Recoil (a Worm fanfic)

[Ack]

[This story was originally posted in the NSFW section, along with all my other stories. But seeing as it's actually SFW, I'm posting it in this section instead.]

The fight against Behemoth in New Delhi goes horribly wrong. Taylor, almost the only survivor, is sent back into the past by Phir Sē to try to fix matters. But there are complications ...

Disclaimers:
1) This story is set in the Wormverse, which is owned by Wildbow. Thanks for letting me use it.
2) I will follow canon as closely as I can. If I find something that canon does not cover, then I will make stuff up. If canon then refutes me, then I will revise. Do not bother me with fanon; corrections require citations.
3) I welcome criticism of my works, but if you tell me that something is wrong, I also expect an explanation of what is wrong, and a suggestion of how to fix it. Note that I do not promise to follow any given suggestion.


Index
Part 1-0: Introduction (below)
Part 1-1: Recollections
Part 1-2: Things Change
Part 1-3: Oddities
Part 1-4: Revelations
Part 1-5: Getting Established
Part 1-6: Preparation
Part 1-7: Sunday at the Heberts'
Part 1-8: Back to School
Part 1-9: Ongoing Affairs
Part 2-1: Settling In
Part 2-2: Relationships
Part 2-3: Christmas Special
Part 2-4: The Light at the End of the Tunnel is an Oncoming Train
Part 3-0: Another Brick in the Wall
Part 3-1: Meeting Again for the First Time
Part 3-2: Conversations and Revelations
Part 3-3: Interpersonal Relationships
Part 3-4: Acceptable Losses
Part 4-1: Back to Brockton Bay
Part 4-2: You Can't Go Home Again
Part 4-3: Preparations for Murder
Part 4-4: To Kill a Mockingbird
Part 4-5: After-Action Report
Part 4-6: Careers Day
Part 4-7: Enemies Within and Without
Part 4-8: Developments
Part 4-9: Points of View
Part 4-10: Dinner and a Show
Part 4-11: Shell Game
Part 5-0: Back in the Line of Fire
Part 5-1: The Conflict Inherent in the System
Part 5-2: Out of the Frying Pan
Part 5-3: Combat Rescue
Part 5-4: Debrief
Part 5-5: (Aster's Story, Part One) Escape From Brockton Bay
Part 5-6: (Aster's Story, Part Two) The Long Way Home
Part 5-7: (Aster's Story, Part Three) Behind the Scenes
Part 5-8: (Aster's Story, Part Four) Meeting at Last
Part 5-9: Consequences and Fallout
Part 5-10: One Thing After Another
Part 6-1: Dominoes and Butterflies
Part 6-2: Touching Base
Part 6-3: Two for the Price of One
Part 6-4: Resolving Fallout
Part 7-0: Queen of Escalation
Part 7-1: Bury the Dead; Life Goes On
Part 7-2: Connections
Part 7-3: Secrets Within Secrets
Part 8-0: Sleight of Hand
Part 8-1: A New World Order
Part 8-2: Changing Things Around
Part 8-3: Plotting and Planning
Part 8-4: Combat Rescue from Hell
Part 8-5: Changing the Future
Part 8-6: More Changes
Part 8-7: Ripples
Part 8-8: Requiem for a Dockworker

Omake: A Possible Future
Omake: Why Taylor Went to the Lake [ pepperjack ]
Omake: Poon of Contention

 

[Ack]

Recoil


Part 1-0: Introduction
​

Blackness surrounded me. I huddled in my rocky grave. I didn't know how long it had been since thunder and lightning had wracked the sky, since the wall had collapsed on top of me.

Saving my life.

The earth had not shaken for a long time now. No more dirt filtered down on me. But it was getting hard to breathe. The air was getting stale. The rocks and earth surrounding me had saved me from Behemoth's fury, but it may yet kill me.

I shifted, turned. Stone ground, something pressed on my ribs. I pushed, tried to dig. There was the faintest sensation of giving, of movement. I shoved harder. Something reluctantly gave way, and I tasted fresh air. Not cool, not sweet; it was hot, baked, filled with dust and smoke, but it was breathable. I greedily sucked it into my lungs anyway.

With that one stone loosened, I scrabbled at the others around me. Some shifted out of the way; others began to grind downward, pressing on my body. I scrambled, shuffled forward. Something trapped my ankle; I kicked frantically, freed myself. And then there was a rush and rumble of tumbling stone, and daylight was suddenly visible.

Dusty, bruised, coughing, bloody, I emerged from the base of a mass of tumbled rubble. Overhead, the sky was a scorched brass colour, stained with smoke from a thousand fires. My costume was torn, almost shredded from me in places.

My mask was damaged; one lens was gone while the other was starred and opaque. I took it off and discarded it; it wasn't going to do me any good now. Likewise, the electronic armband was now dead and dark. It joined my mask on the ground. A pouch held my glasses; astonishingly, they were intact. I put them on. At least now I could see clearly.

I staggered to my feet, favouring the ankle that had been momentarily trapped by the stones. Any bugs I had in my costume had been crushed by the trapping stones, but I reached out now, gathered in my swarms.

What was left of my swarms.

I did not know where Behemoth had gone, but he had rampaged across the landscape, scouring it with fire, lightning and probably radiation as well. And in doing so, he had killed most everything above the ground, and some things below it.

Including most of the insects and other bugs.

But there were some. Cockroaches, long heralded as being the most likely survivors of a nuclear apocalypse, scrambled from niches and cracks. Flies rose here and there. Other bugs, more exotic, native to India, also responded to my call.

I set them to looking for survivors, while I myself stumbled from rubble pile to rubble pile, calling out names. The names of my friends. All the names I could recall of the heroes, the villains, the capes who had attended the call, the Endbringer Truce.

None answered.

My bugs spread far and wide, finding no evidence of human life. Just blasted devastation. Even where the city had been, there were not even the stumps of buildings.

-ooo-​

I remembered the battle beforehand; the defence of New Delhi falling apart even before it could be properly formed. Falling back, looking for options.

Meeting Phir Sē.

Arranging the distraction, the damage to Behemoth. Holding the monster in place just long enough.

Giving the word to unleash the 'time bomb'.

And then ... disaster.

Behemoth had not been killed by the blast. He had been ... invigorated. His blasts had wiped out Eidolon's force field, sprayed energy across the battlefield. I had tried to organise an orderly retreat, scouting out safe avenues of escape. A stray blast had trashed my flight pack, set it on fire. Only my costume had saved me, but it had been badly damaged. I'd had to abandon the pack.

Running for my life, dodging falling stones, I had been barely grazed by blobs of flying magma, blasts of fire. Once again, my costume had saved me, but at the cost of its own integrity. My armour panels were shredded, and the spider silk underneath as well.

And then I had taken cover under a leaning wall, sought to catch my breath, use my bugs to locate my teammates.

And the wall had fallen in on me. Everything had gone black.

I didn't know how much time passed before I awoke and freed myself, but I suspected it had been a while.

-ooo-​

I sobbed, the dust rasping in my throat.

And then I heard the voice, tiny, distant, through the ears of a scuttling cockroach.

"Taylor ...?"

I followed the sound through my bugs, zeroed in on it.

There was a pile of rubble, up against a flat-sided chunk of rock, remnant of some massive obelisk. Heedless of my already-torn fingernails, I scrabbled away rocks until I uncovered her. She had half a bed on top of her, keeping the rocks off her body. I lifted it away.

It was Lisa.

Tattletale.

She smiled up at me, helped me remove the last few stones. Grinned her familiar vulpine grin. She looked a little the worse for wear; there was a bandage around her throat.

"Hey," she said cheerfully, if a little raspily. "Good to see you. Give me a hand shifting this thing? I can't feel my legs anymore."

I looked at 'this thing', being the chunk of obelisk. The size of two large cars, it lay firmly across her pelvis. I looked at it, dropped to my knees, scraped away dirt. If she was on soft soil, if her legs had just been pressed into it …

She wasn't. They hadn't. The masonry under her was cracked but essentially intact.

Barring the intervention of someone like Panacea, she had basically zero chance of survival.

My heart, which had risen upon the discovery of a living friend, fell once more. I swallowed, turned to her.

She read it in my face, of course. "Fuck," she said quietly. "I thought as much. But I didn't want to look, so I wouldn't have to know."

"Fuck," I agreed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." Tears ran from my eyes.

She grasped my hand. "Sit down," she urged. "There's no need for any urgent rescue attempts, to find help, so sit down. I don't know how much more time I've got, but I'd rather spend it with you."

I sat, my back up against the mass of stone that had killed my best friend.

"What … happened?" I asked. "A wall fell on me. I missed most of it."

She rolled her eyes. "Behemoth took that big blast that came out of nowhere, and he … redirected it. Absorbed it. Survived it. Blasted everything around. Blasted everyone around. And then he just … kept going."

I bumped my head back lightly against the stone behind me. "Fuck. I'd hoped it would at least do more than piss him off."

She squeezed my hand. "Shit happens," she said. It was a mantra, a statememt of belief.

Tears started in my eyes. "Shit happens," I agreed.

"Something funny," she murmured. "I think I had another trigger event. While all that shit was going on."

"Didn't spontaneously give you the ability to get out of this, did it?" I asked, semi-hopefully.

She shook her head. "No. But I'm seeing a lot more. About everyone and everything."

I looked at her. Was she becoming delirious? Hallucinating?

She grinned at me. "Nope," she said. "I'm perfectly lucid. It's actually kind of cool. I know I'll never get out of this, but I get to answer all those questions that always bothered me, that my power wasn't quite able to answer before."

"Yeah?" I said. "Like what?"

"Your parents," she said. "Just for instance. I know when they were born, when and where they met. Everything about their lives." She raised an eyebrow. "Did you know your mother was a follower of Lustrum when she was in college?"

"Yeah," I said. "She used to talk about it sometimes. About how it's dangerous to let others tell you how to think."

She nodded. "That's true. But when Lustrum started inciting them to attack men, she got clear of the movement."

I nodded. "She used to wonder sometimes if Lustrum really meant it to get that bad." I squeezed her hand.

She smiled. "For something closer to home, how about Coil? I'm sure there's questions you have about him."

​

And so, I sat back against warm stone, and held Lisa's hands, as the sun crept down in the sky. She reeled off facts and figures about Coil, as well as Brockton Bay's finest and not so fine, stretching back years, decades. It seemed to make her happy to be able to shock me with her newfound knowledge.

She grew weaker as time passed, and I had to lean forward to hear her whispered words.

Eventually, she stopped to catch her breath during an admittedly fascinating description of how the Travellers got to Earth Bet from Earth Aleph, and how a girl named Noelle Meinhardt became the monster called Echidna.

"Lisa," I said softly. "You can stop now. Please."

She smiled up at me. "It's kind of a relief, to be able to say, enough," she breathed. "I've told my tales. Now I can rest."

My tears ran down my face. "Lisa … I…"

"Taylor," she whispered, her eyes huge in the gathering dusk. Her hand rose, wavering, to touch my cheek, to wipe away the tears it found there. "You kissed me once before, to cure the memory plague. Kiss me again, before I go?"

I leaned forward, kissed her. Her lips tasted of dust and blood.

"Huh." Her voice was barely audible. "Nice."

And then she stopped speaking. Stopped breathing. Stopped doing everything a living person does.

​

I cried, then, as I closed her eyes.

Cried as I tore the sleeve from my ruined costume, ripped it down its length to make a spread of cloth to cover her face.

Cried as I carefully stacked stones over her corpse.

Covered her face last.

My last friend.

My best friend.

Dead.

-ooo-​

I determined that I would die there too.

After all, there was no point in getting up. For maybe half a mile all around, the devastation continued unabated. My bugs had found no living people, barely even parts of corpses. In my meanderings before I found Lisa, I had seen no hint of the cityscape, the landscape, that had been there before. It was like a terrible war had raged for years over that area of land, and everything had been smashed, pulverised, buried, excavated, and then beaten flat again.

Behemoth's rage, his power, must have been … incandescent.

I wondered that, even under a dozen yards of rock, I had survived.

Well, not for much longer.

Whoever found me, would find me here.

I regretted that I had crossed her hands over her chest before I piled stones on her, because I would have appreciated holding her hand again.

I watched the sun go down into a purple-red dusk, a huge pall of smoke overhead. The stars did not come out; they could not. The smoke and dust were too thick.

I coughed. A chilly wind was whipping across the devastation, picking up dust, causing me to huddle into myself in my thin, torn costume.

The wind picked up more sharply, sending grit stinging against my exposed skin; I covered my eyes.
What the hell was going on here? It felt like some sort of storm was kicking up, right next to where I was. Even dying, I wasn't to be left in peace.

"Seriously?" I yelled, and coughed again. I covered my mouth with my other hand. "Fucking seriously?"

And then there was a sharp crack,a flash of light, the wind died … and he was standing there.

Phir Sē.

Dishevelled body, opulent clothes and all.

He looked just a little more haggard, a little more drawn, a little more disarranged than before.

My heart had lifted on hearing Lisa's voice. Seeing her face.

It did nothing at all when I saw him.

"What the fuck," I grated, "are you doing here? What happened? Did your one big shot not work as well as advertised?"

"Should have worked," he said dully. "But monster was stronger. Took power, used it. Nearly killed me. Narrow escape."

"So you made him stronger, and more able to kill," I said flatly.

He nodded.

A long silence passed between us.

"Well?" I asked.

"Well, what?" he asked.

"What the fuck are you going to do to fix your fucking mess?" I yelled.

He looked at me and spread his long hands. "Have used much power. Need to recoup. Stepping through time … not easy."

"So you can't just build another fucking time bomb and scorch his ass to small pieces, then?" I asked him.

"Not know how to locate him. Base, my equipment, all gone," he said. "Rocks fell. My friend is dead."

"Fuck," I ground out.

"Can do one thing," he said in his accented English.

"What's that?" I asked incautiously.

He smiled. "Time. Can send someone back. Warn about this, so never happens."

I frowned. "You mean me."

He gestured to the horizon of blasted, scorched rock, barely visible in the shadowed night. "No other volunteers, yes?"

"What makes you think I'm going to fucking volunteer to get sent on a one-way trip back in time?" I growled.

He leaned forward. "Back then …" he said gently. "Your friends all still alive."

And there he had me. I couldn't go forward. I had not the energy.

But if he sent me back …

I could fix things.

Fix it so this shit never happened.

Fix it so we won next time.

Painfully, feeling every creak and crackle, I pushed myself to my feet.

"Right," I said. "Do I need to do anything special?"

He shook his head. "No," he told me. "Just stand there. Effect will take little while to take hold. Might help to breathe deeply."

I started breathing deeply, while shimmers of his power began to build up around me. The wind started kicking up again, the grit once more stinging my skin, the chill making me goosepimple. I wrapped my arms around me, looked down at Lisa's grave.

Bye, Lisa, I told her silently. Thanks for … everything.

While I was thinking about it, I told everyone else goodbye as well. Brian, Alec, Aisha, Rachel. Dennis, Weld, Missy, Lily, Sabah.

-ooo-​

The power nimbus around me was making it quite hard to see what was going on outside. Directly overhead, I could see a spiral swirl in the clouds of smoke. Centred on me. That was more than a little sobering.

"How far back am I going?" I called against the hum of his power effect. "Couple of months, a year?"

"Oh my, no," he replied, his very white teeth flashing in the glow of his own power. "Sending you back twenty years."

My mind short-circuited. He did not just say twenty ye-

I went.

-ooo-​

It was a good thing that I had been breathing deeply, because I fell in the ocean.

Water went in my eyes, up my nose, and into my mouth. But I wasn't immediately out of breath, so I was able to gather my wits, tread water, and try to get my bearings.

It was night time, and I was in the ocean, in the tattered remains of my costume, which even now were being worried and torn away by surging waves. Under which was my, well, underwear. Which, while it made reasonable swimwear, was not best suited for holding in body heat. And this water was cold.

But I didn't have an option. Already, the remains of my costume were becoming waterlogged, dragging me down. My armour panels were the worst culprits. I could hardly stay afloat; finding the zipper, I pulled it down, wriggled out of the costume. It sank without a trace. I struggled to keep my head above water.

Out of nowhere, a white hull came slicing past me, heeled far over in the (I realised) howling wind and driving rain. I could have put out my hand and touched it. But in another moment, it was gone.

And a moment later, from the direction it had gone, I heard a terrible splintering crash.

Lightning briefly illuminated the scene, like God's own flash photography. I saw two boats, sailing yachts by the rigging, locked together and slowly sinking.

A wave slapped me in the face, and I choked and went under for a moment, before clawing my way back to the surface again. My glasses were gone, lost to the waves.

I had no idea where I was, no idea which way shore was, and no idea where even the nearest non-sinking boat was.

And then an actinic glare washed over me, pinned me to the surface of the water like a bug to corkboard. I heard a distant shout, and a foghorn. Then the rumble of engines, and a much larger craft shouldered its way through the waves toward me.

I was spending all my time staying afloat, so I had no time to wave. Besides, waving involves lifting one's arms out of the water, when they are much better employed keeping one's head out of the water.

But they'd seen me, and they were coming for me.

I never saw the chunk of wreckage behind me. Just as the rescue boat pulled up alongside me, there was a tremendous smash to the back of my head.

I struggled feebly to swim, to keep my head above water, to reach the boarding net. My fingers tangled in rough fibres, but I had no strength.

A massive splash beside me. Then a strong arm holding me tightly, while another hung on to a rope that was steadily hauled upward. A warm, kindly voice. "I've got you. You'll be fine, now."

A familiar voice.

And then I knew nothing.

-ooo-​

I awoke in a cramped bunk, wrapped in heavy blankets. Despite them, I shivered. The warmth in me had fled with the immersion in the chilly ocean water. But feeling was starting to return.

The bunk rocked back and forth, back and forth. I could feel the thrumming of powerful engines through my spine. I decided that I liked it. I loved boats, especially rescue boats.

There was a constriction about my head, pressure on the side of my face. I wormed my hand up under the blankets, touched –

"Careful, you don't want to loosen the bandage."

The voice was maddeningly familiar. I gave up my attempt to see what had happened to my head, and looked around. My head immediately began to ache strenuously.

The young man who sat there in his ill-fitting storm gear could not have been more than nineteen. He was slender, dark-haired and fresh-faced and wore what my fuzzy eyes interpreted as an anxious expression.

"Hi," I said, faintly.

He smiled. It was like the sun coming out. I frowned. I was looking at him mostly upside down and sideways, not to mention without my glasses, but the face – I knew that face.

"Hi," he replied. "How are you feeling? You took quite a knock to the head."

"I'll tell you once my brain decides to stop rattling," I said. "Are you the one …"

"Who jumped in after you?" he asked, then blushed. "Yeah, that was me."

"Thanks," I told him feelingly. "My name's Taylor," I said. "What's yours?"

"Danny," he said. "Danny Hebert."

​

End of Part 1-0​

 

[Ack]

Recoil​

Part 1-1: Recollections​

I stared for a moment. "I'm sorry - what did you say?"

"Danny Hebert," he said, just a little defensively. "It's my name."

"Oh," I said weakly.

Shit, I thought. It's really him. I knew that bewildered look too well, even half upside down and without my glasses. This was too much to deal with, all at once. I closed my eyes for just a second, tried to clear my spinning thoughts.

When I opened them again, the cabin was dark and my only companions were the thrumming of the engines and the smell of sea salt.

I'd had concussions before; the symptoms were not unfamiliar to me. Which helped make the transition, the sense of lost time, a little less jarring. But not much.

Fucking concussions.

It took me a few moments to realise that the blankets had been drawn up to my chin. That must have been Danny – Dad.

I could just see him doing that, I really could. Even twenty years younger, my Dad was still a gentle, caring man. Only ... and here my stomach gave a lurch totally unconnected with the movement of the boat ... only this wasn't a caring gesture to his daughter. He doesn't know me. He's just being nice to the girl whose life he saved.

Which drew attention to the other elephant in the room. This wasn't a joke. Phir Sē really did send me back twenty years.

Fuck.

Okay, how do I deal with this?

I took a deep breath. One step at a time. I'm a time traveller with no way back, and a minor to boot. I have exactly zero documentation here and now. No official existence. This could be a problem.

Gingerly, I reached up, felt the back of my head. There was a bandage that went right around my skull, with a thick pad back there. It was tender, but not overly painful. But the impact had been enough to give me what I hoped was a relatively mild concussion.

Which could give me an out, if I play this right.

However, I did have my other hole card. My powers. Control of insects, which, at this moment, extended to simple marine life.

Cautiously, I extended my powers. I didn't want anyone seeing something strange.

Puzzled, I frowned; I wasn't picking up any bugs on the boat at all. That's weird. Had they disinfected it before they set off? It didn't seem likely.

And then I saw a fly buzzing across the cabin, zig-zagging with the motion of the boat. I focused my attention on it. Nothing. It didn't alter course, and I couldn't sense it.

What the fuck?

And then the realisation hit me.

When Phir Sē sent me back in time, he had also cut me off from my powers. They were gone. I had no access to them.

Fuck.

How the fuck do I deal with this?

I was still trying to figure that one out when I fell asleep again.

This time, however, I didn't simply have a moment of missed time.

This time, I dreamed.

-ooo-​

Lisa and I sat atop the square-sided chunk of rock that had killed her in reality, our legs dangling over the side. Below our feet was a mound of rubble; I did not want to see what it concealed.

We were holding hands, just as we had done ... before. Before she died.

This is a dream, I said. You died. My voice echoed hollowly in my head.

She gave me that irritating vulpine grin of hers. "Well, duh," she agreed readily. "This isn't really happening. It's just your subconscious working things out for itself."

Yeah well ... I said awkwardly. I miss you so goddamn much.

She squeezed my hand. "I know," she said. "And I appreciate it."

There's a logical flaw there somewhere ... I said slowly.

"Silly Taylor," she said fondly. "Logic doesn't belong in dreams." She reached up to her throat with her free hand, and worked the bloodstained bandage off of it.

I looked curiously at her. There wasn't a mark on her throat, now. What was the bandage for? I asked.

"Oh," she said off-handedly. "You remember the guy Cody from what I was telling you about the Travellers?"

I nodded. Vaguely, I replied.

"Yeah," she said. "Well, he fucked up and they basically sold him to Accord. Accord sold him on to the Yàngbǎn. He was pissed about that, so he went and wounded Chevalier pretty badly, and killed Accord. Crushed my windpipe, so I had to give myself a tracheotomy."

She gave me her fox-like grin. "No fun, let me tell you. For a moment there, I thought he was going to kill me anyway. Then he left. They found me, gave me field surgery, so I could breathe normally. And then Behemoth did his thing and the place fell down anyway."

Damn, I said. Okay. I have a problem. You're the smartest person in the room. I've lost my powers. How do I go from here? What do I do? How do I fix this?

"Oh, Taylor," she whispered. "Weren't you listening? I already told you how."

I blinked as sand stung my eye. You knew this was going to happen? I asked.

She grinned again. "Didn't I tell you? I know so much more than I did before."

That's not an answer, I replied. The wind was whipping up, sand obscuring the sun.

"I know," she said softly. Her voice was getting very faint.

What's happening? I asked in alarm.

She looked at me, her eyes large and sad. "You're waking up. Kiss before I go?"

I leaned over and kissed her. Her lips tasted of dust and blood.

-ooo-​

I opened my eyes with a gasp, sat half-upright in bed.

A stranger, a woman, sat back with a start. She held a stethoscope in one hand.

"Christ," she said. "You gave me a fright. Do you always come awake like that?"

"Who are you?" I asked warily, evading the question. "Where's the boy?"

"The boy - oh, you mean young Hebert.". She smiled. "He's helping out on deck. Oh sorry, my name's Nina. Nina Veder. I'm what passes for the ship's doctor.". A conspiratorial grin. "Just an EMT, but I volunteered, so here I am."

Veder? As in Greg Veder?

I searched her features. As far as I could tell without my glasses, they were good-natured, open, friendly. She looked to be in her early thirties.

She blinked a little at my intense scrutiny. "What?"

I let my eyes drop away. "I ... thought for a moment that you looked familiar. That I might know you. I don't. Sorry.". Extracting my arm from under the covers, I scrubbed at my eyes with the back of my hand. "I think I need glasses or something. Or is blurry vision a side effect of whatever happened to me?"

She frowned. "You don't remember?"

I shook my head. "I'm sorry. I've been trying really hard, to remember anything at all, and all I've been getting out of it is a headache."

"Stop trying," she said at once. "Don't force it. Danny - the Hebert boy - told me you said your name was Taylor. Do you remember doing that?"

I nodded. I couldn't very well deny it. "That's about all I am sure of."

She nodded in return. "Well, here we have a bit of a puzzle. You undoubtedly came out of the water. But none of the yachts have any 'Taylor' listed as a crew member. Or anyone with Taylor as a surname, for that matter."

She frowned. "What's more, everyone else we pulled from the water was fully dressed. You were in your underwear, and you have bruises and cuts – on you that you didn't get from being in the water."

She gave me a searching look. "Do you remember anything about what happened to you?"

I shook my head. "I'm sorry," I said. I was being sincere; Nina Veder was a nice person, no matter what I might think of her distant relative Greg. She didn't deserve to be lied to.

But in order to secure the survival of the human race, I decided coldly. I would lie and cheat and kill if I had to. Lisa deserved a second chance; so did Brian, Alec, Aisha and Rachel.

Me? I was on my second chance.

Even if I didn't have my powers any more. I'd have to make this work somehow. The world was more or less depending on me.

-ooo-​

Moments later, the cabin became remarkably crowded with the entry of two more people. One was Danny; immediately preceding him was a large, heavy-set man with a salt-and-pepper beard. I squinted; without my glasses, it was hard to tell, but …

"I'm George Hebert, master of the Ocean Road," announced the bearded man. He had the sort of personality that fills even a large room; in this cramped cabin, his presence was almost overpowering. And I knew him also; not as well as I knew Danny, but I did know him.

"So you're the little thing Danny-boy pulled from the ocean," he said directly to me.

Danny's parents had had him relatively late in life; George, my grandfather, was forty-two when Danny was born, and his wife Dorothy ("call me Dot") was thirty-eight.

I nodded. "Uh – yes, sir," I replied meekly.

George Hebert had suffered a stroke and died when I was about ten. His wife had survived him by six months before quietly passing away in her sleep. I had met them a few times, but not often and not for long; George had never approved of Mom, and so relations had been strained.

"So what the fuck," he said bluntly, "were you doing in the water in your fucking skivvies, not even a fucking life jacket? Were you trying to commit suicide or something?"

Like Dad, he had apparently had a bit of a temper. Unlike Dad, he was not afraid to show it.

I lowered my eyes. "I don't know," I said softly. "I can't remember."

He grabbed my shoulders and shook me – actually shook me. My teeth rattled in my head.

"Can't remember? You stupid little idiot! Because of you, my only son jumped overboard in a howling storm to save your sorry ass. Both of you could have fucking drowned, because you couldn't take basic fucking precautions!"

"Captain!" snapped Nina Veder. "Leave her alone! She's got some sort of amnesia, and you're not helping!" She grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands off me, then pushed him by main force back toward the entryway. He seemed taken aback; this was probably the only thing that allowed her to move him at all.

Danny stepped in closer. "Sorry about Dad," he said quietly. "He's a bit … high-strung."

I mustered a grateful smile for him, but mainly I was trying to listen in on the conversation that Nina was having with Danny's father. She was trying to keep her voice down, but the cabin was not large.

"She's got unusual injuries," she was explaining in an undertone. "She can't remember anything before being pulled on board. I think she may have been abducted, kept on one of the yachts …" Still taking, she pushed him out the door.

Danny smiled back at me. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "Your head all right? You caught it a terrific bump back there."

I shrugged. "I'm getting better." Of its own accord, my hand crept from under the covers and grasped his. "I want to thank you for saving my life."

He gulped and squeezed my hand, his face turning red.

"I'm just glad I was there at the right time," he mumbled.

"So am I," I replied fervently. "So am I."

He sat by my bed, and held my hand as if it were his most precious possession.

"So where are you from?" he asked, at length.

I shook my head. "I don't know," I said. "Nina – Ms Veder – seems to think I've got some sort of amnesia from that bump on the head. All I know is my name, and that's about it."

"Oh Christ," he said, looking stricken. "I'm so sorry, Taylor."

I smiled at him. "Don't worry about it, Danny. I'm sure it will all come good. Actually, you can help me with something there. What's the date today?"

I had a halfway suspicion that I knew. Danny's next words confirmed it.

"Nineteenth of October, why?"

I made my face a blank. "I thought it might help me remember something, anything."

"Did it?" he asked eagerly.

I shook my head; his face fell. "Sorry, Danny. But thanks for trying." I smiled again. "And at least I know something now that I didn't before."

I knew a lot that I hadn't known earlier. I knew the date, and I knew the year.

-ooo-​

Wednesday, October eighteen, nineteen eighty-nine. A large regatta of ocean-going racing yachts had been hit by an unseasonal storm ranging in off the Atlantic. Within minutes, most were damaged and foundering. Rescue boats had put out from Brockton Bay and other communities along the coast; due to the short notice, they had been woefully undercrewed, taking any volunteers who could perform essential duties.

George Hebert had captained one of these boats, the one I was on now. I had not known, though, that Danny had volunteered to go out with his boat on this specific occasion.

Most of the yachts had sunk without a trace; quite a few of the crews had gone down with them. The survivors had told of utter chaos on the water, of collisions and near misses as they tried to keep way on so as not to broach and go under.

I could well believe it, now. It was into that hell that Phir Sē had dropped me. And I would have died there, had it not been for the Ocean Road, and the heroism of Danny Hebert.

I had a great deal to think about. But at least now I knew where I was starting from.

I have a lot of planning to do.

-ooo-​

By the time the Ocean Road neared the coast, I felt well enough to get out on deck. Danny was the only person on board who was anywhere near my size, so I wore a pair of his trousers with the belt pulled in to the last notch, and a pullover that would have made me a good-sized tent.

The rest of the survivors that had been pulled on board the Ocean Road were men and women of mature age, and they eyed me with puzzlement, obviously having no idea where I came into the situation. I preferred not to let the matter come up, sticking as close to Danny as I could, to discourage questions.

"Why are you squinting?" he asked, as we peered toward the coast.

"My eyes are all blurry," I replied truthfully. "I think I need glasses or something."

"Wait here," he said, and disappeared below. I did as he said; it was nice, to be out in the sunlight, to taste the sea air.

A line from the Bible passed through my mind. Those that go down to the sea in ships …

In a very short time, he reappeared, with something in his hand. "Here," he said. "Try these."

I took them; they were glasses.

"I can't take your glasses," I said. "You need them."

"Spare pair," he told me. "See if they help."

Such was his eagerness to be of assistance, I agreed. When I fitted them over my face, my vision cleared. They weren't perfect, but they were close enough to my prescription that it helped a lot.

I looked at his face, seeing it clearly for the first time. The anxious expression, eager to please.

Paradoxically, now that I could see him more clearly, the less he looked like how I remembered my father; the general lines of resemblance were subsumed in the finer detail, the flushed cheeks, the full head of hair, the puppy-dog look.

"Well?" he asked, after I had not spoken for several moments.

"They're perfect," I said quietly. "Thank you."

Stretching up – I was tall for my age, but then, so was he – I kissed him on the cheek. He blushed crimson.

We looked at each other clearly for the first time. I forgot that he was supposed to grow up to become my father; right at that moment, he was the gawky teenage boy who had risked his life to pull me from the water, who had gifted me with sight once more.

A wordless moment hung between us, stretched.

And then, whoever was in the wheelhouse had obviously spotted us, because a moment later, the foghorn cut loose. We both jumped and laughed. The moment passed, and we turned to look forward over the bow once more.

-ooo-​

The storm had blown over, leaving skies clear and blue. Under our feet, the boat moved forward at a fast clip, hitting the waves and cleaving through them in a barrage of spray. Breathing deep of the moisture-laden air, I stood up toward the bow with Danny as he told me about Brockton Bay.

Even allowing for a hometown boy's pride, he painted a glorious picture. Business was booming, there were no gangs to speak of – even Lung was no doubt an intractable child in Japan at the moment – and things were looking up.

I was going over the gradually growing 'to-do' list in my head – adding 'make sure my parents meet at the right time' – when I gradually became aware that there was something missing from the harbour as the Ocean Road made its way into Brockton Bay proper. Something off to the right, to the north, wasn't right.

I had already realised that the Protectorate base in the Bay wouldn't be there - the Protectorate didn't even exist yet - but this was something else.

It took me a moment or two to figure it out, from this angle. I could see merchant ships, container ships, tied up at dockside, loading or unloading cargoes. Doing business. Steaming out to sea, or coming in to port. And then, like one of those puzzles where you have to hold your eyes just right, it clicked into perspective.

The Boat Graveyard wasn't there. Lord's Port was still in full operation.

All my life, the Graveyard had been a blight, an eyesore, on the city. All those ships, unable to sail away, gradually taking on water, sinking at their moorings. Gradually releasing pollution into the Bay.

And now – it had never been. There was the possibility that it never would be.

Something to think about.

-ooo-​

As the Ocean Road neared its berth, I was startled to see a brightly coloured craft chugging its way across the Bay, heading from right to left. It seemed so different from the rest of the water traffic, neither inbound nor outbound.

"What's that?" I asked, pointing.

