What I do recall seeing of her powers was a lot brighter and more flashy."

"Well, come on, show me," Nina urged. "Don't just talk about it. Do it."

"I try not to use my powers, as a rule," Aster told her flatly. "I was told not to."

"Who by?"

"The guy who sent me back here."

"And who was that?" Nina's eyes were intensely interested.

Aster frowned. "I … actually don't know. He was Indian, I think, from the way he spoke. English was not his first language. He was wearing ornate robes, but he was kind of messed about, like he'd been through a lot. He told me … well, this is what he said to me. 'Brockton Bay. Nineteen eighty-nine. Find Weaver. She knows how to save the world. Help her. Do not use your powers.' Then I was on the front seat of a police cruiser."

"To save the world," Nina repeated. "That's … that's wild." She frowned. "And you've never used your powers?"

"Well, maybe once or twice," Aster admitted. "Just to see what I could do. Way out in the woods, so nobody saw or heard me."

Nina spread her hands. "Well? What happened?"

Aster grimaced. "I nearly set the woods on fire."

"So you have fire powers, then?"

"No. Well, kinda." Aster sighed. "If I show you, will you shut up about them?"

"Sure." Nina nodded, her eyes bright.

"Right." Aster huffed a breath. "Watch carefully. Don't touch. I'm pretty well immune to heat, but you aren't." She held up her left hand, palm cupped. Her right hand she curled into a loose fist, then held over her left. Exerting her power just a little, she poured liquid metal from her right hand into the palm of her left, until it threatened to spill out of her hand.

Nina watched, fascinated. "What is that?"

"Molten steel," Aster replied tersely. "This, right here, is about five thousand degrees Fahrenheit." She stopped the flow from her right hand, then poured the white-hot metal from her left hand back into her right.

"Wow, it's bright," Nina observed, shading her eyes. "And kind of hot, even over here."

"That's the general idea," Aster agreed. "I can eject this stuff at fire-hose quantities and speed, interspersed with what I suspect is plasma." She cupped her hands around the liquid steel, feeling the gentle warmth against her skin. "But fortunately I can control both the quantity and the power of the flow, so I can use it like an oxyacetylene torch or even a thermal lance. And my skin absorbs heat amazingly well."

Nina's eyes were wide by this time; Aster opened her hands to show the dull lump of metal between them. "It's still a bit warm," she warned her friend. "But you can touch it if you want."

Daringly, Nina did just that. "Wow, it's definitely still hot," she agreed, sucking on her fingertip. "And you just … made that?"

"I have no idea where it comes from," Aster confessed. "But there doesn't seem to be a limit on it."

"Okay, wow, you've definitely got powers," Nina conceded. "But I still can't believe you were holding out on me ever since I met you."

Aster shrugged. "I didn't think about them a lot of the time. We had studies and all the rest of it. And there was the thing the guy said. 'Do not use your powers'. It stuck with me."

"Right. Okay." Nina rubbed her chin. "So I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and accept that you're a time traveller from the future. Who's Taylor? What is she to you?"

"Oh, that's easy." Aster smiled. "She's from the same time as me. But she came straight here. No detours."

"So let me get this straight." Nina frowned in concentration. "You were one year old, and you were sent to nineteen sixty-one. You're now twenty-nine. Taylor was what, sixteen? Seventeen?"

"Around that, I think," Aster agreed. "You understand that I never met her in person."

"Yeah, I can see that," grinned Nina. "So she was seventeen, and she came here as a seventeen year old. She started out sixteen years older than you and now she's eleven years younger. There's something weird about that."

"This whole situation is weird, if you haven't lived through it," Aster pointed out.

"True that," sighed Nina. "Okay, now. There's one question that you haven't answered. Why don't you want to make contact with Taylor right now? I mean, you were sent here to help her, right?"

"It's about readiness and attitude," Aster replied slowly. "She knows what she's facing. She knows a lot more about it than I do. So she's preparing herself to face it. If she doesn't know about me, if she thinks that she's got no outside help in this era, she'll push herself harder and dig deeper to make herself ready. If I show up, she may try to lean on me, even unconsciously. So I'm willing to help out financially, but until I think she needs me to be there, I'll be staying in the background."

"And relying on me to be the go-between," Nina finished. She had taken the lump of steel from Aster and was playing hot-potato with it.

Aster grimaced. "If you don't mind?"

Nina merely looked at her, expression set, as she tumbled the lump of steel from one hand to the other and back again. For a long moment, Aster thought she was going to say, Sorry, Arjee, but I just can't manage it. Then Aster caught the mischievous glint in her eye. "Of course I don't mind. But you'll so, so owe me for this."

"I will. I already do." Thank god. I didn't think she'd accept that explanation.

She already felt bad enough for leaving Taylor to her own devices on Contessa's advice. It was logical advice, but leaving a teenage girl alone in a time that she hadn't grown up in? Aster knew that she wouldn't like it, if it was her. I'm just glad that I know my way around. I belong.

"We should start down again. I've got a date tonight." Nina's voice broke her out of her reverie.

"Oh. Shit. Sorry. Let's go, then." Aster led the way back to the car.

Nina unlocked the passenger-side door, then went around to the driver's side. She got in and started the vehicle. "So," she said, as she backed out of the parking bay. "What are you going to do for work?"

Ugh. I can't tell her that I'm going to be doing piece work for a mysterious organisation. "Uh …"

"Being a surgeon's out, right?" Nina headed for the winding road that would eventually take them back into the city. "No hospital will hire you."

"Well, no," agreed Aster. "Of course, it won't be for the obvious reason. They'll just have all good reasons to not touch me with a ten-foot pole."

"Right." Nina negotiated the first turn. "So how about basic medical work? You're GP-qualified, aren't you?"

"I … yes, of course." Aster frowned. "But won't they also have a problem with me?"

Nina grinned. Her teeth were very white. "I know a guy."

-ooo-​

Monday Afternoon, 28 November 1989
Weymouth Mall

He was middle-aged and a little paunchy. But his white lab coat was freshly laundered, his clinic was absolutely spotless, and best of all, his gaze upon her was professionally inquiring rather than personally intrusive. Why no, I don't have any issues about Doctor Friedrich at all. Why do you ask?

"Hello, Miss Goldstein," he greeted Aster, shaking her hand warmly. "It's a pleasure to meet another friend of Edwina's."

Aster held in a smile at that, though it became substantially more difficult at the sight of Nina's sour expression. Very few people used her best friend's given name; it seemed that Doctor Martin French was one of them.

"I'm pleased to meet you too, Doctor," she replied politely. "Nina's said quite a few good things about you."

He frowned ever so slightly. "Why do I get the feeling that I'm being judged somehow?"

"Uh, no, no, I'm the one being judged," Aster said hurriedly. "Nina told me that you're looking for someone to help in the clinic? I'm GP-qualified."

"Oh. Oh!" Doctor French smiled. "Of course. Doctor Ruth Goldstein, hmm? Why does your name sound familiar?"

Aster grimaced. Here we go. "I was in that situation in LA." It had made the papers, in some lurid detail.

"Ah, yes. You uncovered the Friedrich mess. I remember now." He bent a benign gaze upon Aster. "And now you're finding it a little hard to get work, yes?"

"Like, no work anywhere for a fully qualified surgeon," Nina put in. "It's discrimination. That's what it is."

Doctor French looked thoughtful. "I take it that you vouch for her?"

"Hell yes, I vouch for her," Nina declared. "We went through medical school together. She's one of the good ones, Martin."

He smiled faintly, then addressed himself to Aster. "Well, then. I believe that I shall give you a trial run. Let us say, six months? If either of us is dissatisfied at the end of that time, we go our separate ways?"

Aster nodded. "That sounds more than fair, sir."

-ooo-​

Tuesday Afternoon, 9 October, 1990
Doctor French's Clinic

Aster heard the tinkle as the clinic door opened yet again. She glanced up from the paperwork she was completing, and froze.

Taylor Hebert – well, Taylor Snow, in this time and place – was standing there.

She looked so much like the school yearbook photo Aster had stored away in her brain, but then there was something different. The glasses, for one. Taylor Hebert had worn round-lensed glasses that made her eyes look even larger; as Taylor Snow, her glasses had rectangular lenses. Where the photo of Taylor on the news had shown her wearing baggy, nondescript clothing that she could hide in, this Taylor had on well-fitting clothing and walked with confidence. She looked harder and more focused, more than could be explained by the year or so difference between photo and reality. There was also a faint scar on her left cheek that hadn't been there before. I wonder what happened there?

Nina stepped in behind her; her eyes met Aster's for just a moment. The silent message was clear: come on, you can just say hello.

Aster shook her head fractionally. Not right now.

The moment stretched; Nina looked as though she might drag Taylor over anyway. But then Martin emerged from the back of the clinic. "Ah, Taylor. How are you feeling today?"

Taylor tilted her head slightly to the side. "I'm feeling fine, but Nina insisted that I come in for a checkup anyway. After all, it's been almost a year."

I'm going to get up. Go over there. Say hello.

The moment passed. "Come on back," Martin invited the newcomers. "I'll be with you in a moment."

As they went back, the doctor crossed to Aster's desk. "Ruth," he said politely, "would you be able to locate Taylor Snow's medical file for me? Bring it to exam two."

"Certainly, Doctor French." Aster stood up, stretching the kinks out of her back. I didn't even consider that Taylor would have a medical file here. That should make for interesting reading.

-ooo-​

Monday, 27 May, 1991

"Arjee, how's it going?"

"Pretty well, Neens." Aster locked the clinic door behind her, then hugged her best friend. "The workload's a little hectic sometimes, but it's not life and death, you know?"

"But you're still keeping up with your surgical qualifications?"

Aster smiled. "You know it. So, what's the latest with Taylor?"

They started out of the mall, side by side. "Well," Nina began with some relish, "she had her senior prom on the twenty-fifth."

"Wow, already?" Aster frowned. "Shit, time flies."

"Yes, it does." Nina grinned. "But that's not the juicy bit?"

"Let me guess," Aster replied. "She beat someone up."

Nina pouted adorably. "You knew!"

Aster grinned. "I guessed."

"Well, I suppose it's not out of character for her," admitted Nina. "Yeah, that happened. Those girls who she beat up when she first got to Winslow? Yeah, they came back for a return match. With reinforcements."

"Uh, is she all right?" Aster felt her amusement disappear. If Taylor was hurt … She hadn't come by the clinic, but that meant nothing.

"Split knuckles, is all." Nina shrugged. "She used pepper spray, an extendible baton and dirty fighting to take down a good chunk of the opposition. Her friend Gladys, the one who was being bullied? She's apparently learned how to box."

"Oh. Oh, dear." The glee returned. "So they wiped the floor with them?"

"More or less, yes." Nina had a puzzled tone to her voice. "Taylor was a little traumatised after the fact. I'm not sure why. But she seemed to be happy again the next day."

"So who took her to the prom?"

"Oh, young Danny. The boy who jumped into the water to save her."

A cold chill ran down Aster's back. Her father. Dammit.

"Uh … is there any indication that they're a couple?" If so, I have to nip this in the bud now.

Nina chuckled. "Heh. Nope. I actually asked her that, a couple of days in. She shot it down like a wounded duck. She likes the kid, but I'd wager money that they're nothing more than friends." She turned to look at Aster. "Why? Thinking of making moves on him yourself?"

If I protest now, she'll know there's something up. "Eh, couldn't be worse than that jerk Friedrich." She chuckled, showing that she was just joking, and Nina joined in. "God, no. I'm just curious."

Whew. Another bullet dodged.

-ooo-​

Tuesday, 31 December 1991
Aster's Apartment
10:05 PM EDT

"Neens, come right in." She held the door open. "Glad you could make it."

"I'm glad I could, too." Nina entered, then hugged her. "You're looking good."

"So are you." Aster smiled. "I've got to ask. Why are we having this New Year's party at my place? I mean, you've got your own apartment, right?"

"My roomies," explained Nina. "You've met them. Well, they have friends who are pushier than they are."

Aster's eyebrows rose a little. "Oh, boy. And with alcohol flowing …"

"Exactly and precisely." Nina shrugged. "So I let them do their thing, and I have Christmas and New Year's elsewhere."

"So where were you on Christmas?" asked Aster. "You would've been welcome to come over, you know."

"Oh, I went to Taylor's party."

Aster went very still at the mention of Taylor. "She had one?"

"Oh, she had a doozy of a party," Nina said. Aster caught a level of amusement in her tone. What's going on? "Danny came with his girlfriend Anne-Rose. Gladys showed up with her boyfriend Frank. Heck, even Danny's dad showed. And of course, Taylor was there. With her girlfriend." The grin on Nina's face showed that the timing of the last three words had to be deliberate on her part.

"Oh, you have to be kidding me. She's gay?" Aster's upbringing had included no grounding in how to handle such a revelation. Do I offer congratulations? Commiserations? Or do I just ignore the whole situation? She sat down on the sofa.

"Oddly enough, no," Nina replied, sitting beside her. "She's straight. Her girlfriend is gay. I'm not sure how they make it work, but they look happy together. Mind you, the story of how they met is kind of amusing."

"Right. Okay. That's … something to think about. Especially if she's still looking to go into the military."

"Yeah, that could be a problem," Nina conceded, then her expression turned mischievous once more. "Something else that caught my attention. Danny's girl, Anne-Rose? Looks a lot like Taylor. Or vice versa."

Aster knew nothing about Taylor's mother, but this could not be a coincidence. "What are you trying to say?"

"Well …" Nina grinned. "If I believed a certain wild story about time travel, I might suspect that these two young people are perhaps the future parents of another young person. If I was inclined toward wild speculation, that is."

Aster let her eyes roll to the ceiling. "I have no idea what you're talking about." Her tone of voice was dead flat, except for the inflection on the word no.

Nina looked smug. "Right." Aster knew her friend wasn't stupid, and had probably picked up on Aster's concern regarding Danny. After meeting Anne-Rose, it wouldn't have taken long to connect the dots.

The book Aster had been reading slid off the sofa arm and landed on Nina's lap. She picked it up. "An Urdu phrasebook?"

"Uh, yeah." Aster shrugged. "Why not, right?"

"Where's that even spoken? I didn't even know it was a real language."

"Pakistan," Aster replied immediately. Before Nina could probe further, she went on. "So did anything else of note happen at the party?"

"Well, Taylor did get me into a private situation so that she could tell me something," revealed Nina. "So when she started talking about how she'd been lying all this time, I kind of 'guessed' that she was a time traveller. You should've seen the look on her girlfriend's face."

"I'm not surprised, you cheating cheater," Aster accused her. She paused. "Wait, she told her girlfriend? How did she seem to be taking it?"

"Rather well, actually," Nina admitted. "From what I could see, she supports Taylor one hundred percent in what she's doing."

"Hm. Good." Aster ran back through the conversation. "Do you have any idea why Taylor told you?"

Nina frowned. "Not sure. Maybe I haven't been as subtle as I should've been. She might have decided I was on the verge of figuring it out anyway."

"Do you know if she told anyone else?"

"She didn't say. But I don't think she'd spread it around willy-nilly."

"Good." Aster eyed her sidelong. "I still think you're a cheater for pretending to have figured it out."

Nina grinned. "So worth it, though."

Aster threw a cushion at her.

End of Part 5-7

Part 5-8​

 

[Starfox5]

And what goes around comes around. There you go, Friedrich. Nicely dne, and - sadly - realistic consequences. I loved Contessa's reaction to the Endbringers.

 

[Ack]

And what goes around comes around. There you go, Friedrich. Nicely dne, and - sadly - realistic consequences. I loved Contessa's reaction to the Endbringers.

Click to shrink...

One can only wonder what her reaction to them in canon was.

 

[tenchifew]

Very good chapter.
This neatly explains why Aster did not contact Taylor, and I really like your Contessa - I am honestly tired of a multitude of stories which show her, and Cauldron, as unrepentant monsters.

Looking forward to see what Aster was up to till the meetup, though.

 

[Ack]

Very good chapter.
This neatly explains why Aster did not contact Taylor, and I really like your Contessa - I am honestly tired of a multitude of stories which show her, and Cauldron, as unrepentant monsters.

Looking forward to see what Aster was up to till the meetup, though.

Click to shrink...

That chapter is almost done. Literally; I'm working out the last scene right now. It should be done and posted within 24 hours. I hope.

 

[Ack]

Recoil

Part 5-8: (Aster's Story, Part Four) Meeting at Last​

October 1992
Brockton Bay

"Something's up."

Aster turned to look at Nina, as they both leaned their elbows on the Boardwalk safety rail. "Something?"

"Yeah, something." Nina stared out to sea. "Taylor's doubled down on her studies. From what I can see, she's trying to graduate by Christmas."

Aster blinked. Even for me, with no chance of forgetting anything, that would be a bit of a feat. "Any idea why?"

Nina sighed. "No. Every time I ask her, she just says 'trouble coming' and refuses to elaborate any farther."

"Well, she's right about that," Aster agreed. "I didn't think it would be coming this soon, that's all."

"You don't remember anything else about what's going to happen?" prompted Nina.

Aster chuckled. "I was a baby. We're lucky I paid attention to anything other than feeding time and nap time. I know a little bit about what was going on – mainly from TV, when my brother was babysitting me and I was still awake – but I'm still missing huge chunks of context."

"Maybe you and Taylor should meet," hinted Nina. "Fill in some of that context."

Aster frowned. "Does it look like she's about to burn out or hit her limits?" Because then I can tell Contessa that I've got no choice but to make contact.

"Well …" Nina hesitated. "She's actually doing a lot better than I expected. Her girlfriend is silly and ditzy as hell, but she's helping Taylor keep it together. Maybe because she refuses to take anything seriously."

"And they're still in a physical relationship?" Aster had trouble getting her head around that.

Nina shrugged. With her elbows on the rail, this had the effect of making her body move up and down. "It seems to work for them. I'm just glad she's got a relationship. Otherwise, she'd be a total fucking mess."

"And that's your professional opinion?" Aster was amused.

"Paraphrasing, but yes."

"Right." Aster didn't comment any further. She hadn't been in a relationship since Friedrich, and she wasn't sure that she wanted one. Instead, she changed the subject. "So what do you think is going on? What's she preparing for?"

Nina's tone was frustrated. "You tell me and we'll both know."

-ooo-​

Sunday, 13 December 1992
Somewhere in Africa

The stream of plasma and molten steel leaped from Aster's hand and impacted the concrete wall, eating its way through like live steam through a block of ice. She tried not to be hit by the splatter; not that it could hurt her, but she didn't need her clothing going up in smoke. Even if it was just a basic bodysuit and mask supplied by Contessa. Powers and modesty don't necessarily go hand in -

Gunfire erupted from behind her, accompanied by several thumps on her back, as if someone had prodded her repeatedly. She stopped attacking the bunker, and turned to find a dozen of the warlord's guards, pointing automatic rifles at her. Damn it. I totally didn't notice them. If I wasn't basically bulletproof right now, that could've gone really badly. Her back smarted, but the semi-molten steel beneath the surface of her skin had absorbed the impacts.

She eyed them as they goggled at her, then the bravest of them began to raise his gun once more. Damn it. I know that they're not good people, but I don't want to just kill them out of hand. Besides, I have to get into this bunker. Grimacing, she raised her hands and began to channel molten metal into them once more. They began to glow ominously; half of the men backed off, then bolted. Come on, you idiots. Take the hint.

Pushing down the urge to just annihilate them all, she tightened her focus to a pencil-thick stream of high temperature metal and carved a line in the dirt before the remainder, offering both a challenge and a warning. They looked down at the trickle of molten steel lying in the blackened dirt, then back up at her. She let herself smile coldly. Boo. One of them said something out loud and bolted. The rest weren't long in following.

Turning, she resumed carving her way into the warlord's bunker. When the hole was big enough, she stepped through, ignoring the still-glowing edges. Inside was mayhem. Her stream of liquid steel had damaged the far wall quite badly, leaving streamers and pools of metal on the floor. Fortunately, the few guards in here, some alive and some quite possibly dead, hadn't been hit by any of it. Aster was able to read the scene fairly well, having seen more than a few of them much like it. Contessa was here.

One door was open; she stepped through and followed a corridor that led to steps down. At the bottom of the staircase was another open door. She stepped through, entering a cramped room. Contessa was here, as were five men. Three of these, obviously guards, were unconscious or dead. The other two were merely very frightened.

The other thing in the room that got her attention was a strange device built on to a framework in the middle of the room; Contessa was studying it intently. About half the size of a car engine, it was surrounded by a blue field of some sort. It looked as though it had been cobbled together with string and baling wire, and parts from a mechanic's reject bin. Aster nodded to herself; she'd seen things like this before, since starting to work for Contessa. That's a Tinker built device.

"Ah, you're here." Contessa didn't turn around. "This is a bomb. It was built for our warlord friend here, by a Tinker he coerced into his service. Very brutally." The glance she spared for the richly-dressed man on the floor was enough to make him cringe away from her.

"I can see several problems with that scenario already," Aster agreed mildly.

Contessa's smile was fleeting. "Yes. A Tinker with nothing to lose is someone you don't want working for you. This bomb was supposed to be delivered to the warlord's enemies. But the Tinker activated it, just before they shot him in the back of the head, and now they can't come close to it without setting it off. This would destroy a large chunk of Africa, and thus endanger the rest of the world. We can't let that happen."

Since Aster had begun working with Contessa, she had been exposed to a great many strange things. Tinkertech was nothing new to her, now. This had all the signs. "And I'm assuming that they didn't put an off switch on it?"

"Tinkers." It was almost a swear-word.

"Right." Aster eyed the device. "I'm afraid that I don't know anything about bomb disposal."

"That's not a problem." Contessa pointed at the device, careful to keep her hand outside of the blue field. "About six inches behind that dial is a wire. If severed, this causes the bomb to go inert. The trouble is doing it quickly enough."

Aster didn't even question how Contessa knew that. "Consider it done." The carefully-aimed inch-wide stream of five-thousand-degree metal and plasma leaped out, punching through the field and striking the dial. It vaporised instantly, as did everything behind it, including a chunk of floor on the other side of the room. The blue field faded. Aster cut off the stream.

Contessa tilted her head. "Nicely done." Aster couldn't help smiling; a word of praise from the enigmatic woman was like a medal from anyone else. "You just saved the world. Again."

"Pretty sure you would've managed without me," Aster pointed out.

"Yes." Contessa wasn't one to beat about the bush. "But it would have been more time-consuming. Also, the distraction you provided was very helpful."

"Well, glad to be of assistance. Do you need me any more?"

"No. You can go home now, if you want."

"Okay." Aster paused. "Just out of curiosity, what does this mean?" She recited the words that the guard had spoken before fleeing.

Contessa's eyes twinkled with amusement. "'Fuck this, I'm not paid enough for this shit.' Where did you hear that?"

"Upstairs, one of the guards." I should really pay more attention to the African languages. And then something else occurred to Aster. "Uh … one more thing. Weaver's going to be graduating by Christmas. I think that means something's about to happen. I just don't know what."

Contessa paused for a long moment. "Thank you. I'll see what I can find out."

-ooo-​

Aster stepped out of the shower and began to towel herself down. Before she was even halfway through, her phone began to ring. Pulling on a bathrobe, she hurried out into the living room and snatched up the handset. "Hello?"

"Arjee?" It was Nina. But it was a Nina she'd never heard before. Her voice was jagged, broken.

"Neens, what's wrong? Are you all right? What's happened?"

"Arjee, turn on the TV. Channel six. Do it now."

Frowning, Aster picked up the remote and clicked the TV on. The set took a few moments to warm up, so she turned her attention back to the phone. "Neens, what's happening? What do you want me to look at?"

"You'll see." There was a hiccup. Oh shit, she's upset and drunk. Whatever it is, it's bad.

When she clicked on to channel six, she did indeed see. Behemoth. The monster had emerged from the Marun Field in Iran, and was wreaking havoc there. Slowly, she sat down on the sofa.

"Arjee, you there?"

"Yeah, I'm here." Aster didn't want to look at the TV, but neither did she want to look away. Behemoth killed my mom and my brother, and was trying to kill me. And now he's here. In the same time as me.

This is why Taylor was pushing so hard. She knew this was going to happen.

"What is that thing, Arjee? What the hell is it?"

Aster took a deep breath. "He's called Behemoth. If we're going to save the world, we have to kill him." She decided not to tell Nina about Leviathan and the Simurgh just yet. One horrific revelation at a time.

"How the hell are you going to do that?"

Aster didn't often swear, but this seemed like an appropriate time. "I have absolutely no fucking idea."

-ooo-​

Monday, 15 December 1992

"Well, at least now we know why Weaver was pushing so hard."

Contessa nodded, taking a cookie from the jar. "You might wish to get ready as well."

Aster frowned. "You're going to have to fill that in for those of us that don't have an eye on the future."

The dark-haired woman chuckled dryly. "All right. I suggest that you give Doctor French your notice."

"What, quit my job?"

Contessa nodded seriously. "You're going to want to be free by about mid-January."

It didn't even occur to Aster to question this. "I hate to do this to him." And she did. Martin was a good boss, and she considered him to be a good friend as well. They worked well together.

"Doing this will let you be in position to help Weaver when she needs it."

It wasn't in Aster's nature to be world-weary or cynical, but she was learning. "Could you perhaps be any more cryptic?"

"Not much more, no." Contessa's tone was bland, but Aster decided that she had to be laughing, just a little.

"Is it related to Behemoth?"

That got her a very bland look, which Aster deciphered without trouble to mean 'yes'. She sighed. "Okay, fine. But I still hate to do it."

"I have to do many things that I hate," Contessa observed unexpectedly. "If it all turns out well in the end, then it was worth it. I have to believe that."

Aster frowned. "I'm not a fan of 'end justifies the means'. There are some lines that people just shouldn't step over. I remember someone saying that, just before I came to this time."

Contessa gave her a searching look. "Did you want to terminate our arrangement?"

"No." Aster shook her head. "I'm still on board with it. I just … want to make sure that I don't end up doing something unethical."

"I'll do my best to ensure that," Contessa told her.

"Thank you." Aster grimaced. "I don't even know what I'm going to tell Martin. I've actually enjoyed working with him."

"You'll think of something." Contessa picked up a magazine from the table. "Popular Mechanics?"

"It's quite interesting," Aster said. "Especially the articles on different types of engines and cars."

"I see." Contessa's voice was dry. Aster sneaked a glance at her to see if she was smiling. She wasn't, at least not visibly. But that didn't mean anything at all.

Worry intruded. What am I going to tell Martin?

-ooo-​

Thursday, 18 December 1992
Doctor French's Clinic

"Here you go, Ruth. Still hot."

Aster looked up as Martin put the packet down on her desk. The tempting odour of freshly-cooked pastry wafted past her nostrils, making her mouth water.

"Thank you," she said automatically.

"It's not a problem," he assured her. "I like having you around, so a little bribery never goes amiss." His eyes twinkled, showing that he was joking.

Unfortunately, this only made her feel worse. "Um. About that. Can we talk?"

Catching on to her tone, he sobered immediately. "Certainly. What seems to be the matter?"

She took a deep breath. Rip the bandage off in one go. It'll hurt less that way. "I, uh, I have to give notice. That I'm quitting."

The shock and pain in his eyes cut her to the quick. Whoever said that was an idiot. "Uh … quitting?" His voice matched his expression. "I mean … is it something that I have said or done?"

Hastily, she shook her head. "God, no. You've been the best boss ever. I'll always remember working here with you." I can't exactly forget it. Or the dirty trick that I'm playing on you now.

He frowned. "Then … is it the money? I mean … I don't have much room in the budget, but I can see my way clear to advancing you a little extra pay, if you need it."

And he would, too. "No, no, it's nothing like that." She reached out and took his hands. "It's not about you, or this job. I've really appreciated working with you, and I love this clinic. But … I need to move on. There's something else I need to do, and I can't do it while working here. I'm really, really sorry."

"What is it?" he asked. "What is it that you need to do?" He frowned. "Is it to do with that monster on the news, whatever they're calling it?"

She couldn't tell him what she needed to do, because she didn't know yet herself. But Contessa had given her the hint, and so she was going to follow it through. Because helping Taylor was her end goal. And if Contessa said that this was the way to do it, then this was what she would do. No matter how much it twisted a knife in her own guts.

"In a way," she conceded. I can't tell him the whole truth, but I owe him too much to lie. "I'm kind of having to re-evaluate my life after seeing that."

"I can understand that," he agreed. "I don't know where I'll get another assistant like you, but I won't keep you where you don't want to be."

Unexpectedly, she found herself standing and hugging him. He chuckled a little, from surprise as much as anything else, and patted her on the back. God damn it. Why did he have to go and say that? Now I want to stay more than ever.

When she let him go, he quite diplomatically did not mention the tears running down her face; instead, he offered her a box of tissues from the desk. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose, then faced up to him bravely. "I'm sorry. That was unprofessional of me."

Chuckling gently, he shook his head. "My dear Ruth, you've earned it. If you need to leave, then of course you can leave. When were you thinking of actually finishing?"

That was where Aster was having the trouble. "Uh … how about two months, or whenever you manage to get in another assistant, whichever happens first?"

He nodded seriously. "That sounds fair. I will start the search immediately. But I strongly suspect that it will be almost impossible to find a replacement of your calibre."

Aster felt bad all over again. "I'm sorry. I really am."

"These things happen." He paused, and his face took on a serious expression. "Of course, you do realise that just because your employment with me is coming to an end, this is not an excuse to slacken off."

She stared at him with shock for just a moment, before she caught the twinkle in his eye. "Oh … you. Seriously? Slacken off?"

"No, not seriously." He patted her on the shoulder. "Enjoy your lunch. I need to go and write a letter of reference."

"Thank you." He would write a good one, she knew. Martin French was the sort of man who would refrain from writing a reference if he couldn't say anything good about someone.

"Whatever for?" Martin strolled off toward his office, whistling off-key. Normally it would have irritated her, but she found herself listening, taking it in. I'm going to miss it. I'm going to miss him.

Now, if only she had some clue as to what Contessa needed her to do.

-ooo-​

25 December, 1992
Aster's Apartment

"Have you heard?"

Aster turned to face Nina. "Heard what?"

"They're forming a government body to oversee parahumans. To organise them in case that thing, the Behemoth, attacks anywhere else."

Context clicked into place for Aster then. She nodded. "The Parahuman Response Teams, yes." So that's when they were established, and why.

"Uh, yeah." Nina looked slightly miffed, as though she had been looking forward to surprising Aster with the news. "When did you hear about it?"

Oh, thirty-one years ago and nineteen years in the future. "Oh, somewhere around the place."

"Ruth." Nina's voice was severe. "I can tell when you're lying. You know that."

"Funny." Aster's voice was teasing. "You missed my biggest secret for ten whole years."

Nina ignored the jab. "But you're not telling the truth right now, are you?"

Aster conceded the point with a smile. "True. I knew of them from back where I came from, but I never knew exactly when they were formed. Now I do."

"Ah. Gotcha." Nina frowned slightly. "Another thing. Martin says you're quitting. Why is that? I thought you liked it there."

At that moment, the final piece clicked into place and she saw the full picture. "I do. But Taylor is going to be joining the PRT. So I will be, too. So I can keep an eye on her."

Nina looked startled. "Taylor, in the PRT?" She paused. "Okay, yes, I can see that. I can really see that. Her subjects, even … wow, she'll blitz the entrance qualifications."

"Possibly her aim all along," Aster suggested dryly.

Nina didn't disagree. "Actually, that would explain why she pushed for early graduation. She knew that the Behemoth would attack, which would cause the PRT to be formed, and she wanted to be ready."

"Do you blame her?" I just hope that I'm ready.

"Well, no." Nina eyed her speculatively. "Mind you, I just don't see you as a soldier."

Aster grinned. "That's why I won't be applying as a soldier."

-ooo-​

Friday, 22 January 1993
Brockton Bay College

This is not the most exciting job in the world.

Parahuman Response Teams recruiting sergeant George McCarthy leaned back in his chair. Contrary to his superiors' expectations, the College was not the fertile recruitment ground that he had been led to believe. That one girl with her two friends was the most promising recruit that he'd seen yet; if she didn't hit the officer track running, he would be surprised.

But that had been two days ago and since then, all he'd gotten were a few people reading the literature and taking away recruitment forms. He had little hope of any sort of return there. Plus, he'd read all the pamphlets, twice, and had taken to rearranging them on the table every hour in the hope that it looked like he was doing something.