"Oh," said Danny cheerfully. "That's the ferry. We can go on it later, if you want. It's a fun ride. It's been in continuous operation for …"

I tuned him out. This was the ferry, upon which my father would strive against bureaucratic indifference and stonewalling, year after year, trying to get reinstated. Here, it was in its heyday.

Here was Brockton Bay itself, in its heyday.

The ferry was just a symbol of that, minor but important.

I can see it all, I realised. I can see the way it was, the way it might become.

I can change things.

It was a sobering thought.

But can I change them for the better, or will I change them for the worse?

And what can I actually accomplish without powers?

It was an even more sobering thought.

End of Part 1-1​

 

[Ack]

Recoil​

Part 1-2: Things Change​

The Ocean Road came in to the jetty to a small crowd of onlookers; mainly friends and family of the crew, and of the rescuees. I was fairly certain of one thing; I wouldn't see anyone that I knew from my life in Brockton Bay. Not from twenty years in the past.

Leaning on the rail, I watched as Danny went off on his father's orders to perform some nautical task farther along the deck. I couldn't be sure, but it seemed to me that the older men were treating him with a modicum of respect, slapping him on the shoulder and calling him 'Dan' rather than 'Danny boy'. It seemed that risking his life to save a teenage girl from the ocean had marked some obscure rite of passage among them.

Nina Veder came up alongside me just as I turned to watch the dockside come closer. "You've got glasses," she observed.

"Yes," I agreed. "Danny Hebert loaned a spare pair to me."

"And you can see properly through them?" she asked, with mild surprise.

"Almost," I admitted. "I'm still getting a little bit of blurriness, but it's not nearly as bad."

"That's still a little bit of a fortunate coincidence," she said. "That you can see through his glasses at all, I mean."

"I'm not arguing with that," I agreed untruthfully. Dad had always needed stronger lenses than mine, but of course his eyes had been getting worse with age. It made a certain amount of sense that our prescriptions were similar at such a close age. "I wouldn't have asked, but he did offer, and they do help a lot."

"He's a nice boy, isn't he?" she asked casually.

"Yes," I agreed candidly, turning to face her. My hair whipped across my face in the freshening breeze, and I tucked it behind my ear. "He's nice and sweet and kind. I like him."

"Just 'like'?" she pressed gently.

"Just 'like'," I assured her with a smile. Her expression, which I would not have been able to pick without the borrowed glasses, was appraising, speculative. Upon closer examination, I still could not find any trace of the features of her as yet unborn relative, which was good. I liked Nina Veder; she was firm and kind and stood up for her patients.

"It's not unusual for people in your circumstance to latch on to the first person to show them kindness, to try to form an instant attachment," she observed, her eyes on the approaching dockside.

"Sorry to disappoint," I returned, not sure where this was going.

"Oh, I'm not disappointed," she replied. "I'm intrigued. I want to find out what your life was like, before, that you're so self-possessed now. What challenges you've overcome that lets you face this one without worry."

Fuck, I thought. She's too damn perceptive. I wonder if Lisa was like this before she triggered?

The thought of Lisa, dead in my arms just a few days past by my reckoning, filled my eyes with tears.

"Ch-challenges?" I managed.

She was perceptive, all right. She noticed me tearing up almost immediately, and I found a handkerchief in my hand before I could even start to sniffle.

"Sorry ... sorry," she said as she put her arm around me. The warm gesture, totally unlike Danny's gift of the glasses, undid me altogether. I had just enough self-control to pull off the glasses before I was crying in great gulping sobs, getting the shoulder of Nina's coat thoroughly damp with more than sea spray.

"It's okay," she told me. "It's okay. We'll get this all sorted out. We'll find your family for you, Taylor. It's okay."

I wasn't crying about that, of course, but I found it convenient to let her think so. I'd thought I had cried myself out when I buried Lisa, but apparently I had been wrong. Or maybe it was the concussion manifesting as more mood swings.

Fucking concussions.

-ooo-​

By the time I had finished and was wiping my eyes and nose, we were tied up at the jetty. The sun was bright overhead, seagulls were circling and screaming, gentle waves were lapping at the pier, and it looked like a gorgeous day for Brockton Bay.

Meanwhile, I had puffy eyes, a red nose, and my hair looked a fright. Way to make a good first impression.

I had expected somehow to walk off the rescue boat with Danny, but Nina Veder had her hand on my arm. "I've been in contact with the shore," she explained. "If you're a missing person, maybe we can find out where you're missing from." She gestured, and I saw a police car pulled up at the end of the jetty. Great, now they'll think I'm some kind of criminal.

"Can I just tell Danny where I'm going?" I asked. "And see if he wants his glasses back?"

Nina nodded. "Good idea," she said. But she followed me along the deck to where Danny was working.

He turned to look at me. "Oh hey, Taylor," he said cheerfully. "Wow, what's up? You look like you've been crying."

I shook my head. "It's not important," I told him. "Look, Ms Veder and I are going to talk to the police, see if they can figure out who I really am." I took the glasses off, and everything went fuzzy. "Do you want these back, or can I keep them a bit longer?"

He waved them away. "Keep 'em," he said magnanimously. "You can give them back when you get a new pair."

I smiled. "Thanks, Danny. Uh, how can I get in touch with you?"

"Uh –" he began.

Nina stepped in. "I know the Heberts," she told me. "I'll be able to help you with that. But right now, we need to go and see if you match any missing-persons files."

"Okay," I said. "Bye, Danny. Thanks for everything." I didn't want to embarrass him with another kiss on the cheek, so I shook his hand, and moved with Nina to the gangplank that led on to the jetty.

As we walked along the jetty, passing people who were reuniting with their loved ones, I noticed one young man in his early twenties, with a woman at his side holding a baby. He was fairly heavily-built, and had bright red hair. He looked Nina over, then me, then straight on to where Danny was working on deck.

"Hey, Danny!" he bellowed, waving his hands over his head.

"Be right with you, Alan!" came the faint but distinct reply.

I didn't react. Red hair ... that had to be Alan Barnes, Dad's former best friend. The infant couldn't be Emma; it would have to be her older sister ... what was her name again? I had forgotten.

In any case, I had been wrong. There were people in Brockton Bay that I would know, that I had known in the future.

I wondered if I could use this in any way.

Without my powers, I needed every advantage I could get.

-ooo-​

Nina Veder and I rode back to the Brockton Bay central police station in silence. I spent my share of time gawking out the window; the city was an odd blend of the familiar and the not so familiar, just enough to throw me off.

Those buildings and landmarks that I knew were ... newer. Fresher. Lacking twenty years of wear and tear – and in some places, neglect – they looked strange, even when I knew them. And some were missing altogether, of course. There was a bunch of low-rise office buildings where the Medhall Corporation complex should have been, and the Forsberg Gallery simply wasn't there at all.

And of course the lake Leviathan had left in the middle of the city wasn't there either. But then, I had seen that formed. I'd been there when it was formed. I'd nearly drowned in the damned thing.

There was something else strange about the city, something that I couldn't place. It took me most of the car ride to work it out.

No gang tags.

I had grown up seeing E88 and ABB and Merchants tags on buildings. These were just ... absent. Some of the more run-down buildings had graffiti, but it was in no way near the volume that one would see on the same buildings in twenty years' time. But there was nothing there for any of the big gangs.

It took me a moment to figure it out, but then it was obvious. Kaiser would still be a boy, and so would Lung. Allfather would have needed his recruits to build his Empire.

This was Brockton Bay, cleaner, brighter, looking to the future.

I had seen that future. It wasn't anything to look forward to.

-ooo-​

"What's the matter, Taylor?" asked Nina. I must have been looking pensive.

I shook my head. "Nothing," I said. "It's just ...weird. I keep feeling like I should know this city." I put a hopeful look on my face. "Could this mean I've been here before?"

She frowned. "Possibly, possibly not. Deja vu is a thing, after all. This could be your brain seizing on to what it sees in an attempt to find anything at all familiar in strange surroundings."

I nodded. "I guess. I still can't remember anything." I smiled at her. "But I can still remember being pulled on to the boat, so I guess that's a good thing."

She nodded. "It is. It means that whatever the cause of your amnesia, it's strictly retrograde."

"Retrograde?" I asked.

Her voice took on a professorial tone. "Retrograde amnesia is where you can't recall anything before a certain point. Anterograde amnesia is where you have trouble forming new memories."

I shivered. "That second one sounds nasty. Can you have both at the same time?"

She nodded. "There was a case where a man had both, after a botched surgery. Not only did he lose the two years of his life prior to the surgery, but he could never remember anything that happened to him after the surgery."

I looked at her. "You're not just an EMT, are you?"

She grinned suddenly. "Well, there's nothing wrong with your ability to join the dots. No, I'm a psychologist in my day job. I just also work as an EMT on a volunteer basis."

"And now I'm your new pet project," I said flatly.

Her eyes twinkled. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

I wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, so I let it be. Besides, I had other things to worry about, and only a short time to figure out how to get around them.

We rode the rest of the way in silence.

-ooo-​

"Name?" asked the police sergeant as he filled in the fingerprint form.

"Taylor Snow," I responded as if automatically, then blinked. I turned slowly to Nina, who was staring at me. "My last name," I said. "I remembered my last name."

Mentally, I apologised to the author of the Ice & Fire short stories; I understand his Earth Aleph counterpart would write those stories into complete novels. But the naming system for royal bastards had stuck in my mind. And they wouldn't come out for another few years, so no-one should get suspicious. I hoped.

Nina smiled. "That's marvellous, Taylor!" she said happily.

I nodded, my own smile matching hers. "Maybe they can find out where I come from, now," I agreed.

Not that I had any intention of that happening.

-ooo-​

For some reason, I had envisaged a police interrogation room, stern officers surrounding me, probing me with awkward questions.

The reality was much different.

I sat in a comfortable chair in a conference room like virtually any other. Nina sat beside me; I had a steaming cup of tea in front of me.

Opposite us were two police officers, one male and one female. Their questions were gently worded, and directed as much to Nina as to me.

I didn't look quite as much the invalid as I had on the boat; Nina had changed my dressings and decided that the bump on the back on my head had gone down sufficiently. While the cut on my left cheek still needed a covering, it was much less prominent than before. Nina had told me that it would leave a scar, but that it would fade with age. I wasn't overly worried.

"So how do you know your name is Taylor Snow?" pressed the male officer.

I shrugged. "Taylor's what came to mind when I went to tell him my name, and Snow just popped out when I wasn't thinking about it," I said.

"Tell who?" asked the female officer.

"That would be young Danny Hebert, the one who rescued her," put in Nina.

"He was the first one she spoke to?" asked the female officer. "Perhaps we should speak to him."

I smiled wryly. "Probably not necessary. From what I recall, I told him my name, he told me his, then I closed my eyes for a second and opened them an hour later."

They both looked at Nina. She nodded. "She's been suffering from a mild concussion, but the symptoms seem to have more or less abated."

"So this Danny Hebert didn't know her from before the incident?" asked the male officer.

"He says not," confirmed Nina. "She was a stranger to everyone aboard ... including the yacht crew-members we rescued."

Both officers looked at me. I shrank a little in my seat, under the combined stare.

"According to them, of course," she amended her statement.

They didn't have pictures of all the yacht crews, but they brought in as many as they could, faxed in from various locations. I looked at them each in turn. None, of course, were familiar to me. However, I frowned once or twice over pictures of people I knew were from yachts which had gone down with all hands.

"I'm sorry," I said, handing the last one back. "Some of these, maybe ... but nothing definite."

I had been brought sandwiches with my second cup of tea, and I nibbled one now.

"Taylor," said the female police officer suddenly, "do you believe you were abducted?"

I thought about that, then looked at her. "I don't know. I don't think so. Ms Veder found bruising on me, and there's the cut on my face, but ... I could have gotten that being tossed around inside a yacht in heavy weather, right?"

Both officers looked at one another, then back at me. "It's plausible," said Nina carefully. "What are you saying, that you might have been on one of the boats voluntarily?"

"It's a possibility," I pointed out. "Say I was the girlfriend of one of the crew-members. I'm fairly sure I'm not eighteen yet, so it would cause problems if anyone else knew about me, so the crew kept it a secret that I was on board. It's night time, I'm trying to sleep, the yacht gets in trouble, I get thrown around, I struggle out as it sinks, and I get picked up by Captain Hebert's boat."

There was silence as I finished speaking, then went back to my sandwich. Ham and tomato. Not bad, actually.

Nina and the two officers looked at one another.

"It's definitely plausible," said the male officer.

"Fits all the available facts," added the female officer.

"But it still leaves the question of who Taylor Snow is," said Nina. "Where she's from."

"Well, we're checking around for missing persons reports, but nothing's come through with her description on it yet," said the male officer.

"Why don't you put it on-" I said, and stopped. I had been just about to say 'put it online', but I recalled just in time that 'online' barely meant anything in this day and age.

Nina looked at me. "Put it on what, Taylor?"

I hunched my shoulders. "It's just a stupid idea," I muttered.

"No," she said. "It's not a stupid idea until someone says it's stupid."

I shook my head. "I was just going to say, why don't you put my face on milk cartons, like they do with missing kids, but in reverse."

The male officer frowned. "We could. But ... "

I nodded, caught his drift. "But then any creeper who wanted to get access to a teenage girl with no memory could just pretend to be my dad or uncle or whatever."

Both Nina and the female officer gave me appraising looks. I sipped my tea, and pretended not to notice.

-ooo-​

"But how could she simply ... not exist?" asked Dorothy, Danny's mother.

"I've seen it before," said Nina. "Hospital records are damaged or destroyed, people fall through the cracks all the time. Snow might not even be her recorded last name; her mother may have divorced and reverted to her maiden name."

"And you think this happened here?" asked George gruffly.

She nodded. "It's the only feasible explanation. I've heard of any number of cases of children, her age and younger, who only enter the system when they end up in court. I've handled a few, assessing their mental state for trial purposes."

I sat quietly on the sofa with Danny, while the adults talked in the kitchen.

"So what's going to happen now?" he asked quietly.

I sighed. "Ms Veder says it'll be another twenty-four to forty-eight hours before they get back all the replies they're going to get. So I'm sort of in limbo till then."

"Damn," he said. "That sucks."

I nodded. "She says that if I had been reported missing, the police would have gotten the notification by now. Whoever my parents are, if they're still alive even, they either don't know I'm missing, or don't care."

"So where does that leave you?" he asked.

"Well, once they make sure I don't have a criminal record ..." I began.

He snorted. "You, a criminal?"

I chuckled. "Yeah, me. Taylor Snow, criminal warlord of Brockton Bay." God, if only he knew.

A mental pause. He did know, once upon a time.

And he accepted me, even then. Even when I had kept it from him.

Danny was studying me intently. "You looked so serious all of a sudden. What is it?"

I shook my head. "I was just thinking, I can't imagine being a criminal." I shrugged. "Anyway, once they clear that possibility, they can start working out what documents they can get issued to me by court order, and I stop being a non-person again." I rolled my eyes. "So I can have the right to attend school, apply for work, and pay taxes. Whee."

"Yeah, whee," he agreed. Our eyes met, and I met his grin with my own.

Danny and I had always been able to connect on a certain level, even when he was my father. Now, he was my contemporary, but that connection was still there.

It was a good feeling to have. Unfortunately, it didn't last long.

In the kitchen, voices were being raised. Or rather, a voice. That of George Hebert.

"You can't be serious! You want us to put her up here?"

"Now, now, dear," said Dorothy soothingly, "calm down. Your blood pressure, you know."

"Damn and blast my blood pressure, Dot!" snapped George. "Why can't the girl stay with you, Nina?"

"Because my home situation is unsuitable for a girl of her age," said Nina crisply. She looked to Dorothy. "You know who I live with."

"Ah," said Dorothy. "You have a point." She turned to George. "She has a point, dear."

Danny touched my arm. "We'd better go and sit on the steps or something," he murmured. "Let 'em think we heard nothing."

We rose, went out through the hall to the front steps. The bottom one, which would become rotten in later years, was perfectly sound, though it took an effort of will to rest my weight on it.

With the closed door at our backs, we sat down and looked out at the road.

"So what does Ms Veder mean, her home situation is unsuitable?" I asked.

He grinned. "Don't tell anyone, but Mom told me that she lives with a pair of, uh, you know, women who like women."

"What, lesbians?" I asked bluntly.

He nodded and flushed. "Mom doesn't like that word. But yes, them. They're apparently very ... strong-minded about it. And she occasionally has to bring a man home, just so they are aware that she isn't that way inclined."

"Oh," I said. Realisaton dawned. "And if she brought a teenage girl home, however innocently ..."

He nodded. "Yeah. They'd get the wrong idea."

I raised an eyebrow. "Hm. That could pose difficulties." I decided to change the subject. "So, how long have you guys lived here? It's a nice house."

It was, of course, the house I had grown up in. There were a few changes, or rather, a few things that would be changed in the next twenty years. The sofa was not made to fold out into a bed, for one thing. And the TV was the old-style cathode-ray type. Also, the paint job was different.

In many small ways, it was different.

Not the same house.

But it was familiar enough to make me feel homesick.

"Oh," said Danny. "Dad bought it last year. It's real nice. I like it a lot better than the old place."

I patted the wall. "Yeah," I said. "I think I'd enjoy growing up in a place like this."

He looked at me, and didn't speak. I looked at him. The moment stretched.

"Taylor," he began. "I –"

And then the door behind us opened, and Dorothy stood there.

I didn't know for a fact what Danny was about to say, but I would have bet on it being remarkably awkward, and so I was quite glad of the interruption.

"Well, it's settled," she said brightly. "Taylor, you'll be staying with us for the next few days, at least until Ms Veder can arrange alternative accommodation for you. If that's all right with you, of course."

I rose and smiled at my grandmother. "Of course it's all right, Mrs Hebert," I said gratefully.

"Sweetie, you call me Dot, okay?" she scolded me gently.

I nodded my head. "Dot," I amended.

She smiled again. "That's better," she said. "Come on inside now. I'll show you where you'll be sleeping."

-ooo-​

The bed in the upstairs spare room was narrower and harder than I recalled, but it was still quite serviceable. Nina helped Dot make it up for me, then hugged me goodbye.

"I'll be back in the morning, all right?" she said.

I nodded. "I'll see you then," I told her.

With another hug for Danny and a kiss on the cheek for Dot – George was still sulking in the kitchen – she left.

"Well," said Dot, brushing her hands off briskly. "Who's hungry?"

-ooo-​

Dinner was a slightly strained affair; I spoke easily with Danny, and politely with Dot, but George was a glowering presence at the end of the table, one who was manifestly displeased at having his will overturned by two women. The fact that he was married to one of them was apparently not a mitigating circumstance.

After the meal was over, he stood abruptly. "Come on, Danny boy," he said. "Need a hand in the basement."

Whatever his personal flaws, George Hebert was a man who liked to work with his hands, and the downstairs workbench suited his purposes perfectly. In my day, it had been more or less disused; here and now, it had racks of tools over it, a vice, and several ongoing projects, each in their own space. I'm not much of a craftsperson myself, but I know good work when I see it.

So when he ordered Danny to go down with him, I was of course interested, and went to follow.

But Dot put her hand on my arm, and said quietly, "Best let the menfolk talk alone, dear. Help me with the washing?"

So I went and helped her wash the dishes. But the basement door let into the kitchen, and through it, I could hear the strong tones of George Hebert.

" ... don't care what you think. While she's in this house, you'll not go sniffing around after her, you hear?"

I didn't catch Danny's reply; the basement door was too thick. But I caught his father's next words.

"Call it what you will, boy. Now, you listen to me, and listen well. Yes, she'll be sleeping in the spare room tonight. But by the living Jesus, boy, if I catch you sneaking into her room, or her sneaking into your room, you will by God regret it. And so will she, because sixteen or no, homeless or no, if she breaks the rules of this house, she's out the front door, never to return!"

This time I heard Danny's voice; raised apparently in my defence, but not strongly enough to hear the actual words.

George's voice, however, came through loud and clear. "This is a Christian household, boy, and while you live under my roof, you will abide by my rules. Is that clear?" Danny must have mumbled something because he repeated himself, more loudly. "I said, is that clear?"

This time, he must have accepted the answer he got, because after a few moments, the basement door opened, and George came out. Danny followed him, and after one frightened look toward where we were innocently washing dishes, went and sat on the sofa. George went upstairs, and soon we heard the shower running.

Dot looked at me with a kindly expression. "Don't worry, dear," she said softly. "He's really a big softy underneath."

I nodded agreement, but underneath I wasn't so sure. George Hebert was a man with a lot of anger in him, and I doubted he often made threats that he wasn't prepared to carry out.

-ooo-​

After washing up, I sat for a while on the sofa with Danny. By unspoken agreement, we kept a decorous distance between us, and kept the topics of conversation to strictly small talk. He didn't seem inclined to complete whatever statement he had been about to make out on the steps, which relieved me. After all, he was always going to be my father, even if this Danny would never be my father. Any conversation along the lines that I suspected it was going to go would be incredibly awkward to at least one of us.

So eventually, I made my excuses and headed up to bed.

The bed, as noted, was hard and narrow, but I was worn out. Stripping down to my underwear, I lay down and pulled the covers over myself. And then I reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the pad.

I wished I had not lost my powers. This far back? I would be one of the more accomplished capes around, in a fraternity that numbered a hundred at most. In fact, this was so far back that Vikare, the first superhero to appear after Scion, had been killed just earlier this year.

But when I tried experimentally, again, there was nothing there. My powers were gone, probably for good. Whatever gave them to me had been stranded in the future, twenty-two years away.

So there was nothing for it. I had to make do with what I had. Nina had loaned me the pad and pen, and I needed to write down everything I remembered. Everything Lisa had told me.

So I stared at the pad, and scribbled down stuff I recalled. I used the back of the pad, writing forward, and I used the simple cipher that I had devised for my original notepad, all those months ago.

But more often than not, I found myself drawing a blank. Lisa had told me lots of stuff, but in between the time travel, the ocean and the hit on the head, I was not retaining much of it. And I needed this stuff. If I was going to change the world, I needed leverage. An edge. And that knowledge would give me the edge I needed.

If only I could remember it.

Fuck.

End of Part 1-2​

 

[Ack]

Recoil​

Part 1-3: Oddities​

Brockton Bay was in flames. I watched, aghast, as the PRT building toppled and crashed on to its side; I could hear the Wards inside, screaming as the crumbling concrete and steel crushed them to death. The city was devastated from end to end. Behemoth towered over everything, destroying buildings, killing everyone who crossed his path.

Alexandria swooped in to the attack.

No, I told myself. Not Alexandria. I had killed her. Whoever this was, it wasn't Alexandria.

He smashed her to the ground, crushed her underfoot. She didn't rise again.

I had seen this coming. I had known this was to come. I stood on top of Captain's Hill and screamed, I'm a time traveller! I told you what was going to happen! Why didn't anyone listen to me?

My dad was standing beside me. "Sorry, kiddo," he said sadly, "but time travel is impossible. Didn't you know?" He took off his glasses and handed them to me. I took them, uncomprehending, put them on. Seen through them, he was just nineteen or twenty, a younger version of himself.

But what does it mean? I asked.

"What does anything mean?" he asked in return. He raised my chin in his hand; for a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. But he was just studying my face. "You have a long, lonely road to travel, kiddo," he sad solemnly. "I don't understand it all, but I trust you. Listen to your friends."

And then he was seized from behind by a massive obsidian-clawed hand, and lifted into the air.

Dad! I screamed.

Behemoth, wearing the face of Alan Barnes, leaned close to him. "Sorry, Danny," he said confidentially, "but I've got to protect my daughter.". He squeezed, there was a burst of flame, and my father screamed, burst to glowing ash, blew away on the wind.

No! I shouted. Behemoth turned back to me, now looking like Director Tagg. His face twisted with mindless hate as he looked at me.

He took one step toward me, and then Bitch's dogs barrelled into him, knocked him down. He bellowed with rage, exploded them with lightning, and Rachel with them. "Stupid little girl," he said. "This is war." He laughed brutally, then it turned to a chuckle as Mr Gladly adjusted his glasses, eyes tightly shut.

"You have to understand, Taylor," he said earnestly. "I can't see anything. I'm not allowed to. It's for the good of the school."

Then he began to dance a jig. Regent stood there, waving his hands like a conductor. Behemoth-Gladly danced toward him. Regent backed up, waving his hands frantically. The Endbringer danced right over the top of Regent, crushing him like a bug.

Darkness sprang up around Behemoth. He roared, fully the monster again, and lashed out with flame. Grue screamed, burning, his darkness fading. Then it was no more, and nor was he.

Lisa stepped up beside me, hands pressed to her temples. "If I can think hard enough, I can fix everything," she told me. "If I concentrate hard enough, I'll know everything."

So what happens next? I asked her.

She grinned her vulpine grin. "I have no idea," she told me. Then her eyes went wide. "Look out!" she shouted, and shoved me aside.

There was a thunderous boom, and when the dust cleared, she was lying on the ground, pinned at the hips by a massive squared-off piece of rock.

Lisa! I screamed.

She looked more irritated than upset. "Damn," she said. "Happens every time."

I knelt beside her, cradled her head. Don't leave me, I sobbed. Not again.

"Taylor," she said. "Remember. You have to remember."

I'm trying, I told her. I can't. Too much has happened. I'm losing the information.

"So ask Nina," she said. "She can probably help you."

I ... I guess, I said. Okay, I'll do that.

"It's really the only option," she told me. She gave me a weak smile. "Hey," she said. "Kiss before I go?"

I kissed her. Her lips tasted, as I knew they would, of dust and blood.

"Huh," she said. "Nice.". Then she grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me hard.

-ooo-​

Someone was shaking me; I came awake with a start and a gasp. I fumbled for my glasses and had them pushed into my hand. At the same time, I reached for my bugs, to see where I was, what was going on. They didn't respond. I felt fear swell within me; What's happened to my powers?

The glasses weren't my glasses; they corrected my vision imperfectly. But they corrected it enough for me to recognise the face of the woman standing beside my bed, leaning over me with an expression of motherly concern on her face.

Memory connected, and my incipient panic eased off. "Dot?" I asked to be sure. This was my grandmother, still in her late fifties; I could see echoes of my dad in her.

Details fell into place. I had been sent back in time by Phir Sē, to the year nineteen eighty-nine. In the process of travelling back, I had become disconnected from my powers.

But before I had been sent back …

I pushed that memory away. I didn't need to revisit it.

By some strange twist of fate, I had been rescued from the teeth of an October storm by the boy who would grow up to be my own father. As a result, I was sleeping in the spare room of the Hebert family home. But it wasn't my home, and it probably never would be, now.

Dot nodded, and placed a cool hand on my forehead. "You were crying out in your sleep," she said. "Did you have a nightmare? I think you were calling for your father, and someone called Lisa?"

I blinked. The dream was fading rapidly, down to bare details; a scrap here, a flash there. I remembered seeing Grue die in flames, and I had a flash of true memory, his body pressed against mine, the last time we had been together, before I had given myself up. And then the shared moment of peace, of support, in New Delhi, just before everything had gone so horribly wrong.

No. Memories like that would do me no good, either. I needed the memories of what Lisa had told me.

"I … don't recall," I said. I was saying that a lot, these days. I was just glad that in this here and now, no-one had an Armsmaster-style electronic lie detector. That would have made my life a lot harder.

"But it's something, isn't it?" she asked hopefully. "Lisa. A friend? A sister?"

"I think ..." I said slowly. "We might have been friends. Best friends. Almost as close as sisters." I shook my head. "I can't say more than that." I offered her a wan smile.

She took my hand and squeezed it supportively. "Well, it's a start," she said optimistically.

I nodded. "It's definitely something."

She beamed.

-ooo-​

Breakfast was not quite as strained an affair as dinner the previous night had been. George, Danny's father, had apparently decided to ignore me in the hopes that I might go away. He was a big man, heavy-set, and prone to anger, and he did not appreciate having an outsider in his home without his express permission.

Dot spoke of the dream she had woken me up from. Danny was interested, but then, he would be. I was an exotic stranger, one that he had personally rescued from a watery grave. And, of course, a girl.

Dot had been kind enough to outfit me in one of her dresses. She was slender, though not quite as bird-thin as she would get in the next fifteen years, so it fitted well enough. So I supposed I looked at least a little feminine as I sat there at the table. Danny obviously thought so; he kept sneaking me covert glances when he thought his father wasn't looking.

Great, I thought as I spooned cereal and ate pancakes. He's got a crush. It felt a little weird; no-one had ever had a crush on me before, with the possible exception of Greg Veder, of whom the less said the better. But I had seen it before, in others, and the signs were unmistakeable.

I liked Danny, quite apart from the fact that he was a younger version of my own Dad. He was brave, kind, and deserved the best. I was excited for him to meet my mother, because I knew that the happiest years had been when they were married. I had to make sure that, no matter what else I changed, I could still make sure they met at the same time and place.

So I was relieved when George rustled his paper and growled at his son, a command to "eat your bloody breakfast and stop making a damn fool of yourself, boy!". Danny, abashed, applied his full attention to his pancakes and cereal thereafter.

"Mrs Hebert," I said brightly in an attempt to break the tension. She raised an eyebrow toward me. "Dot," I amended hastily. "These are lovely pancakes. What recipe do you use?"

Danny's mother immediately smiled and began explaining her pancake-making techniques in detail. I knew them well; Dad and I had made pancakes the same way for years. But I nodded and smiled and asked leading questions, and paid no attention to Danny whatsoever. It wasn't easy, as I did want to give him a sympathetic glance regarding his father's rebuke, but nor did I want to get him in trouble again. And I really didn't want him thinking that I was interested in him.

I was just helping Dot clear away the breakfast things when there was a knock on the door. Danny answered it; I heard him say clearly, "Hello, Ms Veder. How are you today?"

"I'm well, thank you, Danny," she greeted him, then came through into the living room. "Taylor, how are you today?'

I turned and gave her a smile. "I'm feeling much better today, thanks, Ms Veder," I told her.

"Good," she said cheerfully. "You look a lot better. No headaches, no disorientation?"

I shook my head. "I had a dream this morning." Dot would tell her anyway, and it would look strange to hold back.

Nina looked interested. "Oh? Do you remember any of it?"

"Not really," I said. "But Dot says I was calling out for my father, and for someone called Lisa."

"Lisa, huh?" she replied. "Does the name ring a bell?"

I frowned. "Not as such, but the impression I get is of a really close friend. Not a sister."

"Girlfriend?" suggested Nina. Dot snorted as she continued clearing plates. I recalled that she was a little old-fashioned in her views.

I smiled and shook my head. "No, not that close, I don't think. Sorry."

Nina nodded, unembarrassed. "Well," she said. "It's something to go on with, I guess."

"It is," I agreed. "It really is."

"Well, we have a bit to do today," said Nina. "Are you ready to go?"

"I'll just help Dot finish cleaning up here," I said, "and then I'm pretty well good to go."

Dot smiled at me. "It's all right, Taylor. I can manage from here. Thank you for your help, though." She gave me a hug, which I returned.

"Thank you for taking me in, Dot," I replied. "I really appreciate it."

She beamed at me. "You've brought a little excitement into our lives." She leaned close and lowered her voice. "And I think Danny likes you."

I blinked. "I ... but ... your husband ..."

She made a rude noise with her lips. "Oh, you never mind George. If he had his way, the sun would ask his permission to come up each day."

I blinked again. My grandmother had hidden depths. "Right." Great, she's trying to matchmake me with my own dad.

She put her hand on my cheek. "Anyway, you just think about it, all right?"

I nodded and mustered a smile. "I will, Dot. Thanks."

Just then, George came stamping down the stairs, followed by Danny; both were wearing heavy work gear. "We're off, dear," said Danny's father, brushing past me and giving his wife a kiss on the cheek. "See you tonight."

"See you then, dear," Dot replied.

Danny looked at me, and I took pity on him. "See you later, Danny," I told him.

It was as if the sun had come up all over again. "See you later, Taylor," he said, and there was a spring in his step as he went out the door. Dot beamed at me.

-ooo-​

Danny's father drove an old Ford pickup, as opposed to the sedan that Dad and I used to get around in. They were just pulling out of the driveway as Nina and I went out to her car, which was parked at the curb.

"So, you and Danny?" she said, as I got in.

I shook my head. "Not hardly," I said.

"Not even just a little bit of appreciation for having saved your life?" she asked teasingly.

"No," I said firmly. Perhaps a little too firmly. Nina looked at me perceptively.

"Something's the matter," she said. "You have a reason. Mind sharing?"

I shook my head. "Not really. It's just that George – Mr Hebert – laid down the law pretty firmly last night. If Danny comes 'sniffing around me' – his words, not mine – then I'm out on my ear. I don't want to get Danny in trouble, and I don't want to burn my bridges, so no matter what I might feel about Danny – or not feel about him, as the case may be," I added quickly, "it's strictly friendship, nothing more."

"Pity," she said reflectively, as she started the car. "Danny's a nice boy. Serious, but nice. You're serious too. I can see you two getting along well. And from the look on his face, I think he's got a bit of a crush on you already."

I sighed. "Yes, he's a nice boy. I do like him, just not in that way. And right now, I have other problems on my plate, as you well know. So can we talk about something else, please?"

She raised an eyebrow at that, quirked half a smile, but dropped the subject.

But somehow, I knew that this was not the last I would hear of it.

-ooo-​

Our first stop was an optometrist, where Nina had my eyes checked, and purchased a couple of pairs of glasses in my prescription. I almost chose round lenses, like I always wore, but then I decided to go with rectangular frames. I needed to be a different person. I was Taylor Snow now, not Taylor Hebert. Taylor Snow was going to change the world.