I might have to requisition a coffee machine or something, just so that I can stay awake.

"Excuse me?"

His eyelids, which had just begun to drift shut, sprang open. Jolting to his feet, he almost saluted before registering that it was just another walk-up and not an officer doing a readiness check. I would have failed, badly.

"Good afternoon, ladies," he greeted them, as his heart rate reduced to merely racing. "How can I help you?"

These were older than the usual run of college students, he saw at once. The blonde was pretty with a strong jaw, while the brunette was reasonably cute. He figured them to be in their early thirties. Maybe they're staff here? Neither one seemed to show a high level of fitness; he didn't rate their chances of completing Boot very high. But I'm not here to judge. I'm here to recruit.

"Uh, yes," the blonde replied. "I'd like to join the PRT, if I may."

George blinked. He didn't often get the abbreviated version. Most people still sounded out the whole name, or perhaps called it the 'Response Teams' or the 'Teams'. "Uh, yes, certainly, ma'am." He picked up a form and handed it to her. "And you, ma'am?" Maybe I can get a twofer.

"Hell, no," chuckled the cute brunette. "I'm just here to watch the show."

"Excuse me," the blonde interjected after glancing the form over, "but I'm going to need a form that gives me the option to join as a medical specialist."

She barely even looked at it. Wow. "Uh, medical specialist, ma'am?"

"Yes, sergeant," the blonde replied, a slight tinge of asperity entering her tone. "I happen to be a fully qualified general surgeon. I would imagine the PRT could possibly use someone like that?"

Holy shit, I don't often get a recruit, but when I get 'em, I get 'em. "Uh, yes, ma'am, I can state that yes, we can most definitely use someone like that. Just one second, please?" Don't let this one get away … don't let this one get away …

Turning, he rummaged around until he located the specialist recruitment forms. "Here you go, ma'am. And here's a pen."

"Thank you, sergeant." She favoured him with a smile, then set to work filling out the form. He was struck by the fact that she didn't hesitate even once, filling out the details as fast as the pen could move.

"So, boring job?" That was the brunette.

"On occasion, ma'am," he replied honestly. "But once in a while someone comes along that makes it worth it."

"Trust me, I know exactly what you mean," she replied with a grin. "I'm a psychologist in my day job."

"You do know that the Parahuman Response Teams needs people in that line of work too, ma'am," he prompted her.

Her chuckle was warm and friendly. "I do understand that, but I'm going to have to decline, sergeant. I'm happy where I am."

"Done," the blonde reported. "And here's my paperwork."

Shit, that was fast. George accepted the completed form, the pen and the other stack of papers. "Thank you, ma'am."

She nodded politely. "You're welcome, sergeant. I hope you get more recruits."

He watched her walk away. She's not as intense as the Snow girl, but if she's a full-on surgeon, then they're gonna grab her with both hands.

It occurred to him that medics were given officer ranks, so that they could legally give orders to the soldiers they were treating. Huh. Two recruits, two officers. What are the odds?

I just hope she makes it through the physical.

-ooo-​

February 1993

"Come on, Goldilocks! Hut hut hut hut!"

Oh, god. What was I thinking?

Panting, Aster staggered along the rough dirt path between obstacles. The drill sergeant wasn't right next to her, but his voice gave her the distinct impression that he was. Her muscles were burning, the breath rasped in her lungs, and she wanted to throw up. But she was damned if she would.

Somehow, it had escaped her notice that even medics had to reach a certain level of physical fitness in the PRT. I suppose it will help if we ever have to run away from something. Not everyone was holding up as well as she was, although it would be stretching it to say that she was holding up 'well'. Three of the other specialists in her course had already dropped out. She suspected that they would not be the last.

She was almost at the next obstacle – a wall with ropes – when she spotted the foot sticking out of the undergrowth. Turning aside, she pulled the camouflage cover off of the first-aid dummy and dropped to her knees beside it. Going through the motions of checking pulse and breathing, as the drill stood by watching, she then gave the dummy thirty seconds of CPR. It wasn't easy – she needed all the oxygen she could get – but she managed it.

"Good," snapped the sergeant. "Come on, up you get. You're on the clock, Goldilocks."

I wish they'd picked some other nickname for me. But she was stuck with it for the duration. Staggering to her feet, she headed for the wall. The analytical side of her mind had already mapped it out, locating footholds. Grabbing the rope, feeling the tough fibres biting into her hands, she grimly began to haul herself upward.

Visions of letting loose, of blasting the obstacle into burning splinters, entertained her, but she kept her power in check. I'll finish this course the hard way. Because I have to.

-ooo-​

"Aim!"

Aster aimed the rifle.

"Fire!"

She squeezed the trigger. The rifle jolted against her already-sore shoulder; but she had factored that in. The first five shots had allowed her to zero in on exactly how to hold the weapon, where to hold the sights, and how gently to pull the trigger. The bullet punched through the target one inch to the left and half an inch low, precisely where she had aimed for.

"Weapons down!"

The range instructor walked over to the targets. It wasn't a long walk; they weren't being tested very stringently. Specialists didn't have to match up to the training of regular grunts.

It didn't take him long to examine the targets, then he walked back to the row of specialist recruits. "Listen up!" he called out. "Your aim is appalling! Your scores are execrable! I can only hope that your actual specialist skills are worth it, because you're not worth a damn as soldiers!"

Aster let the voice roll over her. Drill sergeants, she was quickly learning, were ever ready to insult soldiers, to force them to make that extra effort. In her case, it was wasted; she only needed to be shown once. Disassembling and reassembling any firearm was just like a three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle; once she had seen her rifle taken apart for the first time, she could have put it back together in the dark with ease. Of course, she didn't show that she could do this; it might raise questions.

Likewise, once she learned the specific series of conditions required for putting a bullet through the bullseye, she could replicate them every time, given her perfect memory. But once more, she was choosing not to do that. Showing unusual talent was the way to draw unwanted attention, and all she wanted was to be seen as a perfectly normal specialist.

If they're watching me, then I can't watch Taylor.

And watching out for Taylor was what she was there for.

-ooo-​

Monday, 20 September 1993
Parahuman Response Teams SE
Miami, FL

Paperwork, it seemed, was still paperwork whether one was in the military or not. Some things never change. Aster signed one sheet, put it in her out-box, then turned to the next one. At that moment, there was a knock on her office door.

"Enter!" she called. The door opened; a corporal with the armband marking him out as an orderly stepped into the office, came to attention, and saluted. He held a stack of paper and a clipboard in his left hand. "Major Goldstein, ma'am."

Aster returned the salute. "Yes, corporal?"

"Your copy of the Snow Protocols, ma'am." The orderly stepped forward and handed over a few stapled pages.

"The 'Snow' Protocols, corporal?" What the heck has Taylor done now?

"Yes, ma'am." He came to attention and recited as if by rote. "They outline how to determine if someone is under the influence of a mind-controlling parahuman, and how to detect if a parahuman is impersonating someone important. One of our analysts up in Chicago came up with them, ma'am."

She blinked. "Well, then. I shall read them at once. Thank you, that will be all."

"Uh, ma'am, if you can just sign here to show that you've received them?" He offered the clipboard; she dashed off her signature. "Thank you, ma'am."

Once he was gone, she picked up the pages and ran her eyes over them. The protocols were easy to understand, concise, and efficiently set out. There may have been loopholes in them, but she couldn't find any. Well, Taylor, you have been busy. Good for you.

As she went back to work, she smiled slightly to herself. Snow Protocols, indeed. And I bet that's just the start.

-ooo-​

Tuesday, 18 January 1994
Washington DC
The White House
First Anniversary of the Formation of the PRT

Aster managed to prevent herself from gawking like a tourist at the palatial building, but it was a near thing. She managed to keep herself grounded by observing the officers around her, matching faces to names. I never thought I'd be in the military, much less an officer. But I do have to say, they live well.

The meal in the State Dining Room had gone well; Aster already knew how to eat in polite company, and the small portions had helped settle her nerves. The wine was also to her taste; it suited the meal perfectly, and she had managed to finish her glass before the meal was over.

She was reasonably sure that she had also spotted Taylor from across the room; while the younger woman's hair was much shorter, the shape of her face was the same. Aster had chosen to keep her hair at shoulder-length, but it seemed that Taylor had gone for the close-trimmed look. It was different, but in a way it suited her. Another striking difference was the PRT dress uniform she wore, sporting a few carefully-polished medals. That suits her too. She wears it with pride.

As Aster left the dining room, she tried to keep sight of Taylor, but people got in the way. By the time the blockage cleared, the slender girl was nowhere in sight. Maybe she's gone back to the Green Room.

The door to that room was still open, so she strolled in. She'd been wrong; there was nobody there. Still, it was a beautiful room, and Taylor wasn't going anywhere in a hurry, so Aster strolled about the perimeter of the room, admiring the paintings. She was standing, hands clasped behind her back, admiring the portrait of Franklin over the fireplace, when a voice spoke behind her.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

She knew the voice, of course. It took all of her willpower to turn slowly. "Director Costa-Brown," she said. "Yes, I was rather admiring it."

Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown. As an infant, she had watched uncomprehending as talking heads on TV discussed the retirement of the Chief Director, and what this meant for the PRT, especially with all the dirty laundry that was being aired.

Of course, this was not something she was going to reveal to anyone, for several reasons. If she could help it, she would not even reveal the fact that she knew anything of this to Costa-Brown. Under the radar. I need to stay under the radar.

"Is something bothering you, Major Goldstein? You seem uneasy."

Aster steadied herself. I lasted months with Friedrich breathing down my neck. I can bluff my way through this. "Well, aren't you, Chief Director? We're in the White House." She let some of the wonder that she'd been feeling earlier fill her voice. "Everything here is so far above my pay grade, I can't even begin to imagine it."

Costa-Brown's lips curved in a brief smile. "Well put, Major. You're the surgeon, are you not? Ruth Goldstein?"

Aster smiled easily. "I am indeed, ma'am. I presume you've read my file." She's read everyone's file.

It was Costa-Brown's turn to smile. "You presume correctly, Major." A slight tilt of her head. "However, you represent something of an enigma to me."

She wouldn't be so casual if she actually knew something damaging. At least, I hope not. "An enigma, ma'am?"

"Yes." The Director's eyes narrowed slightly. "Why does a surgeon who is perfectly capable of making a good living in the private sector choose to join the PRT? The pay is less, the hours are potentially longer, and the chance of being exposed to danger is not insignificant."

Aster chuckled. "Ma'am, I'm assuming you've never worked trauma in Los Angeles. There's danger aplenty there as well."

"Understood, Doctor Goldstein," Costa-Brown replied. "But it still does not answer my question."

"My apologies." Aster composed her features. "I fell afoul of a Doctor Henry Friedrich. Perhaps you've heard of him."

"I believe I've heard the name in passing," the Chief Director admitted. "A scandal attached to a Los Angeles hospital?"

"I was in the middle of that," Aster clarified. "To cut a long story short, he didn't know how to take 'no' for an answer, and he wouldn't let me out of my contract. So the first moment I was able to get damaging evidence on him, I presented it to the AMA."

"Which does not explain why you are now working for us," Costa-Brown pointed out.

"It seems that the medical profession does not appreciate a whistle-blower," Aster said. "I was unable to find work, for what appeared to be entirely valid reasons, at any of the hospitals to which I applied. So I found work as a general practitioner until the PRT was formed. They, at least, do not bow to the opinions of others when it comes to hiring surgeons."

"I should think not," the Chief Director replied. "We were lucky to get the medics that we did. To be brutally honest, I'm less concerned with your reasons for joining than with the possibility that you might find it not to your liking."

"I'm actually finding it quite refreshing," Aster told her candidly. "The chain of command is clear-cut, as is the procedure to be taken if I feel that I am being victimised. Which, as you might imagine, is somewhat of a factor for me. Once bitten, and all that."

"I can see how it might be," agreed Costa-Brown. "The money is less of an issue for you?"

"Money is good, but I prefer to have a job that I like," Aster said. "In this job, I get to help people and make sure that the doctors under me are doing their jobs properly. That's kind of important to me."

"Good." The Chief Director smiled, and this time it reached her eyes. "I'm pleased to hear that. Carry on, Major." She turned and strode from the room, moving with an air of confidence that Aster wished she could emulate.

After examining a few more of the paintings – masterpieces all, which came as no surprise to her – Aster exited the room, still on the lookout for Taylor. Perhaps she's in the East Room, waiting for the ball to start.

Aster strolled in that direction, but quickly realised that such was the crowd, she probably wouldn't be able to see Taylor even if she was there. In any case, what's likely to happen to her here, in the White House? I should really be relaxing and enjoying myself.

The music started, and people began to dance. She sat out the first one, then a handsome captain boldly asked her for a turn on the floor. With a smile, she graciously accepted. Having seen the steps, she knew them perfectly, of course; it was fun to get up and glide over the parquet flooring under the nominal guidance of her partner.

Several dances on, she saw Taylor enter on the arm of an older Major. She recalled immediately that they had been in close company earlier, and that both wore the Intelligence flash. Probably her boss, then. He squired her on to the floor; she went willingly enough, despite her obvious self-consciousness amid a sea of brass.

It was while she was resting between dances that she saw the tall Lieutenant on the perimeter of the crowd. Like her, he was watching Taylor as she moved around the floor with her superior. Unlike her, he didn't seem to be aware that he wasn't the only one with an interest in the young analyst. I don't like the way he's looking at her. It reminded her altogether too much of the way that Friedrich had looked at her, once upon a time. Well then, let's see what I can do about that.

Moving through the crowd, she fetched up alongside the almost skeletally thin junior officer. "Excuse me," she said, "but may I have this dance?"

He turned toward her; she would have bet that he was already forming the words of a refusal. But when he saw her, or more specifically her rank insignia, he hesitated for a long moment. She fancied that she could see the wheels turning over in his head; how does a Lieutenant refuse a Major a dance?

The correct answer was, of course, 'he does not'. "Uh, yes, of course, Major," he replied politely. "Thank you."

"The pleasure is all mine," she murmured. "So tell me about yourself, Lieutenant." His name, she now saw, was Calvert. Taking his arm, she guided him on to the floor in a gap between two other dancers.

It was obvious that he wanted to keep tabs on Taylor. Unfortunately, his dancing skills were mediocre at best; he wanted to lead, but had trouble keeping up with the beat. So without consulting him, she took over the lead, pushing him into the subordinate role.

With a little more prodding, as they moved about the floor, she managed to get him talking. He was a naturally proud man, she gauged, with a high degree of self-interest. His first name was Thomas, and he was strongly considering moving over to the Striker teams. She let him think that she was impressed, although her distaste for him increased each time he spoke. Every time he began to look for Taylor, she distracted him with another question about himself.

Whatever he has planned for her, I'm sure it's not good.

She managed to manoeuvre him so that they were on the far side of the dance floor to the door when the music ended; looking over his shoulder, she saw Taylor stepping off the dance floor, then looking around. It appeared that Taylor was aware of the interest that the gangly lieutenant had in her for when she caught sight of him, she looked right at him for a long moment, while he looked in the wrong direction for her. Good.

Taylor stepped into the crowd and disappeared, leaving Calvert none the wiser. My work here is done. Leaving the lieutenant to his own devices, she went to get a drink, which she carried out of the East Room.

Once more, Taylor wasn't there, but the man that Aster presumed to be her boss was. He was older than her by a few decades, with an almost totally bald head and a neatly-trimmed white moustache. As she neared him, she saw from the name-tag that his name was Hamilton.

"Good evening, Major," she greeted him.

"Good evening, Major," he replied with grave courtesy. "Are you enjoying the celebrations?"

"To be honest," she replied, "it's fun for a while, but I'd much rather be checking on patients."

"I feel much the same," he agreed. "Except that I'd rather be cross-checking reports."

They shared a knowing look; each knew the other's speciality, of course, so that the comments were almost superfluous. She sipped at her drink as they spoke of minor matters; if the cold spell would hold, where the next PRT base would be opened, and so on.

By the time her cup was almost empty, she was looking up at the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling of the Cross Hall. "I have to say -" she began.

"Excuse me, but -" he said at the same moment. There was an awkward pause.

"You go first," he offered gallantly.