But still, it was a huge relief to be able to see clearly at last. The optometrist noted a little reddening in my eyes, diagnosed mild eyestrain, and gave me a bottle of eyedrops which he said would clear it up.

"Damn," said Nina, as she packed away Danny's glasses for safekeeping. "You look like a different person in those. More serious. More determined."

I nodded. "Thanks," I said. I was more serious, more determined.

"Actually," she said, "I've been meaning to say. You have strange posture."

I glanced at her. "Posture?" I asked.

"You stand … oddly," she explained. "Angular. You don't move much. You don't spend as much time glancing around as other people do. Do you have any idea why?"

I blinked. I did, in part. As Skitter, then as Weaver, I had had my bugs checking out my surroundings at all times. I hadn't needed to look around. It wa a habit I needed to get back into. And I didn't move much, because if I was standing still, I was usually controlling thousands of bugs in dozens of different tasks. So I had gotten out of the habit of moving around, fidgeting.

"Sorry," I lied. "No idea. Maybe it's just a thing, with me."

She tilted her head. "Maybe. It could be a clue, something that will help you find out who you really are." She smiled. "Every little bit helps."

"I can only hope so," I agreed insincerely. “Where are we going next?"

Next, as it turned out, was the doctor.

-ooo-​

Nina Veder, as a volunteer EMT, had given me as thorough a checkup as she was able, on the boat. But she was constrained in both her equipment and her training, and so she had booked me in to see a proper medical doctor.

Doctor French was middle-aged, slightly overweight, and apparently a good friend of Nina's. She sat in while he examined me.

The first thing he did was check me for after-effects of the concussion I had suffered. A penlight was shone into each eye, checking for pupil dilation, while he asked me about headaches, nausea, forgetfulness.

"Only the amnesia," I told him. "I can remember everything after that fairly well." He nodded, made notes, went on.

"You have old fractures," he commented, manipulating my wrist. "Old injuries. Do you recall how you got them?"

I shook my head. "Not those ones, no," I said.

The scars on my wrist where Rachel's dog had bitten me, the scar on my forearm that I had gotten during the raid on the Merchants, he noted and went on. But when he found the scarring on my shoulder, he paused.

"This looks almost … medical," he said. "Surgical."

I shrugged with my other shoulder. "Sorry," I said. "I don't recall."

He glanced to Nina. "I'd like to X-ray this, if I could?" he said. "Whatever was done, I'd like to see what the result was."

Nina looked to me. I couldn't think of a viable excuse not to. "Sure," I said. "I guess."

-ooo-​

"Well, this is odd," said Doctor French, holding up the X-ray to the light.

"What's odd?" I asked. I already knew the answer, of course.

"You have a plug of metal bonded to the bone in your shoulder joint," he observed. "See, there?"

I looked, as did Nina. It was obvious, when you knew what to look for; a spot of much lighter material. It was all that was left of the dart that Flechette had stuck in my shoulder, back before she had defected to become Parian's lieutenant and lover.

"Metal?" I asked. "What sort of metal?" Aluminum, I thought.

"From the density, something like aluminum, at a guess," said the doctor. "But I'd need a sample to be sure."

"Which would require a surgical procedure in itself," I guessed.

He nodded. "Yes."

"And am I in any danger, if you just leave it there?" I asked.

He shook his head, consideringly. "It looks old, healed. No inflammation. Whatever was done, happened awhile ago."

Not much more than a month ago, I thought. But I had had that treatment from Scapegoat, which had apparently accelerated the healing of the surgical procedure that Brooks had carried out on me.

"That's really weird," I said. "Why would anyone operate on me, just to implant a piece of aluminium in my shoulder?" Because the surgery wasn't to implant it.

"And there you have me," confessed Doctor French.

I worked my shoulder joint. "It doesn't feel any different," I noted.

"It wouldn't," he told me. "If it did, you'd have noticed long before now."

-ooo-​

"Well," said Nina, as we drove away. "Another few oddities to add to the list."

"Oddities?" I said.

She looked at me, just a glance, before putting her attention back on the road. "Taylor," she said, "I've seen less scarring on soldiers. You're barely seventeen, and you've either been horribly abused as a child, or you've been in some kind of war zone over the last few years."

War zone, I thought. Yeah, that was Brockton Bay all right.

She took a deep breath. "And I've watched you. Each time he found a new scar, you flinched, ever so slightly. I think you're recalling, consciously or subconsciously, how you got them." Reaching out, she put her hand on my arm. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

I shook my head. "Sorry," I said. I hated to lie to her, but it was the only way to go on. "I got nothing."

She grimaced. "I was afraid you would say something like that. Well, we can keep trying."

She drove on.

I began to wonder if she suspected that I knew what had happened to me, and was just suppressing the memories, or even just refusing to talk about them. Which was, basically, the truth.

Whatever else she was, Nina Veder was not a stupid woman.

"So what next?" I asked, hoping to change the subject.

"Clothes," she said cheerfully, "maketh the woman."

-ooo-​

The Lord Street Market, twenty-two years earlier, was a different place. It was more staid, more measured, less frenetic and freewheeling. Each store had its own security, not the Enforcers of the latter day Market and Boardwalk.

It was oddly reminiscent of the shopping expedition that Lisa had dragged me out on, shortly after I had joined the Undersiders. I was less relucant, less withdrawn, than I had been back then, but still, Nina's enthusiasm daunted me. I wasn't really in the mood for clothes shopping; I wanted to take my time, to window-shop, get my thoughts into shape about where I was going, what I was doing. But she didn't give me a chance to stop or protest.

Before I knew it, I found my arms full of clothes of varying cut and colour, and I was trying them on. Nina had almost as good an eye for what suited me as Lisa had, and it wasn't long before I had several complete outfits sorted out. Even I could see that they worked with me, even with the new image that I was trying to convey.

I also ended up with a purse, a handbag, shoes, sandals and underwear. I was a little surprised at how low the prices were, but then, the economy had been better, twenty-two years ago.

"Are you sure you can afford all this?" I asked; it had to be a large chunk out of her pay.

She grinned at me. "I'll be putting it down as 'work expenses'," she told me. "Besides, you tell me that you don't look and feel better."

I looked down at the new outfit I was wearing; at Nina's insistence, I had changed in the ladies' restroom. It did look good on me; the jeans weren't as tight as the ones Lisa had had me wear, once upon a time, and the top didn't show quite as much belly, but I did like it. And several guys had given me the once-over after I had changed into it.

"Okay, fine," I admitted. "I like it. I just didn't want you thinking I was sponging off of you."

"Look at it this way," she said. "As soon as you're back in the system, I can step back and let the government take care of you. But until that point, it's apparently up to me."

I gave her a hug. "Thanks," I told her. "I appreciate it."

She hugged me back. "Hey," she said. "Just doing my job." Pulling away, she put her hands on my shoulders. "Lunch?" she asked.

"Lunch," I agreed.

-ooo-​

We had lunch at an open air café. While we ate, Nina quizzed me on what I knew of current events. I was a little fuzzy on quite a bit of it, having to be careful not to 'remember' things that hadn't happened yet, but we were able to discuss Scion and the superhero phenomenon. Vikare had only died earlier that year, and there were still pictures of him up around the place, bordered in black ribbon. The first superhero to die.

He would not be the last, I knew.

There were the four members of the Protectorate; the godlike beings that wielded powers so far above mortal man that it was not possible to compare them. Legend, Hero, Alexandria and Eidolon. I knew of them, of course. I knew far more about them than Nina could possibly know at this point in time. I also knew that this was the Protectorate before they had signed up to work for the government, and taken the name with them.

Even when other heroes joined the Protectorate, those four were always the team-within-the-team. It was only later that they began calling themselves the Triumvirate. After the death of Hero.

Hero, the first Tinker, with his red and gold powersuit. He had been torn apart by the Siberian when I was five; this was still eleven years in the future. I couldn't help thinking of Kid Win, with the similarly styled armour. Chris wouldn't even be born for another six or seven years.

Nina was full of speculations about the heroes, enthusiastic about the future. I didn't want to destroy her hopes and dreams, any more than I wanted to out myself by 'knowing' something that I could not possibly know, so I played along. The golden age of superheroes, having only just begun, had already begun to tarnish with the death of Vikare.

It would get a lot darker, in time. Those we had looked up to as heroes, as saviors, would be shown to be monsters. But Nina didn't have to know that, not right then. I would let her enjoy her illusions for a while longer.

Lisa had told me a lot about what was going to happen. But I didn't remember it all. I needed to remember.

"Nina," I said, interrupting a speculation on Legend's love life, and whether he and Alexandria were a couple, "is there any way I can get some sort of therapy to help me … well, remember? Remember those things that I've forgotten?"

She looked at me, pensively. "I might know someone," she said.

-ooo-​

"Now, I'm not a fan of this sort of thing," she said as we walked into the office. "But I've seen cases where it's worked. And I trust this guy not to screw things up too badly."

"Well geez, Nina," said the long-haired man behind the desk. "Thanks for the glowing endorsement. Good to see you again." He got up and kissed her on the lips. Then he looked at me. "And who's your friend?"

"Greg," she said. "This is Taylor. She's got a case of retrograde amnesia that we'd like to dig into."

Greg? I thought. But again, he bore no resemblance to the Greg Veder that I knew. Family friend? Boyfriend? I speculated. Maybe Greg is named after him.

"Indeed?" said Greg. "Hysterical or physical trauma?"

"She came off one of the boats in the storm the other night," explained Nina. "Bumped her head pretty bad, got a concussion out of it. Can't remember anything before that point. We're trying to get a lead on who she is."

"Hmm," said Greg. "Might not be possible, in that case. The human mind is a strange, strange place. Hysterical amnesia simply blocks off memories, but they can be retrieved. Physical trauma can literally destroy memories altogether. But we can have a shot at it."

"I've been having dreams," I volunteered. "I called out for my father, and for someone named Lisa."

"Oh," he said, much heartened. "That's good. That's really good. That gives me a handle I can use." He paused. "Has she had an MRI done yet? Just to make sure there's no ongoing brain injury?"

Nina shook her head. "Currently this is all on my dollar, and those things cost an arm and a leg. Plus, there would be a waiting list a mile long. Besides," she added, "she's got a piece of aluminum in her shoulder, bonded to the bone, too close to her head. I don't think it's worth the risk."

"Aluminum?" he asked. "What's a piece of aluminum doing in her shoulder?"

"I have no idea," she said frankly. "But there it is."

"Strange," he said.

"Tell me about it," she agreed feelingly. "So, can you help us?"

"We can only try," he told her, then looked at me. "So, Taylor, how do you feel about being hypnotised?"

"Hypnosis?" I asked. Was this what Lisa, or my subconscious, had intended?

I wasn't a fan of not being in control. Hated it, in fact. Being pushed around, being bullied. Being forced into things.

I didn't know this guy. Nina did, and I sort of trusted her, but that wasn't enough for me to trust him.

Stalemate.

"Uh ... is there any other way?" I asked. "Not that I don't trust you, but ..."

"But you don't trust me, I get it," he said. "Hypnosis is a scary thing to a lot of people. Fear of losing control of your actions."

I thought of Valefor, of Regent. If only you knew. But I said nothing, just nodded.

"Well," he said, "I can assure you, there's no way I can hypnotise you against your will, and nor can I make you do something while under that would go against your morals. But ... if you're simply not at ease with the idea of someone else being involved, I can offer an alternative."

"Which is?" asked Nina.

"Self hypnosis," said Greg. "It's a thing. I sell tapes that talk you through it. You can do it in the comfort of your own home. You basically sit down, get comfortable, put the tape on, and concentrate on what you want out of it while you follow the instructions. When the tape ends, it will bring you out of it. Perfectly safe. I've used it on myself dozens of times."

"So, no subliminal messages telling me to give you all my money?" I asked cautiously. Not that I had any money, but still.

He chuckled. "That's another urban myth. Subliminal messages just don't work like that. In fact, they barely work at all."

"Well," I said, after a moment of thought. "I guess I can give it a shot."

-ooo-​

I was alone; I had made sure of that. Greg was in the outer office; Nina was keeping him company. I had locked the door from my side. I was safe as I could make myself.

It was odd. I was still in the chair; I knew I was in the chair. But at the same time, I was floating. My mind was dissociated from my body. I could hear Greg's voice on the tape, far away, talking, giving instructions, telling me to let go, to let myself drift. Behind that, I could hear the soft, repetitive music, soothing my mind.

In the forefront of my brain, I told myself, Remember. I must remember what Lisa told me.

Greg's voice fell silent. The tape rolled on. The soothing music played.

And suddenly, I was no longer in the chair at all.

End of Part 1-3​

 

[Ack]

Recoil​

Part 1-4: Revelations​

I was back in the ruins of New Delhi. I crouched beside Lisa, where she lay trapped under the massive, squared-off rock.

"Hey," she said cheerfully. "Good to see you. Give me a hand shifting this thing? I can't feel my legs any more."

I dug my fingers under the edge of the rock, and heaved. The rock lifted away, and Lisa rolled out from underneath.

"Good one," she said, climbing to her feet. "You finally got back here. I was starting to get bored."

Wait, what? I asked, letting the rock fall to the ground again. Is this real, or is it a dream?

She grinned. "Yes."

I rolled my eyes. Oh, ha ha.

"No, seriously," she said. "Can't it be both?"

I had a dream this morning, I said. You were in it.

"The Behemoth thing?" she asked. "Yeah, I remember that bit. You've got a lot of issues, you do realise this, don't you? Alan Barnes betraying your father's trust, Director Tagg being a dick, that Gladly guy not wanting to say anything to rock the boat. And then there's the unresolved issues you have with Brian." She sighed. "Well, that bit's gonna have to stay unresolved. He never makes it off the oil rig, you know."

Oil rig? I asked. What oil rig?

"Nothing," she said, sounding weary all of a sudden. "It's not something that you need to worry about."

Okay, I said. So what do I have to do? And why does my voice sound funny?

"Because you're actually speaking," she said. "You're mumbling out loud. You might want to keep your voice down a bit so Greg and Nina don't hear anything incriminating."

You know about … them? I asked, remembering at the last moment to not speak the names out loud. Greg and Nina might wonder why I was talking about them.

"Well, duh," she said fondly. "I'm your subconscious. I know everything that you do, remember?" She paused. "Now, let's stop wasting time. You know the date."

October twentieth, nineteen eighty-nine, I agreed.

"Excellent," she said. "Now, what's the next significant date?"

Behemoth, I thought. I guess … him, I said. The big guy. The first one.

"Yup," she said. "Three years' time. December thirteenth, ninety-two. And then, on January eighteenth of ninety-three …"

Ah, I said. I get it. And I did. I saw her plan. I know what I've got to do.

"Exactly," she said. "But you're going to have to study like hell. Without your powers, you're going to have to do this the hard way."

That was something I had been wondering about. Did you know? I asked. That I was going to lose them?

She smiled and caressed my cheek. "Silly Taylor," she said cheerfully. "I told you; I know everything." She hopped down off of the block, gestured for me to follow. I did. She took my hand, and we strolled up and over what would have been a gentle rise, had it not been made up of blasted, scorched rock.

Beyond was a structure, or at least the skeleton of one, where no such thing had existed in real life.

What's that? I asked.

"The beginnings of your memory palace," she told me. "It's going to hold all the stuff I told you, all the other stuff you knew without knowing you knew. All arranged and collated, ready for access. Ready for when you want to start making your plans."

Christ, I said. I didn't even know I could do something like this.

You're not," she told me with a grin. "I am. Now, your time's almost up. Tape's about to run out."

Wait, I said. How do I know this isn't just another dream?

She grinned, and whispered something in my ear. I blinked. Really?

She nodded. "Yes, really. Now, we really are out of time. Kiss before you go?"

I pointed my finger at her. No tongue, I said sternly.

We laughed; I kissed her. Her lips tasted, as always, of dust and blood.

-ooo-​

I blinked my way awake.

"Whoa," I said out loud. "That was weird."

She had seemed so real. Not dreamlike at all. So real, so very like the Lisa I had known, that tears prickled my eyes.

There was a knock on the door, startling me. Greg and Nina.

Scrambling up off the chair, I went to the door and unlocked it. Nina stood there, hand raised to knock a second time. Greg stood behind her.

"Taylor," said Nina. "Did it work?"

"Uh, sure," I said. "I feel really rested and relaxed. That tape was awesome."

She rolled her eyes. "No, I meant did you manage to remember anything?" she asked.

"Actually, yes," I said, recalling what Lisa had whispered to me. "I remembered being told about Brockton Bay. How the bay was discovered by Captain Jeremiah Lord, and it was originally called Lord's Bay. Captain's Hill was named after him too. But when the township of Brockton was established by Isaac Brock, he took it on himself to rename the bay. Eventually, enough people referred to the settlement with the name of the bay that it stuck."

Nina frowned. "This isn't anything you can't learn from a history book."

I held up a finger. "However. Captain Lord returned years later, and was so angry about Brock renaming 'his' bay that he challenged the man to a duel. To placate him, Isaac Brock had the longest street in the township, and the port itself, named after Lord. The duel didn't go through, but apparently Lord and Brock never saw eye to eye after that."

Greg blinked. "Christ," he said. "I didn't know about that."

"That's because you moved here from New York," Nina told him. "That sort of thing only gets taught in the schools in and around the Bay.". She frowned. "And the bit about the duel ... I always thought that was embellishment."

I shrugged. I hadn't known about the duel either. But it sounded right. And then something else popped into my head. "The Brockton Bay Historical Society has a presentation on it," I added. "If anyone knows about the truth behind it, they would."

Greg raised a finger. "One second," he said, and picked up his phone and checking the directory. It only took a couple of minutes, then he put it down again. "She's right," he said. "There nearly was a duel, but the families of both men had it hushed up."

"Well, that settles it," said Nina. "You're from around here. What you said yesterday, about the city being almost familiar to you, you were right. You've lived here, at least a little while."

"Awesome," I said. "That tape ... would I be able to ..."

"Get a copy?" asked Nina. "Sure. And we'll pick you up a Walkman, too, and some headphones.". She glanced at me. "You'll be sure to tell me if you remember anything concrete?"

I nodded. "Sure," I said. "You'll be the first to know."

On the outside, I smiled. On the inside, I felt bad; Nina would never get the answer, the key to the puzzle called Taylor Snow.

But this was the way it had to be. I didn't know how a confirmed time traveller, with definitive news of the future, would be treated in the here-and-now that I was currently resident in, but in Brockton Bay, in America, of twenty-two years hence, the answer could be summed up quite succinctly: 'not well'.

Even presuming that a villain such as Coil did not get his hands on this hypothetical future time traveller, he could not be guaranteed a fair deal from the government, the PRT, or whoever else got final custody. I recalled how Dinah, an innocent in Coil's dealings, had been virtually threatened by Director Tagg for not giving him exactly what he wanted.

Brockton Bay of nineteen eighty-nine might be a kinder, gentler place in a kinder, gentler time, but I didn't trust it. Not when it came to my life, my freedom and my anonymity. And even if Nina promised not to tell, intended never to tell, things might yet get out. No, it was better to maintain my cover.

"Taylor, are you okay?" asked Nina. "You zoned out for a minute, there."

I mustered a smile for her. "Sure," I said. "Just thinking. Trying to see if there was any more to that memory. I think it might have been my grandpa who told me about the duel."

"Hey," said Greg. "That's great. So your family's been in Brockton Bay awhile then."

"Unless it's my grandparents that live in the city, and my parents visit from out of town," I pointed out.

"Hey!" said Nina. "No speculation. That's how false memories are created. Stick with what you know."

I nodded. "Yes, ma'am," I said meekly. I decided to build on the parents-from-out-of-town hypothesis, though; it seemed to fit the bill for my needs.

"Well, thanks for your help, Greg," she said, as money changed hands for the tape. "I appreciate it."

He kissed her again; once more on the lips, I noted. "Anytime," he said with a smile.

I grinned at her as we left the storefront. "So, you and him, huh?" I asked.

She sniffed disdainfully. "I have no idea what you are talking about," she said loftily.

"Uh huh," I replied. "I'm amnesiac, not blind."

She met my gaze, and then we both grinned. We understood each other.

-ooo-​

"So where to now?" I asked, once we were back in her car.

"Well, I have an actual paying customer this afternoon," Nina told me, "so I'm going to have to drop you off somewhere. The library, perhaps? I can leave you bus fare and directions on how to get to the Heberts' residence."

"How about the port?" I asked on a sudden impulse. "Maybe seeing it in operation will jog a memory or two."

"Or maybe you'll get to see Danny again," Nina pointed out.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I professed, in my best imitation of her lofty tone from earlier. We both laughed. "But seriously," I said, "I'm wearing new clothes that actually look good on me, and I'd really like the chance to walk in sunlight and breathe some sea air, without having to hang on to a rail."

"Don't forget your coat," she reminded me. "It might be relatively warm out, but it is October, and we did have that storm a couple days ago."

"Yes, Mom," I agreed with a grin. She wrinkled her nose at me. I laughed, took the coat from the bags, and got out of the car.

-ooo-​

George Hebert worked on the docks until the day of his retirement; getting his Master's licence merely meant that he did a little less physical labour than before. However, he believed in his son getting out there and working for a wage, and so Danny went with him, even though all the manual labour in the world wouldn't give Danny a physique like his father's.

Dorothy worked in the Port Authority building as a secretary, which was how they had met, all those years ago. Back then, she had been a lowly member of the typing pool; now, she was well up in the hierarchy, and more people took orders from her than gave them to her.

I walked for a while, enjoying the early afternoon sun, then my footsteps turned toward the Port Authority building. Upon enquiring for Mrs Dorothy Hebert, I was escorted into her presence, to find her frowning at a large and blocky computer that was currently crouching on her desk.

"Hello, Taylor," she said with a distracted smile, then turned back to regard the intruding device somewhat balefully.

"Hi, Dot," I replied, taking my coat off. I was wearing a tee that covered my belly; I didn't want to embarrass Dot in front of everyone. "What's the problem?"

"The problem," she said, in terms of genteel severity, "is that head office has bequeathed this thing upon us, into which we are supposed to enter data, where it will store it by some alchemical magic. Unfortunately, the rules by which it is supposed to operate have been only supplied in the most rudimentary and sketchy format. Apparently, an expert was supposed to be supplied in order to explain the rules to us. He has yet to make an appearance."

"Oh, okay," I said, approaching the device. Adjusting my glasses, I peered at the front of it. "A Hewlett-Packard nine thousand, huh?"

She looked around at me with mounting hope. "You can use these things?"

"I might be able to," I allowed, examining it closely. Finding the power switch, I pressed it on. The screen lit up with the startup sequence. This looked vaguely familiar.

Once upon a time, twenty years or so in the future, Mrs Knott had given us a relatively easy lesson, loading emulators from various old computer types into our desktop terminals. One had been of the older HP models, and I was fairly certain that this was one of the types that it had touched on. I had spent most of the period playing with it. It had been fun.

The trouble was, I didn't remember exactly how it went.

The phrase memory palace surfaced in my memory and bobbed there.

I took out my Walkman and headphones, and looked at Dot. "I think I can figure it out," I offered. "Is it okay if I listen to music while I do it?"

"Feel free to ride a unicycle and juggle chainsaws while you do it," she said expansively. "If you can decipher its mysteries, I shall be greatly pleased."

"Okay," I said. "Just please … don't let anyone else in the room for the moment, okay?"

She nodded firmly. "I can do that."

I grinned at her and pulled a chair over in front of the computer. Loading the tape into the Walkman, I fitted the headphones on and pressed PLAY. Closing my eyes, I let the music wash over me ...

-ooo-​

"Oh, hey," said Lisa. She was leaning back on a patio chair, with her feet up on a table, one leg crossed over the other. She had an electronic tablet in her hands. "That was fast."

I tried to articulate as quietly as possible. I need what you've got on the HP-9000. Fairly certain I played with an emulator at some point.

"Ah," she said. "That would be ... life memories ... school days ... computer studies ..."

As she spoke, her fingers danced over the screen of the tablet.

"Ah-ha!" she said triumphantly, and handed the tablet over to me.

I found myself looking at a detailed emulator of the model in question. Labels marked out what keys entered what commands, and a sidebar informed me of the entire user startup list of commands.

I went through it a few times, looked it over until I was fairly certain I could handle it, then passed the tablet back. Thanks, I said.

She took the tablet from me, and grinned. "Just come visit occasionally, okay? I get lonely."

Deal, I agreed.

She waved at a point behind me. "What do you think?"

I turned, and gaped.

Before, it had been skeletal. Now, most of the spaces were filled in. It was enormous. It was magnificent. We sat on a patio in front of it. With my back to them, I had not noticed the fountains spilling crystalline droplets into the sky, where they fell back with enchanting slowness.

Why is it so big? I asked, barely moving my lips.

"Lots of memories," she explained. "A room for each one."

Wow, I said. Definitely coming back.

As I stood, so did she. We hugged. I kissed her. It was becoming a ritual. Despite her relaxed, bathed appearance, despite the luxury of our surroundings, her lips still tasted of dust and blood.

Some things, it seemed, never changed.

It was a stark reminder of what had happened. What could still happen again.

-ooo-​

I clicked off the Walkman and blinked. The computer was up and running, all systems nominal. It had been all set up while I was out.

Pulling the headphones off, I looked around, wondering who had worked around me while I had been zoned out. No-one was near me; however, half a dozen people, including several other members of the secretarial staff and an older man who was possibly Dot's boss, were peering through the doorway, staring at me. Dot was making sure they didn't enter, as I had asked.

So who had done the work?

It must have been me, while I was under, I realised. It unsettled me just a bit, in much the same way as it used to unsettle me when my 'passenger' would have my bugs do stuff while I was distracted, asleep or even unconscious. I didn't know that I could do that.

"Well, it's ready to roll," I said, trying to inject cheer into my voice.

The man I assumed to be Dorothy's boss took a step forward; she let him past. "Can you, uh, do that with any of those things?" he asked. I looked at his name tag; it read WALTON.

"Sure, I guess," I said. "I'm no expert, but ..."

There was a general chuckle from the other people at the door; apparently they thought I was either joking or being modest. Mr Walton took another step forward. "Miss, uh ..."

"Snow," I supplied. "Taylor Snow. I'm staying with Dot, uh, Mrs Hebert, at the moment."

He smiled and nodded, as if that constituted an ironclad reference. "Well, Miss Snow, you seem to have a better grasp of the mechanics of that device than any of the rest of us old dinosaurs." He paused. "Are you ... currently ... employed?"

I had to chuckle. "Mr Walton, sir, I'm only –" Sixteen? No, go for broke. Say seventeen. Dad always said I was smart enough to skip a grade, anyway. If I hadn't been bullied ... " – seventeen. Still in school."

He nodded understandingly. "We can work around that. How would you like a job?"

-ooo-​

My job title was 'part-time secretarial assistant', nominally attached to Dot.

In reality, I was the computer guru. I would be the one tasked with getting the computers up and running, showing people how to use them, coaxing them back into operation when things went wrong, and in general, making the system work. I could work as many hours as I wished, afternoons and weekends, and Dot would square it with Mr Walton.

I was fully aware that I would not be getting paid nearly as much per hour as an adult computer tech would have been – but I was still a minor. And it was still a very decent paycheck.

I had to refer to the memory palace several times more that afternoon; after the second time, no-one seemed to consider it strange when I ushered them from the room, put my headphones on, started the tape, and went into a semi-trance for a few moments. They were just glad I was getting the damn things up and running.

While I consulted with the emulator, I chatted with Lisa, who seemed to be able to work on her own tablet – she had an endless supply – without ever looking at what she was actually doing. Though I wasn't quite sure what she was working on.

And not once did I bring up the one question that I felt could bring it all crashing down.

Is it really you, Lisa? Or is it just an extremely detailed hallucination?

I truly wanted it to be one, but I feared that it was the other.

I decided that if I never questioned it, I would never have to find out the real answer.

For the moment, that was good enough for me.

-ooo-​

I was waiting outside with Dot when Nina pulled up in her sedan. She got out and approached us. "Hello, Taylor," she said. "How was your afternoon?"

"Extremely productive," put in Dot, before I could speak. "Your little castaway here is apparently a computer genius."

I blushed, and Nina raised her eyebrows. "Computer genius?" she asked.

Dot nodded, and then proceeded to regale Nina with a very slightly embellished account of my exploits. Nina's eyes widened when she found that I had been gainfully employed by the Brockton Bay Port Authority, to run its computer systems.

"So how did you know what to do?" she asked me.

I shrugged. "Just did, I guess."

Nina made a dissatisfied noise. "Doesn't really help. But your upbringing must have been fairly esoteric if you know how to use those machines; they've only been around for a few years."

I nodded in agreement. "So is it a clue, or not?"

Nina chuckled wryly. "I'll let you know."

-ooo-​

The next to arrive were Danny and George. They started work much earlier than Dot, so they drove in, while Dot caught the bus. But they finished at roughly the same time, so all three would go home in the old Ford truck.

George stumped up to us, kissed his wife on the cheek, and growled, "What's she doing here, bothering you for?"

'She' being me, of course. Stung, I opened my mouth to reply, but then I caught a very slight head-shake from Danny, standing just a little behind his father. I decoded it with no problem. Let Mom handle this. It was good advice. I shut my mouth again.

"Well, dear," said Dot with a smile, "Taylor here just went from being a houseguest to being a paying houseguest."

George's head turned sharply at that; Danny stared at me, impressed.

"Just until I can get my own place," I ventured.

"Pish tosh," retorted Dorothy, waving a hand dismissively.

I blinked; did people actually say that?

"A seventeen year old girl," continued Dot, "should not be living on her own in this city, not when there are good Christian folk who can put her up, give her shelter. Don't you agree, George?'

George frowned, outmanoeuvred. "So what's this job?" he growled.

Dot explained about the computers and how no-one else could make head nor tail of them. "She'll be showing us how, keeping them running," she concluded. "Mr Walton was very impressed."

George snorted dismissively. "Computers. Huh.". He paused, and turned to me. "Well, young lady, if you can keep yourself out of trouble, and if you can pay your own way, then you might as well stay on."

He turned and stumped toward the truck before I could answer. I blinked. That was possibly the most positive thing he had said to me yet.

"Computers," I heard him mutter. "Can't see the use in them."

Dorothy and I shared a conspiratorial smile. He might grumble, but so long as I behaved myself and paid my way, he could not object to my presence in his home.

I wondered how long the job would last; surely the missing expert would turn up eventually. But then, Mr Walton might just let them know that the man was no longer required; after all, he was paying me minimal rates for doing the same thing.

I decided not to worry about it. I wanted to explore this 'memory palace' concept some more. I was starting to get the idea that Lisa, with her expanded powers, had done something to my head, back there in the ruins of New Delhi. I didn't know what or how, and I was apprehensive about asking, lest it break the spell, but it was starting to look very useful for the task at hand.

-ooo-​

"Computer genius, huh?" asked Nina, as we followed the Heberts home.

I shrugged. "I dunno. It looked familiar to me, so I decided to try the tape on a hunch. I obviously learned how, somewhere, because when I opened my eyes again, I knew how."

"But you don't recall the lessons, who taught you, where you were, anything like that?" pressed Nina.

I shook my head. "Just basically sitting in front of one, typing. Using UNIX. I'm not a computer genius, but I get the impression I know a little bit about them."

"More than I do," she agreed. "I'm fairly sure what you just said wasn't the plural for 'eunuch', but apart from that, no idea."

"It's an, uh, operating system," I clarified. "There's several. The computers at Dot's work run on one called UNIX." I spelled it.

"I'm fairly sure they're not teaching that sort of thing in schools these days," Nina observed. "Maybe we're looking in the wrong places. Maybe you're one of those people who skipped straight into college-level courses."

"I'd be fairly prominent then, if I was," I objected. "My face would be out there. You would have found out who I was, fairly easily."

"Oh," she said. "Yeah. Damn."

I shrugged and smiled. "Sorry. We'll get there."

"Well, at the very least," she said with a return smile, "it's interesting."

-ooo-​

"Mom's really impressed with you," said Danny.

We sat on the back steps with the door open, a careful distance between us. Above us, the sky purpled toward twilight.

"I think she's really great too," I said. "You're very lucky."

"Yeah, well," he said. "She was talking about how you were setting up the computers." He turned his head to look at me. "How do you know so much about computers?"

I shrugged. "Learned somewhere, I guess. Can't remember where."

He nodded. "Dad thinks they're just another toy that'll go away, but I'm thinking they're more than that. I mean, I've watched Star Trek. I know they're not that great yet, but maybe sometime in the future ..."

I hid a grin. Sooner than you think. "I think so too," I said earnestly. "Pretty soon, anyone who doesn't know how to use one is going to be on the back foot."

He nodded. We were silent for a few moments.

When he spoke again, I could hear a particular tone in his voice and I sighed internally.

"Taylor," he said carefully, keeping his voice low, "I think I ..."

I cut him off. "Danny," I said quietly, "please stop there."

He stopped speaking, staring at me, hurt in his eyes. It was like I'd just kicked a puppy. I felt terrible.

"Listen to me, Danny," I said just as quietly. "You saved my life. I am grateful. Very grateful. You're my friend, and I think you're a great guy. But ... we're living under your father's roof, and we will abide by his rules. It's that simple."