"Thank you," she replied with a smile. "I was just going to say, those chandeliers are gorgeous. In fact, the whole place is. I'm scared to move too close to the wall in case I accidentally scratch the wallpaper."

He chuckled. "I know how you feel. I'm not used to gatherings in surroundings like these."

"You and me both. You were going to say something?"

"Mere idle curiosity." He made a throwaway gesture. "I was going to ask if you were a certain someone who was in the news a few years ago, but it's really none of my business."

With an effort, she restrained herself from grimacing. No. It's really not. "My name is Ruth Goldstein, yes. I was in that mess in Los Angeles, yes. I consider it to be well behind me, so if we could leave it there, I would appreciate it."

He inclined his head in what was almost a bow. "I apologise for the lack of tact, my dear. Please, consider the matter closed."

"Thank you," she murmured.

She was about to go on, when a corporal with a signals flash on his lapel trotted up. "Major Hamilton, sir," he called out. "Urgent message for you."

Hamilton went from courteous gentleman to Intelligence officer in the space of a heartbeat. "If you'll excuse me, Major?"

"Of course, Major," she replied immediately.

He went to meet the corporal, taking a folded slip of paper from the young man's hand. When he read it, his entire attitude changed. Turning back to her, he spoke crisply. "I must apologise. I have to go."

"I understand," she assured him. "Kick ass. Take names."

A smile spread the moustache. "I don't need their names."

Turning, he hustled away down the Cross Hall. As he neared the entrance to the Blue Room, she saw Taylor emerge. Hamilton spoke briefly with the analyst, and they both left via the Entrance Hall.

Well, she mused. That was interesting.

-ooo-​

Tuesday, 4 April 1994
Miami
Aster's Apartment

"I myself will be speaking to them, probably at some length. So if you'll excuse me." On the screen, Taylor handed off the microphone to an older man with close-cut greying hair and moved off; the camera followed her for a moment. When the man began speaking, it swung back to him.

"And that's Captain Taylor Snow, ladies and gentlemen …"

Aster used the remote to turn the TV off and leaned back in her chair. Holy. Shit.. She'd had an idea that Taylor was really good at what she did. There were a few rumours going around, if one knew who to ask. But that right there … I don't know if I could've done shooting like that.

Closing her eyes, she let the action run past her mind's eye again. The look on Taylor's face was … almost calm. She wasn't the slightest bit intimidated, even by the fact that she was facing a notorious supervillain and his armed minions. I wouldn't want to go up against her.

But I can't wait to meet her.

-ooo-​

Friday, 10 June 1994
PRT SE, Miami FL

Aster looked at the Post-it note. It hadn't been there five minutes ago, when she went to get a cup of coffee from the machine down the hall. Her office door had been in her field of view all that time. And yet, when she returned, there it was on her computer monitor. Bright yellow, with six digits and two words on it.

104532
SAY YES

She glanced at her desk clock. It showed 10:44, with the seconds ticking over into the fifties. Reaching out, she plucked the note from her computer and crumpled it in her hand. She let her eyes drift back to the clock. It ticked over to 10:45 and the seconds kept on going. At 10:45:20, she heard familiar footsteps in the hallway. At 10:45:32, Director Tanner leaned in through the door.

"Yes, Director?" she asked.

"I've just gotten off the phone with Director Walsh, in Austin," he told her. "He's putting together an op with a high likelihood of injured personnel, both PRT and civilian. He asked me if I could spare any of my medical staff for the aftermath. Would you like to volunteer?"

She thought of the note in her hand. "Yes," she replied at once.

He blinked, as though he had expected her to ask questions. "Right then. Get what you need. Transport leaves for the airport in an hour. Wheels up in ninety minutes. Got it?"

She nodded. "Got it, sir."

"Good." He paused. "Take care. Don't get hurt."

"I'll do my best, sir."

Turning, he trod away down the corridor. She frowned, considering. Contessa left that note. Chances are, Taylor's involved. She needs my help.

Calling up her power, she let the heat leak through the skin of her palm without quite allowing any metal to trickle through. It wasn't easy, but she was getting the trick of it. The paper incinerated in an instant, with just a puff of smoke from her closed hand. She dusted her hands together over the trash can, then went to get ready.

-ooo-​

Saturday, 11 June 1994
Compound near Waco, TX

The radio in the aid station crackled. "All units, all units. Female parahuman, metal controller, code name Metal Storm, is a PRT asset. I say again, do not attack the girl who's covered in steel. Over."

Aster fidgeted, wishing she could do something. There was nothing she could do. The aid station had been set up (behind barricades, so that those in the compound could not snipe at it), the tables had been laid out, antiseptics and anaesthetic ready to be used. There was even a hand-held X-ray scanner; she'd heard that it had been built by Hero.

A few casualties had come back before the chopper was shot down; her heart had plummeted to her shoes in a similar fashion when she saw that. But she believed that Taylor was alive. She had to believe it. She didn't survive everything she's gone up against before, just to die like that.

That small part of her which was always logical pointed out the flaw in her argument. She ignored it.

Since the assault had started, more men had been coming back to the aid station. Some had been shot, while others showed severe burns. The cape that shot down the chopper did this. A dull rage built inside her; she wanted to find that cape and match him, heat for heat. See how he likes a few burns.

But I have to be a medic, a surgeon. I have to help Taylor.

The shooting, already sporadic, began to peter out altogether. There was a single, dull explosion. Flash-bang grenade, Aster mentally supplied. One more shot. Then another. Then silence.

Aster waited, gritting her teeth. Taylor's in there somewhere. Come on, come on.

"Doctor Goldstein?" It was a nurse at her elbow.

"Yes, Frances?"

"I went to get some whole blood, and I could only find a little."

Aster blinked. "Did you try the second cooler trailer on the left?" That was what had been set aside for it, anyway.

Frances nodded. "That's where I looked. We've got about a dozen units."

Aster didn't bother asking, are you sure? Instead, she frowned. "How about blood expanders?"

"We've got about the same for that, and that's it."

"You've got to be -" Aster didn't bother finishing that. Frances obviously wasn't kidding. "Major Holden!" She turned, looking for the officer in charge of the aid station. However, just as she caught his attention, the radio crackled to life.

"All clear, sector three."

"All clear, sector five."

"Armoury has been secured."

And then, the one they'd all been waiting for. "Fire Team Charlie Actual calling Fire Base One. Objective achieved. Six, I say again, six hostages secured. Casualties, I say again, casualties. Medical assistance required urgentmost. Do you copy, over?"

After a long moment, another voice spoke up. "Message received, Fire Team Charlie Actual. Medvac incoming alpha-sierra-alpha-papa. Hold tight. Fire Base One, out."

"Fire Team Charlie Actual, that's a roger. Out."

Major Holden cupped his hands around his mouth. "Medvac teams Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, move out! Ambulances will convey you to the compound! You will meet up with support there, and move in! Move-move-move!"

Aster took a step forward. "Major Holden! I need- !" I need to find Taylor before it's too late. I need to find more blood expanders and whole blood. I need to find out who screwed up and kick their asses.

Holden looked at her. "Sorry, Goldstein. That's a negative. Prep for surgery. It sounds like you're going to be busy." Then he was gone, trotting from the aid station in the wake of the medvac teams. Engines roared as the ambulances bumped away over the uneven ground toward the compound. Aster took a deep breath to steady herself, and turned to her surgery teams. "All right, people. You heard. Get ready. We're likely to be overwhelmed in just a few minutes, so if there's anything you've got to do, do it right now."

Moving among the tables, she kept talking. "We've all trained for this. We can do it. I worked trauma in Los Angeles, and I survived that. We can survive this."

While her words didn't altogether dissipate the tension in the tent, people did seem to relax just a bit.

She took a deep breath. "Also. Someone screwed up. We're way low on both whole blood and blood expanders. So we're gonna have to stretch it out. Don't use it unless you absolutely have to, folks." Turning to Frances, she went on more quietly. "Go through every vehicle, every trailer. Find me some more blood. I don't care if it's some officer's private medical stash, bring it here."

Nodding, her eyes wide, Frances turned and dashed out of the aid station.

Aster washed her hands, slowly and carefully. Normally, as a part of her pre-op ritual, this helped to relax her. Unfortunately, her own tension was ratcheted so high that she could feel it humming in her bones. But she didn't let it show, instead allowing a nurse to glove her up. She turned toward the aid station doors as the first ambulance screeched to a halt outside.

Freshly gloved and gowned, she couldn't go outside; the chance of becoming contaminated by dust, smoke or any other airborne particulate was too high. Orderlies flooded out in her stead, medics moving among them, assessing the injuries.

The first gurneys rattled in through the doors, bearing people stained with blood and dirt; some were groaning while others lay ominously still. Aster watched them as they came in; her perfect recall allowed her to pick each one in turn and reject them, one after the other. Not Taylor, not Taylor, not Taylor …

And then, a gurney entered with one soldier lying on it, cradling another. A third strode alongside, arguing loudly with the medic while holding a precious blood bag high. Aster looked more closely. The soldier alongside the gurney was female and brunette, but too heavy-set to be Taylor. On the gurney, one soldier was male, and big enough to make two of Aster. But the other …

… the other was Taylor Snow.

Aster was moving forward even as her brain confirmed that. "Excuse me," she interjected. "What's going on here?"

The medic, a Captain Rosario, indicated Taylor's hunched body. "This one's too badly hurt. We'll never save her. Morphine and let her go."

"No!" That was the soldier alongside the gurney. Her hand moved toward her slung rifle, but then dropped away again. Aster thought she looked vaguely familiar. At the same time, the man holding Taylor tried to sit up.

"No," he grunted. "Save her."

"She's losing too much blood. There's a catastrophic impaling trauma," Rosario snapped. "We can't do it."

"Captain, go deal with the other wounded," Aster told him. Before I punch you. "I'll take care of this."

"Yes, ma'am," Rosario said. He made his escape, and Aster turned to the others. "I'm Doctor Goldstein. Bring her this way."

"You're not going to just abandon her?" asked the female soldier. Aster sorted through her visual snapshots of the woman and found the nametag. Piggot. Well, now. Isn't that a coincidence.

"No, Lieutenant Piggot," she replied firmly. "I'm not. But first, we have to find out how bad this is."

"Doctor!" Aster looked around. The blood bag that Piggot was holding was almost empty.

"Damn." She wasn't sure how many more she could scrounge. "What blood type is she?"

"AB." That was the man on the gurney. "Universal recipient."

"Good. That might just save her life. Lieutenant Piggot, how do you feel about giving blood?"

"Yes." That was all the lieutenant said; Aster felt a rush of warmth toward her.

"Me too." That was the wounded man on the gurney.

"You're hurt." The words came out automatically.

"I'm not bleeding. I can spare the blood. She can't." His tone was firm.

Aster didn't argue any further; looking around, she caught an orderly's eye. "Orderly!" He came trotting over to her almost immediately.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Transfusion kit, stat. Two sets. Make that three. And bring back a nurse."

He didn't question her orders. "Yes, ma'am." He disappeared into the swirling pandemonium once more. God, I love being able to give orders like that. And have them obeyed.

Aster turned to the three soldiers. "This way." She led to the table where the X-ray apparatus had been set up. Rosario was there, setting up a patient. She gestured. "Off. We need that."

"Uh, we need it," protested Rosario. "This man's got a bullet in his thigh, and we need to find out how close to his femoral artery it is."

Stepping up, Aster got right in his face. "Will your patient die if he doesn't get X-rayed right now, Captain?"

He hesitated for a long moment. " … no."

"Well, mine will. I need that table."

Another hesitation. "Yes, ma'am." He gestured; orderlies lifted his patient back on to a gurney. But the look he gave her warned her that she'd better be right about this. Well, duh.

Between them, she and Lieutenant Piggot managed to get Taylor on to the table, without disturbing her too much. The field dressing over her lower abdomen was already red and wet with blood, with more soaking through all the time. She was still breathing, but her pulse was weak.

As Aster began to run the handset over Taylor, she watched the screen. Behind her, the orderly arrived at a run. "Transfusion kits, ma'am!"

"Good," she said over her shoulder. "Nurse?"

"Yes, doctor?" It was another voice; young and female.

"Set up transfusions between the sergeant and the lieutenant into the captain."

"What, both at once?" The shock in the nurse's voice was plain. Aster turned to look at her. "Uh, I mean, yes, ma'am."

"Good." Aster went back to the handset, but the picture was plain. There was a piece of metal of some sort, daggered into Taylor's body via a wound in the lower left abdomen. How she hadn't lost a vital organ, Aster would never know, but right now her life hung on a thread. And dumping more blood into her would only slow down the collapse.

I can't fix this. Pulling that metal out would kill her. Operating to get it out will probably kill her. Leaving it in will definitely kill her.

Drawing a deep breath, she tried to centre herself. I'm here to help Taylor. I've got to help her. Stop focusing on what I can't do, and work out what I can do.

Her eyes snapped into focus. The image on the screen had been metal. Specifically, a strut from the crashed helicopter. I know how to get it out.

"Hold on," she told them. "I'll be right back."

Hustling over to the radio, she picked up the mic. Switching it over to public-address, she began to speak.

-ooo-​

Kari

"How are your hands?" Kari asked solicitously. "They look kinda … painful."

"I can not feel them, unless I try to move them, or look at them," Roberto confessed. "Will I lose them?"

"No, buddy, you won't," Captain Lansing assured him. He gestured at the aid station just ahead of them, which was bustling with activity. "These guys will fix you right up."

At that moment, the PA system came to life. "Attention, Metal Storm. Attention, Metal Storm. Report to Doctor Goldstein at the aid station immediately. I say again, Metal Storm is to report to Doctor Goldstein at the aid station immediately."

Startled, Kari looked at Lansing. "What? What do they want me for?"

Lansing shrugged. "No idea. Better go in and see."

"Okay. Right. Um." Kari took a deep breath, and pushed through the doors. "Uh, hello?" she called out over the controlled tumult within. "Doctor Goldstein? Someone called for Metal Storm?"

"Over here!" a voice called, and she saw a raised arm. "This way!"

Edging around tables crowded with doctors and nurses doing whatever doctors and nurses did – and there was a lot more blood than she'd ever expected there to be – Kari made her way over to the doctor who had called out. She was blonde, with strong features behind the face-mask and an air of simmering tension.

"How can I help?" Kari asked, then looked down at the woman on the table. "Oh! Captain Snow!"

"You can help save her life," Doctor Goldstein stated. "You can control any metal, yes?"

"Um, I guess," Kari ventured. "I haven't tried with every metal everywhere, but I haven't found one that I can't control."

"Good. What's your name?"

"Uh, Kari. Kari Schultz."

"Well, Kari, I'm afraid you're being thrown in at the deep end." The doctor pulled back the dressing on Captain Snow's belly; Kari gulped as fresh blood oozed out of the ugly gash. "There's a piece of metal in there. I want you to tell me if you can get that out of her without doing any more damage." She gestured to a screen, and ran a weird-looking handset over Captain Snow's blood-soaked uniform. Kari gasped as she saw the piece of metal outlined on the screen.

"I – I can try." Kari pulled back the steel that had covered her right arm and gingerly reached into the wound. Warm blood coated her fingers, and then she made contact with the piece of metal. "Got it."

"Can you get it out?"

"Uh, sure, but it's stopping some bleeding. If I take it away, she'll bleed a lot worse than she is now. I can feel the blood trying to push out around it."

"Wait." The doctor looked at her intently. "You can feel what's going on in there?"

"Uh, sure." Kari blinked. "I can feel through whatever I'm controlling."

"And your control. How good is that?"

By way of demonstration, Kari held out her left arm, still covered in metal. It sprouted a tiny forest of metal filaments, each about as fine as a human hair. These twisted and writhed in perfect formation. "Pretty good?"

The doctor grinned or at least, showed her teeth. "Okay. Excellent. You're about to save a life."

"I – I am?"

"Yes. You are." The handset moved around Captain Snow's body. "This blood vessel here. Can you stitch it closed?"

"Uh … like this?" Watching the screen closely, Kari made fine wires extrude from the metal inside the Captain's body. Needle-sharp tips punctured the walls of the artery and then tightened to pull the gash shut, then Kari severed the connection with the main mass of metal.

"Exactly like that. Nurse. Set me up with a transfusion as well."

"Uh, Doctor?"

The doctor turned to look at the nurse. "I believe I gave an order. This patient needs every drop of blood we can give her if she's to survive."