"We could move out," he offered. "You've got a job, I've got a job. We could find a place -"

"No," I said, as firmly as I could, while keeping my voice down. "Danny. Please. Don't do this. Don't raise your own hopes."

He stared at me, bewildered. "But why?" he asked me.

I took a breath. "I can't tell you. Really, I can't. But there's a very good reason. One day, maybe, I'll tell you. When it doesn't matter any more. But right now ... I can't be with anyone." I looked at him seriously. "Do you understand?"

He shook his head. "No, Taylor, I don't. I really don't." My heart sank. And then he continued. "But if that's the way you want it to be, then that's the way it'll be. If I'm to be your friend, then I'll be your friend, and not push."

I leaned back and looked up as the stars began to come out, overhead. "Thanks, Danny," I said softly. "I really appreciate that."

His hand found mine and squeezed momentarily. I squeezed back.

"Hey," he said. "What are friends for?"

End of Part 1-4​

 

[Ack]

Recoil​

Part 1-5: Becoming Established​

The yacht drifted at anchor, rising and falling on the gentle swell. A crystal-blue sky overhead, deep green water beneath. Seagulls circled above, wings barely moving as they drifted on the air currents.

Lisa lay at ease on a lounger on the aft deck, wearing a one-piece swimsuit that looked rather like her regular costume with the arms and legs removed. She looked up from rubbing on suntan lotion as I approached.

"Hey," she said, flashing her vulpine grin and raising her oversized sunglasses slightly. "You dream a nice yacht. I'm impressed."

I took the seat next to hers. This is just a dream, right? I asked, looking around.

"Just a dream, sure," she said cheerfully. "And, you know, not."

... right, I said. I'm sure that'll make sense when I wake up.

"Well," she said cheerfully, "it is all in your head, if that makes you feel any better."

I'll get back to you on that, I decided. While I'm here, do you have any other pearls of wisdom?

She picked up the umbrella drink that had not been beside her ten seconds earlier - or had it? - and sipped at it. "Well," she said at length, "you're pretty well on track for the moment. The question of school will come up. Don't ask to go to Arcadia; it hasn't been established yet. Winslow's your best bet there. When you get there, remember that Ms Blackwell isn't the principal, just another teacher."

So I'm going back to Winslow again, I grumped.

"Well, it'll be the first time for them," she observed, sounding amused. "And of course, there will be a certain lack of some people."

I nodded. Emma, Sophia, Madison. The three bitches who had made my life hell. There'll be others like them, I pointed out. There's always bullies.

"True," acknowledged Lisa. "But they won't have a specific reason to pick on you, other than the fact that you're new. That'll wear off. And seriously, you've gone toe to toe with the likes of Leviathan and Alexandria. You've faced off Tagg and Armsmaster. Are you going to let a bunch of high-schoolers scare you?"

I said slowly, Well, I don't have my powers any more ...

She sat up, raised her sunglasses, and gave me a stern look. "It's not about powers," she said flatly. "Powers are a means to an end. In the end, it's what's in here that counts." Her fingertip tapped on my sternum.

It would be a lot easier with powers, I pointed out.

"You always refused to use your powers on the bitches anyway," Lisa pointed out. "So how is this different?"

I thought about that. It isn't, I guess, I said. Except that now I can't ditch class to go rob a bank or something. I don't have you guys to go hang with.

"Oh, you'll always have me to hang with," Lisa assured me. "As for not robbing banks, nor will you have the responsibility of a territory to oversee. You'll be able to actually be a teenager for the first time ever."

I don't know how, I protested. The only time I was able to be a teenager was when I was with you guys. And you can't say that was a normal time.

She grinned at me. "Well, now you've got a chance to learn how," she said cheerfully. "But it's about time for you to wake up. Have a nice day. I'm going for a swim."

Getting up from the lounger, she leaned down and kissed me. Her lips tasted of dust and blood.

Then she turned and dived off the edge of the boat into the deep green ocean. Water splashed up, and some got me in the eye. I blinked …

-ooo-​

… and I was awake.

I rolled over and sighed.

It was always hard to see Lisa and be reminded all over again that she was dead, that what I spoke to in my dreams, in the hypnotic trance, wasn't her at all, just a construct that my subconscious had thrown together.

Unless it wasn't. In which case I had no idea what was going on.

Still, on one level it was nice to see her, to talk to her. It gave me a certain amount of comfort, of confidence.

I climbed out of bed and padded out of the spare room, down the hall between the other two bedroom doors, to the bathroom.


When I was finished, I went back to my room and changed out of my brand-new pyjamas – thank you, Nina – to my sweats and running shoes. Nina had raised an eyebrow at these, but I had told her that I needed them.

Closing my bedroom door behind me, I headed downstairs as quietly as I could.

Not quietly enough, apparently; boards in the hallway creaked, and so did the stairs. I was almost at the bottom when a tousle-haired, pyjama-clad Danny appeared at the top, rubbing his eyes.

"Taylor?" he queried sleepily. "Where are you going?"

"Out for a run," I said, pitching my voice just loud enough for him to hear. No sense in waking up George and Dot; he would be irritable about being woken early on a weekend, and she would be concerned about me running. I had pepper spray in my pocket, once more courtesy of Nina, but she didn't need to know about that either.

Danny came down a couple of steps. "Running?" he asked, sounding confused. "Won't you get lost?"

I shook my head. "I have a good sense of direction," I told him. "Besides, I'll just stick to the nearby streets."

"Wait a minute," he said. "I'll come with you."

I opened my mouth to frame a refusal, but he had already disappeared back upstairs to his room. I suppose I could have left while he was getting ready, but that would have been mean.


To his credit, he was downstairs in fairly short order. The running shoes looked new; I figured that he was using his work boots far more often.

As he let us out the back door, I asked – quietly, as I knew that his parents' bedroom was directly above – "Do you run much?"

He waited until we were out the side gate before he answered. "Not really, but I've been working down at the port with Dad. I'm a lot fitter than I used to be."

Well, I thought, we'll see.

-ooo-​

As it turned out, he wasn't all that unfit. However, he had not been running in some time, if ever, and it showed. I had to stop several times to let him catch his breath, but he always doggedly got back into stride again. In the end, though, we turned for home before I had done half of my planned run. I shrugged mentally. There was always tomorrow.

We walked the last hundred yards as a cooldown; I was breathing heavily and sweating just a little, but he was panting like a steam train and perspiring heavily. However, he was still steady on his feet, which I counted as a plus.

"Do you do track and field or something?" he asked as he got his breath back.

I shook my head. "I don't think so," I said. "I think I've just got a routine or something. I woke up and decided I wanted to go for a run."

"Wow," he said. "I thought I was fit, working at the port. I think I've got a ways to go."

"We've all got areas we can improve in," I pointed out. "You've got upper body strength that I'll never have."

"Yeah," he said. "I guess."


When he opened the back door, Dot was in the kitchen making breakfast. She looked around in some surprise. "Danny?" she asked. "And Taylor? I thought you were both still in bed."

"Oh, uh, sorry, Dot," I said awkwardly as I came up the steps behind him. "I wanted to go for a run, and Danny came along to make sure I'd be okay."

She eyed me speculatively, then glanced at Danny. He nodded. "It was more like Taylor went for a run, I went for a stagger," he said ruefully.

"So, not a romantic walk to watch the sun rise over the Boardwalk then," she observed, sounding mildly disappointed.

I shook my head. "Not hardly. Sorry. Danny's nice. But ..." I broke off, trying to find a diplomatic way to say it.

"But you're just not that interested in him?" she suggested gently.

"Mom!" protested Danny, blushing.

She smiled and patted him on the cheek. "You go upstairs and shower, young man," she advised him.

"Okay, Mom," he said. Turning to me, he added, "I'd like to go running again, if you don't mind me holding you back. I think I need to do more of that."

I shrugged. "Sure," I said. "We can do that."

He grinned, then turned and headed into the front hall.

As his footsteps receded upstairs, Dot turned to me. "So you run in the mornings?" she said.

I nodded, hitching one hip up on the table. "Apparently so," I confirmed. "It did seem really familiar," I added truthfully. "Ms Veder says that if I do familiar things, it might open up a memory."

"So did it help bring anything back?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Not yet, but I have hopes. Ms Veder seems to know what she's talking about."

"Nina Veder is a smart girl," Dot told me. "She knows her stuff. Helped a cousin of mine. I've got a lot of time for her." She lowered her voice. "I just wish she'd be more careful of the company she keeps."

I blinked, trying to work out what she meant. Then light dawned. "Oh – her roommates?" I asked.

She nodded. "Yes," she said, keeping her voice low. "Did she tell you about them?"

"Something like that, yeah," I said, then frowned. "But I don't really see the problem."

She shook her head disapprovingly. "You young people and your ways. I just don't think it's a Christian act."

If there was anything that was going to remind me of the era I was in, that was it. Legend had not come out yet; his marriage was still years in the future. The revelation that a member of the Triumvirate was gay had done a lot to foster acceptance of the homosexual community; when Flechette had quit the Wards to be with Parian, the scandal had been all about her defection, not her preferences.

And my own grandmother was a bigot, even in her own restrained way. It was a shock to the system.

But there was nothing I could tell this sweet old lady that would change her mind, would make her re-evaluate her views. I didn't know how she would react when Legend revealed his orientation; it might change her mind and it might not. But it wasn't something I could talk about now.

Another thought intruded. She might be wondering about me, given that I've shown a distinct lack of interest in her son.

I forced a smile. "Well, you don't have to worry about me," I reassured her. "I am interested in boys. Just … not right now, you know?"

She smiled, and seemed to relax slightly. "That's good, dear," she said, kissing me on the cheek. "Now, would you like to help me with the pancakes while Danny finishes his shower?"

"Love to," I replied.

-ooo-​

Saturday morning breakfast was a more relaxed affair. George came down in his shirtsleeves, and Danny was dressed in t-shirt and jeans after his shower. Following our discussion of the evening before, and the morning run, Danny was treating me as just another person at the table, which was more or less what I needed. George seemed to pick up on the difference in his behaviour, and shot his son a few suspicious glances; Danny affected not to notice.


Dot and I were just finishing the washing-up when Nina Veder knocked on the door. Danny let her in, and she strolled through to the kitchen.

"Ready to go, Taylor?" she asked.

I frowned. "Go?" I asked. "Go where?"

"Well, first to the police station, to make sure that you're not a wanted felon. Secondly, if they've still never heard of you, to the local court registrar to have some temporary identification made up for you. Get you back into the system. And thirdly, we need to discuss which school you'll be going to, if they haven't figured out who you really are."

"Oh," I said. "Wow. Okay." I looked down at myself. "Should I change?"

She tilted her head to one side. "No, you look tidy enough. Maybe brush your hair?"

I trotted upstairs, came down with the brush that – once again – Nina had bought me. "I can do it in the car," I suggested.

"Good idea," she agreed.

"Wait a minute, you're going out?" asked Danny.

"Um, yeah, looks like it," I said. "Why?" Oh great, I thought. Here we go.

"I was gonna call up Alan, see if he wanted to come over," explained Danny. "Him and Zoe just had a baby. I thought you might like to meet them. They're good people."

Shows how much you know, I decided not to say.

"Red-haired guy?" I asked, though I knew full well that it was.

He nodded, looking surprised. "That's right. How did you know?"

I grinned briefly. "Me and Ms Veder passed him on the pier when we were getting off the boat."

"Oh," he said. "Oh. Right." He grinned and shrugged. "I just thought, you don't know anyone around here, so …"

I nodded. "I understand, and I appreciate it, Danny. It's just that my plate's kind of full today. Maybe another day?"

"We could invite the Barneses over for Sunday dinner," suggested Dot from the kitchen door. "Taylor could get to know them then."

"That sounds reasonable," I agreed. "But we've got to get going. See you all later."

-ooo-​

We made our way to the car. As we got in, Nina looked at me oddly.

"What?" I asked.

"The bottom step," she said. "You never step on it. You always jump over it. Why is that?"

"I … what?" I asked. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Should have been watching for that. "I didn't realise."

"Interesting," she noted. "Something that might provide a clue." She put the car in gear. "Also, I note that you and Danny no longer have that tension between you. Care to share?"

I shrugged. "Nothing to share. Last night, I told him that I wasn't interested. In the nicest way possible, of course."

"And how did he take it?" asked Nina. Her eyes were on the road, but I could tell she was giving me her full attention.

"Very maturely," I said. "We're currently just good friends." I paused. "Oh, and apparently I like going for a morning run."

"Oh, you do, do you?" asked Nina. "Did it, uh, jog loose any memories?"

It took me a moment to get the pun, then I groaned. Nina looked very pleased with herself. "That was bad."

She nodded cheerfully. "I know, but seriously, did it help you remember anything?"

"Nothing concrete," I told her, "but I think I've been doing it for a while."

"That's good," she said. "That's very good. Another piece for the puzzle."

"Unfortunately," I added dryly, "it's not a corner piece."

"Every little bit helps," she observed. "For now, we'll just take it one day at a time."

-ooo-​

"Well, she's not in the system anywhere we can see," the police sergeant told Nina. "No descriptions that match closely enough to matter, no hospital records. Fingerprints, nada." He shrugged. "I've seen it before, with people who just wanted to drop off the face of the earth, kids of itinerant families. It's rare, but not unheard of."

He looked over at me. "But usually we can just ask them who they are, where they're from." A fatherly grin. "Of course, then we get the tough ones like you, who are fully competent, but can't remember a thing."

I shrugged. "Sorry," I said.

"Well, the best we can figure is that she's from Brockton Bay or somewhere nearby," said Nina helpfully.

"That's something, I guess," agreed the sergeant. "We'll keep looking; if anything pops up, we'll let you know." He handed over a sheaf of papers. "In the meantime, here's everything you gave us on Miss Snow. Medical report, plus fingerprints and so on. Take that to the court registrar, and you shouldn't have too much problem with getting her issued temporary identification."

-ooo-​

The registrar was a fussy bald man, at least sixty, who would have been as skinny as me, if not skinnier. He peered at me over rimless spectacles, then at Nina.

"So she isn't your daughter?" he said querulously.

Nina shook her head. "No, she is not."

"And you can't find any next of kin?"

"No, sir, we can not," she confirmed.

He addressed me directly, this time. "Young lady, you have no memory of your family, or where you're from?"

I shook my head. "No, sir," I said. "I'm fairly sure my name is Taylor Snow –" half true, half a lie – "but beyond that, there's not much to go on. They pulled me out of the ocean after that big regatta smash-up."

He adjusted his glasses. "I see. Well, these documents seem to be in order. Medical information, identifying marks, fingerprints. An affadavit that these documents are true and correct, and all refer to the same person; that is, you. And a sworn statement by a medical professional, one Edwina Veder, MD, PhD, that you are of sound mind and sound body, and are fit to enter society."

He filled out a form with crabbed handwriting, had me sign it, then stamped it with what seemed to be unnecessary enthusiasm. Passing the form to me, he said, "Take good care of this, Miss Snow. According to this document, you are once more a productive member of society. It will serve as your legal identification until you can get something more binding."

"Can I … can I get copies?" I asked tentatively. "In case I lose it, or it gets damaged, or something?"

He smiled austerely. "Certainly. Twenty-five cents per photocopy, and I can have the copies certified."

I glanced at Nina – Edwina? – questioningly. She nodded. "Not a bad idea, Taylor. Yes, sir, we would like that."

It took a little more time, but a creakingly ancient xerox machine spat out four copies, Nina paid an extra dollar, and the registrar stamped each of them with a different stamp and signed them as being "true and accurate copies of the original document".

Each of us shook hands with the old man, and he wished us a good day. As we got up to leave, he was pulling down the shutters.

-ooo-​

Outside, with the original and three copies in my bag, and the fourth in Nina's, I turned to her. "Edwina?" I asked. "Really?"

She heaved a deep sigh. "My parents thought they were getting a boy, and had chosen Edward as a name, okay? So when I came along, they couldn't think of a good name, and settled for the closest girls' equivalent."

We got into the car. "So … did they ever actually call you 'Eddie'?" I asked as I buckled myself in.

"For about one week," she confirmed. "A week during which I refused to acknowledge the name. So we compromised and went with Nina." She started the car and put it in gear.

"So why not change it by deed poll?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Ever hear the Johnny Cash song 'A Boy Named Sue'?"

I frowned. "I think I know it."

"You think the guy in the song ever thought of just changing his name? Ride into a new town and call himself Jim-Bob or George or something?"

I shrugged. "Not really. I guess he just got used to it."

She nodded. "Same with me. I'm used to the fact that my given name is Edwina, but I call myself Nina, and that's all everyone has to know about me." She looked at me. "Make sense?"

I grinned at her. "Sure thing – Edwina."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine, get it out of your system."

I shook my head and chuckled. "I'm done. Sorry. I shouldn't make fun of your name."

She half-shrugged. "Oh, I used to make fun of it all the time." A side glance at me. "Lunch?"

"Yes, please," I agreed. "Becoming a real person again is hungry work."

-ooo-​

Lunch was almost over. I had had a pita wrap with sun-dried tomatoes, and Nina had demolished a vegetarian quiche. I was sipping my tea when Nina leaned back in her chair.

"So, Taylor," she said. "Now we get to the unpleasant task of deciding which bastion of education will have to bear the brunt of accepting you within its hallowed halls."

"What school I'm going to?" I asked.

"If you want to reduce it to such tawdry terms, yes," she agreed, nibbling at a sugared doughnut.

"Uh, what options are there?" I asked.

"Not many, I'm afraid," she said. "Immaculata is a private school, predominantly Catholic. Do you know if you're Catholic?"

I shrugged. "No idea."

"Grantley is a public school, but it's not in the best of shape," she went on. "Five gets you ten it folds in the next three years."

I didn't know about three years, but I knew it wasn't going to last twenty-two years. I had the vague idea that Arcadia had been established on the old Grantley campus.

"Anything else?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "Winslow. It's a good school, from what I hear. Strong in athletics, and they regularly compete well in academic challenges."

How the mighty have fallen, I thought. Or would fall. Or whatever.

"Well, it sounds like Winslow's the pick of the bunch," I observed.

Nina nodded. "Well, as it happens, I spoke to the principal of Winslow this morning."

"And …?" I prompted, when she paused.

She smiled widely. "And he's willing to see you this afternoon, if that's the one you want to attend," she told me. "All we have to do is call ahead."

"So wait," I said. "You already chose this one for me?" I felt vaguely insulted, despite what Lisa had said in my dream that morning.

She shook her head, still smiling. "No. You chose. I merely anticipated your choice."

"And if I'd decided that I was Catholic?"

A half-shrug. "I'd be making a call to Immaculata instead."

"Huh," I said. "You called them all."

She nodded. "No sense in not hedging my bets." Getting up, she dusted crumbs off of her legs. "Well, ready to go and see what Winslow looks like?"

I grinned, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach. It won't be like it was when I first went there, I told myself firmly. It'll be totally different.

"Let's go to school," I agreed.

End of Part 1-5​

 

[Ack]

Recoil

Part 1-6: Preparation​

We didn't talk much in the car on the way to Winslow. Nina was apparently content to give me my space, and I had quite a bit to think about.

I was no longer a non-person, a cipher. More to the point, I was being enrolled in school all over again. This gave me a vague sense of unease, which was, if anything, exacerbated by the fact that it was Winslow that I was going to be attending. Again, but also for the first time.

Not for the first time, I reflected that time travel led to the weirdest grammatical tenses.

-ooo-​

I looked around at the cityscape as Nina drove us both toward Winslow. Once more, I was struck by a sense of fractured deja vu. Some of the buildings were familiar, whereas some were out of place. The truth, of course, was that I was the one in the wrong place; or rather, in the wrong time.

Winslow itself did little to dispel the feeling as we drove up to it. It looked newer, different. Over the main doors was the name of the school itself, in large brass letters; when I had last seen these, they had been tarnished, grimy. Not unlike the school itself, I couldn't help thinking. Now, they were bright, obviously cleaned regularly.

I looked up at the name of the school as I got out of the car; it felt as though I were coming here for the first time. Which was simultaneously true and false, depending on the perspective from which one looked at it.

"Winslow High School," I murmured, reading it out loud. I turned to Nina. "So, is it really that great?"

She shrugged. "I haven't been to school in years, but I'm told it's one of the best. They apparently started computer studies courses a couple of years ago; Grantley still doesn't even have computers, from what I hear."

"Good to hear," I replied. "I'll be glad to learn whatever they've got to teach me about computers."

Nina's voice was dry. "From what I understand, you don't have much to learn in that regard."

"There's always more to learn. Even when you think you know everything."

Nina shot me a look.

I looked back at her. "What?"

"It never fails," she observed, apparently more to herself than to me. "Every time I start thinking you're just another normal teenage girl, you go and say or do something totally out of left field."

"I don't get it," I confessed. Inside, I was considerably unsettled. Did I say or do something that tipped her off?

"Taylor." Her tone was patient. "The number of teenagers who don't believe that they know everything worth knowing is vanishingly small. The number of said teens who are willing to admit it is even smaller."

"So what does this mean?" I asked, unwilling to comment on her statement.

"Short term? It gives a possible insight into whatever you were doing with your life before you got pulled out of the ocean," Nina told me.

To be honest, I could not argue with her. My life as a supervillain had done a lot to strip away my illusions.

"Long term?" she continued. "I foresee interesting times ahead for you and Winslow."

I had no real answer for that.

-ooo-​

We crossed the parking lot, and climbed the stairs. Inside the front doors, someone was waiting. I didn't get a good look at her until she unlocked the doors and ushered us in. When I did see her, I nearly stopped dead in shock.

It was Principal Blackwell.

Lisa's warning came to me a second or so later, and I managed to get my brain back into gear with barely a hitch in my step. "Remember that Ms Blackwell isn't the principal, just another teacher."

I looked again; she was twenty years younger, old enough to be a teacher while still quite obviously dressing to appear one with the hip crowd.

The years would not be kind to her; she was slender and attractive now, with longer hair, swept into a stylish cut. Slender would become narrow, the carefully-trimmed blonde hair would end up in an unbecoming bowl cut, and her features would end up severe and forbidding.

I had no idea what she would go through in the years between to transform her into the Principal Blackwell I had known. But still I could recognise her, recognise in her the woman who would tacitly condone more than a year of torment at the hands of Emma and her cronies.

Well, not if I can help it. But that was a thought for the future. Here and now, we had other business.

"Thank you," Nina said to her, offering her hand. "I'm Nina Veder, and this is Taylor Snow. We're here to see Principal Woodbine."

"Carrie Blackwell," she replied, shaking Nina's hand. "I teach Home Economics. Pleased to meet you, Nina, Taylor. I'll take you to him now."

Despite her politeness, I noticed that she did not offer to shake my hand. It didn't exactly surprise me.

The question which nagged at the back of my mind was, How could Lisa even tell me that Blackwell would be a teacher here? Was it something she told me, before, or is she really …

I cut that line of thought off before it could go too far. If the truth was one thing, I didn't need to know. If it was the other, I didn't want to know.

-ooo-​

The journey through the halls of Winslow High was an education in itself. As on the outside, the paintwork was brighter, fresher, newer. No graffiti of any sort was visible on the walls, a minor miracle for the Winslow of my day. More polished wood was on display, and the lockers along the wall were clean and shining and new.

This was Winslow before its fall into disgrace; the Winslow that was the Arcadia of its day. Even without the students in the halls, it fairly hummed with the promise of the future.

Well, I could tell anyone who cared what its future would be. Whether they believed me would be another matter entirely.

I picked out my locker by eye as we walked past; I thought I had repressed my involuntary shudder, but Nina evidently picked something up.

"Taylor?" she asked. "Is something the matter?"

I shook my head. "Nothing. Just felt a chill down my back."

"Or you remembered something. Does this place remind you of something?"

It reminded me of something all right; it reminded me of the very worst years of my life. But I shook my head. "It's a school. I might have had bad experiences in the last school I was at."

Carrie Blackwell was eyeing me curiously. "Do you have memory problems, Taylor?"

I looked at Nina; she pursed her lips. "Perhaps this should be covered at the meeting," she suggested.

Ms Blackwell nodded, although I could tell that she was still curious. "As you say."

-ooo-​

"Taylor's been through a traumatic experience, and is suffering from specific retrograde amnesia," Nina informed the room briskly. "However, she shows no signs of loss of cognitive function, and has indeed reacquired a few facts from the time before the experience."

"Oh," replied Principal Woodbine. "That's good then." He frowned. "So when you say 'retrograde' amnesia ..." He was in his fifties, a once powerful frame now going to fat, a little vague rather than intense, with a kindly air to him. His closely-trimmed black hair was going grey, and he had the stains of a smoker on his fingers.

"I mean, covering the time before the traumatic experience," Nina told him patiently

"Just stuff about my life and my family," I put in helpfully. "I recall basic educational facts, just not when or where I learned them."

"Ah," Ms Blackwell observed. "So, no learning difficulties observed?"

"I've tested her as best I could on basic math, reading and writing skills, and knowledge of basic science and history," Nina put in. "She had no difficulty with any of it. In addition, she seems to display a distinct affinity for computers."

"Really?" commented the third member of the faculty present. "That's interesting to know."

"Mr Murray's our Computer Studies teacher," Woodbine explained. "He's always happy to find a student who's interested in using them for more than – what's that phrase you keep using, Brett?"

"A glorified typewriter," supplied Mr Murray. He seemed to be cut from the same mold as Woodbine, but at least twenty years younger, a few pounds lighter, and with buzz-cut reddish hair instead of black. He was trying to grow a moustache; it wasn't going well. "Too many of my students see computers as typewriters with screens, and decide that mine is a do-nothing class where they can while away the minutes passing notes to one another until it's time to go home."

"Taylor has been recently hired on by the Port Authority to help maintain their computer systems," Nina pointed out. Dead silence ensued, as each member of the faculty took that statement on board.

"Uh, really?" asked Murray cautiously. "What computers do they have, if you don't mind my asking?"

I thought about my reply before I answered him. "Well, without giving away too many details, they're Hewlett Packard nine thousands, running a specialised version of UNIX. The software is proprietary, though, so I'm not allowed to say anything about that."

More silence fell; Woodbine and Blackwell looked at me as though I had begun babbling in Urdu. Mr Murray, however, sat forward. "Miss Snow," he said with just a hint of pleading, "would you like to be in my computer studies class? Please?"

Nina raised an eyebrow. "You realise, she may already be beyond what you teach in your class."

Murray shrugged. "As a teacher's aide, then? I like computers, and I can see what potential they have for the future, but all too often, I'm just supplying the lesson plan as suggested by the textbooks. I'm not that good with them."

I cleared my throat. "I'm coming to Winslow to learn, Mr Murray. I don't want to be treated any differently by the faculty. I can look over the textbooks and give you what help I can, but at the end of the day, I'm just going to be another student in your class, and I expect to be treated accordingly."

Trying to break the serious mood, I shrugged and added with a grin, "Besides, I might not know the first thing about the computers you've got here."

"Well spoken, young lady, well spoken," Principal Woodbine said approvingly, bestowing an avuncular gaze upon me. However, Nina gave me another one of her odd looks, and I belatedly realised that I had shown altogether too mature an outlook. Again.

It was true though; all I wanted was to be just treated as another student, no better and no worse. I didn't want to be seen as different, better, unusual; any of that could interfere with my future plans. By the time I left school, I wanted people to have forgotten my strange origins, or at least to not be worried about them.

-ooo-​

We exited the school once more, my arms heavy with textbooks. The remainder of the meeting had gone well, being mainly a discussion of class schedules, when and how I was to get to school every day, and exactly how much paperwork had to be filed before I was officially enrolled.

The answer to that last one was 'a lot'.

Ms Blackwell, due to being the junior member of the faculty present (I had no doubt that her being the only female teacher present also had something to do with this) had supplied us with tea and coffee. Brett Murray had made a lame joke about 'putting her Home Economics skills to good use'. I had offered to assist, but she had turned me down.

All in all, it seemed, Principal Woodbine thought it was a good idea to take me on, although I was not under any illusion that he would give me preferential treatment once I was attending classes. Mr Murray was transparently anxious for me to join his Computer Studies course, and he had also mentioned a 'computer club' which he was doing his best to maintain outside of school hours.

Ms Blackwell, on the other hand, was coolly polite to me the whole way through. I wasn't sure why; perhaps she disapproved of women being more interested in computers than Home Economics. Or perhaps she just resented giving up her Saturday to come in to school and serve tea and coffee to last-minute enrolees.

"Just by the way, Taylor, who is your legal guardian of record?" asked Woodbine, toward the close of the meeting.

I looked at Nina, and she at me. "I ... didn't think I needed one. I'm seventeen, after all." Adding a year; not so great a fib. I was, after all, tall for my age.

"You're not required to have one, no. It's just that it makes things so much easier for us if you do have one." He looked at Nina. "Ms Veder?"

Nina looked startled. "I ... honestly speaking? I would do it in a heartbeat, but Taylor cannot live with me. My home situation is ... difficult."

"So where are you living, Taylor?" asked Woodbine pleasantly.

"With the Heberts. George and Dot – Dorothy. Mrs Hebert – Dorothy – is more or less my boss at the Port Authority."

"They also have a son," Nina supplied dryly. I winced; I was sure there would be a conversation, later, about that little omission. "Danny."

"Ah, yes," noted Principal Woodbine. "Young Dan Hebert. He was here at Winslow just a few years ago. A good lad. How is he doing?"

"Working on the docks with his father," Nina reported. "He's shaping up well."

"Excellent, excellent," Woodbine said approvingly, then his tone turned serious. "Ms Veder, I do not wish to discourage you or Taylor, but we really would prefer that she have a legal guardian of record. Purely for administrative purposes, of course."

Nina nodded. "I'll talk it over with the Heberts and see what we can come up with. Is it okay for Taylor to attend in the meantime?"

"Oh, certainly," agreed Woodbine. He bestowed another avuncular look upon me. "You appear to have a good head upon your shoulders, Miss Snow; it would be a shame and a pity to let you go to another school now."

I nodded; that seemed safest. "Thank you, sir," I replied.

Shortly after that, the required textbooks had been assembled, and a receipt for same signed. I would bring in the money for them on Monday morning.

-ooo-​

"Where am I going to get the money for these?" I asked Nina as I lugged the textbooks out to the car. "The Port Authority job isn't going to be paying me for another week or more."

"I'll cover it. You can owe me." Her tone was light, but she meant it.

I snorted. "I already owe you an arm and a leg, and the vital organ of your choice. I feel bad taking your money like this."

"I trust you to repay me. After all, I know where you live." She grinned to show that it was a joke.

"Which reminds me," I commented. "How are we going to settle the legal guardianship thing? Now that I have legal existence, I had kind of assumed that I could be my own legal guardian."

Nina chuckled fondly. "Taylor, dear, what the law says and the way things really are? Quite often two different things. You may be legally of age to do a good many things, more when you turn eighteen, and yet more when you reach your twenty-first. But until then, even though the law says you're an adult, quite a few people will find entirely plausible reasons to not treat you like one."

I considered that. I had rarely gotten a square deal from the heroes when I was a teenage supervillain, but I had put that mainly down to them being dicks. Could their perception of me being too young to make binding decisions for myself have coloured their options, guided their choices of action? It was something to ask Lisa about.

But for now, I was enrolled at Winslow – or would be, once the paperwork was filled out – and so my plans were on track. "I see your point," I admitted. "Where do we go from here?"

"Well, I have an appointment this afternoon, so I could drop you wherever you want, and you can take the bus home, or I can drop you straight home."

I thought about it. "Straight home, thanks." I indicated the pile of textbooks I was carrying in my lap. "I don't really feel like carrying these around town."

She nodded, starting the car. "Straight home it is."

-ooo-​

"Nina," I ventured after several minutes on the road, "was it just me, or did Ms Blackwell not like me?"

She glanced over at me. "Now that you mention it, she didn't seem to take to you very much," she mused. "Of course, it could be because she noticed that you don't like her very much, either."

Startled, I stared at her. "Wait, what?"

" ... huh. You weren't even aware of it yourself."

"Aware of what?"

"Your body language was hostile toward her from the moment you met her. In fact, when you met her, I thought you knew her for certain. But she showed no signs of recognising you, so I'm guessing it's one of your quirky memories playing up. At a guess, you knew someone in your previous life who you didn't like very much, and who Ms Blackwell reminds you of."

"Ah," was all I could say. Nina Veder was sharp. She was correct on all essential points, of course; if she only knew that I was a time traveller, all the clues would fall into place for her.

I just had to hope and pray that she would not make that last logical leap.

-ooo-​

Nina pulled up at the curb, outside the Hebert house. She squeezed my shoulder before I got out. "Take care, Taylor. I'll be around later tonight to help out with the paperwork."

"Thanks." I got out, then bumped the door shut with my hip, my hands being full at the time. Giving me a wave through the closed window, she drove off.

I crossed the lawn and climbed the front steps. On the second try, I managed to nudge the doorbell with my elbow. Danny answered the door a few moments later.

"Taylor!" he greeted me, obviously pleased. Over his shoulder, he added, "Mom! Taylor's home!"

That gave me pause to think. Was this house really 'home' for me any more? Would it ever be that for me again? Was the warm feeling I got from walking in the front door due only to my memories, or did I really feel as though I belonged here? Did I belong here?

Dot, bustling in from the kitchen, interrupted my musings. "It's good to see you back. How did it go?"

"Pretty good," I replied, heading through to the living room and dumping the stack of textbooks on the couch. I gave a sigh of relief; I had built up some muscle tone as Skitter and Weaver, but with my build, I would never have much in the way of upper body strength.

"Well, good and bad," I amended, flopping on to the couch beside the stack. "The police have absolutely no leads on who I might be. Which basically means that I've never been fingerprinted, really."

Danny sat on the other side of the stack and poked at it. "So what's the good news? And what's all this stuff?"

"The good news is that, with Ms Veder's help, I've been put back into the system. I now exist, legally speaking. Also, that pending the filling out of all this paperwork," I lifted the thickly packed manila envelope from atop the stack of books, "I've been accepted into Winslow."

Danny picked up the top book and looked at it. "Textbooks. Right." He shot me a sidelong glance. "So, is you getting into Winslow in the 'good news' or 'bad news' category?"

I grinned back at him. "Still figuring that one out."

He chuckled in return, paging through the book. "Wow, this takes me back."

"Yeah. Principal Woodbine remembered your name. You only left a few years ago? What are the teachers like?"

"Well -" he began, just as the phone rang in the kitchen. We both paused while Dot answered it.

A moment later she called out, "Taylor? It's for you."

Danny and I shared a glance and a shrug; I got up and headed into the kitchen. "Who is it?" I asked.

"It's Williams, the weekend manager at the Port Authority. He says he's having trouble with that machine." That machine was what she called the computer system that had been installed in the Port Authority building.

"I left clear written instructions," I protested.

She nodded. "I know. But it appears that they weren't clear enough. Would you be a dear ..?"

I rolled my eyes, then nodded. "I'll just get my Walkman."

"Do you really need your music that badly?" she asked curiously.

"It helps me focus my thoughts," I told her.

"Well, if it works, it works. Far be it from me to criticise your methods."

-ooo-​

I was back downstairs in just a few moments, with Walkman in hand. Dot had been speaking soothingly on the phone; as I approached, she said, "Here she is now. I'll just put her on."

I dragged a chair over to the phone, and sat down, then accepted the receiver off of Dot.

"Hi," I said. "This is Taylor. What seems to be the problem?"

"You sound really young," said a male voice on the other end of the line.

"I'm sure it's something I'll grow out of. Now, what's the computer doing?"

"Nothing,"he said. "Seriously, nothing. Something's gone wrong with it."

I took a deep breath. "Calm down. Now, what's the last thing it did before it stopped working?"

It took me a little while, but I managed to coax some details out of him. "Right," I reassured him. "I'm just going to give you back to Mrs Hebert for a moment while I check something out." I handed the phone back, put the earphones on, and started the tape.

-ooo-​

Lisa stood over a golf tee, shifting her feet until her stance was just right. The course stretched away into the distance, alongside the massive edifice of the memory palace. She wore a light blouse, a short skirt, and golfing shoes. A golden tan adorned her arms and legs.

Uh, Lisa – I began.

"Sh! Concentrating. Very important."

I watched, amused, as she addressed the ball, wriggling her butt under the short skirt.

With the utmost solemnity, she pulled the club up and back, then poised for a moment before commencing her swing. The club came down and around, struck the ball squarely, and smacked it into the middle distance.

"There," she said with satisfaction, turning to face me. "How can I help you?"

I raised an eyebrow. You don't play golf, I observed.

She grinned. "Teaching myself. It's something to do. Computer problems?"

I nodded. An error message I'm not sure about.

She reached into the golf bag and handed me the tablet. "There you go."

While I studied the emulator, she set up another ball.

"Should I shout 'Fore' or not?" she asked, as she readied herself.

I wouldn't worry about it. Unless there's someone else here I'm not aware of, I commented absently.

"No, but it's the look of the thing." She took a deep breath, yelled "Fore!" then swung the club. The ball disappeared along the general track of the last one.

I found the error message, pulled up the instructions for fixing it, and nodded. It seemed straightforward enough.

I handed the tablet back. Thanks. And I think your swing is improving.

"You think so?" she grinned, then leaned forward and kissed me. Her lips tasted of dust and blood. A wind blew up, bearing dust and grit. I blinked.

-ooo-​

I opened my eyes and shut off the tape, pulled off the headphones. Dot was talking on the phone to Williams. Danny was standing by, watching me with interest.

"Got it," I mouthed to Dot.

She said, "Ah, she's back," and handed the phone over.

I took it. "Right. What you've got to do is this …"

It took a few more minutes to walk him through the procedure, but I could hear the palpable relief in his voice as the computer responded to the commands I was telling him to enter.

When the computer was apparently back up and running in normal operating mode, I handed the phone back to Dot. He seemed to be thanking her profusely, from the amused tone of her replies, and then she hung up.

"That was impressive," she told me. "You'll be paid for that, of course. I made sure that any consultation would have a minimum pay period of one hour."

I grinned at her. "Sounds good to me."

-ooo-​

I headed back to the sofa, absently wrapping the headphones cord around the Walkman as I went. Danny came with me; again, we sat on either side of the stack of books.

"So, you were saying?" I prompted him.

Uncharacteristically, Danny ignored my question. "How did you do that? You just zoned out and listened to your music, then picked up the phone and told the guy how to fix it."

I shrugged. "I need the music to focus. It lets me remember stuff I've learned. Sometimes."

"So you can fix your memory problems?"

I shook my head. "No. It's a self-hypnosis thing. I can't get more than fragments, but I can recover procedures I've learned. Such as how to use computers. Nina – Ms Veder – is hopeful that I can get more use out of it later on, though."

"That'll be really great. I hope you do find out who you really are and where you're from."

"Thanks, Danny. I appreciate it." I paused, trying to shift the topic away from me without being too obvious about it. "But you were about to tell me about the teachers."

"I was? Oh yeah, I was." Danny paused for a few moments. "Well, Woodbine's all right, but if you get caught breaking the school rules, he can be a holy terror. There was one time I was …"

I settled back on the sofa and listened to his appraisal of the Winslow teachers. Soon enough, I would be meeting them in the classroom, learning from them. Anything I could learn about them beforehand was valuable data.

I had come to this time, this place, with a minimum of preparation. Now, I had a wealth of data at my fingertips, and time to prepare.

Preparation was everything.

With sufficient preparation, I could change the world.

End of Part 1-6​

 

[Ack]

Recoil​

Part 1-7: Sunday at the Heberts'​

I walked through gently rolling green fields, hand in hand with Lisa. She wore comfortable, casual clothes; skinny jeans and a belly tee. Her dark blonde hair blew loose in the cool breeze. She looked happy, relaxed.

We stopped to climb over a drystone wall. Where are we?

"England. Or at least, your idea of England."

But I've never been there.

She chuckled, amused. "Doesn't matter. You hear about a place, see pictures, you form an impression, a mental image of the place. This is yours. It's nice. I like it."

Why are we here?

"I thought it might be fun to visit England. I've got all the time in the world. Now that I'm dead, I might as well live a little."

That makes no sense.

"Imaginary dream world, remember? Doesn't need to."

Oh. Yeah. Good point.

She steered us toward a large oak tree. The branches were, inexplicably, festooned with bright yellow ribbons. Under it, an old-fashioned square wicker basket had been placed in the middle of a red-and-white chequered blanket.

"And there's our picnic basket," she announced happily.

I eyed the ribbons in the tree. Yellow ribbons? I asked. Isn't there an old song about that?

She nodded. "You heard it, once upon a time. Pop culture will sneak in from time to time, I'm afraid. Come on, let's eat."

So we sat on either side of the picnic basket, which just so happened to contain our favourite snacks, and we talked as old friends do, with the silences saying as much as the words.

The eternal golden afternoon wore on, and the yellow ribbons rustled softly among the leaves, and Lisa and I enjoyed our picnic.

-ooo-​

When at last I decided that I had to go, I stood up and stretched.

I enjoyed this. We're going to have to do it again.

"As often as you like," Lisa reminded me. "You know where to find me."

Impulsively, I put my arms around her and hugged her. After her initial start of surprise, she hugged me back. It felt nice.

I know we've covered most all the topics of conversation about Winslow, but do you have any last minute advice?

"Sure," she replied with a grin. "When you get back from the run, don't be surprised. The clues were there. And don't worry about Danny; that problem's going to be solved soon."

I rolled my eyes. Typical Lisa. Cryptic as ever.

She grinned. "Hey, a girl's gotta have her fun." She leaned up toward me, still in the embrace. "Kiss before you go?"

As our lips made contact, one of the yellow ribbons fluttered in the breeze, and flicked at my eye. I blinked …

-ooo-​

… and I was awake. Upon my lips I could still taste the dust and blood that would forever mark my memories of our last parting in reality.

We had indeed discussed my upcoming re-entry into Winslow; she hadn't had much in the way of specific advice for me. Basically, it boiled down to 'keep your head down, follow the plan'. Which was, after all, my intention anyway.

Still, it had been nice to visit with Lisa, as imaginary, or not, as she might be. In life, she had been my best friend and staunchest ally; in death, she still had my back. I may not have been able to puzzle out the exact circumstances of her existence within my dreams and hypnotic state, but I was glad she was there.

I spent a moment puzzling over her parting advice, but decided that it was simpler just to let things happen and see what she meant afterward.

-ooo-​

I climbed out of bed and dressed in my sweats, wondering if Danny would be up again to go running with me. I needn't have wondered; as I descended the stairs, I saw him sitting on the sofa, tying his laces.

"Morning," I greeted him, keeping my voice down for the benefit of his parents.

"Morning, Taylor," he replied. It was eerie; if I squinted, I could almost see and hear my father, twenty years older, saying the same thing.

He would never say it to me again in that way, of course. But maybe, hopefully, someday he would say it to this timeline's version of me.

That was if I didn't prevent 'myself' from being born. I really hoped that I wouldn't.

-ooo-​

We made it farther on that morning's run. Danny was learning to pace himself, and I eased up slightly to give him a chance. It was fun to run with someone; the companionship was nice. All the awkwardness of the last few days aside, Danny was a friend, and I needed all the friends I could get.

I could see in him the man he would become, the father he would be to the younger me. There was an earnestness in him, a striving to do right by people. In later years, this would be frustrated by red tape and bureaucracy, by legal wrangling and subtle agendas. He would be worn down by it, left wondering what had gone wrong.

As a child, I had loved my father. As a teenager, I had liked him. Now, as a contemporary, I respected him, for his willingness to go the extra mile for what he believed in. Even if he didn't know that about himself yet.

-ooo-​

We stopped for a breather, more for his benefit than mine, though I didn't mind it.

"So, you think you'll do all right at Winslow?" he asked, leaning over with hands on his knees, sweat streaming down his face.

"Don't do it like that," I advised him. "Stand up and lean back. It lets you get more air in your lungs." I paused, thinking about his question. "Sure. They leave me alone, I'll leave them alone. It looks like a nice place."

"Do you remember anything about your last school?" he asked, following my advice and taking deep breaths.

"Not a thing," I lied cheerfully. "Caught your breath? Good. Come on. Let's see if we can't beat our time on the way back."

-ooo-​

When we got back to the house, Dot was not cooking breakfast. Instead, to my surprise, she was all dressed up; a nice dress, her hair was brushed till it shone, and she was even wearing a dab of makeup.

"What's the occasion?" I asked.

"Church," Danny informed me. "Crap. I forgot." He dashed up the stairs.

"Church?" I repeated stupidly.

"Yes," Dot informed me austerely. "We attend morning Mass every Sunday, without fail. Up you go, young lady. Danny won't be long in the shower; use that time in deciding what you will wear. Something demure and ladylike; I presume Nina Veder bought you something along those lines?"

"Uh, yes, ma'am," I gulped. This was a side of Dot that I had not see before. She had a steely glint in her eye which gave me a hint into the hidden depths that allowed her to hold her own in her marriage with the somewhat-forceful George. I trailed up the stairs in Danny's wake.

It was only when I got back to my room that I realised something. This was what Lisa was referring to.

How did she know?

I gave it up as a bad job. In any case, I needed to get ready.

-ooo-​

Dad and I had never been very religious, especially after we lost Mom, so the experience was somewhat new to me. I seemed to recall some aspects of the ceremony, but not enough to make me comfortable with it. Where I faltered, Danny coached me in a quiet whisper, and I mostly managed to keep up.

Dorothy seemed to approve of my choice of attire – a winter-weight blouse and a knee-length denim skirt – and introduced me around as "Taylor, who's staying with us." I met what seemed like dozens of people, had my hand shaken what felt like hundreds of times, and was stared at by strangers until I began to wonder if I had a smudge on my face or something.

Some of the young men seemed interested in striking up conversations; I wasn't particularly in the mood to make any new social connections, and so I was actually glad when George glowered at them in a most discouraging manner.

I stuck close to Dot while she chatted with some of her friends. Never a very social person, I supposed that one function of the church was to bring people together. If I had wanted to speak to anyone there, they would have been polite enough to talk to me in return. But in truth, I wasn't very comfortable in that particular situation; with my lack of religious conviction, I felt as though I had a large neon sign saying "ATHEIST" on my forehead.

The trip back home was as uncomfortably cramped as the trip out had been; with four of us in the cab of the old truck, the only thing that let us fit at all was the fact that Dot, Danny and I were all exceptionally skinny in the hips.

Dot chatted with George on the way back; or rather, Dot chattered and George made monosyllabic replies. Danny joined in occasionally, but I stayed silent; I had a bit to think about.

-ooo-​

Nina arrived at the house just after midday. I was pleased to see her; I had been wrestling with the pile of paperwork ever since we got back from Mass, and it felt as though there was no end to it.

"Ms Veder!" I greeted her happily, standing up from the kitchen table to give her a hug. "You came just in time. I was about to go throw myself in the Bay, to see if maybe I could forget this mound of paperwork."

She chuckled and ruffled my hair. "Let me have a look at it. It can't be all that bad."

"That's what I've been telling her," Dot interjected good-humouredly.

"Where are Danny and George?" asked Nina, as she sat down next to me.

"George is at the bar with the boys, and Danny's visiting young Alan Barnes; you remember him, don't you, Nina?"

"Red hair, bulky in the shoulders? Yes, I remember him. Studying law at Harvard, as I recall?"

Nina turned over a page, scanning the print even as she spoke to Dot.

"Oh yes," Dot replied proudly, opening the oven to release a billow of fragrant steam. "His parents had to scrimp and save to get him there, but he's doing quite well, or so I hear."

"What sort of law is he studying up on?" I asked casually.

Dot reached into the oven with a long-handled fork and poked at the roast. "He didn't say, dear. Probably financial law or the like; he's ever so intelligent."

"Maybe he's doing cape law," I suggested jokingly. I knew he wasn't, but I figured it was worth a chuckle.

Both women turned to look at me. "Cape law?" asked Dot. "What's that?"

"Um, you know, the law to do with capes. Parahumans," I added lamely, as they didn't seem to get the idea. "Superheroes."

Nina's face cleared. "Ah, of course." She patted her shoulder. "Because they wear capes."

I nodded. "Yeah. It's a sort of slang term, I guess."

"I don't think it's a good idea to use it," Dot told me reprovingly. "Where did you hear it?'

Oh crap, I thought. 'Cape' isn't a term in common use yet. "I, I guess I made it up," I stammered.

Nina frowned, and I knew she had caught on to my hesitation. But she said nothing.

"It's a simple word, an easy word," Dot went on. "It trivialises them, what they stand for. And I don't think that's wise."

"Why not?' asked Nina.

"Look around you," Dot told her severely. "These parahumans are in the news virtually every day. In just seven years, they have changed the world in many ways. They aren't going away. We shouldn't think of them as just another fad that will fade into the background and disappear. Calling them something like 'capes' trivialises that fact, makes us complacent about them."

For a moment, she looked old, and fragile, birdlike. "I was born before the Second World War. I grew up hearing of the atrocities committed by the Nazis and the Japanese upon helpless civilians. When people get it into their heads that they can do that to other people, bad things happen. What happens when those people thinking that sort of thing can lift a truck over their heads, or fly at the speed of sound?"

She shook her head. "No; parahumans need to be taken very, very seriously. Calling them such a simple, silly name makes it easier for them to look harmless to us. And harmless is the very last thing that they are."

I frowned. Is Dot an anti-cape bigot too? The things I never knew about my own family.

"Dot," I ventured, "you do know that many of them mean well, and do good things in the community."

"Oh, I know that, sweetie," she replied, her smile returning. "I just think that we need to be careful about how we view them. The good ones are good, of course, but the bad ones have the potential to be very bad indeed."

I couldn't argue with that. I had seen, if not the worst of the parahuman condition, then far more of the bad than most people my age.

"So you think there should be a branch of the law dedicated to parahumans?" Nina asked me.

"Uh, isn't there already?" I replied, taken aback. "I mean, with what they can do, and the fact that many of them are more or less armed with deadly weapons every hour of the day ..."

I trailed off, as they were both regarding me strangely again.

"Surely not all of them are walking weapons," Nina protested. "Some just fly and the like, right?"

I didn't know how to answer that, without exposing myself to more and more awkward questions. Whatever I said, I would be digging myself deeper.

Yes, but every single cape ever is geared toward some sort of conflict, be it directly or indirectly.

How do you know that?

I, uh, read it in a book?

The silence stretched; just as it threatened to become awkward, I was rescued by a most unlikely saviour.

"I would be very surprised if things were that simple, young Nina." Dot's tone was thoughtful. "There aren't many parahumans around in Brockton Bay at the moment – in fact, I don't know of a single one – but there are more in America than there were even just a few years ago. And I do not think that the trend is reversing. So in a few more years, we will have more parahumans around than ever before. Maybe some right here in Brockton Bay."

She paused, considering her words. "And then ... then you can take your statistical sample and decide whether or not there are any 'harmless' parahumans around. Myself? I suspect not. And Taylor here, I believe, feels the same way."

"Yeah, basically," I agreed, with a nod.

Nina regarded us both. "You know," she commented, "I'm actually inclined to believe you. But we're not here to debate the parahuman question. We're here to make sure you get into Winslow, Taylor. So ... let's get cracking on this paperwork."

I nodded gratefully. "Sure. Let's do that."

-ooo-​

For a petite woman of advancing years, Dorothy Hebert seemed to have an inner reserve of boundless energy. While Nina and I trudged reluctantly through the paperwork, she bustled about the kitchen, preparing the Sunday afternoon luncheon. And in between checking on the roast, putting other dishes on to cook, and setting others aside to cool, she still found time to chat to us about what we were doing.

Most of the paperwork, we worked out, was not hard to sort out. Where it came down to the pinch, in fact, was the problem that had been pointed out by Principal Woodbine. I needed a legal guardian of record, and I needed a fixed home address. Unfortunately, the paperwork seemed to indicate that if I was not residing with my legal guardian, I needed to provide an explanation for my not doing so.

"I'm quite prepared to act as your legal guardian in this matter," Nina assured me, "but this residency clause is going to give us problems."

"Residency clause?" asked Dot, who had apparently managed to squeeze five minutes out of her cooking duties.

Nina explained the circumstances to her, and my grandmother mulled it over in silence.

"So, they want Taylor to reside with her legal guardian," she mused.

"Yes," Nina agreed. "And I can't ask you to take on the job. You've enough on your plate as it is."

Dot was leafing through the papers, balancing her spectacles on the end of her nose.

"Perhaps I can," she commented unexpectedly.

"No, George would never stand for it," Nina told her.

"If I signed on as Taylor's sole legal guardian, yes," Dot agreed. "But there's an option here for dual guardianship, such as in the case of a married or de facto couple."

"Neither of which describes us," Nina responded.

"Ah, but it doesn't state that the guardians have to be in any sort of relationship," pointed out Dot triumphantly, "nor that they have to even be living together. Just that they agree to share the duties of the guardianship, and that at least one of them is in residence with the minor in question."

Silence fell. Nina and I stared at Dot for a long moment. Then Nina started flipping through the pages rapidly. In the end, she sat back, thinking.

"It would make life easier," she admitted. "And of course, only if you're willing to go ahead with it."

"Pish tosh," Dorothy admonished her. "Of course I am. Taylor's a dear, and she almost feels like the daughter I never had, anyway."

Granddaughter, I corrected her mentally, but this time I was wise enough to not open my mouth. Some things were better left unsaid.

-ooo-​

With Dorothy and Nina co-signing as joint legal guardians, the last problems fell away. We went over the paperwork one more time, to make sure all the requisite points were filled out, and we each signed in the appropriate places.

With a sigh of relief, I put the pen down and massaged my hand.

"Wow," I commented. "And here I thought I'd have to wait a few more years until I'd have to deal with this much paperwork in one go."

Nina chuckled complacently. "Trust me, Taylor, in my job, paperwork like this lands on my desk fairly regularly. I don't like it, but I do it anyway. Because there's not much in the way of an alternative."

Roll on computers, I thought fervently. This would have been much easier with a hyperlinked e-document. But then, I reminded myself, it would have been much more difficult to step back into society, in America of twenty years hence. In 2011, it was almost impossible to not be on file somewhere, and the presence of a ghost in the system would have excited a certain amount of official curiosity. I didn't need that.

So maybe a lack of computers was a good thing. Of sorts.

Dot chuckled. "If you think that was a bear, wait till George gets home. We're going to have to tell him, of course."

Nina raised an eyebrow. "But his name isn't on the paperwork anywhere. What reason would he have to complain?"

Dorothy Hebert, my grandmother and one of my legal guardians, sighed. "It happened under his roof without his express permission. Of course he's going to complain."

-ooo-​

"Why am I not surprised?" asked George acerbically. "I leave the house for three hours, and when I return, you've gone and adopted our house-guest."

"Not adopted, dear," Dot pointed out gently. "I've just agreed to act as her legal guardian if and when she needs me to, and when Nina Veder is unable to do it for her." She didn't explain the residency clause; George was all too capable of pointing out the obvious way for the arrangement to be rendered null and void.

"So how is it not adoption?" George shot back. "Did Nina put you up to it?"

"No, dear. I came up with the idea all on my own. And it's not adoption because Taylor won't be taking our name and won't be legally related to us. It just allows Nina and myself to represent Taylor in those cases where someone over the age of eighteen or twenty-one is required to be present."

"So I've got no responsibilities here?"

"That's right, dear. It's just me and Nina."

He looked somewhat mollified at that.

"And as soon as she turns eighteen, it's over?"

"Basically, yes, dear."

"And when's that again?"

"January second," Nina supplied. I had 'remembered' it for the paperwork; January first was a little too convenient, a little too pat. But January second was just another date. It put me squarely in the middle of the age group for the class, and was easy to remember.

At a stroke, I had advanced my effective age by eighteen months, but that was fine. I was tall for my age, and if my parents were any indication, I would get taller. And I always had been good at class work, at least until I began attending Winslow – that is, in September two thousand nine. Hopefully, this time round would not be as traumatic.

George would not let the subject go. "But she'll still be staying here, even after that?"

"And paying her way, yes, dear."

It was a not so subtle reminder that I was gainfully employed and would not be sponging off of the household; he took her meaning, and acknowledged the point with a sour grunt.

I stepped away from the discussion, and nudged Nina to follow me. "Which reminds me," I murmured. "Monday sometime, we need to open a bank account for me."

She nodded, keeping her voice down. "Yes. I'll pick you up after school and we'll go and do it then."

"Sounds like a plan."

"In any case, you might want to go and freshen up. I understand that the guests will be arriving shortly."

I nodded. "Good idea."

-ooo-​

Alan Barnes regarded me quizzically. "So you can't remember anything?"

I shurgged. "My name, my date of birth, sure. Where I was born, where I grew up, not so much. How to do stuff, but not how I learned how to do it. That sort of thing."

Zoe, his wife, looked up from where she was carefully feeding their young baby at the table. Anne, I recalled. That was her name. Emma's older sister. Emma, who wasn't even born yet.

"Did Danny really rescue you from the deck of a sinking yacht?" she asked. She was about nineteen or twenty; her husband was a couple of years older. Sweet and petite, she looked about my age – my real age, even.

I shook my head. "I was in the water. Something hit me pretty hard on the back of the head. I was going under, and then Danny jumped in and grabbed me."

"And why you weren't wearing a life-jacket, underwear or no underwear, I will never fathom," growled George from the head of the table. "Basic safety rules. If people followed them, we'd cut drownings by ninety percent."

"I'm really sorry, Mr Hebert," I replied as meekly as I was able, "but I can't give you a good answer on that, because I don't know myself."

Alan looked admiringly at Danny. "Damn, it sounds like something out of an action movie."

"Well, I'm glad he was there," I assured him. Glancing up at the head of the table, I added, "I'm glad the boat was there, with the whole crew. I wouldn't be sitting here if it weren't for you and all your men, Mr Hebert."

He nodded, grudgingly accepting the acknowledgement. "You'll be wearing a lifejacket next time," he warned me.

"Oh, that's a guarantee," I assured him. "I don't intend to go through that twice."

There was a general chuckle, and the topic of conversation shifted to other matters.

-ooo-​

Sunday luncheon went on; Danny and George engaged Alan in talk about Cambridge, while Dot and Nina cooed over little Anne Barnes. I joined in, as much for protective colouration as anything else. While I think babies are cute, I don't have an overriding urge to admire them for minutes at a time.

Anne, I gathered, was the reason that Alan and Zoe were back in Brockton Bay. While they had both been living in Cambridge so that Alan could attend Harvard, Anne's arrival had made Zoe's life a little more hectic than she had anticipated. Therefore, she was moving back to Brockton Bay with the baby to stay with her parents until she could manage on her own again. Alan had come back with her, to make sure she was settled before he left for Cambridge again.

I found it interesting to speak with them, so early in their lives. These were people I had known reasonably well, at least as well as a child can know an adult. I had spent years sleeping over at Emma's house, just as she had slept over at my house – this very house, in fact. Though the sleepovers were years in the future, if they ever happened at all in this timeline.

As Emma's guest, I had found Alan Barnes to be polite and friendly, although always with a slightly harried air. Zoe, equally polite, had always been on the quiet side; I figured that to be a side-effect of being married to a man whose job required him to project his personality. Even now, he was slightly larger than life, as if he occupied a volume of space a little larger than his skin.

Years of practising divorce law would affect Alan Barnes in subtle ways; he came at every problem with an us-versus-them mindset. When I had my encounter with Emma in the Weymouth Mall, he could have sought to mediate, to find out the truth of the matter. Instead, he turned on my father, the man who had been his good friend for more than twenty years, and quite deliberately threatened to bankrupt him if the problem did not go away. Power, however subtly, had corrupted him, just as it had corrupted many more before him.

I looked at him across the table, tried to see that man in him, and failed. He was a little brash, but friendly, inoffensive, and actually quite handsome in a bullish sort of way. Later in life, he would still have a powerful frame, but it would be going to fat; here and now, he was broad-shouldered and muscular. I would not have been surprised to find that he played football or some other aggressive sport.

-ooo-​

It was evening; the sun had set, Alan and Zoe had left with Anne, and Nina had bid us goodnight as well. George and Dot had retired upstairs early, and I sat with Danny on the back porch steps.

"That was a really nice dinner," I told him. "Your mother's a good cook."

He beamed. "She is. I've tried to learn some of what she does, but I'll never be as good as she is."

I nudged him with my shoulder. "I figure you'll make a good cook someday. And thanks for helping me out at church today."

He nudged me back. "I've heard you talking cooking with Mom. You'd leave me for dead. And not a problem. I'm not so much into it myself, but Mom and Dad expect it, so ..."

I nodded understandingly. We sat for a moment in silence before he spoke again.

"So, what did you think of Alan and Zoe?"

"Nice people. Zoe's really nice, and Anne's just adorable."

His voice was contemplative. "Yeah. Alan can be a bit pushy, but I've known him since grade school. I'm glad he's got the chance to go to Harvard."

"Yeah, I got the impression he can be a bit aggressive." My voice was contemplative. "I just hope he doesn't let it take over his life. If he's not careful, he could hurt people."

Danny shook his head. "You don't know Alan like I do. He wouldn't do something like that."

I shrugged and let it go; it wasn't worth arguing about.

"So yeah," he went on, changing the subject. "Mom said she's your legal guardian now."

"Her and Ms Veder, yeah."

He tilted his head to one side. "So, does that sort of make you my sister now?"

I was about to disabuse him of the notion, but then it occurred to me that this was one way to put a certain subject to rest, once and for all.

"In a sorta-kinda roundabout way, yeah," I agreed.

"Huh," he mused. "That's kind of cool. I always wanted a little sister."

I elbowed him in the ribs. "Watch it with the 'little', buster. I'm nearly as tall as you are."

"Oof," he retorted, although I hadn't hit him that hard. "That's assault. I'm telling Mom on you."

I snorted. "You do and I'll beat you up."

"No fair," he complained, holding his hands up. "I was always taught not to hit girls."

"And yet, I fail to see the problem."

"Ha ha, so funny." He was silent for a moment; when he spoke again, his voice was somewhat more thoughtful. "So if I'm kinda your brother, this means ..."

I nodded. "This means that, yeah."

"Ah."

I turned to face him in the gathering gloom. "I will tell you someday, I promise. Just ... not today. Not any time soon."

His eyes searched mine. "Is there something ... do you remember something ...?"

My voice was sad. "I'm sorry. I can't tell you any more than that."

When he spoke, his voice was barely audible. "Okay."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

I leaned against his shoulder; we sat for a while after that, not speaking, but comfortable with each others' company.

-ooo-​

As we were heading up to bed, Danny whispered, "Are you going running in the morning?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Figure you can keep up this time?"

His teeth were very white in the dimness. "I can only try."

"We'll see. See you in the morning."

"See you then."

We parted ways, he going into his bedroom, me padding farther down the hall to the spare bedroom. As I relaxed, letting drowsiness overtake me, I mused that Danny and I were becoming more relaxed and at ease with one another. There wasn't the awkwardness of strangers, nor the even worse awkwardness of the crush. This was something different, something new.

Acceptance.

Now that I had a niche in the household, now that I had attended Mass with them, he was more able to relate to me on a personal level. We could chat, and banter and joke with each other.

It was nice to feel part of a family once more.

With that thought in mind, I was drifting off to sleep when a new thought struck me.

The problem with Danny was solved, just like Lisa said.

Why is she doing this, giving me little hints and tips?

Is she trying to subtly show me that she really is alive, somehow? Or is there something else that she's trying to tell me?

I was too tired to wonder long. Before I had it figured out, I was asleep.

End of Part 1-7​

 

[Ack]

Recoil

Part 1-8: Back to School​

"Pritchard."

"Here!"

"Roberts."

"Here!"

"Ross."

"Here!"

"Scott."

"Here!"

"Snow."

There was a pause in the roll-call. People looked around. Mr Quinlan scanned the classroom. "Snow? Taylor Snow?"

I jumped. "Oh! Sorry. Here."

He fixed me with a glance of mild disapproval. "Do try to keep up, Ms Snow. Sturt."

"Here!"

Under cover of the roll-call, the giggling and whispering spread through the classroom. I felt my face heating, and I looked down at my desk. Monday morning, first day back at school, and I hadn't even made it out of home room before making an idiot out of myself.

And the day had been going so well, too.

--ooo--​

Lisa and I reclined at our ease on the stone balcony overlooking the primeval rainforest. The greenery below us extended into the far distance, until it was swallowed by the hazy horizon. Without asking, I somehow knew that it spanned a great world-continent, a Pangea, the treetop canopy unbroken from one shore to the next.

Growls, shrieks, rumbles and roars sounded from beneath the endless greenery; pterodactyls lazily circled in the cloudless sky, far above.

Lisa lounged on her deck-chair; her broad-brimmed hat was tilted forward over her eyes, her jacket held more pockets than I had ever seen before in a single item of clothing, and her fringed buckskin pants were tucked into a pair of high-top boots made of an iridescent greenish leather that I did not recognise. A coiled bullwhip hung at her hip, and an efficient-looking shotgun leaned against her chair.

She sipped at her drink; I did likewise. It was chilled, and deliciously tart, with just a hint of sweetness. The taste was not familiar to me, but it was very nice.

"So, first day back at school," she commented.

There was a scrabbling sound, down toward the base of the tower to which the balcony was appended. I glanced at Lisa; she didn't seem to have noticed.

Yeah, I agreed, with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

"Not looking forward to it, huh?"

I snorted. Well, would you be?

She nodded. "Fair point. But we have the plan to follow. The world to save. All that stuff."

Oh, I'll do it. Just don't expect me to enjoy every second of it.

The scrabbling was a lot closer. Lisa picked up the shotgun.

"Hey, if saving the world was meant to be easy -"

Yeah, yeah, anyone could do it.

"Precisely." The scrabbling was directly under the balcony now. Coolly and professionally, Lisa racked the slide on the shotgun, chambering a round.

I'm not going to argue about going, I began. I just -

Abruptly, there was a triumphant screech as a large velociraptor leaped up on to the edge of the balcony, balancing precariously on the mossy stonework, its large toe-claw flexing rhythmically as if already disembowelling its prey. I just had time to register its iridescent green skin, and the feathers growing along its arms and spine, before Lisa almost negligently aimed the shotgun and fired. There was a stab of flame from the barrel of the gun, and the 'raptor was punched back off the balcony. It fell, twisting and writhing, a despairing screech wrenched from its jaws.

Holy shit, I muttered. Does that happen often, here?

Lisa worked the slide again; an empty shell popped out, skittering across the stone floor of the balcony, acrid smoke drifting from its interior. Another was chambered in its place.

"Often enough," she told me with a grin. "I use beanbag rounds so I don't discourage 'em too hard."

Beanbag?