"Right. Right." The nurse busied herself with needles.

Kari looked at the doctor. "Uh, which one next?"

"That one, I think."

"Okay."

-ooo-​

Aster

On and on they worked; with each bit of damage that the girl stitched up, Taylor's vital signs improved infinitesimally. It was only due to her perfect recall that Aster was later able to determine exactly when Taylor's blood pressure began to rise once more; she was coaching Kari through final repairs, stitching up the wound as the piece of metal that had caused it was retracted.

"Uh … Doctor Goldstein?" It was Lieutenant Piggot. She finished off the sandwich she was eating – Aster had sent the nurse to find some food – and dusted off her hands, careful not to disturb the IV tube in her arm.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Is she going to have problems with all that metal inside her?"

Aster smiled. "No. It's titanium. We use it in implants all the time."

"Oh." Piggot looked simultaneously enlightened and impressed. Aster didn't elaborate on how she knew this; it just so happened that she had once read about that specific type of helicopter, and what that particular part of its airframe was made of.

"Um, that's it, I think."

Aster looked over Kari's shoulder. A neat row of metallic sutures closed off what had been a gaping wound; the remaining titanium was wrapped around her hand like a glove. "Well done," Aster praised the girl. "If you've ever thought of being a doctor, go for it. I think you've got a gift."

"And that's it?" asked the lieutenant.

"Well, it is for us." Aster set about removing the IV tube from her arm. "She's out of danger for the moment, but I'll be a lot happier once she's got more blood in her. And the sergeant here also needs attention. Also, blood." She nodded to Lieutenant Piggot, and to the burly sergeant. "Thank you both for your contribution."

Piggot shrugged, allowing the nurse to remove her IV. "We were boot buddies. I couldn't do any less." Sergeant Kinsey – Aster finally managed to get a look at his nametag – merely nodded.

"Lieutenant Piggot?"

They looked around at the new voice. Aster frowned as she recognised the pair of newcomers as MPs. Their nametags read Orson and Green. "What's going on?" she asked.

Piggot, on the other hand, seemed unsurprised. "Right. Okay. You want my weapons?"

"If you would be so kind." Orson accepted the lieutenant's pistol, offered butt first, and her rifle, held by the sling.

"Excuse me," Aster snapped. "What's going on? The lieutenant just helped save the life of Captain Snow here."

"Please stay out of this, Doctor," Green advised her. "We've been ordered to take Lieutenant Piggot into custody."

"That's Major Goldstein to you," she retorted, nettled. "Now, one more time. What are the charges?"

"Well, Major," Orson replied. "She's been accused of threatening senior officers with a loaded weapon. Among other things. Now, we are going to carry out our orders. Come along, Lieutenant." Just a little stunned, Aster watched them walk away.

"They can't get away with that, can they?" asked the teenage girl.

"Well, they can arrest her," Aster pointed out. "But charges like that will lead to a court-martial. So we'll have to see." She indicated Taylor and the sergeant. "In the meantime, we have patients to deal with. Care to give me a hand, Kari?"

The teenage girl nodded. "I really think I would."

Aster smiled. This also keeps her occupied and stops her from thinking too deeply about what's happened today until she has time to process it. "Good. May I ask you a question?"

"Uh, sure, Doctor. What about?"

"The name, Metal Storm. Are you likely to be keeping it?"

Kari shook her head. "No, I really don't think it suits me. Why?"

Aster made her tone light. "Oh, no reason."

-ooo-​

Wednesday, 15 June 1994
Austin TX
PRT Base Infirmary

"Doctor Goldstein. We meet again." Rebecca Costa-Brown's handshake was as firm as her voice. Aster did her best to return as good as she got.

"We do indeed, Chief Director." She allowed herself a slight smile. "Though I didn't think we'd be talking again so soon."

"Nor did I." Costa-Brown nodded at the closed door. "When can we see her?"

Patience, patience. "The last of the sedative should be out of her system. By my estimation, she'll be waking up naturally in the next hour or so."

"You can't wake her up sooner?" That was Grantham.

Aster gave him a stern look. "Sir, you're my commanding officer, but she suffered an injury that very nearly killed her. Ten more minutes and she would have been too far gone to save. So you'll excuse me if I'm a little protective of my patient."

"Sir," murmured the last of the group, Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton. He wore his promotion well. Aster didn't have to ask how he'd gotten that; she had heard the rumours that had circulated after New York. "Why don't we let the doctor do her job? She did save Captain Snow's life, after all."

Grantham nodded jerkily. "All right. Let us know the moment she's able to talk."

"Certainly, sir." Aster nodded to the other two. "If you'll excuse me?"

Nobody demurred; Aster went back into Taylor's room.

-ooo-​

Taylor looked almost at peace, lying there in the hospital bed. Her face relaxed from its normal stern lines to the point where Aster could see the face of the girl she had once been. Of course, even as a teenager, she had been no pushover; during her brief career as Skitter, she had risen dramatically to become one of the most feared and respected capes in Brockton Bay and beyond.

Is it any surprise that she's doing the same here?

Aster felt a fierce loyalty toward the young woman in the bed. Taylor had been sent back to save the world. Aster had been sent back to help her, to assist her in any way she could. And she intended to do just that, with every resource at her disposal. Whatever it took.

Taylor stirred; she seemed to be muttering something in her sleep. Aster thought she caught the words 'wake up'.

Well, if that's not my cue, nothing will be. Reaching across, she collected Taylor's glasses from the bedside table. It hadn't been hard to contact Brockton Bay and get her prescription; an optometrist had replaced the lens as an overnight job.

Taylor's eyes fluttered open. I so want to talk to her. Find out everything I missed. But first things first.

"Ah, Captain Snow," she said cheerfully. "You're awake."

End of Part 5-8

Part 5-9​

 

[tenchifew]

Ok, loved the chapter. This story just keeps being excellent.
Liked all the Aster chapters actually, but this one was just great - a lot of character development, was also fascinating to see the other side of the situations seen previously, and especially the culmination of the arc during the surgery - Kudos.

While I liked Kari's and Roberto's backstories well enough, I would not be too disappointed to not see much of their PoV again, Aster on the other hand I am looking forward to see more of.

I am, of course, also very much looking forward to see advancement of Taylor's story.

Thank you for writing.

 

[Ack]

Okay, just so everyone knows, there are a few minor fixes that I will be making on this chapter before I move on. I'll let you all know what they are once I've completed them.

 

[Twilight666]

Okay, just so everyone knows, there are a few minor fixes that I will be making on this chapter before I move on. I'll let you all know what they are once I've completed them.

Click to shrink...

Will the fixes be on this chapter only or on all 3 of Aster's chapters?
Also how minor are we talking about?

 

[Starfox5]

Very nice chapter. I like the thought of Aster working with Contessa in Africa and such - and I wonder if Alexandria knows about that.

 

[Ack]

Changes:
Aster doesn't know that RCB is Alexandria.

Tuesday, 4 April 1994
Miami
Aster's Apartment

"I myself will be speaking to them, probably at some length. So if you'll excuse me." On the screen, Taylor handed off the microphone to an older man with close-cut greying hair and moved off; the camera followed her for a moment. When the man began speaking, it swung back to him.

"And that's Captain Taylor Snow, ladies and gentlemen …"

Aster used the remote to turn the TV off and leaned back in her chair. Holy. Shit.. She'd had an idea that Taylor was really good at what she did. There were a few rumours going around, if one knew who to ask. But that right there … I don't know if I could've done shooting like that.

Closing her eyes, she let the action run past her mind's eye again. The look on Taylor's face was … almost calm. She wasn't the slightest bit intimidated, even by the fact that she was facing a notorious supervillain and his armed minions. I wouldn't want to go up against her.

But I can't wait to meet her.

Click to shrink...

Aster turned to the three soldiers. "This way." She led to the table where the X-ray apparatus had been set up. Rosario was there, setting up a patient. She gestured. "Off. We need that."

"Uh, we need it," protested Rosario. "This man's got a bullet in his thigh, and we need to find out how close to his femoral artery it is."

Stepping up, Aster got right in his face. "Will your patient die if he doesn't get X-rayed right now, Captain?"

Click to shrink...

 

[Ack]

Just for everyone's information, the scene in the aid station has been made a little more fraught.

 

[Ack]

Recoil

Part 5-9: Consequences and Fallout​

Taylor

Wait, what did she just say?

I closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them again, she was still standing there. Aster Anders. Holy shit. As she said, I had never met Purity's daughter, at least not in Brockton Bay. I had only learned that she even existed when Coil outed the entire Empire Eighty-Eight in one fell swoop. And then made it look like we did it.

Looking at her more closely, in light of who she said her parents were, I could see it. She had her mother's cheekbones and eyes, and her father's hair and jaw. Purity had been on the petite side, while Kaiser had been tall and commanding; Aster more or less split the difference.

With a flash of insight, I realised why Lisa had been so amused. She must have been sitting on this secret forever.

"Wait," we both said at the same moment. I paused to let her speak; she did the same for me. After a moment of awkward silence, I gestured. "You first."

She shook her head. "No. You first."

This could go on all day. "Okay, fine. You're saying you didn't lose your powers when you came back in time?"

"Well, no," she agreed. "My powers work fine. You're saying you lost yours? How did you even manage to do that?"

"If I knew that, I'd be moving heaven and earth to get them back," I retorted grumpily. "Going back in time to before you were born is a pain. Going there without powers … so much more of a pain."

The corner of her mouth quirked in a smile. "Going back as a one year old baby … now that's a pain."

"A baby, with powers," I pointed out. "That must have been … interesting."

"Could have been worse," she said. "My powers amped up my intelligence as well as giving me perfect recall. I managed to assimilate my experiences to that point to give me a reasonably accurate world-view. So I didn't use my powers where anyone could see me doing it."

I frowned. "In my experience, once you've got powers, it's hard not to use them. You didn't out yourself at all?"

"Well, it wasn't the easiest thing in the world," she admitted, "but it was doable. Just barely. I had plenty of emotional support from my parents, and a few good friends here and there. I'm not going to say I wasn't tempted to cut loose from time to time, and in fact I did sneak out into the woods to practice a little when I could."

I gathered from her expression that there was more to that story. "What happened?"

She grimaced. "I nearly started a forest fire, the last time I did that. So I focused on my other powers."

"The Thinker abilities," I guessed.

"Those, yes." she agreed. "Using my enhanced intelligence and my perfect information retention as often as I could, in order to hide the fact that I was using enhanced intelligence and perfect retention. It was a delicate balancing act, but at least it took off some of the pressure to use my other ability."

"Fire projection?" I guessed.

Chuckling, she shook her head. "Close. I shoot molten steel and plasma from my hands. Actually, I can extrude it from any part of my body, but throwing it from my hands feels more natural, and makes it really easy to aim."

"Molten steel." I blinked. I didn't know exactly what the temperature of that sort of thing was, but I was pretty sure that it was way past the 'comfortably warm' category. Thousands of degrees, anyways. "Yeah, you're their kid, all right."

"Whose kid?" She stared at me. "You did know my parents, right? They were heroes. You were a hero. At least toward the end."

I chuckled sourly. "I was as much of a hero as the PRT would let me be. Too much red tape, too many regulations. And I had been a villain, so there was that too." I paused. "Yeah, I met your parents, however briefly. But I'm afraid you've been misinformed. They weren't heroes."

"No, no, that's not right." She shook her head. "My mom was a hero. Miss Militia told me so."

Like hell she was a hero. I paused to think about that. But then again, if Miss Militia said she was a hero, then something must have happened to change matters. "Okay, if she said so, then I guess your mom was a hero. But it must have happened after I went to New Delhi. And your father definitely was not a hero. Sorry, but that's the way it is."

She blinked, looking somewhat lost. "I don't understand. How can my mom be sort of a hero, and my dad not a hero at all?"

I couldn't help feeling a little sympathy for her. "Sit down, Aster," I suggested. Obediently, she sat. "Now, what do you recall of your birth parents?"

"Uh, my mother's name was Kayden. She could glow and fly, I guess. I don't know what her cape name was. Or rather, her cape name could have been any one of a dozen different words that were used around her." Aster paused for a moment, apparently thinking hard. "My father … I don't recall any one man who stands out as being my father. There was one man called Justin, another called Geoff, and one who only showed up occasionally, called Max. Justin was a racist, Geoff said really horrible things in a normal tone of voice, and Max liked to get his own way."

I made the connections in my mind. I know who she's talking about. "Yeah, Max was your dad. Full name: Max Anders. But you're going to want to brace yourself, because the next bit's going to be a bit of a gut punch." Especially given your adoptive surname.

"You're going to say that Max Anders was a villain." Aster's voice was remarkably calm. "But which one?"

"It should be obvious," I prompted. "Which well-known Brockton Bay villain had the power to create metal?"

Given the hint, she made the connection almost immediately. "Oh, no," she groaned. "Oh, no. I'm Kaiser's daughter?"

"Kaiser and Purity, yes," I confirmed. "And Justin and Geoff were Crusader and Fog, respectively. All members of the Empire Eighty-Eight."

"Oh, no. Oh, god. No." She leaned back in her chair, pressing the heels of her hands to her forehead, her eyes closed. "My parents ran the biggest Neo-Nazi gang on the eastern seaboard. They were racists. And I'm Jewish. One of my best friends is black. God, even if I could tell anyone about this, I couldn't tell them that. My parents probably killed people for being Jewish or black. What does this make me?"

I tried for a light tone. "Living proof that being a douchebag isn't genetic?" I couldn't help but chuckle; there was a certain amount of dark humour in the situation.

"It's not funny." But she couldn't help smiling just a little, before her face fell again. "What would Mom and Dad think of me?"

"I'm guessing you're talking about the Goldsteins?"

"Yes. They took me in and raised me. Mom taught me to sew and cook. Dad sat up with me to listen to the Apollo lunar landings on the radio, and encouraged me to follow my dreams. They both stood by me at my Bat Mitzvah. What would they say if they knew this about me?"

The self-doubt in her tone speared straight through me. I knew what it felt like. What would Hamilton say if he knew I'd been a supervillain, that I was lying to everyone even while I tried to save the world? What would Danny and Anne-Rose think of me if they knew that I'd once packed a man's eyeballs with maggots? Or that I shot Coil in the head?

"Trust me, you're not the only one to ask yourself questions like that," I said quietly. "You know what I've done. It was pretty public. And there's worse things that I did that never made the news. I've maimed people. I've murdered people."

-ooo-​

Aster

Aster had imagined this conversation many times. The first time that she actually got to speak to Weaver, to share confidences with her, to find out how they were going to save the world together. In her mind, although she knew intellectually that Taylor was just another person, she had built the younger woman up into almost a paragon of righteousness and truth. She went back in time to save the world. How can she do anything wrong?

And yet, here Aster was at last, talking to Taylor. And it was so totally different to what she had imagined. The unthinkable revelations about her parents had stunned her; far from being the daughter of two heroes, she was in fact the offspring of villains. People who would hate her for merely existing.

But worse again was what Taylor was telling her. From being almost an idol to her, Taylor was rapidly gaining feet of clay. She wasn't the ultimately confident warrior that Aster had been led to believe, but just another young woman with doubts and issues of her own.

"But … you were doing it to make things right … weren't you?" Aster's voice was pleading.

"Oh, I thought so at the time, sure," Taylor agreed. "But sometimes hindsight can be a real son of a bitch. And sometimes, no matter how right you think you are at the time, and no matter how you can't find a viable alternative later, you'll find yourself second-guessing yourself over and over, wondering if there really wasn't a way to beat the odds."

The rock-solid certainty in Taylor's tone left Aster with no doubt that the younger woman had faced situations exactly like that, and she'd had to make terrible choices. And she'd do it again. She'd make her choice, and move on. Because she had to. Even if it hurt her to do it.

"So how do you keep going?" Aster's voice was quiet. "How do you face the odds, again and again, and not just … give up?"

"I did give up, once," Taylor replied, just as quietly. "Back in New Delhi. I was buried under a wall, which was the only thing that saved me. Behemoth had moved on. I dug myself out, then found the one other living person there. My best friend. She was trapped under a monolith. There was no way to save her. I sat with her until she died. Then I just … decided to let everything go. Everyone I knew and loved was dead, or they'd be better off without me. So I just … stayed there. With her. Waiting to die."

Aster stared at her, hearing the desolation in her tone. "What happened?" I'm guessing this was where I came in …

The corner of Taylor's mouth quirked upward. "Phir Sē happened. You know, the man in the robes? He appeared and offered me the chance to go back and make it so it never happened. How could I refuse?" She rolled her eyes. "Of course, I thought I was only going back a couple of years."

Aster smiled at the mock-aggrieved tone of Taylor's voice. "More than a couple, yes."

"And then there's you," Taylor went on. "He never even suggested that he might be sending someone back to help me out. That might have been useful to know."

"I honestly don't know," Aster confessed. "Maybe he thought it was a better idea to have me established, and to be waiting for you? To give me the choice as to when to make contact? After all, I knew what you looked like, while you had no idea what I would look like. Or what my name would be."

"In other words, he was making it up as he went along." Taylor chuckled. "It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest."

Aster nodded. "All right," she declared. "So we're both here. How can I help? What's the plan?"

"Well, that's the problem," Taylor admitted. "There is no plan. Or rather, there is no single master plan. I have lots of minor plans, adding up to major plans later on. Mostly to do with removing potential problems. Getting rid of obstacles. Making things easier in the long run."

"By that, do you mean murdering people?" Aster frowned. The 'do no harm' part of her oath was starting to give her serious problems. "Because I don't know if I can be party to something like that."

Taylor began to take a deep breath; halfway through, she winced and stopped. "There are some people who really need to be stopped before they get going," she stated firmly. "You might've heard of the Vasil thing, up in Canada?"

Aster blinked. "I … yes, I did hear about it. I'm pretty sure that … wait, that was you?"

"Of course it wasn't," Taylor replied blandly. "How could it have been? I was on medical leave. And besides, I figure that I'd only have a fifty-fifty chance of making a shot like that."

Her eyes bored into Aster's, and the older woman knew beyond a doubt that Taylor was lying through her teeth about not being involved.

"And why did he have to die?" asked Aster quietly.

"Because he was a Master, who would have come after me at some point," Taylor replied, dropping the pretence. "I wasn't about to allow that. There will be others. Including the Slaughterhouse Nine."

Aster felt a cold chill run down her back. "They're really dangerous," she said. "They've killed lots of people, including superheroes."

"Yes." Taylor's gaze didn't waver from Aster's. "Which is why they've got to die. But I'll also be dealing with potential future members, so that when the time comes to drop the hammer on the Nine as a whole, we can get a clean sweep on them."

"How can you even know who's going to join them?" demanded Aster.

Taylor grinned. "I know you can't forget, so it must have temporarily slipped your mind that I grew up in that era. I know each and every member, and when they signed up. I also know their strengths and weaknesses, how their powers work, and how to make sure that they die as quickly and efficiently as possible."

Aster grimaced. "I'm really not comfortable with killing. Or even hurting people, if I can avoid it."

"Even if they're sociopathic killing machines who think nothing of making people into intricate jigsaw puzzles for shits and giggles?" Taylor's voice lacked all drama; she may have been discussing the weather. "I'm sorry if the reality is a bit of a shock to you, but I came back to save the world, and I'm not going to let anything or anyone stop me from doing that. I will lie, cheat, steal and kill to get this done. If you offer assistance, I will accept it. If you can't help me, then I'd appreciate it if you didn't get in the way."

Taylor was lying in the hospital bed, almost certainly unable to move from it without assistance. She had, at her own admission, no powers to speak of. Moreover, her words were quite without overtones of threat; she had merely made a factual statement. And yet, Aster felt a chill run down her back. I don't want to get in her way. I really don't.

Trying not to swallow too obviously, she sought to change the subject. Something that Nina had said to her in a previous conversation seemed to fit the bill. "Uh, Nina says that you've got a girlfriend, and you've told her the truth about yourself. Isn't that a little … rash?"

Taylor's eyes became hooded, and her smile had little to do with humour. "What, like you told Nina about me? And had her look after me but not tell me what was going on? That kind of rash?"

Aster felt as though she'd been put straight back on the spot. "Uh, I was kind of in a tight situation. I couldn't be in Brockton Bay, so I asked Nina to keep an eye out for you. At first I didn't tell her, but after you showed up, she became suspicious so I came clean. But I trust her implicitly. We've been really good friends for years."

The dark chuckle that answered her was almost a grunt. "Yeah. Friends. Remind me to tell you sometime about my former best friend, and what she did to me. Anyway. It seems to have turned out okay, but that was still a hell of a risk you took."

"And you didn't take a risk with your girlfriend?" Aster thought back to Friedrich. If I had confided in him with any of this … oh, God.

"Yeah." Taylor's voice and gaze were directly challenging. "But I trust her, with everything I have. She kept me sane when you weren't there. When I didn't even know you were there." A shrug. "Besides, she's a part of my plans."

"What part does she play?" Aster felt obscurely jealous. "How can she help you? Does she have powers too?"

Taylor began to laugh out loud, then stopped with a wince. "Ow. Note to self: don't do that. Yeah, she's got a power. The power to make things better just by being there. She's sweet and funny and silly and ridiculous and I love her. And I know I can trust her."

"But how do you know?" Aster's voice mirrored her frustration. "You can't just look into someone's head and know what's going on there. Even Nina can't know a person that well, and that's her job."

"Aster." Taylor fixed her with a steady gaze. "Do you trust me?"

"Uh …" Taken aback, Aster floundered for a moment. "Well, of course. I can't not trust you. I was sent back to help you save the world. It's kind of my job to trust that you know what you're doing."

"Okay, then." Taylor maintained eye contact. "I'm not telling you everything about me. I'm not going to lie to you, but on the off-chance that someone grabs you and interrogates you for everything you know, I want to keep some things on the down-low. One of those is how I know I can trust you, and how I know I can trust my girlfriend. Another is exactly what role my girlfriend plays in my plans. Do you understand me?"

Slowly, Aster nodded. "Need to know. Of course."

Taylor smiled. The expression, a genuine one at last, softened her features as she relaxed back against the pillows. "Good. Sorry about being such a hardass, but I'm sure you appreciate where I'm coming from."

"I'm starting to get an idea," Aster admitted. And now I know how she took over part of the city at the age of fifteen. I feel like I've just been through the wringer. "So, is there anything you want me to do while you're stuck in here?"

Neither of them commented on the incongruity of a Major asking a Captain for orders. Taylor rolled her head slowly from one side to the other, her expression pensive. "I might give you letters to post for me occasionally. They'll be above board; you can even read through them if you want. But it's imperative that they don't get censored in any way. Got it?"

"Certainly," agreed Aster. "I'm sure I can do that."

"Good." Taylor nodded firmly. "Now, could you please help me sit up a little?"

"Of course," Aster said, carefully propping her up with extra pillows. "Why? Did you want to write one of those letters now?"

"Not right this second, but I will be doing that in time," Taylor replied. "But I believe that you mentioned the girls who were being kept prisoner. I want to see that they're okay with my own eyes."

"Ah, of course." Aster nodded. "I'll just go and bring them in."

-ooo-​

Taylor

I tried to project strength and capability as the girls began to enter the room, but it's hard to do that when one is lying in a hospital bed, even if one happens to be sitting up at the time. First in through the door was a girl in a wheelchair, wearing a summer-print dress, being pushed by the seven-foot woman. I had to blink as I looked at them both; while it was possible to recognise in them the scared half-starved prisoners from just a few days ago, it was amazing to see the changes that those few days had wrought in them. A few baths, good food, fresh clothes, shampoo …

"Captain!" That was the big girl. "You're all right." She paused. "You are all right, yeah?"

I nodded as others came in behind them. "Nothing that a bit of bed rest won't cure," I assured her. "Joanne, right?"

She smiled, pleased. "Yeah, that's me. You're looking better than you were, back in the compound."

I chuckled, carefully. "So are you. And yes, I feel better. Not much, but some."

The girl in the wheelchair spoke up. "I'm Leanne. I want to thank you and your sergeant for getting us out of there."

"Excuse, please." A girl with long brown hair stepped past Joanne, with another girl holding on to her arm. The second girl was wearing dark glasses and had a cast on her right arm. "Captain Snow? I'm Dana, and this is Brianna. Just wanna say that you were all kinds of awesome."

"Uh, thanks," I replied, starting to feel just a little embarrassed. "But Joanne and Kari did more than me."

"They couldn't have done it without you and the sergeant," Brianna pointed out. "That's what Kari told us, anyway."

"Someone mention my name?" asked Kari cheerfully, entering with the last two ex-prisoners. Doctor Goldstein – Aster – followed them in and closed the door behind her.

This time, it was the smoky girl, almost impossible to see in the bright lights of the room, who had another girl, with bandages on her eyes, hanging on to her arm. Kari, I saw, had not yet relinquished her ever-shifting metal armour. "Captain Snow, this is Tori and Vanessa. Guys, say hi to the most awesome officer in the PRT."

"Hi, Captain," Tori said, a few seconds ahead of Vanessa. "We really, really appreciate what you did for us. I mean seriously, we can never repay you."

"Well, as soon as I found out that shit was going on, there was no way in hell I was letting it continue," I replied as firmly as I could. "I'm sorry it went on as long as it did, but those people are never going to hurt you again."

"I can guarantee the fuck out of that," Joanne stated flatly. "Me and Kari found that Lange guy. He'd been beaten to death with a desk. Can't think who might've done that to him."

"Gee," I observed dryly. "I have no idea at all." I watched as Dana and Tori hugged the tall woman, followed (with a little guidance) by Brianna and Vanessa. Leanne reached up and clasped her hand. "Whoever did it, even if we ever found out who, wouldn't get charged with a damn thing. Not after what went on in there."

"Damn right," agreed Kari unexpectedly, then cleared her throat.

"Uh, Joanne had something she wanted to say."

I looked enquiringly at Joanne. "Yes?"

"Um," the tall woman began. "This sort of shit shouldn't happen. Pretty sure we all agree on that."

"No," I stated firmly. "It should not." Around the room, the other girls nodded or murmured agreement.

"So yeah," Joanne went on. "Me and the others have decided to form a group. We're gonna go after shit like that and stomp it flat. Stop it dead."

"That sounds -" I began, then my brain caught up with what she was saying. "Wait, what? A vigilante group?"

"Vigilantes, superheroes, whatever," she replied, just a little testily. "We're specifically going to go after people who are keeping women in situations like we were in. I'm thinking we should call it PASS. Parahumans Against Sex Slavery."

My jaw dropped slightly. Holy shit, she's serious. "Okay, that … I have to admit, that's a name that doesn't take any prisoners. It puts it right out there. There's absolutely no ambiguity."

"That's the idea," she said. "We won't go after muggers or burglars. There's cops and superheroes for that. But all too many times there's guys who kidnap women, or even girls, and keep them until they get tired of them. They might let 'em go, or they just kill them. We're gonna go after those guys, and we're gonna put the message out. This shit stops now."

"Okay," I said carefully. "As a PRT officer, I have to assume that you're going to be doing this all in a legal, above-board fashion. Correct?"

As I hoped, Joanne read my meaning. "Yes," she replied cautiously. Personally, I had my doubts, but at least she was making the effort to pretend. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, unless I miss my guess, you're determined to do it whether I approve of it or not." I ignored her startled expression and forged on. "So if you're going to do it, do it right. And be careful of how you do it."

"What do you mean?" she replied defensively. "Breaking the law? I already said we weren't going to be doing that." Once again, I had my doubts, but I chose not to air them. Briefly, I met Aster's eyes from where she stood next to the door. Her expression made me reasonably certain she thought the same way about Joanne's statement.

"That's not the part I was talking about." I waited till I had her complete attention. "What I'm saying is that the more aggressively you push your agenda, the more nervous you're going to make people, especially those in positions of power."

"Good," she snapped. "It's about time they got nervous."

"No, not good," I corrected her. "They're the last people you want getting nervous about you. I mean, most of them will be perfectly blameless, but some might have buddies that are a bit skeevy toward women, and some might even be that way themselves. The trouble is, even the good ones are likely to react badly when they see a bunch of strong, powerful women who are specifically saying that they're going to attack men who are mistreating women."

"What are you saying?" demanded Joanne. "Are you saying that we shouldn't do this?"

"Hardly." I met her eyes. "I think that helping women who are in situations where they can't help themselves is a really good idea. But you're gonna need to be circumspect about it. Don't go jumping in feet first. Do your best to work with local law enforcement, rather than around them."

"But they're useless!" Joanne burst out. "They let that shit go on with us -"

"Because they didn't know about it," I snapped, overriding her. "If you come out public with PASS, then they will know about you. And if you come on too strong, if you just barge ahead with that attitude, then it won't be hard to make enemies of them. Most especially if there are players behind the scenes with a vested interest in making sure that PASS dies out before it grows too big to stop. And trust me, it doesn't matter how righteous your cause is, if the entrenched forces of law and order don't want it to happen, then it won't fucking happen."

I stopped, panting from the intensity that I'd been putting into my words. Slowly, I became aware that I was half-sitting up, there was a dull pain in my torso, and Joanne was leaning slightly away from me.

Carefully, I let myself down, working at convincing the clenched muscles in my torso to relax once more. "The bottom line is … be careful," I told her. "Because once you're on the outs, it's a long hard road to get back your legitimacy. And there will be people trying to discredit you, sometimes while smiling and shaking your hand. I'll help you as much as I can, but I can't promise miracles. Okay?"

"But we've got a chance?" she asked, somewhat less aggressively than she had before.

"Sure," I told her. "In fact, I'd like to help." I hid a grin as I saw the surprise flare in her eyes.

"What?" she was wary again. "How?"

"Give me the information on everyone you're trying to find. I'm an analyst. I can point you where you need to go." So if you do happen to kill anyone, it'll be the guy who actually needs killing, I didn't say out loud.

It bothered me much less than it might have that we were discussing the very real possibility of Joanne killing people. Women have been at the mercy of physically stronger men since time immemorial. As a woman, I was acutely aware of this. I was equally aware that I'd been in situations where bad things might have happened, had events gone a different way. Men who would do that to a woman, or worse, a girl, and suffer no remorse … no, I had no problem with whatever Joanne might want to do to them.

The wary look intensified. I didn't need to be Lisa to know that she was worried about me setting a trap for her. "I don't know …"

"She found us, didn't she?" Kari pointed out suddenly. "If she hadn't figured out that we were in there …"

Of course, Joanne's worry had nothing to do with my expertise. Or maybe it does. "I'd really like to help you guys," I told her. "It would take a weight off my mind to know that you're out there, taking down the people who need to be taken down. Helping people who need help. All I'm offering is to give you a hand in finding them. You do the rest."

Joanne frowned. "The PRT would be willing to assist us in this? Just like that?"

"Not the PRT," I corrected her. "Me. Personally. In my own time."

She looked me in the eye. "And you wouldn't screw us over?"

"We'd have to set ground rules." My voice was as firm as I could make it. "You'd have to agree to never, ever break them. But given that … no, I wouldn't screw you over. Deal?"

Another long moment passed. I could see the indecision and worry chasing each other over her face. But she came to the decision sooner rather than later, holding out her hand. "Depending on what those rules are, you've got a deal."

I shook it awkwardly, trying not to dislodge IV tubes. It was like shaking hands with Kinsey; her hand just swallowed mine up. "Good."

"Uh …" That was Vanessa; we all turned toward her. "Am I in this too? I mean, I know Brianna's growing her eyes back, and Leanne's fast whether she's on her feet or not, but with my eyes gone, I don't have powers worth talking about. I'm just …" She choked a little. " … just useless blind dead weight."

"Hey, no, don't talk like that!" Tori put her arms around Brianna, holding her close. "You're one of us, no matter what. You'll always be one of us. And who's to say that some parahuman won't get powers that'll let you regrow your eyes someday?"

I cleared my throat. "Vanessa?"

"Uh, yes, Captain?" She sounded a little embarrassed, maybe for having broken down a little in front of me.

"Do you know what I do in the PRT?"

She sounded confused. "Um, an analyst?"

"Precisely." I smiled. "I predict trends in parahuman activity, in the short term and the long term. I am very good at what I do. And I can state, with a high degree of certainty, that there will exist a way, sooner rather than later, for you to see again. Possibly to even use your powers. So don't lose hope. Sure, it might be hard for a while. Push past it. The most satisfying goal is the one you have to fight hardest to achieve."