She nodded. "Gel rounds. They hit like a freight train, but they're non-lethal."

Non-lethal? I exclaimed. The fall alone will kill it from this height.

"Eh, he's got feathers. Maybe he'll evolve the ability to fly before he hits the ground."

Evolution doesn't work that way, and you know it. I tried to put on a severe tone, but it was spoiled by my grin.

Lisa's voice was totally lacking in concern. "Huh. My bad." She brought the shotgun to bear again, as more scrabbling sounded from below. "Want a shotgun? I have another one around here somewhere."

My voice was regretful. Sorry. You know I'd love to, but I think I have to wake up soon.

"Darn." Lisa's voice was without heat. "You'll be missing the extreme hang-gliding later on, then."

I couldn't help myself. 'Extreme' hang-gliding?

She nodded and grinned, even as the next 'raptor to show its face got a mouthful of beanbag round for its trouble. "Yeah. It involves pterodactyls."

Ah. I should have known.

Lisa racked the slide and blasted another encroaching velociraptor from the balcony rail, then leaned in toward me. "Kiss before you go?"

I kissed her; her lips tasted of dust and blood. Her gun went off, dazzling me. I blinked ...

--ooo--​

… and I was awake.

Extreme hang-gliding, I mused to myself as I rolled out of bed and put my feet on the floor. I hope she has fun. I wonder what part of my subconscious she dug that scenario up out of.

I dressed quietly, and crept down the stairs; once again, Danny was waiting, just lacing his shoes.

"Morning," he whispered, looking up.

"Morning, slowpoke," I replied with a grin, just as quietly.

He snorted softly. "Watch it, you," he retorted, but he returned the grin.

We let ourselves out the back door and set off. Danny was beginning to learn how to pace himself, but it would be a while before he acquired the stamina to keep up a steady pace over a long distance. We jogged and walked in turn, to let him get his breath back, so we did cover more of my chosen route, but still nowhere near what I would have liked to have done.

All the same, by the time we got back home, he was still panting heavily, and sweating profusely. I was breathing hard, and my underarms were damp, but that was about it. He gave me a disgusted look as we let ourselves in by the side gate,

"I don't believe it," he wheezed. "If I ran another step, I'd fall over. You look like you could do it all again."

"You'll get there," I assured him. "I doubt I'm naturally this fit, really. I must have worked hard to get this far." Which was all true; I had been doing this for a good five or six months.

"If I don't have a heart attack and die first," he retorted, but there was a grin on his face.

We climbed up the back steps and entered the kitchen. The delicious aromas told me that Dot was cooking breakfast before I ever saw her.

"Good morning, dears," she greeted us amiably. "Goodness, Taylor, what have you been doing to poor Danny? He looks as though he's dead on his feet."

"He's actually doing a lot better than he was, two days ago," I assured her.

She looked askance at him as he stumbled through the kitchen, en route to the stairs. "I just hope it doesn't affect his performance at work."

I grinned at her. "He'll be fine. A hot shower and a good meal, and he'll be a new man."

"I suppose." Her gaze turned to me. "Though I'm not at all sure that doing all this running is a fit hobby for a young lady such as yourself."

I kept my expression neutral, and merely shrugged slightly. "It feels like something I've been doing for a while, and Ms Veder did say that if I continued doing it, it might help bring back memories of my past."

It was the mention of Nina that did it. "Well, she is a very bright young lady, and rather respected in her field. I suppose I shall have to bow to her superior wisdom."

I smiled, and gave her a quick hug. "And I'm not sure if I've thanked you for signing up as my guardian. So thank you for that, and for taking me in."

She blushed a faint pink with pleasure. "I could do nothing else; it was my Christian duty. And even though you're not my daughter, it almost feels as though you are, sometimes."

Close, Grandmother, close, I thought, and set about assisting Dot with the breakfast things until the shower was free.

--ooo--​

Principal Woodbine rose from behind his desk, carefully putting out his cigar in the ashtray. The acrid stink of it lingered in the office, but as he had been polite enough to put it out, there wasn't much we could say.

"Welcome to Winslow High, Ms Snow," he congratulated me, shaking my hand. He was a big man, and strong; I could tell he was being careful with the handshake, and thus my fingers were only bruised, not crushed, when I got my hand back.

"Thank you, Mr Woodbine," I replied; he beamed at me.

"The paperwork is all in order?" he asked Nina.

"Yes," she agreed. "Taylor's legal guardianship is split between myself and Dorothy Hebert."

"Ah, Danny's mother," he noted. "A fine woman. Very Christian. I can see no problem with that."

He walked us out of the office. "I took the liberty of assigning you a locker; it's just down this way."

I had a horrible presentiment that I was going to have to use the very same locker in which I had-been/would-be imprisoned, seven months ago … or twenty-one years in the future, whichever was more accurate. But this was not to be; to my relief, he indicated one quite a ways down the corridor. Inserting a key into the centre of the lock, he turned it, then told me to set my combination. I did so, choosing my father's birth date. Removing the key, he had me open the locker to make sure I'd gotten it right. The locker opened smoothly enough.

"Excellent," he told me, as I stored my books in the locker. I was glad to get rid of the weight off my arms. "I'll introduce you to your home room teacher, then you'll be on your own."

--ooo--​

I blinked a couple of times when I first met my home room teacher. I knew him; or at least, I would know him.

"Taylor Snow, this is Mr Quinlan," Woodbine introduced us. "Quinlan, Taylor is joining the school today from out of town. She may need catching-up in a few subjects, but I'm told she's quite smart."

Mr Quinlan looked at me, and I at him. When I had known him, he had of course been twenty-two years older, much heavier, and in the final stages of what I presumed to be alcoholic depression. He had the habit, then, of leaving us to work on our own over the last fifteen minutes of a class period. Somehow, I didn't think he had that habit yet.

"Good morning, sir," I greeted him politely, holding out my hand. "I'm pleased to meet you."

He shook it briefly. "It's a little irregular, to bring a new student in after the year has started, isn't it?"

As the question was directed at Woodbine, not me, I kept quiet.

"As I said, she's been transferred in from out of town," Woodbine told him. "I'll tell you more about it over lunch. It's an interesting tale."

"I'm sure it is," Quinlan replied. "How are your math skills, young lady?"

"I'm good up to algebra and basic quadratics," I responded promptly. "After that, I need a little help."

"Hm." He eyed me speculatively. "Well, we'll see how you go. If you find yourself struggling, let me know."

"I will," I assured him. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me until you need help," he advised me. "Until then, do your best."

Turning, he re-entered his classroom. I looked at Nina, then at Principal Woodbine.

"Uh, did I say something wrong?" I asked.

Woodbine smiled benignly and shook his head. "No, he's like that with everyone. He's a very good math teacher, though. He means nothing by it."

He looked up as the bell rang. "Well, you'd better get in there and find a seat. Good luck, Ms Snow."

I looked at Nina as he walked away. "Well, here goes nothing."

She gave me a brief hug. "Have fun at school, kiddo."

Kiddo. It was what Dad used to call me. I felt a sudden wave of nostalgia. "Thanks, Nina. Have fun at work."

"I always do." Giving me a grin and a wink, she strolled away.

I sighed and entered the classroom. Back to school. Yay.

--ooo--​

Mr Quinlan wordlessly pointed me at a desk down toward the back of the room, then went on organising his lesson plan. He seemed quiet, intense, a little driven. Not the type to pass the time exchanging pleasantries with his students. At least he's not another Gladly.

I'd had my problems with Mr Gladly; not because he gave me problems, but because he didn't see the problems others gave me. Gladly had been too interested in being the popular teacher, too caught up with being friendly with the popular students. Mr Quinlan, here and now, seemed to be veering in the other direction. He didn't want to be anyone's friend; he just wanted to teach. Which was just fine with me.

As my fellow students filed into the classroom, I got a lot of curious looks. Quinlan didn't elaborate on who I was, which he would have had to do several times over anyway; he just ignored the students and kept doing what he was doing.

A girl with long blonde hair and a skinny frame sat down next to me. "Hi!" she whispered. "Gladys Harvey. Who are you?"

"Taylor Snow," I responded automatically, in the same low tone of voice. "I'm new."

She grinned. "Yeah, I know. I usually stash my extra books in that desk."

She seemed oddly familiar to me, but I couldn't place her. "So what's your first class?"

"Math. Yours?"

"Same. I'm probably going to get tested to see where I am. Yay tests."

She chuckled at my grimace. "You'll do fine. Quinlan's a tough teacher but a fair one."

I nodded. "I was beginning to get that -"

Mr Quinlan rapped the desk with a ruler; all the covert whispering fell silent. "As most of you may have noticed, we have a new student among us. You may socialise with her later. Right now, you need to pay attention."

He picked up a folder and began to read out names. "Adams."

A girl across the classroom called out, "Here!"

"Anson."

A boy replied, "Here!"

--ooo--​

I sat in the cafeteria at the lunch break, picking at my meal. Gladys sat next to me, with about two pieces of lettuce and an apple on her tray. "Are you okay?"

I looked at the piece of carrot stuck on my fork, and ate it. "Peachy."

"Mr Quinlan isn't really mean," she tried again. "He'll warm up to you."

I snorted. Instead of testing me, it seemed that Mr Quinlan had delighted in making things as hard as possible for me. I'd had an idea of what the class was doing, but instead of giving me a chance to work it out, he had started calling on me immediately. I wished I could put on my headphones and ask Lisa how to work out the problems he had given me, but this was not on the cards. As it was, he had gotten me to stumble through most of a problem on the board, before calling up another student to fix my mistakes and finish the equation.

I had set out to figure out where I'd gone wrong, and I'd just about gotten there, when I was called on again. This problem seemed even harder, but I did my best. I was fairly sure I'd gotten out most of it before he called out another student once more.

"Sure he isn't the swimming coach?" I asked sarcastically. "Because it seemed to me that he was just throwing me in at the deep end."

She laughed out loud. "I think he was just finding out how good you are, and seeing how you work under pressure," she assured me.

I nodded thoughtfully. I had worked with people like that before; maybe I had been a little hard on Mr Quinlan, letting my memories of the man he might one day be cloud my perception of the man he was now.

"Huh," I mused. "I think you might be right. Thanks for that. Sometimes I forget that even if someone's not being nice to me, it doesn't mean that they're not doing something good for me."

She nodded earnestly. "That's true." A sigh. "Of course, then there are the ones who really aren't nice."

I turned my gaze to where she was looking; three girls were making their way across the cafeteria, in a pattern that was all too familiar to me. The leader, the second in charge and the follower. People made way for them; it wasn't as blatant as it would be in the Winslow of my day, but it was definitely there. And I could see the look on Gladys' face as she covertly watched them. I'd felt that expression on my own face, more than once.

"You've gotten on their bad side?"

She nodded toward them. "The tall blonde one is Larissa Green. The brunette is Melanie Caldwell, and the other blonde is Rachel Pritchard." A tiny shrug, a plaintive tone. "I don't know what I've done to offend them."

"Trust me," I assured her, "it doesn't need to be anything at all. Sometimes, you're just the victim of the week." I glanced about. "What do they do? Do the teachers listen if you tell them?"

"Only little things," she assured me. "Pushes, shoves. Sometimes my books are taken. Nothing I can prove, nothing I can point to. Sometimes they'll say mean things about me behind my back. But Larissa is Principal Woodbine's niece, and no-one's quite sure ..."

I nodded. "No-one's quite sure how fair he'll be if it's her on the other side." It was a familiar pattern. Only the playing pieces changed. Sophia Hess is a Ward; they don't want her to get in trouble.

"Yes," she agreed. "She's always careful to be good around the teachers, you see."

I eyed Larissa; she was tall, almost as tall as me. But while I was all lanky arms and legs, she had curves to spare. Emma Barnes, all over again. Only this one wasn't a redhead.

I thought about the sheer unadulterated hell I had been put through, for eighteen months, at the hands of Emma and company. And then I thought about what I had accomplished since. About the person I had become. And I made a decision.

If Larissa and her cronies decided to come after me, then they would learn, very quickly, that this was a very bad choice of action.

I'd had enough of bullies.

--ooo--​

I sat in the principal's office, waiting for Nina to arrive. Well, that was fast.

Beside me sat Gladys, looking apprehensive; opposite us were Larissa and Melanie. We did not speak; Principal Woodbine's secretary had a gimlet eye on each of us, and her disapproval was almost palpable.

Eventually, Nina entered the office. She looked at me with an expression of mixed curiosity and disappointment, then moved to the secretary's desk.

"Nina Veder. I'm here to as legal guardian for Ms Snow."

"Indeed," the secretary replied. "Very well, you may go in."

Nina disappeared through the door; it shut behind her. Some time passed.

The intercom on the secretary's desk buzzed; she picked up her phone. "Yes, sir," she replied, to something that was said to her. She looked at each of us. "You may go in now."

We rose; I stepped forward smartly, in order to prevent Larissa from cutting in front of me. She was slowed up, in any case, by Melanie, who was still limping.

There were six chairs in front of Woodbine's desk; Nina was sitting in one of them. I sat beside her, and Gladys beside me. The other two found their own chairs; Rachel's sat empty.

Principal Woodbine cleared his throat. "I am very disappointed," he began. "Fighting in this school is something which is strongly discouraged. Here at Winslow, we pride ourselves on non-violent solutions to disagreements." He took the time to look at each of us in turn. "Ms Snow, you are new here. Perhaps you consider physical violence to be an acceptable means to settle an argument; let me assure you, it is not."

I was roused to answer. "Sir, I -"

"I had not finished speaking, Ms Snow," he cut me off. "You will have your turn to speak."

I shut up. This was the side of Principal Woodbine that I had not seen before. I had seen the kindly-uncle version; this was the disciplinarian.

"Ms Harvey," he went on. "This is not the first time you have been in this office, sad to say. Other times, it has had to do with minor disruptions in class, and being chronically late with assignments. I hope that this does not mark an escalation in your activities."

Gladys looked miserable. I could read between the lines; the 'disruptions in class' and the late assignments had likely been due to bullying. Much the same had happened to me, once upon a time.

Woodbine took a breath. "Larissa; I don't know what to say. You're a good student, a popular girl. You're my niece, but there is family and then there is discipline. You know the rules; if you are found to have broken them, then there will be punishment, family or no."

Larissa opened her mouth; she was blonde and very pretty, and knew it. "Uncle, I -"

"Be quiet," he admonished her. Astonished, she closed her mouth again.

He spoke to Melanie Caldwell in much the same vein. Then he turned back to Gladys and myself.

"Ms Snow, I am told that you and Ms Harvey attacked Larissa and her friends, without provocation. If this is true, then I may have to consider suspension; this is a very serious punishment, especially on your first day here." He raised an eyebrow. "I would be interested in hearing your side of it."

I took a deep breath. "In the first place, sir, Gladys didn't attack anyone. She was just there."

Both his eyebrows hitched up now. "Is that so? They say differently."

"They also say I wasn't provoked, sir," I replied evenly. "That's a lie, too."

Larissa shifted, began to speak; without looking, he raised a finger. She quieted.

"Kindly tell me what happened, from your point of view, Ms Snow," he invited.

"Well, we'd just finished lunch," I began.

--ooo--​

"So what is there to do after school?" I asked, as Gladys and I strolled along the corridor toward the stairwell. We had just paid a visit to the third floor girls' bathrooms, and I had found them much cleaner and tidier than previously experienced.

"Oh, there's -" she began, then cut off as three girls emerged from the stairwell. Larissa and her two friends.

"Keep walking," I advised her in an undertone. She shot me a frightened glance, but did as I said.

We steered to pass by the three, but they stopped and blocked our way.

"Excuse me," I addressed Larissa, "but we'd like to go downstairs now."

She tried to stare me down; this was difficult, because I was a little taller than her, and I didn't feel like being stared down.

"You know who I am?" she asked.

"Your name is Larissa, and the principal is your uncle," I recited. "Do you know who I am?"

"New girl," she replied dismissively. "Can't even remember your own name for roll call."

I took note of that; Rachel did look vaguely familiar. She had obviously been spreading tales.

"The name is Taylor Snow," I told her quietly. "And we still need to get past."

"Not until we've had a word," she responded.

"A word about what?"

"Are you a dyke?"

I blinked, somewhat surprised. "Are you serious?"

She glared at me. "Harvey's a dyke. Are you one too, or didn't you know?"

I laughed in her face. "You have to be kidding. Gladys is no more gay than I am. Than you are."

Her glare turned threatening. "Listen to me, new girl. I say she's a dyke, she's a dyke. And that sort of shit has to be kept down. And if you're a dyke too ..."

I'd heard enough. "Seriously? You're threatening me? Over what you think my sexuality might be? Even if I was gay, would it even matter? Get a fucking life." I went to push past her. "Come on, Gladys, let's get out of here."

Larissa grabbed my arm, arresting my forward motion. Without even thinking, I grabbed her little finger and bent it back, pulling her hand off me. She cried out; I bent the finger back a little farther, and leaned into her space. "You don't touch me. And you leave Gladys alone."

"Hey!" shouted Melanie, and swung a slap at me.

Without letting go of Larissa's hand, I blocked the slap and kicked Melanie under the kneecap. Brutal, yes, but it was how Brian had trained me, and how I had gone on since then. Hit them hard, hit them fast, and escalate before they can. She screamed and fell over backward, clutching her leg.

Rachel Pritchard grabbed me around the arms, or tried to. They were woefully under-equipped for any sort of brawl; I stamped on her foot, elbowed her in the ribs, then pulled free. I was wearing running shoes, while she had open-toed sandals. In the process, I had to let Larissa go, but she wasn't being aggressive, so it didn't really matter.

Turning, I lifted my leg and slammed my knee into Rachel's stomach; I could have pulled her head down and kneed her in the face, but I figured that the stomach worked well enough. It did; she fell to her knees and started puking.

I took a step toward Larissa; she backed up, cradling her hand. "Keep away from me!" she shouted. "Keep away!"

I rolled my eyes. "Took you long enough to get the message," I told her. Turning away from her, I looked at Gladys. "Sorry you had to see that," I began, then realised that her look of horror was not directed at me. It was directed at the teacher who had just come up the stairwell.

"What," enquired the teacher acidly, "is the meaning of this?"

"She started it!" screamed Larissa, pointing at me. "She started it!"

--ooo--​

" … and that's about it," I concluded.

Principal Woodbine steepled his fingers and gazed at me over them. Then he switched to Gladys.

"Ms Harvey, do you concur with what Ms Snow has just said?" he asked.

"Um, basically," she agreed. "She didn't do anything until Larissa grabbed her arm. She was just defending me."

"Thank you, Ms Harvey," he replied.

He turned to Larissa and Melanie. "I've already heard your side of it, and to be honest, it sounds much more fanciful than what Ms Snow has just told me."

Larissa's blue eyes opened wide. "But, Uncle Paul -"

"That's enough, young lady," he snapped. "If you address me in this office, you address me as 'Principal Woodbine', or 'Mr Woodbine'. At school, I am not your uncle. Do you understand me?"

She wilted under his glare.

"I said, do you understand me?"

Faintly, she nodded. "Yes, Un – I mean, Principal Woodbine."

"Good. Larissa, get back to class. Melanie, go to the nurse and get that knee strapped. Tell the nurse that if Rachel's stopped throwing up, she can go back to class too."

The girls fled, Melanie still limping. Principal Woodbine turned to Gladys. "Ms Harvey, I am given to understand that this is not an isolated incident."

"I, uh, no, sir," she managed.

He frowned. "Well, now that they know my stance on the matter, that should be an end to it."

"Uh, thank you, sir."

He gestured. "Go on, back to class."

She got up and left, not without a grateful glance in my direction.

Woodbine sighed and leaned back in his chair. Nina and I waited.

"Ms Snow, you present a problem to me," he said at last.

"A problem?" I asked. "Uh, sir."

He sat forward. "Yes, a problem. I consider myself to be a reasonably good judge of character. This incident has all the hallmarks of a bullying attempt gone sadly wrong; as Ms Harvey takes your side in it, and she's not one of the popular girls, I have to presume that you and she were the butt of it. But you turned the tables on them, and rather neatly too."

I sat silent, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"You strike me as someone who doesn't start problems, but when they arise, you deal with them as efficiently and effectively as possible. Aggressively, even."

He seemed to be waiting for a response. "I … suppose so, sir," I replied neutrally.

A dry smile crossed his face. "I would do more than suppose so. But therein lies the problem with which I am faced. You have obviously learned to face up to your problems in an aggressive fashion. I'm thinking that maybe you need a more productive outlet for that aggression."

"I'm not really one for sports, sir -" I began.

He shook his head. "I wasn't talking about sports."

"Then what are you talking about?" asked Nina.

"Tell me," Woodbine asked, addressing me directly. "Have you ever heard of the Junior Reserve Officers' Training Corps?"

End of Part 1-8​

 

[Ack]

Recoil

Part 1-9: Ongoing Affairs​

Later That Day

Dorothy Hebert stared at me. "Taylor, am I hearing this correctly? You beat up a girl at school?"

"No, Mom," Danny interjected, barely able to hold back a grin. "She beat up three girls." Oddly, despite being a relatively pacifistic person, he seemed strangely proud of me.

George regarded me, greying eyebrows drawn down; I could not tell whether he was frowning in puzzlement or disapproval. But he did not speak.

"That's even worse," Dot reproved her son. "Fighting of any sort is bad." She turned back to me. "I am very disappointed in you. A lady never raises her hand to another person."

As if you could call me a lady, I thought with dark amusement.

"Wait a minute," Nina put in. "You haven't heard the whole story yet."

"I'm not sure if I want to hear any more," Dot replied with a shudder.

"But I was defending another girl," I burst out. "They were picking on her, and they wouldn't leave her alone."

"So you should have left," Dot retorted. "Walked away. Been the bigger person."

"I tried," I insisted. "One of them grabbed my arm and stopped me."

Dot's curiosity overcame her. "So what did you do? I suppose you punched her."

I shook my head. "No. I twisted her little finger until she let go. So then her friend tried to slap me."

"Did you punch her, then?" asked Dorothy.

"I didn't punch anyone. I blocked her slap, and kicked her in the leg." Wisely, I decided not to tell Dot that I had aimed specifically to kick her under the kneecap; far more painful and disabling than a simple kick in the shin. "She decided not to try to slap me again. But the last girl grabbed me around the arms then."

"So what did you do?" asked Danny, his face alight with the excitement of the narrative.

"Danny!" scolded Dorothy. She paused, and turned to me. "What did you do?"

I took a deep breath. "I, uh, elbowed her in the ribs and stamped on her foot to make her let me go. And then … I guess I kneed her in the stomach a little bit." And then she threw up everywhere. But I'm not going to mention that.

Dot shook her head sadly. "That was far too violent, Taylor. Nothing can excuse that sort of behaviour."

"Mom, the girl was trying to hold Taylor so her friends could beat her up," protested Danny.

"Also, there was how they were picking on Gladys," I told her. "It was really mean."

"What were they doing?" she asked.

"They were trying to tell me that she was gay, and that I shouldn't be her friend."

Her eyes narrowed. "And is she? That way, I mean?"

I shook my head. "No, she's just an ordinary girl. She told me about this boy she's interested in."

"And they were spreading tales about her?" Dot persisted.

I nodded. "Not just jokes. They were serious about it."

I didn't tell her, of course, that I wouldn't have cared if Gladys was gay. It simply wasn't a factor.

Dorothy compressed her lips. "Fighting is bad, but you were defending another person who was being sinned against, and you only fought to defend yourself." She heaved a sigh. "I understand that you did not feel as though you had much choice, but try not to let it happen again."

"Uh ..." began Nina.

"What?" asked Dot.

"The principal suggested, and I concurred, that she be enrolled in the Junior ROTC. This will channel and make the best use of her aggressive instincts."

"Military training?" frowned Dorothy. "I don't know ..."

"Uh, not military training as such," I interjected. "Just … showing us how they do things in the military. But it does mean that once I go on to college, I can walk straight into the ROTC program, if I so choose."

"But I thought you were going into a career with computers," Dot protested. "Not the military."

"Mom, the military isn't all shooting things and blowing them up," Danny put in. "By the time Taylor graduates, they'll have computers there too."

"Believe me," I agreed, "I don't intend to go far away from computers."

Dorothy's expression was dubious. She was no doubt trying to imagine the bulky, cantankerous machines in the Port Authority as part of a military endeavour, and failing.

"Not everyone in uniform has to be out there with a gun," I explained. "The military has doctors and priests and clerks, too."

"But surely it's safer not being in the military? All those guns and bombs?"

I spread my hands. "Well, it's not like I have my heart set on being in the Army or Navy." And I was even telling the truth. "It's just another option for a career, is all." I half-grinned. "And more people die in traffic accidents every year than in the military."

"That can't be true," Dorothy averred, but her tone was unsure.

"The girl's right," George put in gruffly. "Forty thousand people die on the roads every year. Far less than that in the military."

Dorothy and I both turned to stare at him.

He frowned. "What? I have to be aware of accident statistics."

"Dear, you're not really taking her side in this, are you?" she asked.

George frowned. "I can't say I totally agree with girls fighting. But it sounds to me like she didn't have much of a choice. And if she's going to be fighting, then it's a good idea if she does it right."

He stood up from the armchair in which he had been residing through the majority of the discussion. "Give me your arm, girl."

Dumbly, I offered him my right arm. He took it, felt the muscle, inspected my knuckles. "Hm," he growled. "You done much fighting?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. It seemed to come fairly naturally."

A nod. "Maybe so. Make a fist."

I clenched my fist. He felt it, squeezing it with his large hand. "Well, you know how to do that, at least. But you haven't done much bare-knuckle work." Holding up his own hand, he clenched it into a fist that looked to be about the size of my head; as he tensed the muscles, I could see white scars showing up clearly across the knuckles.

"I didn't punch anyone today," I pointed out.

"No, you didn't," he agreed. "You used other hard points on your body. Knee, elbow, foot. All useful. Someone gave you some basic training, I'd wager. Nothing fancy, nothing classical. But you know how to handle yourself, at least against other schoolgirls." He gave me an approving nod. "That's a fair basis to be starting from, when they're teaching you hand to hand."

"Dear, you're not saying you support this idea of her doing this?" expostulated his wife.

George shrugged massively. "Why not? Give her discipline, let her learn a real trade. Some of my best men were in the Navy, once upon a time." He held up his open palm. "Let's see how you hit."

I took a deep breath, rolled my shoulders. Balanced on the balls of my feet, as Brian had shown me, once upon a time. Held my arms loosely in front of me, where I could cover my body. Then I fired a punch, as hard as I could, using my left hand, from the shoulder. It smacked into George's hand, with a meaty sound. I followed it up with a straight right, equally hard. Each time, I put my weight behind it, aimed at a point some six inches behind his hand.

Danny's jaw slowly dropped open as I stood back, relaxing, adopting a non-threatening posture.

George nodded slowly. "You don't hit badly, for a girl," he allowed. "Harder'n Danny there, I'll wager. You know how to cover up, too; that's good. Grow up a bit, fill out some, you could be a real scrapper. And you're fast. Plus, you know some dirty tricks, which is good too. A good dirty fighter'll beat out a good clean fighter any day of the week, all else being equal."

"George!" Dot protested again.

He turned to her. "What do you want me to say, Dottie? The girl's willing to stand up for herself, she can throw a punch, and she keeps a cool head. I can respect that. Wherever she comes from, she's not had it easy. So why not let her do this?"

I was just a little surprised myself. Ever since I had entered the Hebert home, George had been the brooding Olympian presence across the table, or in the armchair in the corner of the living room, often disapproving, never outwardly friendly. And now, because I had not only gotten into a fight, but also acquitted myself well, he was showing favour toward me. Not for the first time, I reflected that life in the past was bizarre.

"Dorothy, really, she isn't joining the military immediately," Nina pointed out. "Joining the JROTC simply replaces her physical education periods with training from military instructors, and sometimes she may go on field trips and exercises." She shrugged. "She may well dislike it intensely."

"Well, I suppose, if you put it that way … " Dot temporised. "I suppose it isn't as bad as I had first thought."

I stayed quiet; I had seen the JROTC curriculum, and I intended to make full use of it. But I doubted that Dorothy would be overly pleased at the idea of some of the things on it. Going over to her, I gave her a hug. "Thanks, Dot," I told her sincerely. "This feels right. I really think I need it."

"That's all right, dear," she told me, patting me on the back. "I'm sure it will all turn out all right in the end. Give me a hand with dinner?"

I smiled at her. "I'd love to."

And for the rest of the evening, I was as demure and ladylike as possible. George wasn't fooled; I swear I saw his eyes twinkle once or twice. But he said nothing.

-ooo-​

"Wow, I wish you could tell me where you learned how to do that," Danny enthused.

We were sitting on the back porch, after dinner. I had helped Dot with clearing the dishes and washing up, and she was now watching TV in the living room with Nina and George.

"I wish I could too," I told him honestly. Though you might not be thrilled at the idea of Brian and me, after he became my boyfriend, for all of one month.

"You're a real mystery girl," he mused. "Think of the secrets locked in your memories. Where you've been. What you've done. How you learned to do that."

It hurt me more than I was willing to admit, even to myself, that I could not in all conscience reveal the truth to him. If I told him even a small part of the real story, then more and more would have to be told, or lies made up to cover what I could not tell him. Where I was from; or rather, when I was from. How I ended up in the ocean off Brockton Bay, in 1989, from 2011. What events had led to my being sent back. What I had done, much of which I was not proud of, before the catastrophic battle with Behemoth.

It was more than a can of worms; it was a cage of deadly vipers. Merely opening it could cause serious problems all around. Better it stayed closed, no matter how much it pained me to lie to my own father-to-be.

"It's a mystery, all right," I agreed lightly. "But now you know that when I say I'll beat you up, I'm not just kidding." He could see by my grin that I was joking.

"You're a mean, mean woman," he accused me. "Threatening me with physical violence. I'll tell Mom and Dad on you."

I gave him an innocent look, and batted my eyelashes. "Who do you think they would believe?"

"Mean and unfair." He crossed his arms and pretended to sulk.

"Poor Danny," I giggled. "I'll protect you from all the other mean girls."

We both laughed so hard that when Nina came out to see what was going on, it took me three tries to explain the joke to her.

-ooo-​

I was pleasantly surprised, when I attended my first JROTC class, to find Gladys Harvey had also joined.

"What are you doing here?" I asked her in an undertone, during a lull in the proceedings.

"Hey, you join, I join," she told me. "My parents don't mind; my dad thinks it might toughen me up."

"Cool," I told her. "We can team up, do things together."

At that moment, we discovered an interesting fact; specifically, that the instructor for the Winslow High School JROTC had rather good hearing.

I had indeed been correct in predicting that Gladys and I would do things together.

It turned out that the first thing we were going to do together was push-ups; quite a lot of them.

After that, we paid more attention in class.

-ooo-​

March, 1990

"Come in, Joe. Take a seat." Principal Woodbine pulled a bottle of best bonded bourbon from his desk drawer. "Care for a snort?"

"Don't mind if I do, Paul. I do not mind in the slightest."

Woodbine pulled out his cigar case, and offered it to his guest. They both lit up, and soon large clouds of smoke were hanging over each man. Leaning back comfortably, they sipped the liquor and puffed out more clouds of smoke.

Woodbine was the first to break the silence. "So, how's this year's course going?"

Former Sergeant Joseph Campbell, now the Winslow JROTC chief instructor, considered his answer as he puffed on his cigar. Fragrant smoke trickled out of his nostrils as he made his reply.

"They're a bunch of good kids. Some of them are just in it for kicks, but there are some that are real dedicated. The type I would have given my right arm for, back in the day."

"How about the Snow girl?" pressed Woodbine. He had nearly made a bad error of judgement, back when she had first joined Winslow, and the memory of it still haunted him.

Campbell chuckled. "Oh god. Her and that friend of hers, Harvey. What they haven't gotten up to."

Woodbine frowned. "Clowns? Screw-ups?"

Joe shook his head. "No. Just the opposite. They pay attention in class. It's almost scary, how much the Snow kid takes in, and Harvey's right there doing her best as well."

"And in the field?"

"Ah, there's the rub," Joe pontificated. "In the field, they're downright terrifying."

Woodbine raised an eyebrow. "Terrifying."

Joe shook his head. "Remember back when you were a green-as-grass second looey and I was your sergeant, back in the 'Nam? How there were some boys that were scared of every leaf-rustle and creak, and some that were just at home in the jungle?"

Woodbine nodded. He had an idea where this was going. "Yeah … "

"Well, the second type, that's these two. I set up exercises, just play-fights really, between teams. Capture the flag, tag out the other team, whatever. And whatever team Snow's in, wins. Well, except for the first time. She followed this one idiot's orders then, and they lost. Since then, if she's not put in charge, she simply assumes command, and then pulls some bullshit tactic out of her ass, and leaves the other side wondering what the hell happened." He took a drink. "Half the time, she leaves me wondering what happened."

Both of Woodbine's eyebrows rose, this time, but his voice remained level. "Really. Every time."

"I shit you not. Every goddamn time. I've whittled their team down until it was just those two against everyone else, and they still won."

"So is it Harvey as well, or just Snow?"

"Harvey's got a brain in her head, but it's Snow that pulls the rabbit out of the hat every time. Snow's a leader; Harvey's a follower, but a good one. Understands the plans, runs with them, backs her up to the hilt every time."