Without being able to see her eyes, I was unable to tell if she was buying the line I was giving her. I wasn't just blowing smoke; I knew that both Bonesaw and Panacea, once they triggered, would have been able to replace her eyes with relative ease. Eidolon might be able to also do it in the here and now, if he considered it worth his while. Scion could almost certainly do it, but there was no way in hell I'd ask that golden bastard for a single favour. Even if I could.

As for some other way to get her sight back, I couldn't think of anything right at that moment, but that didn't mean anything. I was just making a mental note to check with Lisa, when the matter was taken from my hands.

"Um, Vanessa?" That was Dana. "You know I build stuff, right? I'm a Tinker?"

Okay, now she had my attention. I hadn't been thinking too much about what the power types of the prisoners were, just that they were parahumans.

"Yeah, but … wait, you can build me new eyes?"

"Not exactly." Dana grimaced. "I'm still working out what I can do, exactly. Building eyes is kinda beyond me. But … I'm really good at making technology that shouldn't fit together do it anyway. When the timer went on Mom's microwave, I wired a wind-up alarm clock into it, and it worked just fine."

Vanessa hesitated. "I'm not sure what you're getting at. I know you're not saying you're going to give me a built-in alarm clock."

"Interfacing technology," I said suddenly as light dawned. "Your speciality is interfacing. You're talking about interfacing cameras with Vanessa's nervous system."

Dana nodded. "Yes! That, exactly. Only …" She grimaced again. "I kinda don't have the money to even start trying."

"You will," I promised. If I have to get Andrea to personally write you a cheque. But maybe there's a less blatant way, though it'll come with a cost of its own … "I'm going to be recommending that the PRT open its training facilities to other established parahuman teams. And that they assist with funding for non-PRT Tinkers and the like, in return for access to the technology developed."

"And they'll go for this?" Dana looked a little dubious.

"I can only try," I told her. Besides, they did do the training thing, eventually. I'm just jumping the gun a little, here. "Pretty sure I can sell it so that they can see that it's a win-win situation for everyone. If you can interface cameras, you can interface Tinker-made prosthetic limbs. Being in the PRT is a high-risk occupation for losing body parts. If you were working with – not for, but with – the PRT to interface new limbs, new eyes, whatever … you sell what you develop to them at a nominal discount, on top of whatever funding they give you for R&D. Everyone else gets to pay full price."

"Wait, wait." That was Joanne. "Did you just recommend that she charge the PRT for what she can do? You're a PRT officer."

"Sure I did," I agreed. "But I can see where they're likely to go wrong. And having to pay for your tech is a good way to keep them aware that you're a valuable asset, rather than a throwaway tool."

Even Kari was staring at me by now. "Wow," she murmured. "You really mean that."

"I really do," I agreed. "Parahumans – capes – are a big part of the future. Powers aren't going to go away. People don't seem to get that. We need to make plans for the future that involve you guys, not just say, 'oh hey, you can come too'."

"I've been talking to Captain Lansing," Kari said unexpectedly. "He didn't tell me anything about any of this."

"That's because it's not in place yet," I pointed out. "But like I said, I'll be submitting some very strongly worded recommendations."

"And they'll listen to you?" That was Joanne, her expression sceptical.

"Oh …" I smiled lazily. I 'predicted' Behemoth. They'll listen. "I think they might at least consider it."

"Okay, that's something to think about," Joanne admitted. "Uh, Captain Snow, just out of curiosity, would you be interested in being a member of PASS, once we officially form the team? And you too, Kari?"

"Well, I'm deeply honoured," I told her, "but I'm pretty sure that there's a regulation somewhere that says I can't be a member of a parahuman team while I'm a serving officer in the PRT. Also, no powers. But I do appreciate the gesture."

"And I'd love to, but I think it might be an idea for me to hold off officially joining until I graduate high school," Kari pointed out. "Something tells me that PASS is going to be a pretty high-profile team, and I'd rather keep things low-key until then. My mom and all, you know."

"And what you said about training?" Joanne's expression was still a little wary. I got the impression that she'd come here expecting an argument, and couldn't figure out why she hadn't gotten one yet. "Do you really expect the PRT to train people like us?"

"Well, that depends," I replied. "The PRT doesn't yet have an official policy of helping train members of other parahuman groups, but we definitely like people being able to handle their powers properly. However, here's the thing. You recall how I told you earlier about not getting the powers that be nervous about you? This is one of the reasons. If you're going to train with the PRT, you're going to have to be affiliated with them, and that'll involve a certain minimum standard of behaviour. Nothing that would bring the PRT name into disrepute, for instance."

"We're not about to do that … are we?" Joanne looked doubtful.

"As I said, that depends. If you, just for instance, found out that the Mexican cartels were holding American women prisoner, would you try to work through normal channels or just go down there and take them back?"

Joanne's jaw hardened. I could see that she didn't like the corner that I'd put her in, but she didn't back down. "I'd go down there and I'd take them back. And God help any of the fuckers who got in my way." The look she gave me was a direct challenge. "Tell me you wouldn't do the same thing."

I had to smile at her defiant tone. "I think you know my answer. But my point is this. Doing something like that would count as a violation of national borders. It would cause problems between the US and Mexico. The government would have to take notice, and the PRT would be brought into it. Whether they tried to arrest you or just smacked you on the wrist would depend on if you actually managed to rescue the prisoners, how much damage you did in the process, and how remorseful you managed to be, after the fact. But no matter what else happened, you'd definitely lose any 'affiliated' status." I turned to look at Dana. "And I'm sorry, but this leads to a potential problem for you."

"Me?" she squeaked. "What did I do?"

"Nothing," I reassured her. "However, you're probably going to have to choose between membership in PASS and getting PRT funding for your Tinkering as a civilian parahuman contractor."

"What?" demanded Joanne. "Why? They can't tell Dana she can't be in PASS."

I sighed. "No, but if she's going to be taking their funding to develop tech, she's going to have to sign some pretty serious contracts." I turned to Dana. "As a matter of fact, before you sign anything, make sure you check all the fine print and extra clauses. Or get a copy to me, so I can look it over. I don't trust them not to try to hogtie you with ethically dubious wording. But anyway, whatever contract you sign is absolutely guaranteed to have a clause stating that if you're caught performing any illegal acts, then they can pull all sorts of nasty penalties on you. PASS is likely to end up doing stuff that's at least technically illegal -" I ignored Joanne's indignant protest. "- so it's best if you don't officially join them. Also, you can certainly sell them your products, but giving them stuff is right out. There will be people on the lookout for that sort of thing."

Dana didn't look entirely thrilled. "What should I do?" she asked Joanne. "I want to help Vanessa, but I want to be a part of PASS, too."

"Help Vanessa," Joanne told her bluntly. "If you can do more for us this way, then do it."

I left them to their discussion and turned to Kari. "So what are you going to be doing after you finish school?" I asked her. "I'm told you basically put me back together. Are you thinking of going into medicine?"

"I would if I could," she admitted. "But that costs lots of money, and Mom's insurance payments just won't cover that."

"Well, don't give up hope," I advised her. "I have a feeling that something might show up between now and then." Even if I have to ask Andrea to create a scholarship fund just for you. You've earned it.

"Okay, Captain Snow," she beamed. "And thanks. I'm glad you're gonna be okay."

"Me too," I told her feelingly. "And I'm glad you guys are out of it now. I'm just sorry about the other girl."

"Yeah, well, that wasn't your fault," Kari said. "It was theirs."

"Thanks, but I still wish I could've done more," I told her. I turned to Dana. "So, have you made up your mind?"

She didn't look thrilled, which told me what she'd chosen. "I'll be working with the PRT," she replied. "As a, whaddaya call it, civilian contractor."

I grinned. "Otherwise known as a rogue."

Dana frowned, along with the rest of them. "What's a rogue?"

My grin widened. So did Aster's.

-ooo-​

"Well, that was highly educational," Aster observed, after closing the door behind the last of the girls. Leaving, they had been upbeat, the discussion between them intense and animated. I hoped that I had given them something to think about. And that Joanne wouldn't do anything rash. Well, not too rash.

"Yes. It was." I sighed, slumping back into the pillows. "PASS. Good God. That's a can of worms waiting to happen. Nuclear-powered worms with laser eyebeams."

Aster nodded soberly. "You do know that Joanne will probably still go out and hunt down guys who prey on women, right?"

I looked her right in the eye. "If I'd tried to talk her out of it, given her experiences, do you think she would've listened?"

She didn't look happy. "No."

"And given the advice that I gave her, that I gave all of them, do you think that she's likely to go after people indiscriminately, or pick the worst ones to hunt?"

Reluctantly, she nodded. "I see your point. But …" She trailed off.

I waited for a moment, but she didn't go on. "But …?"

"But she's still going to hunt them down and probably kill them," she pointed out. "And that's illegal. Not to mention wrong."

"Illegal, sure," I agreed. "Wrong?" I shrugged. "By whose definition? Not the girls who are being victimised by these predators. Not mine either. Too many men get away with this shit, way too often."

Her expression wavered, but she pressed on anyway. "The law -"

I cut her off. "Aster, the law says a great many things. It's a wonderful tool. But it doesn't apply in all cases. And sometimes it gets in the way. I've got a job to do, and I'll stick to the law as much as I can, but if it's a choice of doing something my way or the legal way, I'll pick my way. And when there's people out there who are quite happy to shit all over the law until they get caught, then imagine my absolute lack of concern when they discover that the law isn't going to protect them from the consequences of their actions."

From her look of utter consternation, she was still having trouble grasping what I was saying. "But … you're a PRT officer," she protested. "It's your job to uphold the law. Don't you have any respect for it at all?"

I sighed. "I know you haven't forgotten my past. Remember a villain called Skitter? A sort-of hero called Weaver? They're me, too. Let me tell you something about my respect for the law. Do you know how I got my powers?"

She paused, wary. "Uh … no?"

"It all started with my best friend," I began. "I'd known her since first grade. We shared everything. She was the sister I never had. Until we started high school. Somewhere over the summer break, she got a new best friend and turned against me. Eighteen months they tormented me, never letting up. One thing after another. Stole my backpack, stole my assignments, stole my personal belongings right out of my locker. Made sure that I never had any friends."

She stared at me. "Why didn't you go to a teacher?"

My laugh was harsh enough to make her wince. "I did. It didn't work. See, they were popular, and the school was a shithole. And her best friend … well, I'll get to that. Around about the second Christmas, they reached a new personal best. They filled my locker with used tampons and pads, and left it to stew over the winter break. Come January, I opened my locker, they shoved me in, and locked me in there. It took about two hours for someone to bother telling the janitor to let me out."

Her jaw dropped. "No," she whispered. "There's no way that could happen."

"Not now, no," I agreed. "Except maybe the very worst of schools. Where I was going? A crappy school in a crappy city. Nobody was paid enough to care. And if anyone stepped up to defend me, they'd be in the line of fire too." My tone was bitter. "Nobody saw a goddamn thing. No-one got punished."

"And that's how you got your powers," she realised.

I nodded. "That's how I got my powers. And you want to know the worst bit, the bit that I didn't find out till later?"

From the look in her eye, she really didn't want to know. But she braced herself for it anyway. "What?"

"The new best friend, the one who had incited Emma to turn on me? The one who shoved me in the locker? She was a member of the Wards."

It took her a moment to click. "Wait, you can't mean …"

"Yup." I showed my teeth. "She was a fucking superhero. And the people who should've been keeping her in check either didn't know what she was doing, or didn't care."

Without even seeming to realise it, she sat down. The look of utter betrayal on her face would almost have been funny, if I didn't think about how I'd just kicked the props out from under quite a bit of her world-view. Slowly, she shook her head. "I just can't believe it."

"Believe it," I told her. "I was there. I went through it."

"Oh, god." She stared at me. "I thought I knew how bad it was, in the future. It was worse, wasn't it?"

I thought of how Armsmaster had outed me to the Undersiders. How Tagg had unmasked me because he thought the rules didn't apply to him. How the PRT had refused to cooperate with me for the common good, time and again, because I was a villain. How many people died because of that?

"Yeah," I agreed heavily. "It was worse. It was so bad that even though I went out that first night to be a hero, the villains actually treated me okay, while the heroes just wanted to dick me around."

Aster looked enlightened, although reluctantly so. "So that's why you became a villain."

I nodded. "That's why I became a villain." After a moment, I went on. "Don't get me wrong. For the most part, the heroes at least pretended to be heroes, and the villains did some pretty bad stuff. But … it says quite a bit about the situation that I was more able to make a positive difference to the city as a villain than as a hero."

"I don't know what to say." She shook her head. "If I'd heard you talk like this, then someone told me you were a time traveller, I would've assumed you came from the past, not the future. It sounds positively medieval."

I had to chuckle, just a little. "It was kind of like that," I agreed. More than you think. Lisa had told me about Cauldron's plans for an experimental parahuman feudal system in Brockton Bay. That sort of thing could go well, or it could go really badly. If someone like Thomas Calvert was in charge, I was betting on 'badly'. And Cauldron was less concerned with quality of life than with the fact that people were alive.

But that was years in the future. Plenty of time to plan that out. "So anyway," I told her. "Enough about that. Is Kinsey okay to come and see me?" I grinned at her. "You don't have to pretend not to listen too closely, this time."

"Certainly," she agreed. "I'll just go and get him."

-ooo-​

Kinsey

Two emotions warred in Jim Kinsey's heart as the Major wheeled him in to see the Captain. The first was intense relief that she had survived the horrific injuries suffered in the helicopter crash. However, seeing her like this, face still somewhat pale and drawn, he felt an almost physical sympathetic pain. He knew that he loathed being in a wheelchair; the Captain was a strong and capable person, and she had to hate being stuck in a bed just as much.

"Sergeant Kinsey." Her voice was almost as firm as ever.

He nodded in return. "Captain Snow. You're looking well."

Her derisive snort gave the lie to his statement, as he had known it would. "If I were looking well, Kinsey, we'd both be out of here and I'd be seeing if you'd lost a step on the sparring mat."

Outwardly, he remained impassive. Internally, he felt considerable relief. Talking like that meant she was at least feeling up to prime. When the Captain started talking defeatist, that would be when he'd really start worrying. "You may have a point, ma'am." Lost a step, hah.

She lifted her chin. "I'm told that the wheelchair is a temporary thing?"

"Yes, ma'am." He felt glad that he was able to give her good news. "I had a fractured spine and a few broken ribs, but Miss Kari was able to put it all back together under Major Goldstein's supervision. Now we're just waiting for the swelling to go down before I test it out."

One of her eyebrows hitched; he'd managed to surprise her. "Indeed? That's … interesting news, Kinsey. Nobody told me about this before." Her eyes tracked up over his shoulder; he presumed that she was looking at the Major. "Not even the doctor who was there at the time."

Major Goldstein was made of reasonably stern stuff; most people who got that sort of Look from the Captain tended to wilt, not excepting senior officers. "We thought that you would like to get the news from the sergeant himself, Captain Snow," she replied with a tinge of amusement in her voice. Oh yes, I like her. "It's more or less what we did with your leg, after all."

"My leg?" The Captain looked down at where her legs mounded the covers. "Wait. One of them was broken, wasn't it?" She must have gone to move them, because she winced. "Got it. The left one." She paused. "What did Kari do to it, exactly?"

"Well, while you were under, we set your leg, then Kari pushed a needle-thin metal probe down to the bone. Then she built a clamp around the broken area and retracted the remainder." The Major's tone was quite pleased. "I would be very happy if she can get a medical scholarship of some kind. She really does have gift for this sort of thing."

The Captain frowned slightly. "I understand that Kari is good at what she does, and that she had you to advise her on every step, but still, using such an untested procedure on Kinsey's spine? Not to mention my leg? Being a little free and easy, weren't you?"

Kinsey glanced at the Major to see if she wanted him to speak; she shook her head slightly and went on. "We had a test case before your leg. Sergeant Kinsey's broken arm. Radius and ulna both. We came up with the idea, and he volunteered to be the guinea pig. We did it under a local. With the help of the X-ray handset, Kari was able to lock the ends of the bones together. After a day of observation, there weren't any complications, so we went ahead with your leg. Then we tackled the sergeant's spine. So far, it all seems to be working out well." Her voice held cautious optimism.

"So how does it feel, Kinsey?" Captain Snow gave him a searching look.