Woodbine frowned. "Uh, you don't think they're, uh … "

Joe shook his head definitively. "Nope. Snow's not interested in anyone, and Harvey's got this boyfriend she talks about all the time."

"Okay, then," agreed Woodbine, pouring himself some more bourbon. "How's the other training going?"

Joe held out his glass. "Thanks. Yeah, that's going pretty well too."

-ooo-​

"Take aim."

I snuggled the rifle butt into my shoulder, and squinted down the sights. The frame of my glasses was pushed sideways slightly, but I couldn't help that.

"Fire."

Adjusting aim just a touch, I squeezed the trigger. The .22 rifle jolted back against my shoulder, as my ears were assaulted by the flat crack of the rifle going off. Alongside me, Gladys had fired a split second earlier.

"Snow, you're two inches up, and three to the left," reported the instructor behind us, binoculars to his eyes. "Harvey, you're half an inch down and two to the right. Reload and take aim again."

I worked the bolt, ejecting the shiny brass cartridge-case and making a mental note where it fell, because I knew I would be responsible for policing it afterward. Slamming the bolt forward pushed another round into the chamber, and I carefully took aim once more, as instructed.

Gladys was better at this than I was; I worked assiduously at it, but it seemed that she simply had the better talent for it. She was also filling out well with the exercise; in nearly six months, she had put on serious muscle. I had also bulked up a little, but nothing compared to how she had done.

Where I starred was in field exercises, and in handling people in general. Gladys would help me smuggle the tape deck out into the field, and would cover me while I snatched five or ten minutes to confer with Lisa. That would give me a good basic strategy to work with, upon which I could usually add flourishes of my own.

She had been surprised and puzzled, the first time I chose to listen to music before the exercise started, but after our first victory, she wasn't about to argue. Between us, we had proven to be quite a team, and I was determined to maintain my precarious run of victories. I knew quite well that Sergeant Campbell was going to test me just as hard as he could, but then, I hadn't signed up for JROTC because of the easy life.

"Fire."

I squeezed the trigger; both rifles spoke at the same time. Beside me, Gladys emitted a tiny yip of victory, and I knew she'd nailed a perfect bullseye.

"Snow, you're over-correcting; an inch down and to the right. Harvey, put your next shot right there. Reload and take aim."

I did as I was told, let my sights drift up and left a fraction.

Shooting was one thing Lisa's tutoring couldn't help me with, and I was proud of how well I was doing at it. Gladys and I were the best shots in the class, and while I had no doubt that she would win the end-of-year shooting trophy, I was bound and determined to get second place, or maybe third.

It was all a matter of keeping at it till I got it right.

-ooo-​

Spring Break, 1991

"So who are you going to the senior prom with?" asked Gladys idly.

I leaned against my end of the bus shelter. "Dunno. Do I need to have a partner?"

"It is kind of expected," she reminded me.

I shrugged. "I don't know that many guys that well."

"One of the guys from JROTC?" she suggested.

I snorted. "They either want to know how I do it, or are determined to beat me, or both. There's no-one there that's just a friend." I looked at her. "How about you?"

"What?" She looked startled. "Are you asking me to be your partner?"

"No, no, god no!" We both burst out laughing at the same time. "I was asking if you had a partner."

She ducked her head and blushed. "Frank's asked me."

"And you said yes?"

She nodded vigorously, still blushing. "Shouldn't I have?"

I smiled at her. "Of course you should have. Good for you."

When she had first met Franklin Knott, they had been so adorably shy together that it had taken him six weeks to get up the nerve to ask her out. She had asked me what she should say. By that time, I had been fairly certain that she was indeed the woman I would know as Mrs Knott, twenty-two years later. So I had given her very strong encouragement.

Their budding relationship had gone well; he was obviously smitten by her, and she thought he was the most handsome man on earth. But they both broke out in a severe case of shyness whenever they were in the same room, so quite often I had had to be the go-between.

The fact that he had asked her to the senior prom himself, I took as a good sign; the fact that she had accepted on her own, an even better one. Maybe they could start taking matters into their own hands now, and I could stand back and let them be.

"So," she persisted, "who are you going with?"

I frowned. "You're much more assertive than when first I met you. I blame myself."

She grinned at me. "It is your fault for getting me into JROTC." She pronounced it 'jay-rot-see', as I did.

"Got you into it, my ass. You joined of your own free will."

"When you kicked Larissa's ass, I wanted to see how you did it. Do you blame me?"

I shrugged. "I guess not. Do I have to take someone?"

"You could always ask Danny."

Gladys had spent a lot of time at the Hebert house, and got along well with both Dot and George. She had formed an immediate friendship with Danny, and had even had a bit of a crush on him in the days before she met Frank Knott. As it was, she occasionally wondered out loud why I did not snap him up before someone else got him.

I couldn't tell her the truth, of course; I merely shrugged and told her that he wasn't someone I was really interested in.

Now, her suggestion came out of the blue and caught me unawares.

"I can't," I blurted. "He's my -"

Almost, I said "father", but managed to change it in the last second to "brother, well, sort of".

She shook her head. "Not legally, he's not."

"I just feel that way, okay?" I told her.

She threw up her hands. "Well, fine. You don't have to make out with him. Just bring him along to dance with. Or can't you even do that?"

I sighed. "Okay, fine. I'll ask him. Just to dance with."

She grinned at me. "Excellent. If you didn't bring a partner, I wasn't going to bring one either. And I really did want to bring Frank along."

I stared at her. "Wow, Gladys. Way to guilt me."

She positively smirked. "What are friends for?"

-ooo-​

"Wait, what?" asked Danny. "You want me to be your date for the senior prom?"

"Shh," I warned him. "Not so loud." I turned my head to glance through the back door, but no-one had apparently heard.

He stared at me. "But I thought that I – that you -"

"All that's still true," I assured him hastily. "We're still just friends. Nothing's changed there. I just need a date, otherwise Gladys is going to go alone, to show solidarity."

"Ah," he replied, comprehending. "Franklin." He had met Gladys' boyfriend a few times, and they got along fairly well. He didn't quite share the proprietary interest that I had in making sure that they formed a lasting relationship, but he understood that it was important to me for some reason. And so, when I had gone to him for advice on how a guy thinks, he had cheerfully given it.

"And I couldn't take that sort of guilt, not after he actually got around to asking her, and she accepted, all by themselves," I confessed. "So; can you do this?"

He shrugged. "Sure," he replied. "What are friends for?"

I wish people would stop asking me that question.

-ooo-​

Saturday, May 25, 1991

Senior Prom, Winslow High School

Danny and I circled the dance floor; I had grown a bit over the previous eighteen months, but he was still taller than me. He was dressed in black tie and tails; I had on a matching black dress.

"I really expected your parents to make more of a fuss when you told them you were my date for the senior prom," I commented. I was glad that they hadn't, but I wanted to sound him out on the topic, in case there was something I had missed.

"Well, Mom still thinks that you and I would make the perfect couple, and I think Dad's warming up to the idea," he informed me mischievously.

I pressed the heels of my hand to my forehead, and tried not to growl. "Danny, I don't need this. After graduation, I'll be moving out. Sorry."

"What?" His expression was that of a kicked puppy. "I didn't mean anything by it, really. I was just making a joke."

"I know, I know," I told him. "But … I was always going to move out, sooner or later. I was originally going to stay there while I went to college, but … not any more."

"What's the problem?" he asked. "Is it me? Is it Dad? We can work it out, whatever it is."

I hated to see him like this, but my mind was made up. "Sorry, Danny. Your mom's a dear, and I'm starting to get a line on your dad, and you've been really good about not pressuring me. But I'm starting to get that pressure from them now, to be with you. You were joking, but I'm not."

"I can talk to them -"

I cut him off. "It won't do any good. They're your parents. That means they'll do what they think is best, no matter what you tell them."

"And you still can't tell me why -"

I shook my head. "Not for a long time, if ever," I told him. "Sorry."

We passed by Gladys and Franklin; she shot me a beaming smile, then made a quick gesture indicating drinking. I nodded.

"Let's get off the floor for a while," I told Danny. "I'm starting to get a headache. I think I need some punch and a breath of fresh air."

"Sure thing," he agreed readily, and we made our way to the edge of the dance floor. Gladys met us there, with Franklin in tow; she was flushed with happiness, while he looked as though he couldn't believe his luck.

"Isn't this great?" she enthused. "I can't believe we finally made it to the end of the year."

I watched as Danny ladled punch into cups for us. "Yeah," I agreed. "It's awesome."

It wasn't the high school prom that I had envisaged for myself; in fact, I hadn't really envisaged one at all, back in 2011. I had been too miserable, too wrapped up in the hell engineered by the Trio. Even if I hadn't gotten powers, I most likely would have stopped going to school around Spring Break, and never gone back.

Or done something worse to myself.

I didn't want to think about that, now.

Gratefully, I accepted the plastic cup of punch from Danny, and took a drink. The tart orange flavour, with overtones of several different types of soda, slid down my throat, refreshing me with its coolness.

A kid I didn't know offhand, one of the year elevens that was attending the dance, came up to me. "Taylor Snow?" he asked.

"Yeah, that's me," I agreed. "What's up?"

"I just got told to tell you. There's someone outside who wants to see you."

"Who is it, and why?" I asked.

"Dunno," he responded. "I just got told to fetch you."

Turning, he disappeared into the crowd. Danny looked after him, then shrugged. "Okay, so shall we go see what this is about?"

I frowned. "Just a second."

Being told that 'someone wants to see you' is one of the oldest traps in the book. The lack of details simply made it all the more suspicious.

Of course, whoever set it also probably knew that I didn't back down from challenges of this sort. Which made it bait, in a way.

I reached into my handbag, which was a little larger than the average. That was because, as well as the standard makeup and change purse, it also held my precious tape deck, and some other items which never left my side, even at a high school dance.

After all, one never knew when one needed such things.

Such as right at this moment.

-ooo-​

The kid was waiting just inside the doors leading to the outside.

"Just out here," he told us, and pushed his way out.

We followed; I felt the chill night air strike me from all angles, and reach down into my lungs. It tasted even better than the punch. Danny stepped up beside me, and Gladys and Franklin flanked me on the other side.

"Problem, you think?" murmured Gladys to me. I was glad to see that she held her high-heeled shoes in her hands, walking cat-footed in her stocking feet. I myself wore flats; I was quite tall enough as it was, without positively towering over all the other girls there.

"Wouldn't be surprised," I replied, in a low tone. "Keep an eye out."

"Around this way," piped up the kid, leading us toward a gap between two of the caterers' vans.

Danny frowned. "This doesn't look right."

"What do you mean?" asked Franklin; he wasn't quite as fast on the uptake.

"It's not," I agreed with Danny.

We stepped through the gap; the kid was nowhere to be seen. He'd probably ducked into the shadows somewhere. But that didn't mean we were alone.

"Well, hi," a familiar voice purred, and Larissa Green stepped into the light. "Fancy meeting you here."

Flanking her were her two cronies, as well as several other girls that I did not recognise. They did not, in fact, look as though they came from Winslow.

Gravel crunched behind me, and I pushed Danny to one side, and ducked to the other. Grabbing hands got the strap of my handbag, but not me; I tried to keep hold of it, but the two guys who came through the gap were stronger than me, and the bag was plucked from my grip.

"So what the fuck is this about, Larissa?" I snapped. "Don't tell me you're still pissed about your finger."

I saw other guys looming in the shadows, so I kept my movements slow, unthreatening. Larissa stepped forward and paraded all the way around me.

"From the first day you walked into Winslow, you've been a thorn in my side, Snow," she informed me. "You made friends with that pathetic little bitch Harvey. You hurt me. You beat me. Uncle Paul took your side. You made me lose to you. I don't lose, Snow. Not ever."

I'd heard this song before, and from someone who would make Larissa tremble in her Gucci high-heeled shoes. She didn't impress me at all. "So what's the deal? Your friends are going to hold me so you can beat me up, and then you'll have won, is that it?"

She sneered. I had to admit, she did a really good sneer. "Not hardly. I've just asked them to … soften you up a bit, first. Make this a fair fight."

I nodded toward the strange girls. "Brought in ringers, did you? How did you get them into the dance?"

One of the guys stepped out of the shadows. "We brought them, as our dates," he informed me.

"Fuck me," I marvelled. "Gavin. Have you learned how not to walk into a simple trap yet?"

Gavin gritted his teeth. He and I had history; I regularly cleaned his clock in Sergeant Campbell's mock-warfare exercises. He'd been squad commander on our very first, disastrous, exercise. Since then, I had taken over, and Campbell had ignored Gavin's protests. Placed on other squads, Gavin had tried his best to show me up, but with Lisa in my corner, he didn't stand a chance.

Which now, as I belatedly realised, was showing a distinct downside. There was more than one JROTC cadet who had a problem with my rough handling of their squads, and they probably made up the rest of the boys who had been convinced to bring in the girls who were intended to beat me up.

I took another look at the girls in question.

This was not intended to be easy, by any stretch. Not one of them was a teenager any more, and they were broader and more muscular than I was. Good clothes and an expensive hairstyle probably represented more money than most of them had seen in quite some time.

I glanced aside at the guy who held my handbag. "Take good care of that," I warned him. "I finish here, I'm gonna want it back."

He blinked with surprise at being so addressed, but I was already moving. Gladys was moving with me; we had done this dance before.

Only this time, there would be no time-outs.

-ooo-​

The four girls spread out to surround us, arms spread wide, fingers crooked. I nodded. They intended to get close, to grab, to drag us down, and dogpile us. Sound tactics.

So long as I was willing to go along with them. As it happened, I wasn't.

Brockton Bay of 1991 may have been a kinder and gentler place than the same place in 2011, but that wasn't to say it was a nice place. There were still criminals, and crime was still committed. A teenage girl, running early in the morning, could be seen as a target by a certain subset of the criminal fraternity. I'd used this as an excuse to check with George to see if he could get me pepper spray or an extendible baton. The first was easier to get, apparently; through his contacts, he'd gotten me a few canisters. Lisa had informed me that in this time and place, they were marketed for use against unruly dogs. I shuddered to think what Rachel would do to someone using one of these on her charges.

Acting on Lisa's advice, I'd asked Nina Veder if she knew of anywhere I could get a baton. She'd only vaguely been aware of such things, but she said she'd look into it. Apparently, a friend of hers called 'Arjee' was more knowledgeable about such things than her. She'd come through a week or two later, handing over not only the baton but a laminated card licensing me to carry it as a self-defence weapon. I'd been a little bemused at the card, but kept it on me anyway.

So when I brought up my left hand, it held pepper spray. The tiny canister hissed and spat a stream across the intervening distance between me and Larissa; she screamed and recoiled as I got her right in the eyes. Then I switched directions, aiming for the first girl coming after me. She also got a faceful, but the stream died and petered away before I could get the second girl.

That one grinned and cracked her knuckles as I tossed the useless canister away. "So, what you gonna do now, skinny bitch?"

I let the extendible baton drop into my right hand, from where I'd been holding it against my forearm. With a flick of the wrist, I snapped it out to its full length. As a follow-through on the move, I cracked her across the elbow on the first swing, and the side of the knee on the backswing. She screamed and fell to the ground, holding her stricken limbs.

"I dunno," I told her. "I'll think of something."

I took the time to put the first girl down, then turned to see how Gladys was doing.

The two girls facing her were undoubtedly skilled in simple brawling. Gladys had been taking training in boxing over the last eighteen months. She had heft, and she had muscle, and she had skill. By the time I turned around, she had already laid out one of the girls, and was advancing on the other with grim intent.

For my part, I turned to face the guys watching. "We can do this all night," I warned them. "You want to beat up on a girl, come right ahead. It can get as bloody as you like."

Danny pulled himself free from the guy holding him, then stepped up to my side. "And if you want to get to her, you'll have to come through me," he added.

It was a sweet sentiment, but I didn't want him getting hurt defending me. I turned to the guy who had been holding my handbag, but he was no longer there. My handbag was lying on the ground nearby, though.

I took a step toward it, and the second girl reached out and grabbed my ankle; frowning in annoyance, I turned toward her, raising my baton.

"No!" shouted Gavin. "Don't!" He moved toward me, necessitating me to divide my attention.

In that moment, Rachel darted forward and snatched the bag up. Upending it, she scattered the contents over the ground. I saw the tape deck fall, one corner cracked, the compartment springing open, the tape coming out.

Lisa.

"No!" I shouted. I kicked the girl in the face, pulled my leg free and started forward; Gavin grabbed my arm.

He deserved what he got; I grabbed his little finger and bent it straight back, so fast and hard that it snapped before he had a chance to let go. He did let go, of course, but it was too late. Far too late.

Melanie Caldwell got in my way, briefly. As I had done, on the very first day I had met her, I kicked her under the kneecap. Same kneecap, too. I wondered absently if it hurt just as much as the first time.

Rachel Pritchard, who had spitefully told tales about me on that very first day, knew somehow about my attachment to that tape player, to that tape. She smashed her foot down on the cassette, shattering the plastic. Then she ground her heel into the coils of dark recording tape that spilled out of it.

I collapsed the baton. Wrapped my fist around it. And punched her so hard that I broke her jaw in two places.

Behind me, Danny had taken on Gavin; I had been giving him some pointers over the last year and a bit, and he had paid attention. Gavin wasn't that great at self-defence, and he had a broken finger to contend with; Danny was doing well. Franklin wasn't a fighter, but by now, most of the participants wanted to be elsewhere.

-ooo-​

And so, when Principal Woodbine and several teachers came to investigate the commotion, they found quite a sight.

Larissa was still writhing on the ground, clawing at her eyes. Melanie was clutching her knee, while Rachel was out cold. Gladys had finished off her opponents, and had backed up Danny in keeping the others off of me.

And I was kneeling on the hard gravel, heedless of the damage to my dress or my stockings, cradling the remains of the shredded tape in my hands.

-ooo-​

The police were, inevitably, called. It took a lot of talking, but matters were eventually sorted out. My claim of self-defence was backed up by Gladys and Danny. The pepper spray was queried, but after I explained that I kept it for protection against dogs while running, they gave me a pass. They initially wanted to confiscate the baton and charge me for its use, but once I was able to show them my licence for it, they became a little more polite about matters. I was, however, warned sternly to not use sprays like that on people again, and ordered to hand over any more that I had. Meekly, I gave them the other canister I had in the bag. It didn't matter to me; I had spares.

Nina was roused and came in to the police station to vouch for me; I showed her the destroyed cassette with tears in my eyes. She didn't understand, not really, but she comforted me, and told me that she would get another one. I wasn't sure if she could; her friend had gone out of the self-hypnosis business, and I hadn't been able to get a spare tape when I looked for one.

I didn't care about laying criminal charges, and I told them so. All I wanted was for that tape to be intact; as far as I knew, it was the only way I could contact Lisa, talk to her, be with her outside of a dream.

In a very real way, Rachel had just killed my best friend from my previous life. I would probably still dream of her, I knew, but without the reinforcement of the self-hypnosis, would the dreams themselves fade away?

Would I lose Lisa forever?

It wasn't the potential loss of the knowledge that hit me so hard; it was the loss of Lisa herself; the snarky humour, the ready grin, the reminder of the world I had left behind.

But of course, I couldn't explain this to anyone, not even Nina.

-ooo-​

She drove Danny and me home; Dot exclaimed over the news of the attempted beating, and cleaned my knuckles, clucking in concern. They were only mildly split, but she seemed to be quite adept at it. I guessed that she'd had to do this more than once for George, in days gone past.

I left Danny and George sitting in the living room; George seemed to be getting a blow-by-blow account of the fight from his son. Slowly, wearily, I went upstairs and prepared for a shower.

I hadn't been hit once through the entire fight, but it seemed as though the wind had been knocked out of me. Never again would I be able to slip on the headphones, relax to the soothing strains of the music, and go to that place in my mind – or outside of it – where Lisa resided.

Turning on the shower, I stepped under the spray and closed my eyes. Hot tears welled in my eyes and leaked out from between the closed lids.

Slowly, I sat down, arms clasped around my knees, the bathtub hard under me.

"Lisa," I whispered. "I'm so sorry."

The repetitive drumming of the shower on the bathtub and the wall of the cubicle, the trickling of hot water over my face, down my body, even the breath moving in and out of my lungs, it all seemed to drag out, to fade away.

-ooo-​

There was a tap on my shoulder. I opened my eyes, to see Lisa regarding me quizzically from a foot or so away.

"What?" she asked. "You've been calling my name for the last few hours. I've been trying to get your attention."

Looking around, I blinked. I was sitting on the patio with the fountains, in front of the memory palace.

Wow, I muttered. I must have fallen asleep in the shower.

She shook her head with a cheerful grin. "Nope. You're still awake. So to speak, that is. You're definitely not in REM-sleep."

But that's not right. I'm not listening to the tape.

Lisa chuckled and shook her head. "You haven't needed that thing for ages. It was just a crutch."

I haven't? But … oh god, I thought I was going to lose you forever.

Lisa squeaked as I grabbed her in a fierce hug. "Hey, hey, it's all right, Taylor. It really is." She hugged me back.

So I can talk to you any time just by … relaxing?

"Basically, yes," she agreed. "Now, it's time to finish your shower. You don't want to use all the hot water. Now, give me a kiss before you go."

Holding her close, I kissed her; her lips tasted of dust and blood.

An errant droplet of water from the fountain flicked me in the eye; I blinked.

-ooo-​

And I opened my eyes to the shower, with water still streaming over me.

With a much lighter heart, I finished showering off. Bidding the others good night, I went along to my room and climbed into bed.

With a smile on my face, I drifted off to sleep.

End of Part 1-9​

 

[Ack]

Recoil​

Part 2-1: Settling In​

September 1991

I lugged my suitcases up the last few steps, turned right, and plodded down the dorm room corridor while searching for the correct room number. "Three oh five … three oh seven … ah, three oh nine."

Dropping the cases – they hit the carpeted floor with a solid thump – I fished out the key I had been issued and tried it in the door. Wonder of wonders, it worked.

In the next instant, the door was wrenched open from within, leaving me with the key still in my hand. As it did so, I came face to face with another girl. This one sported a mass of freckles, flaming red hair, a sports bra, and a tartan mini-skirt.

"Yay!" she squealed. Then she grabbed me, pulled me down to her level – she was nearly a foot shorter than me – and planted a resounding kiss on my lips.

And that was how I met Andrea Campbell.

-ooo-​

I do not make a practice of kissing girls. Even before I had been catapulted back in time, even before the disastrous battle against Behemoth, you could count the number of times I had locked lips with a member of the same gender on one hand, and have a few fingers left over.

I'm not counting the 'goodbye' kisses that I share with Lisa in my sleep, and my self-hypnotic trances. That's different.

-ooo-​

The redhead released me and stood back, an impish grin playing on her lips. Behind me, Danny had caught up with some more of my bags – George was still puffing up the steps behind him, if I was any judge – and was crowding forward, peering into the dorm room with intense curiosity.

For myself, I was still recovering from being kissed from out of the blue. As someone who does not make a habit of kissing girls romantically, I had to admit that she was pretty damn good at it.

"I – whu – buh – guh – excuse me?" I blurted.

She blinked, and looked uncertain for a moment. "Wait a minute," she muttered. "Since when do you wear glasses?"

The non-sequitur caught me on the back foot. "Uh – I've always worn glasses?"

She tilted her head and looked at me again. "Oh. Wait. Sorry. I thought you were someone else." A fetching blush spread over her cheeks. "Sorry. Uh, come on in, roomie. I'm Andrea. And I just want you to know that I don't usually kiss every tall girl I meet."

"Just some of them, huh?" I asked dryly, picking up my bags and walking in through the door.

Danny entered behind me, drawing an admiring wolf whistle from Andrea. "Wow, and I thought she was tall." Cupping her hands around her mouth, she pretended to shout. "Hey! How's the weather up there?"

I had to muffle a snort as I dropped my suitcases once more. If I wasn't quite sure what to make of Andrea, Danny was certainly out of his depth. "Andrea … can we get a few things straight?"

She turned to me, eyes bright, all attention. I was reminded intensely of a collie pup waiting for a stick to be thrown. "Shoot, roomie."

I hid a smile. "Okay, the name's Taylor, not 'roomie'. This is Danny. He is not to be teased. And please keep the kissing to a minimum. I don't swing that way."

Her face drooped momentarily. "Aw." She glanced back to Danny. "Can't I tease him just a little bit? Is he your boyfriend? 'Cause I gotta tell you, if you want to bring him over for a quickie, hang your bra on the door handle. An all-nighter, hang your panties there. Got it?"

I held up both hands, spread wide defensively, as I shook my head and chuckled. I did not dare look at Danny; his blush must have hit his hairline by now. "No, seriously. Enough. He's basically my brother." I held up my finger. "And he's off-limits to you too."

"Hey!" she protested. "No fair! If you don't want him, he's fair game."

"No," I reiterated, "he's not."

I couldn't tell her, of course, that I was trying to make sure that he was free and clear to be with my mom when he met her; I could already tell that Andrea was fun and bubbly and as spontaneous as hell. Danny would probably be smitten in about ten minutes.

And that I was not going to let happen.

She opened her mouth to make another argument, fortunately, we were saved by the appearance of George in the doorway.

"Danny," he growled. "Get downstairs and bring the rest of it up."

Reprieved, Danny slipped out past him, while George lugged the suitcases into the dorm room. He put them down and eyed Andrea up and down coldly.

"George Hebert," he grunted, surprising me. He's actually making an effort to be civil.

"Uh, Andrea Campbell?" she ventured. She was only an inch or two shorter than him, but his bulk made three of her, and by no means all of it fat. His forearms were the thickness of her thighs.

He nodded once, briefly. "I will thank you to not distract Taylor from her studies. She's a good Christian girl, and she has a bright future ahead of her."

Bereft for once of the witty retorts which she so obviously made her stock-in-trade, Andrea nodded without speaking. This did not surprise me; I had seen burly men, Dock Workers as tough as any there, fall silent when he entered the room.

He turned to me. "Come, Taylor. Dorothy and I must go. We'll say goodbye now."

"Uh, okay," I replied. "I'll, uh, see you in a minute, Andrea."

"Uh, yeah," she responded.

She was still staring when I closed the door.

-ooo-​

George thumped down the steps at a measured pace; I could have gone faster, but I chose to stay with him. We had gone down a flight before he spoke.

"She was scandalously dressed."

What could I do but agree? "Yeah, I wouldn't dress that way."

He grunted. "Do not tell Dorothy."

I blinked and stared at him. He stared unreadably back at me.

"Uh, I wasn't going to, but why are you making a point of it?"

"Because she may make a fuss," he informed me heavily. "She may decide that college is, after all, an unfit place for a young Christian lady."

I grimaced; we had already been through these arguments before. Sure, Brockton Bay College wasn't exactly the most wild and raucous of educational institutions, but it had its detractors. And if Dot had come up with us, seen Andrea's clothing, seen the kiss with which I had been welcomed, even by mistake … I had to agree with George.

"Not a word," I agreed.

He nodded. "Not a word."

A thought struck me. "Danny's not going with you?"

He shook his head massively. "He wishes to enquire about taking a course himself. We do not wish to remain here a minute longer than necessary, so he can take the bus back."

"Ah."

We exited the building, to find Danny heading toward us with the last two suitcases. "Uh, hold up a minute, Danny?" I suggested.

"Sure, okay," he agreed, setting the cases down immediately. Those two were heavy; I was glad Danny was carrying them.

Behind his back, George nodded fractionally at me. Don't leave him alone with that hussy upstairs.

He did not know – could not know – why my requirements coincided with his, but I was glad that they did.

-ooo-​

Dorothy was looking around in mild disapproval, as if expecting a wild party to erupt at any moment. All that was visible were some students walking here and there, interspersed with other cars decanting new students and their luggage.

"Taylor!" she greeted me, drawing me into a hug. I reciprocated, feeling her slender frame under my arms. "Are you absolutely certain that you want to be staying here?"

"I am," I reaffirmed.

"You do know that your room is always free if you want to move back in," she assured me.

"I know," I told her, "and I'm grateful. But I have to prove that I can be independent."

Plus, I told myself, it will get me away from the not-so-subtle pressure that you two keep putting on me.

She kissed me on the cheek. "Oh, bless your heart," she beamed. "You're far gone from the skinny waif that my George pulled from the ocean all those years ago."

"Was Danny that pulled her out of the water, Dot," George reminded her gruffly, "and it was only two years ago."

"And I'm still pretty skinny," I added cheerfully. It was true; I would never put on serious weight. But Dot was correct in that I wasn't as skinny as I had been. Over the last two years, I had grown a few inches, and the JROTC training I had taken on in high school had given me more muscle than I had ever had before.

I intended to keep it up; Brockton Bay College had a thriving ROTC program, and I had already been assured of my welcome there.

Dot would not be put off. "You came into our lives, tired and frightened and bewildered, and look at you now. A fine young lady, taking your first steps away from home."

I was hard put to keep a straight face; if she but knew how far I had gone, how much I had done, back in Brockton Bay of 2011, she would be singing quite another tune. But I could not say this to her, and I dared not break out in laughter. So I nodded, and bit my tongue, until I was rescued by George. Again. If this keeps up, I'm going to have to presume he actually likes me.

"Come along now, Dorothy," he rumbled. "We've wasted Taylor's time enough today."

Dot turned away to the car, after hugging me one more time. George lingered; driven by a sudden impulse, I gave him a quick hug. "Thanks, George," I whispered. "For everything."

"Hrmph," he grunted. "Take care. Be good."

Which, from him, was as good as a five-minute speech from any other man. I was touched.

He stumped back to the pickup and climbed in; without ceremony, he started it, and they drove away. To my surprise, I found tears standing in my eyes. I would miss them. In two years, the irascible George and the gently Christian Dorothy had grown on me more than I had realised.

Clearing my throat, I turned back to Danny, who was still waiting patiently.

"Come on," I invited him. "Let's get these up to my room, then we'll go talk to Admissions."

He hesitated. "Will she … be up there?"

I shrugged. "Probably. But I'll protect you from her."

He blushed again; I grinned, and led the way.

-ooo-​

Andrea was a good deal more subdued when we re-entered the dorm room. There were no ambush kisses, either for myself or for Danny, and she watched as I arranged my cases on my side of the dorm room.

"Was that your dad?" she asked me in a careful tone.

I grinned at her. "Danny's dad. Sort of my foster dad, in a way. I'm an orphan -" my parents in this era sure as hell don't know about it - "and they took me in." I held out my hand. "Taylor Snow."

She shook it. "Uh, yeah, Andrea Campbell. Sorry about before."

I shrugged. "Eh. It's all right." I glanced at my cases, then at Danny, who was standing awkwardly, as if not really sure what to do with himself. "Screw it, I'll unpack later."

"Come for a drink?" invited Andrea brightly. "I've met a few people already. I'll introduce the two of you around." She grinned at me. "And there's someone you've just got to meet."

I was tempted, but shook my head. I'd had enough of matchmaking for the time being. Besides, I wasn't legal for drinking yet, and where there was drinking, there was smoking, and cigarette smoke clogged my sinuses.

People smoked a lot more, back in the past.

"Sorry," I told her, smiling to take the sting out of it. "Maybe another time. Right now, I want to get Danny over to Admissions, so he can make some enquiries. See you around?"

"Sure," she agreed with a flashing grin. "See you later."

-ooo-​

"Wow," commented Danny, as we made our way across the manicured lawns toward Admissions. 'Are all college girls like that?"

I gave him a friendly elbow to the ribs. "Watch it, you," I warned him. "I'm a college girl now too, you know."

"Oof," he responded. "Here I thought you were getting all mature and responsible, and you're still just as violent."

I raised an eyebrow his way. "Did you really want me getting 'violent' with you?"

His response was immediate and reflexive. "No. I've seen you and Gladys sparring. That scares the hell out of me."

I grinned. "Good boy. Looks like you can learn, after all."

He cast about for another topic to raise. "Uh, so, I was kind of expecting to see Gladys?"

I shook my head. "I tried to have us assigned as room-mates for each other, but it wasn't going to happen. She's in another part of the dorm. When I find her, I'll see if her roomie minds if Gladys swaps out with Andrea."

He nodded. "That will be good. I like Frank. He's a stand-up guy."

I grinned and nudged his shoulder with mine. "You're pretty cool yourself, you know, Daniel Hebert. I haven't forgotten the fight at the prom dance. You and Gladys kicking ass and taking names."

He rolled his eyes. "That was more Gladys than me. When she fires off one of those straight rights of hers, everyone feels it." He paused. "So, what's she doing this year?"

"Oh, uh, teaching and Computer Studies, I think," I told him. I knew that was it, of course; I had carefully persuaded her that she would be happier teaching than going into the military. And of course, she did like computers. Which meant that we would be sharing a class.

"And you're doing Computer Studies and … what?"

I ticked off on my fingers. "Criminology. Parahuman Studies. Beginning Psychology."

"Plus ROTC."

I nodded in agreement. "Plus, as you say, ROTC." I pronounced it 'rot-see', as he had. Although he'd learned to do it off of me.

He looked as though he were trying to complete a complex sum in his head. "So you're aiming at becoming … some sort of cop for super-powered people?"

I was somewhat impressed. That was almost exactly what I was aiming at. Although the PRT didn't exist yet, he'd hit the nail almost exactly on the head.

"Something like that," I agreed off-handedly. "Oh, hey, Admissions. You go on in. I'll wait out here."

"You can come with, if you want," he offered.

I shook my head. "No thanks. Spent way too long standing in line in there, already. Go have fun. I'm gonna soak up some sunlight."