"My back is feeling better all the time, ma'am," he replied at once. "There was pressure on my spinal cord, and I couldn't move my legs, but now I can. The Major says I should make a near-complete recovery."

"And your arm?"

By way of answer, he lifted his left arm and flexed the fingers, then carefully rotated the wrist. The only real indication that it had been injured was a light bandage on the incision point. "Almost like new, ma'am."

"Huh. So now I'm just waiting for this to knit, right?" The Captain moved her leg again, tightening her lips against what had to be more than a little pain. "Hm. Not too bad, at that."

"Captain Snow." The Major's tone sounded more than a little exasperated. Good luck with that, ma'am. When the Captain decides that she wants something, she goes and gets it. "You do realise that the more you fool around like that, the longer it will take to knit properly?"

The Captain's eyes narrowed slightly. "But I'm allowed to exercise the other one, right? So I don't get too weak?"

This battle of wills was not unlike a tennis match; Kinsey was quite enjoying it. Watching the Captain go head to head with someone of similar mental fortitude was not something he got to see very often. It was always interesting and sometimes rather educational.

"Yes, you may," the Major conceded, with what might have been a sigh of frustration. "Just don't overdo it. And once you're out of bed, even once you're walking, you're probably going to need a cane of some sort."

Captain Snow's expression became pensive. Kinsey, from long association, could follow her train of thought reasonably closely. Oh, yes. Give her a perfectly valid excuse to carry a length of wood or metal wherever she goes. An image arose in his mind, of the Captain sparring on the mat with a padded quarterstaff. A walking cane wouldn't be quite as long, but he had no doubt that she would be able to do some damage with one. She should be able to handle that all right.

The Captain nodded slowly. "I think I'll be able to handle that."

Kinsey cleared his throat. "Captain Snow, ma'am?"

"Yes, Kinsey?" The Captain looked at him once more.

"I would be happy to scout out local stores that sell walking canes for you, ma'am. Once I'm walking myself, that is." He would never presume to pick one out for her, but finding the best stores to look was something he could definitely do. I wonder if any of them carry sword canes. It's probably too much to hope for. Besides, she'd be dangerous enough with just the stick.

This earned him a measured nod. "That would be most appreciated, Kinsey."

"My pleasure, ma'am."

And with that, she was back in full Captain mode. "So brief me. What happened after I shot Rodriguez?"

"You passed out then, ma'am. Miss Dana fetched my pistol for me, and I kept watch until Lieutenant Piggot arrived with one of her men. The rest of the cultists folded reasonably quickly after that; with Miss Kari and Miss Joanne behind them, and our men in front, they didn't stand much of a chance." He elided over the nightmare that had been getting the Captain out of the Compound, but gave the Major and Miss Kari full credit for saving the Captain's life.

"And I understand that you gave blood to save me, even while you were injured yourself?" Her tone wasn't quite an accusation, but she didn't sound exactly approving either.

Time to pull out the big guns. "Well, ma'am, I'd be a pretty sorry excuse for a security detail if I didn't do everything in my power to keep you alive, wouldn't I?"

The Major snorted in amusement. "You have to admit, Captain Snow, he's got you there."

Captain Snow looked less than thrilled at being outflanked in this manner, but she nodded stiffly. "Yes. He does." The look she gave Kinsey, however, promised that the subject was not yet closed.

He didn't care. Her disapproval mattered less to him than the fact that she was alive to disapprove of him in the first place. In his own mind, he decided that he had gone some little way to mend the gaffe that he had committed regarding the bet with Captain Gordon's cronies. Now all I've got to do is keep doing better.

It was a challenge that he looked forward to.

-ooo-​

Monday, 19 June 1994

I'm still not sure why they're doing it this way.

"What do you mean?" asked Lisa, as I bent over to check on the skis that were fastened on to her feet.

They're holding off awarding medals until the court-martial, and they're holding off the court-martial until the hearing regarding Rodriguez' death.

"Oh, that? That's easy. The ATF is still butt-hurt that you shot one of theirs, and they have a bit of influence. So they want to try to nail you to the wall so that you can't give evidence at Emily's court-martial. And if you and Emily had been given medals, that makes you look better. So they want that to happen after the hearing and the court-martial, to give them the best chance possible of screwing you and her over."

I thought about that. It made a certain amount of twisted sense. They must be pulling in every marker they have.

"Oh, they are," Lisa grinned. She pulled her helmet on to her head and buckled the strap securely. I stepped behind her and visually checked on the bulky pack she was wearing. "Not that it's gonna do them much good. The PRT doesn't have much in the way of throw weight just yet, but this op just made them into big news. And you with them."

Dammit, I groused. I just wanted to do my job and do it quietly.

"So play it quiet for a little bit after this," she suggested. "Don't do anything newsworthy."

I rolled my eyes. I'm trying, all right? For some reason, she found this very funny.

It took her a little while to get over her giggles. I watched her, enjoying the moment. But then another thought intruded, one which killed the fun. Lisa?

She stopped giggling; I could see the hurt in her eyes as she looked at me. "You're going to ask me that question, aren't you?"

I sighed. I have to know. Are any of them pregnant?

Unhappily, she nodded. "Joanne isn't. The rest are, except for Kari, of course."

And the girl who didn't make it?

She looked me in the eye. "Do you really want me to answer that one for you?"

It was cowardly of me, but after a moment, I shook my head. No.

"Good. Then she wasn't." But I saw her bite her lip.

Stepping forward, I hugged her, hard. She hugged me back, holding me tightly. It's okay, I told her. It's okay.

"Sometimes it really sucks, knowing everything," she whispered.

Having powers sucks, period, I reminded her.

"Never a truer word," she agreed. "Can we just stay here awhile?"

We stood there for a bit longer, taking comfort in the hug. I was acutely reminded of Andrea, and how long it had been since I had held her in my arms. Hugging Lisa was nice, but it just wasn't the same.

Eventually, of course, Lisa grew restless. I let her go and pretended not to see as she wiped tears from her eyes. Ready to go?

"Sure." She duck-walked into place at the top of the ski jump. This wasn't just a ski jump; it was the ski jump. It crossed a valley between two mountains; the other end of the jump was at the summit of the mountain across the way. Which explained the rocket packs on her skis, and the oxygen gear and parachute on her back.

"Sure you don't want to come along?" she asked. "We can fit you out with gear as well."

Maybe later. I have a feeling I'll need to wake up soon. Kiss before I go?

She leaned over and kissed me. Her lips tasted of dust and blood and salt from her tears. "See you at the other side."

Tipping over on to the ramp, she ignited the rocket packs and accelerated down the slope at a frankly suicidal speed. Over the roar of the rockets, I could hear her distant "Woohoooooo!"

A snowflake tickled my eyeball, and I blinked.

-ooo-​

Austin Memorial Park Cemetery

Austin, TX

"Ma'am? We're here."

I roused myself, stretching as much as I dared in the front seat of the car. Sitting up carefully, I looked around. Rows of gravestones stretched for acres in all directions; Kinsey had pulled into a parking space not far from the hearse.

"Thank you, Kinsey. Can you get the wheelchair out, please?"

"Of course, ma'am." He shot me a single querying look, but did not voice his doubts.

"My leg's healing well, Kinsey," I reassured him. "But Doctor Goldstein wants me to stay off it just a little longer." If I needed to use my leg, I would; we both knew that.

"Ma'am." He popped the trunk and got out of the car.

"I'm surprised you're able to walk on it at all," commented Emily from the back seat. "It's barely been what, a week?"

"Thanks to Kari and her metal manipulation. Anyway, I still need a walking cane," I reminded her. "And I'm going to keep needing it for quite a while."

"Hmm." She didn't say any more.

-ooo-​

All three of us were in full dress uniform as Kinsey wheeled me toward the gravesite; I sat upright in the chair, and Emily matched her slow-march pace to Kinsey's. I had managed to convince Director Grantham that even though Emily was technically under arrest until her court-martial date, Kinsey would be an appropriate guard for her to attend the funeral of the girl who had died.

As we approached the gravesite, I spotted Kari standing next to a woman in a wheelchair; I knew this to be her mother, from the photo in the file. The teenager herself was still clad in metal from head to toe; I wondered how long it would take her to feel secure enough to let it go again. I hope she's getting therapy. I hope they all are.

Other familiar faces were there as well; Leanne in her wheelchair, Vanessa with the bandage over her eyes, Brianna wearing ordinary glasses this time. Her eyes must have grown back, like Vanessa said. In fact, all the rescuees were present, each with what I assumed to be family members or friends, or both. Joanne, towering over everyone else, looked over and saw me. She said something to the older couple she was with, and walked over to meet me.

"You came," she greeted me. "I didn't know if you would."

"I was the senior PRT officer on site," I reminded her. "That made Amanda my responsibility. I failed her. The least I can do is be here to show my respects."

She gave me a long searching look. "You really believe that about responsibility, don't you?"

"Don't you?" I asked, my tone light. "We all have to take responsibility for our actions. Those of us with more power than others have more responsibility, that's all."

Her expression took on a tinge of suspicion. "Is this you trying to talk me out of going full-on with PASS?" she asked quietly. "Because if it is …"

"It isn't," I assured her. "It's just me giving you a little bit of life advice. What you do with it is up to you." I tapped the arm of the wheelchair twice; taking the cue, Kinsey wheeled me forward again.

Joanne fell in alongside us, looking across at Emily. "I don't think I know you," she observed.

"This is Lieutenant Emily Piggot," I told her. "She led the assault on the compound. She's also the one who killed Sunstrike."

The smile that spread across Joanne's face had more than a few teeth in it. "The others will be happy to hear that. Thank you, Lieutenant."

Emily's voice was carefully bland. "Glad to be of service."

-ooo-​

The service was not overly long, but it was respectful. Amanda King, nineteen, had been a college student with bright prospects before her. I knew from her dossier that a skydiving accident had claimed her older brother's life at the same time as it granted her powers over the movement of air. She had also been vivacious and pretty, without an enemy in the world, or so the eulogy claimed. Personally, I had my doubts – death canonises us all – but I was willing to accept that she had been a nice girl who had not deserved the hand that Fate had dealt her.

Then again, who does?

After the words had been spoken, the coffin was lowered into the grave. Kinsey handed me a small trowel so that I would not dirty my white cotton gloves, and I scooped up a pile of dirt to toss on top of it. He followed suit, then handed the trowel over to Emily.

"Which of you is Captain Snow?" It was a man's voice.

We looked around at that, to see an older couple with a teenage girl at their side. She resembled the photos of Amanda enough that I knew who they were. I straightened in the chair. "I am, sir. I presume that you are Amanda's father?"

"Yes," he said as he moved closer to look down on me. "Are you the one who was supposed to save my daughter?"

I took a deep breath. My lung would never regain its full capacity, but at least by now I was able to do this without more than a twinge. "I did my best, sir," I told him regretfully.

"You saved the rest of them," he stated bitterly. "Why not Amanda, too? Why did my daughter have to die?"

I tried to think of ways to explain to him that things like that were never cut and dried, that any of us could have died at any time, but I knew that he would accept none of it. I knew all too well what it was like to lose a close family member, and I was fully aware that logical reasoning took a back seat to emotion at times like this.

Behind me, Kinsey cleared his throat. "If I may, ma'am?"

Well, he can't do any worse than me. "Go ahead, sergeant."

"Thank you, ma'am." I could feel his attention shifting to Amanda's father. "Sir, are you aware of the circumstances surrounding the attack on the compound where your daughter was being held?"

Mr King blinked. "I – no, they didn't tell us much. Just that it was assaulted, and my daughter died."

"I see. Well, sir, Captain Snow was never part of the assault force. She was the analyst who pinpointed where your daughter was, and she was in a helicopter doing reconnaissance when it was shot down. I was also on board the helicopter. On impact, she suffered a traumatic impaling injury when a piece of metal pierced through her upper abdomen and into her chest. Her life expectancy after that was a matter of hours. Three of the seven people on the helicopter were killed, including both pilots."

Amanda's father stared down at me. I nodded without speaking. He cleared his throat and licked his lips. "I didn't know about that."

"And neither were you expected to," Kinsey agreed. "The helicopter exploded shortly after we got clear of it. The Captain was wounded and in great pain. She could have advised a retreat or a surrender. Instead, she ordered an assault on the building where the prisoners were being held. Once inside, she killed three of the enemy and had us secure the building."

"So how did my daughter die?" demanded King. "They won't even tell us that."

"It was a homemade breaching charge," Kinsey told him. "Your daughter was in direct line of the explosion, and was thrown into the wall. Even if we had been capable of applying first aid, everything we know suggests that she would not have survived. I'm sorry, sir, but that's what happened."

Amanda's father grimaced. "Well, thanks. It's … it's not good to know, but it's better than not knowing." He offered his hand; Kinsey shook it. "I appreciate it." Turning to me, he held out his hand. "Sorry about talking to you like that, Captain. I didn't know … well, anything."

I shook his hand firmly. "No offence taken, sir. I just wish I could have done more."

He shook his head. "You found her. We had no idea where she was, if she was even alive, and you found her. You gave her some hope, at least, before the end. And you killed the bastards who did this to her."

No, that's Lieutenant Piggot, I thought, but did not say. "They'll never hurt anyone ever again," I agreed.

I had thought the embarrassment over, but then Amanda's mother was leaning over me, hugging me. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, ma'am," I told her, awkwardly patting her on the back. She straightened up and wiped her eyes. I half-expected a hug from the daughter as well, but she just looked me in the eye.

"How do I join the PRT?" she asked bluntly.

I was temporarily lost for words, but Emily came to my rescue. "You have to be at least sixteen, miss," she stated. "If you want to be an officer, you have to meet certain educational standards. But you can get all that from the Austin PRT base. They'll be able to answer your questions better than we can."

The Kings gathered their daughter in and all three moved away. I heard the mother asking, "Are you sure you want to do that? It sounds dangerous."

"Mom, life's dangerous," the girl answered. "But I want to learn how to kick bad guys' asses like that."

I didn't hear any more, but Emily chuckled. "Is it just me, Captain Snow, or do you manage to pick up a fan club wherever you go?"

"Don't remind me," I muttered. "And this isn't over."

I had a hearing, a court-martial and an award ceremony to attend yet. And I wasn't sure which one was going to be the most taxing.

End of Part 5-9

Part 5-10​

 

[tenchifew]

Really liked the chapter.
Poor Aster. But she is doing well, under the circumstances.

And nice to see Taylor in a leader role - her handling the future PASS members and plotting a lot of future PRT policies was brilliant.

Thank you for writing.

 

[seeing_octarine]

I have no idea what we did to get chapters upon chapters of Recoil. Can you tell us, Ack? Please? So we can do it again?

One thing that's been bugging me a bit though, is that while the story itself is good, the arc numbers in the index seem a bit odd. Especially with Aster's backstory. Last time I saw an arc-within-an-arc was Weaver Nine, and it seemed just as out of place there too.

 

[Ack]

I have no idea what we did to get chapters upon chapters of Recoil. Can you tell us, Ack? Please? So we can do it again?

One thing that's been bugging me a bit though, is that while the story itself is good, the arc numbers in the index seem a bit odd. Especially with Aster's backstory. Last time I saw an arc-within-an-arc was Weaver Nine, and it seemed just as out of place there too.

Click to shrink...

Basically, each new arc is a new part to her life. A new adventure, so to speak.

 

[Starfox5]

That was a shock to the system for Aster - learning just who her parents were. Good scenes with pre-Lustrum there.

 

[Ack]

That was a shock to the system for Aster - learning just who her parents were. Good scenes with pre-Lustrum there.

Click to shrink...

Well, Joanne isn't quite into the 'all men are scum because men are scum' mindset. She's focused on a certain subset of men.

As for Aster, she had to learn sooner or later.

Turns out that Taylor is a proponent of the 'rip the bandage off quickly' school

 

[Datcord]

Turns out that Taylor is a proponent of the 'rip the bandage off quickly' school

Click to shrink...

Yeah, and the limb it's attached to, just in case.

 

[macdjord]

Yeah, and the limb it's attached to, just in case.

Click to shrink...

Have you read the Cenotaph/Wake/Legacy series? There's a scene where Taylor is up against Valefor. She knows he can control people via eye contact... so she unhesitatingly pops out her own eyes with her thumb. 'Rip off the bandage quickly' indeed...