He nodded and bounded up the steps two at a time; I looked around and found a bench in the sun, that let me lean back against the stone wall of the building. It was warm, and quite comfortable; I unzipped my coat and relaxed into the warmth. My eyes drifted shut.

-ooo-​

I was riding a jet-ski. My reflexes took over while my mind boggled, leaning into a long sweeping curve, holding the throttle wide open. Alongside me, Lisa rode an identical watercraft, engine screaming just as loudly, as we skipped over the wavetops.

Once I got my breath back, I had to admit, it was a lot of fun. I wore a wetsuit with a bug emblem on the front, while Lisa's sported the eye from her Tattletale costume.

We curved again, leaving creamy wakes far behind, as we powered on. The shriek of the engine, the drumming of the watercraft on the wavelets, the whistle of wind past my ears – it was exhilarating. I grinned across at Lisa, and she grinned back; she was obviously enjoying it just as much as I was.

Dolphins rose from the depths, leaping high into the air. I ducked slightly to pass under one as it leaped over me, reaching up my hand to trail fingertips momentarily against its sleek, slippery-wet underside. It splashed down again, spearing into the water with barely a ripple, then came up alongside, matching me in speed. I laughed out loud with happiness.

We turned our 'skis again, heading for an island, atop which sat the memory palace. Day by day, month by month, year by year, Lisa had been tirelessly building on to it. My memories, both the ones I had lived through, and the ones she had told me about, took up room after endless room in there. I had walked the echoing passageways at her side, and viewed recollections that I did not remember having.

The dolphins paralleled us for a while, chittering and leaping and performing ludicrous stunts such as midair barrel rolls, then they broke off as we approached the shoreline. Gravel crunched as we ran the jet-skis up on to the strand and killed the engines.

The silence was suddenly loud in my ears. Wow, I told her as I unzipped the wetsuit to reveal T-shirt and shorts underneath. That was a lot of fun.

"I thought it would be," she informed me smugly. Her own wetsuit came off to show the same swimsuit she had worn on the yacht. We slipped on sandals and trudged up the road toward the palace.

So it's an island now, I observed, looking around at the brilliant blue-green ocean surrounding us.

She grinned. "Only when we want it to be. All in your mind, remember?"

I nodded. Ah. Of course.

We settled down on the patio in front of the fountains, and sipped the chilled drinks that just happened to be waiting there for us.

So yeah, I went on, changing the subject. I'm in college now. Whee. Any suggestions?

"Nope. Just keep doing what you're doing. Though maybe you should have gone with Andrea to meet her friend."

I frowned. I've already got George and Dot trying to matchmake me with Dad. I don't need more potential romance in my life. I just need to stick to the plan and make it work. I held up my glass so she could clink it. With your help, of course.

She grinned her fox-like grin. "Of course. But sometimes you do need to socialise. And I think you may be surprised."

I rolled my eyes. Okay, fine. I'll socialise. But don't expect me to like it.

She nodded. "Sure. Kiss before you go?"

I kissed her. It wasn't at all like when Andrea had kissed me. Her lips tasted of dust and blood. She grabbed me by the shoulder and shook me.

-ooo-​

I blinked and looked up at Danny. "Huh, what?"

He was staring down at me with a little concern. "You were twitching a little, and mumbling."

"Oh, uh, I was?"

He nodded. "Couldn't make it out, though. Were you asleep?"

I stood up and brushed myself off. "I don't think so. Maybe a nap." I stretched. "I do feel refreshed. So how did it go in there?"

He waved a bunch of papers at me. "The courses I was thinking of doing are full up now, but I put my name down in case there were any drop-outs."

"Did they say if that happened very often?" I asked, zipping up my coat; a cool wind had started up.

"Enough to make it worth my while, they said," he informed me.

"Cool. Will you be living on campus or off?"

He tilted his hand. "The bus commute will be a real bear, but it will be cheaper living at home."

And George and Dot will be able to keep a better eye on you, there.

I nodded. "Sounds reasonable."

He folded the papers and stuck them in his pocket. "So, where do we go now?"

I pretended to think. "How about we go by the Club, and see who's there?"

He eyed me sternly. "You know you're still too young to drink."

I rolled my eyes. "I have no desire to drink. Soda will do me just fine. Socialising does not necessarily equal alcohol."

He raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, fine. We'll go look at the Club."

-ooo-​

The Brockton Bay College Recreational Club, known to all and sundry as 'the Club', was actually a fairly low-key affair. We located it on my map of the college, found our way there, opened an unassuming door, and there it was.

"Wow," I commented, observing the dozen or so couples quietly drinking and chatting. Soft music was playing, and a few more people were slowly moving around the dance floor off to the side. "Looks like party central here. Be still my beating heart."

Danny nodded. "Huh. I could actually bring Mom and Dad here, and they wouldn't immediately have a fit."

I grinned at him. "Just don't do it on a Friday or Saturday night. It probably looks a little different then."

An arm waved from a nearby table. "Taylor! Danny! Come on over!"

I looked in that direction, and recognised Gladys and Franklin. "Oh, hey, guys!" I called back.

Together with Danny, I headed in that direction, and we pulled out chairs to sit at the same table. Gladys, the same age as me (more or less) was nursing a pink lemonade, while Franklin, her senior by a year and a bit, had something that looked vaguely alcoholic.

"So, you found your dorm room yet?" I asked her.

"Oh yeah," she grinned. "My roomie's a Bible student. She keeps quoting Scripture. So I quote it right back." Her association with me and Danny's family had given her a more than passing acquaintance with the Bible, something that had pleased Dot quite a bit.

"Oh god," I groaned. "I wish mine was more like that."

"Why?" she asked. "What happened?"

Danny chuckled out loud and I shot him a dirty look, then recounted the events around meeting my roomie for the first time. By the time I finished, both Gladys and Franklin were laughing.

"Well," Gladys managed to comment, "I'm glad you made a good first impression."

"Oh, shut up." I tried to sound grumpy, but I couldn't stay mad at Gladys.

A teenaged waiter came over, and Danny and I both ordered a soda. The drinks arrived in relatively short order, and we settled down to drink and catch up on news.

"Have you seen the ROTC facilities?" asked Gladys.

"Oh, you're keeping that up?" asked Franklin. "What branch are you going into, anyway?"

"Well, the one here's for the Marine Corps," I said, recalling the literature I'd read. Which wasn't really an answer, even though it sounded like one. The PRT didn't have an ROTC program yet, after all. "I haven't seen it yet, though," I added, turning back to Gladys. "When do we start that?"

Her eyes widened. "What, you didn't get the flyer?"

"No," I told her. "I've been a bit busy."

"Here," she offered. "I got a spare." She handed me a crumpled flyer; I flattened it out and read it.

"Wait, what?" I blurted. "Tonight?"

She nodded. "Tonight. Just orientation. You don't have to show up in uniform, but they'd probably like it if you did."

"Well, it's a good thing I brought mine along today," I observed.

"Yeah." A sudden grin. "Oh, and get this. They've got Springfields! And pistol training, too!"

A matching grin spread across my face. "Excellent. Something I might be able to beat you in."

She showed her teeth. "Hah. As if."

Danny glanced at Franklin. "Should we be worried that the girls are talking about how good they are with guns?"

Franklin snorted. "We're just going to have to out-masculine them, then." He deliberately lowered his voice to a growl. "Now, then, my dad's got a four-by-four that … "

Gladys and I burst out laughing at the same time.

-ooo-​

I'd had two more glasses of pink lemonade before Danny glanced at his watch and paled. "Ah crap," he muttered. "I should have been home an hour ago. Dad's gonna kill me."

I stood up. "I'll walk you to the bus stop."

"Don't worry about it," Franklin told him. "I can give you a lift."

"You sure?" asked Danny.

Franklin slapped him on the back. "No problems."

"Are you safe to drive?" asked Gladys practically.

He nodded. "I've been on water for the last hour."

I hugged Danny. "I'll see you later, then."

He hugged me back. "See you later – college girl." Pulling free of the hug, he stepped back before I could perform mayhem on him.

I grinned. "Watch it, you."

-ooo-​

Gladys and I walked them to the parking lot, where they got into Franklin's car. We waved goodbye as they headed out of the college.

"Okay, now I think it might be time to go get changed if we don't want to be late for ROTC," Gladys suggested.

"I think that might be a good idea," I agreed.

We strolled back toward the dorm side by side, at ease with each other.

"So Danny's talking about getting an engineering degree," I commented.

"Might not be a bad idea," Gladys agreed. "Not sure what Franklin's going to do. Family business, I guess." Franklin's family owned a chain of convenience stores.

"He could get a degree in business administration," I suggested.

"That's not a bad idea either," she admitted.

We entered the dorm building and headed up the stairwell. She got off at the floor below mine.

"What room number are you?" I asked her.

"Two-thirty-three," she told me. "You?"

"Three-oh-nine," I replied. "Come up and visit sometime."

"I will," she promised, and disappeared into her corridor. I kept going up the stairs.

By now, finding my dorm room was second nature, but I paused when I got there; a tiny, lacy pair of panties was hanging over the doorknob.

Oh great. She's got someone in there.

But my need was great, and so I slid the key into the lock and carefully turned it. It snicked, and I eased the door open.

There was an amorphous lump on Andrea's bed, and soft noises coming from that direction that I didn't want to try to interpret. I went straight to my suitcases and tried to recall which one I had packed my uniform in. Heaving one on to my bed, I pulled the contents out on to the covers, trying to see what they were by the dim light filtering in through the window.

That wasn't it, so I lifted the next case up. I was in the middle of searching through it when Andrea's bedside lamp clicked on.

"Taylor, what the fuck?" she demanded. "Didn't you see my panties?"

"Look, I'm sorry," I told her, using the light to grab what was definitely my uniform. "I have to get changed. I'll be out of your way shortly, I promise."

It was then that I looked around at her, and the girl sitting up in bed with her. They were both still wearing underwear, for which I was grateful. But it was her bedmate that I was staring at.

"Ah, it's all right," Andrea assured me, in one of her mercurial changes of mood. "We were just fooling around a bit anyway. This is that girl I wanted you to meet. Doesn't she look just like you?"

"I … guess," I managed. "So you two … you're a couple?"

Andrea shrugged. "Sort of. On and off. We've known each other for years. Ever since Lustrum."

I was still staring. "Lustrum …?"

"Oh, yes," agreed the other girl in her bed. "We were both in her following, until people started getting violent, then we left. But we kept in touch with each other. Pleased to meet you; I'm Annette. People call me Anne-Rose." She offered a slim hand.

Numbly, I shook it. "Taylor Snow," I replied automatically.

Oh shit. My mom's in a lesbian relationship with my room-mate. What the fuck do I do now?

End of Part 2-1​

 

[Ack]

Recoil

Part 2-2: Relationships​

I glared at Lisa, trying for a severe tone. It's not funny.

She continued to roll about on the floor of the patio, howling with laughter.

I growled with irritation. Okay, so it's funny, but it's not that funny.

Lisa sat up, eyes still streaming, face red from the mirth. "Oh, yes it is," she informed me, then burst into giggles all over again.

I pit my hand over my eyes. Can we just be serious for just a moment? I pleaded. We need to figure out what I need to do to fix this.

Lisa wiped the tears from her eyes, then climbed back on to the patio chair. "You should have seen your face," she chuckled. "In fact, you should have realised what was happening when Andrea kissed you, the first time you met."

I've never been to college in the nineties, I protested. I don't know what goes on here! For all I knew, that was a common thing!

Lisa chuckled again. "To be honest, you're not far wrong," she admitted. "But when she seemed to recognise you? Didn't that at least make you wonder?"

It should have, I conceded. But I was kind of flustered, at the time. Anyway, how am I going to sort this mess out?

Lisa tilted her head. "What mess?"

You know damn well what mess, I charged her. My mom's having an affair with my roommate. How do I get her together with Danny instead?

"Well, you do realise," Lisa reminded me, "even if they don't get together, it won't negate your existence."

I waved my hand impatiently. I knew that bit. I still want to get them together.

Lisa's tone was gentle. "And even if you do succeed, whatever kid they're going to have is highly unlikely to end up exactly like you."

I shook my head. I don't care. Which wasn't precisely true. I did rather want there to be a younger version of me someday. If nothing else, Lisa's younger self would need someone to keep her in line. But there was nothing I could do about that at the moment, at least not until the more pressing issues were solved. How do I get them together?

She shot me a perceptive look. She knew exactly why I wanted Danny and Anne-Rose to be a couple. He would be happy with her, and she would be happy with him. It was as simple as that.

"Okay," she began. "Just leaving them to their own devices only has a minor chance of success. Danny was supposed to be in Admissions, seeing about engineering studies, instead of helping you carry your luggage upstairs. He would have met her in line, they would have struck up a conversation, and eventually they would have gone for a drink. By the time she reunited with Andrea, she would have been much more interested in Danny."

I sighed. Noted. So how do I get Anne-Rose away from Andrea long enough for her to notice Danny?

Danny, I knew, would not take much persuading to take notice of Anne-Rose; she and I were very similar in appearance, although she was closer to him in age. More to the point, I was the unrequited crush, while she was fully available ... if we could just split up the happy couple. Which was the part I was already feeling bad about.

"Well ... " began Lisa, "I kind of have a plan. But I don't think you're going to like it."

I sighed again. I've already got a bad feeling about this. Hit me.

Lisa put her hand on mine, and looked me in the eye. "You're going to have to take one for the team."

I frowned. What?

Her tone was patient. "You're going to have to seduce Andrea away from Anne-Rose so that your father has a chance of getting together with your mother."

I blinked. I – I can't do that. Panic rose in my throat. I have no idea how to do that. How do I do that?

"Now, I know you're straight -" began Lisa.

I cut her off. Lisa, seriously. Yes, I'm attracted to guys. But with Brian, that was teenage hormones, for the most part. And later, as his girlfriend, that was more to get his head in the right place to get back to leading the team than for any gratification on my part.

She squeezed my hand, her expression sympathetic. I kept talking, to get it out of my system. You know what's funny? While we were together, I would have liked some small romantic gesture from him, something to show that he wasn't just, you know, using me. That his feelings were more than just need for companionship. But there was barely anything. And then later, just before Behemoth, I couldn't help feeling that he thought I'd abandoned him to join the Wards. That there were feelings there that he'd never expressed.

Lisa got up, rounded the table, and hugged me close. I hugged her back.

"When you were together, Brian did love you, in his way," she assured me. "But he was … broken. Damaged. He could barely express anything at that moment. You did what you needed to, got him functioning again. You saved the Undersiders, when we needed saving in the worst way." She leaned back, brushed hair from my eyes. "And you got to have him as your boyfriend for a month." She paused, her eyes searching mine. "Was it worth it? Did you get what you wanted out of it?"

I grimaced. I don't know. I guess I enjoyed it, but when I had to move on ...

She nodded. "You moved on. You did what needed doing."

Yeah. I liked being with him, I enjoyed the intimacy, but I wasn't hung up on it. I'm really not hung up on being in a relationship with anyone. I don't need it. And I don't need the sex. It's not who I am. I looked her in the eye. So yes, I'm straight, but only really gauged by the fact that I've been attracted to a couple of guys here and there, and not to any girls. And I have no idea how to seduce anyone, much less a lesbian.

Lisa grinned. "And yet, you've kissed more girls than guys."

I poked my tongue out at her. Shut up. That was the plague. And Andrea ambushed me.

It seemed to me that Lisa was still deriving far too much amusement from this situation. "I know," she assured me. "Your brain just locked up. It was hilarious." She cleared her throat. "So, you're going to go with the seduction?"

There's no better way to get them together?

She shook her head; she tried to keep a straight face, but her grin kept quirking the corner of her mouth. "Not that I can see."

I spread my hands. Okay, if that's the way I gotta do it, that's the way I gotta do it. I grimaced again. But the trouble is, I'm not even vaguely attracted to girls. And I have no idea how to do it. Or how long I'm going to need to keep it up. Or what she's going to want me to do. This option was looking less and less attractive all the time.

"But you want your parents together."

I nodded. Yes. Dad always said that the happiest years of his life were with Mom.

She took a deep breath. "Okay. Here's how we're going to do this ..."

-ooo-​

"Hebert household; Dorothy speaking."

"Hi, Dot! It's Taylor. How are you?"

"Taylor dear! It's so good to hear your voice. How are you doing at college? We all miss you, you know."

I grinned. "Well, it's still only the first week. I'm settling in and making friends."

"That's wonderful to hear, Taylor. How is Gladys doing?"

"She's doing well," I assured Dot. "Her roommate's a Bible student."

"That's very nice," she replied. "And your own roommate? What is she like?"

I decided not to give her chapter and verse. "We get along. No arguments yet."

"I'm pleased to hear that. Would you like to speak to Danny?"

"Actually, yes please. If you don't mind?"

"Of course not. Here you are."

The phone was handed over, and I heard Danny's voice on the other end. "Taylor! How are you?"

"Oh, I'm doing fine, Danny. ROTC's great. You wouldn't believe Gladys' scores with the Springfield."

Danny snorted. "Yeah, well, I'm not going to compete against that girl. I've seen her shoot."

I chuckled. "Good point. But hey, how would you like to come to the Club with us on Friday night?"

He paused. "'Us?'"

"Yeah, us. Me, you, Gladys, Frank, Andrea, and Anne-Rose."

"We're not a couple, right?" he ventured.

"Nope," I assured him. "It'll be just like the prom."

"Without the fighting, I hope," he joked.

I rolled my eyes. "God, I hope so."

"Uh, I've met Andrea, I think," he ventured. I grinned; Andrea had that effect on people. She was very memorable. "But I don't think I know this Anne-Rose."

"Oh, she's very nice," I told him airily. "You'll like her."

-ooo-​

"It's a bit loud, isn't it?" shouted Danny.

"What?" I shouted back.

"It's a bit loud!"

"Yeah!" I agreed.

It was more than 'a bit loud'. Friday night at the Club – we had decided more or less unanimously that travel expenses would far less strenuous if we just stayed on campus – tended to pull out all the stops. The speakers were blasting music non-stop, and at ear-bleeding levels, though it tended to be stuff I actually liked, rather than what would be around in another twenty years or so. I guess Dad's tastes have rubbed off on me more than I thought.

"Can we go outside on the deck?" shouted Gladys.

"What?" yelled Danny.

"Out! Side!" bellowed Frank.

We all nodded, and picked up our drinks.

Frank had ordered the drinks for everyone else; Danny, Anne-Rose and Gladys had sodas. Andrea got something with an umbrella in it, and Frank himself had gone with a wine cooler. I had gone to the bar on my own and ordered (via sign language) a glass of whiskey on the rocks. I'd been prepared to be rebuffed; after all, I was still underage. But the overworked bartender hadn't even blinked. Then again, he probably would not have cared even if he knew I was under twenty-one; I was at college anyway, right?

Whatever the legalities of the situation, I needed the Dutch courage to get up the nerve to do what I intended to do next.

We found an unattended table, far enough out of the way that the music was only loud, not deafening. I held off sitting down so that when Danny sat next to Anne-Rose – from whom he had hardly been able to tear his gaze since he met her – I ended up next to Andrea. She looked at me curiously as I belted back the remainder of my drink; it burned down my throat and set my eyes to watering.

"Well, that's a bit better," Gladys declared. "Now we can at least talk without screaming."

As everyone else nodded or spoke in agreement, I made my move; under cover of the table, I put my hand on Andrea's thigh and squeezed slightly. I had no idea how to come on to her in any other way, without being so blatant that everyone else saw me at it. As it was, I nearly talked myself out of even doing that; only the dull buzz from the alcohol allowed me to go through with it.

She certainly got the message; startled, she turned and stared at me. I looked back at her, as boldly as I dared. She put her hand on mine; I nodded slightly.

"I, uh, need to go powder my nose," she announced, and grabbed my hand, squeezing it.

I got the hint a moment later. "Uh, I'll come too," I declared.

When I stood up too quickly, my head swam for a moment; even at eighteen (pretending to be nineteen), I still didn't have sufficient body mass to take a serious drink without getting fuzzy around the edges. But it passed, and together we made our way to the womens' bathrooms.

-ooo-​

Andrea helped Taylor wash her face after throwing up, then got her to her feet. The taller girl was all knees and elbows, and didn't seem to have much in the way of coordination; she frowned. Even a non-drinker, and one as skinny as Taylor, should be able to hold her booze better than this.

With help, Taylor could walk, but only just. As they stumbled from the bathrooms and back over toward the table, Danny stood up, looking alarmed. He headed toward them and helped take part of the burden from Andrea; with his height, he was ideally placed to do so. "What happened?" he asked. "Is she all right?"

"She's really drunk," Gladys observed. She waved her hand in front of Taylor's face. Behind her glasses, Taylor's eyes slowly crossed.

"Wow," marvelled Anne-Rose. "Does she do this often?"

Danny shook his head. "Not in all the time I've known her."

"She didn't drink that much," Frank observed. "Why's she so drunk?"

"I think someone might have spiked her drink," Andrea told them. "That shit happens from time to time."

"Oh shit," blurted Danny. "Do we need to take her to the hospital?"

Andrea shook her head. "She'll be fine. She just needs to sleep it off. I'll get her back to the dorm."

"Need a hand?" asked Frank.

Andrea nodded. "She's skinny, but she still makes two of me."

Gladys stepped forward and scooped Taylor up almost effortlessly. Taylor giggled helplessly and rested her head on her best friend's shoulder.

"Wow," Andrea commented. "I knew you worked out, but … wow."

Gladys grinned. "We've practised doing this exact thing in JROTC, with exercises where one or the other is 'wounded'."

"So what happens if you're the one who's 'wounded'?" asked Frank as they moved away from the Club.

Gladys chuckled. "It's a lot harder for Taylor. But she usually figures something out."

When they got to the dormitory, Andrea turned to the others. "Danny, can you and Frank keep Anne-Rose company while I show Gladys where to put Taylor? We should only be a moment."

No-one disagreed; Andrea led the way, while Gladys followed patiently, bearing her now-snoring burden with ease.

"Wow," commented Gladys. "That really hit her hard."

"It affects the skinny ones worse," Andrea explained. "It didn't help that she was drinking straight whiskey."

"I wonder why she hit it so hard tonight," mused Gladys. Andrea chose not to comment.

Once Andrea had the door open, she hit the light, and showed Gladys into the room. "Just put her down there," she instructed. Gladys, moving carefully, placed Taylor on to the appropriate bed. She couldn't know, of course, that the bed in question was Andrea's.

As she was put down, Taylor roused a little.

"Mrs Knott," she slurred, smiling up at Gladys. "M'fav'r't teacher."

"Not yet, Taylor," Gladys told her softly, pulling her shoes off and dragging the covers over her. "In time, but not yet."

"Gotta tell everyone," murmured Taylor, going under fast once more. "watch out f'r ..."

She began snoring once more, and Gladys shared a glance with Andrea.

"What was that about?" asked Andrea curiously.

Gladys shrugged. "Frank's last name is Knott. We're gonna get married once I graduate. I'm going to be a teacher. Taylor's always supported me in doing that."

"And the other bit, about warning people?"

Another shrug. "Who knows. She's drunk. She might be wanting to warn people that the doorknobs are sentient and planning to take over the College."

Andrea chuckled, then yawned. "Actually, you know, I might just turn in, now that I'm here and all. I'm really tired, and I have to get up early tomorrow."

"Okay," agreed Gladys. "I'll make sure Anne-Rose gets to her room okay."

Andrea smiled at her. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

She watched Gladys leave, then shut the door, carefully locking it. Humming a little tune, she headed back to the bed currently occupied by her sleeping roommate, unbuttoning her clothes as she went.

-ooo-​

"Wow, seriously?" asked Danny. "My mom does exactly the same thing!"

Anne-Rose nodded earnestly. "And my dad … oh my god, my dad. It's like he's got a hundred-point graded essay for any boy who even thinks about taking me out."

Danny shook his head. "I know how that goes. I get that, but from the other direction. I meet a girl, she gets the third degree. Like, how are we ever expected to learn proper judgement if we're never allowed to exercise it?"

Oh my god, a guy who actually understands me. Anne-Rose looked at Danny Hebert, her heart beating faster. While Andrea was fun, she was shorter than Anne-Rose, and a girl; while Anne-Rose rather liked being with Andrea, her preferences were toward taller men. Not many men were taller than her. Danny was. Andrea was fun, and flirty, but never looked at the serious issues. Danny did, and he agreed with her.

But there was Taylor to consider; Anne-Rose didn't want to intrude on something that was already there. "Um, about Taylor …?"

Danny shook his head. "She's kind of my sister. We're not involved." He paused; Anne-Rose could swear she could read the thoughts going through his head, given that they were the same ones that had gone through hers. "Uh, about Andrea …?"

"Andrea's gone to bed," Gladys filled in, pushing the door open and rejoining the group. "Said she was tired."

"Wasn't she drinking too?" asked Frank.

Anne-Rose shrugged. "Yeah, but she knows her limit."

"Why don't we go for a walk?" suggested Gladys. "It's a lovely night."

It was indeed; so Gladys took Frank's arm, and more or less by default Anne-Rose found herself taking Danny's arm. It seemed very right to her, and she didn't notice him complaining either. Together, the foursome strolled about the grounds of the College, skirting around party-goers, and tactfully not taking notice of the stranger noises emanating from the shadows.

When they got back to the dormitory, some time had passed, and it was generally agreed that it was time to finish for the evening.

Gladys re-opened the door and glanced at Anne-Rose. "I can make sure you get to your room okay, if you want."

Anne-Rose shook her head. "No, I'll be fine. I just want to say good night to Danny."

Gladys smiled. "Okay then. Night, you two."

Before Anne-Rose could comment that there were three of them being left behind, Frank had ducked in through the door as well. It swung shut on their giggling as they ascended the stairs.

In the silence that followed, Danny ventured, "Uh, he's not just seeing her to her room, is he?"

Anne-Rose smirked and shook her head. "No, he's not."

They shared a self-conscious chuckle. "Um, I just want to thank you," she began, "for a really nice night."

"Even though your girlfriend bailed on you," he added scrupulously.

"Oh, she's not my girlfriend," she replied candidly. "We just like being together. Anyway, your date – sister, whatever – got drunk and passed out too."

He moved closer to her; she felt his nearness and shivered. It was a good kind of shiver. "I'm really glad she did," he murmured. "I enjoyed tonight, a lot."

She nodded. "Yeah," she agreed. "It's been really, really nice talking to you. I want to see you again, if that's okay?"

"You – you do?" he gulped. "Uh, sure. Any time. Just call me."

She giggled. "I don't have your number, silly."

"Ask Gladys, or Taylor," Danny advised her. "They both know it."

Anne-Rose nodded. "Okay," she agreed. She paused. "Do you really think she looks like me? Andrea couldn't shut up about it."

"It is kind of funny, yeah. But I suppose this sort of thing happens, with second or third cousins, or the like." He smiled down at her. "But you're a lot prettier than her, anyway."

She lifted up on tiptoe and kissed him, a gentle peck on the lips.

"Flattery," she murmured, "will get you everywhere."

And then, as he was still standing there, stunned, she opened the door.

"I'll see you later, Danny," she promised him.

He nodded. "Uh, yeah," he mumbled, but the door was already closing.

Anne-Rose danced up the steps, her heart still racing from Danny's proximity. He likes me, he really does, she sang to herself. She didn't see the gawky frame, the weak chin. She saw the kind, considerate man, who understood her as few did.

She saw Danny Hebert for what he was, and she liked what she saw.

-ooo-​

Danny watched the door close, and he turned to walk back to the car-park. For the occasion, he had borrowed his father's truck, and had driven Frank in; now he understood why Gladys' boyfriend had asked him to do it that way.

For a moment, he felt a pang of envy, and wondered if Anne-Rose would have let him come up if he'd asked – no! he told himself sternly. She's a good Christian woman, and you've only just met her. You will treat her right.

But even though he wasn't doing with her what Frank was undoubtedly doing with Gladys at that very moment, he could not help feeling a tremendous lightness of heart as he located the truck and unlocked it. She kissed me. She likes me, she really does.

I want to see her again.

All the way home, he sang loudly and out-of-tune along with the popular tunes on the radio.

-ooo-​

George Hebert roused himself from his armchair as the headlights swung into the driveway. He heaved himself to his feet and went to open the front door; just as he did so, he heard Danny locking the truck. They met on the front steps, a study in contrasts; the tall, skinny young man and his shorter, much more heavily built father.

"You're home," George grunted. "Earlier than I expected." He sniffed, but could not smell alcohol on his son's breath. There was tobacco smoke there, but that was to be expected.

Danny nodded. "Yeah. Taylor, uh, wasn't feeling well, so she went to bed, and the rest of us walked around for a bit, and then I came home." He smiled. "I met a girl, Dad."

George nodded dourly. Of course the boy had met a girl. It happened, at those sorts of things.

"Is she the sort of girl that your mother would approve of?" he asked.

His son surprised him by nodding judiciously. "I think so, Dad," he agreed. "She's really nice."

"We'll see," muttered George, turning to go back into the house.

He turned out the lights and followed Danny up the stairs. He and Dot had grown used to having Taylor in the house; it felt subtly emptier with her gone. If Danny had found a girl who actually liked him, and who Dot approved of … well, time would tell.

-ooo-​

I frowned. I feel weird.

Lisa looked up from where she was forcing a live chicken into the barrel of a cannon of some sort.

"That's not surprising," she commented. "Your drink was spiked."

My eyes opened wide. Oh god. Am I all right?

She nodded and pulled a lever on the side of the cannon. The chicken's alarmed b-kawk echoed from out of the cannon's barrel.

"Yes and no," she assured me, swivelling the cannon to point down the train tracks. "You're unconscious, but they got you back to the dorm. Unfortunately, you kind of made an agreement before you lost all lucidity."

Agreement? I blurted, alarmed. What sort of agreement, and with whom?

A train horn blared in the distance; while I waited for her answer. She carefully sighted down the cannon barrel.

Lisa? I prompted her.

Finally satisfied with the alignment of the cannon, she turned to me. "With Andrea," she informed me.

Uh … what sort of agreement? I asked with trepidation. The last thing I remember is getting up with her to go to the bathroom.

Instead of answering, she picked up a tablet, tapped it a couple of times, then handed it to me.

-ooo-​

Inside the women's bathrooms, the noise was cut somewhat; Andrea grabbed me and pushed me backward into a cubicle. I found myself sitting down hard on the closed lid of a toilet while Andrea wriggled past the door and locked it behind her.

I had a whole speech prepared; I got as far as "I -" before she straddled my lap and kissed me.

Her arms were around me, holding me close; I could feel her not inconsiderable breasts pushing against mine, even as I belatedly remembered to put my arms around her. Kissing her back was weird, but not disgusting or even distasteful; as I had noted before, she was a good kisser.

After an extended period of time, she pulled back from me, looking into my eyes.

"Huh," she muttered. "Not bad."

I tried again. "I -"

"Shut up," she ordered me. "Whatever you were going to say, forget it. Not interested. I just want to know one thing. Why?"

By now, I was totally confused, not to mention a little dizzy; being very thoroughly kissed like that, even by a woman, had had its effect on me. The alcohol didn't help. "What?"

She smiled at me. "I know you're straight, Taylor. You don't check girls out. You barely check guys out. You're not the pranking type. But you're coming on to me. It's not because of my sexy, sexy bod. So why?"

Guilt overwhelmed me. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm such a moron."

She looked a little confused. "I don't get it."

"I didn't mean to hurt you," I blurted. "I just wanted to give Danny a chance to meet Anne-Rose."

Andrea blinked. "Danny? The almost-your-brother Danny? You were getting me out of the way so he could get close to Anne-Rose?"

Miserably, I nodded. "Yeah."

"Wow," she murmured. "Wow. Does he know you're doing this for him? Does she?"

I shook my head, and swayed as the world spun. She took hold of my shoulders, steadying me. "Whoa, are you all right there?"

"Don't normally drink," I slurred.

"But you've been knocking it back so you'd be brave enough to come on to me, even though you're ultra-straight," she realised. "I don't know if that's incredibly stupid, incredibly brave, or incredibly nice of you."

I began to cry, holding on to her. Tears flowed warm down my cheeks. "Sorry, so sorry. Just wanted Danny to be happy."

She chuckled. "Hey, it's all right. I'm not mad. Even though I thought for a bit I was gonna get my fondest fantasy realised."

I must have looked confused, because she continued. "Threesome, duh. With twins. Or close enough. How come you two look so much alike, anyway?"

I could not conjure a suitable lie, so I shrugged. That seemed to pass muster with Andrea, who held me as I cried noisily into her shoulder.

The tears dried up pretty quickly, and Andrea helped me dry my eyes and blow my nose.

"'m sorry," I slurred. Wow, this stuff is really hitting me hard.

She grinned at me. "Hey, it's okay," she assured me. "Anne-Rose and me, we're not exclusive. We got involved with each other when we were with Lustrum's movement, and it's been sort of on and off ever since. But we both know that if I found someone serious, or she did, it'd be over." She brushed the hair back out of my eyes. "So if she happens to like this Danny guy, I'll step back and wish her luck."

"Thank you," I whispered. I was starting to feel acute embarrassment now, not least because I was still sitting in the toilet cubicle with Andrea straddling my lap.

She tilted my chin up. "Oh, you're not getting off that easily, Taylor Snow," she murmured, and kissed me again. I kissed her back, partly due to guilt, and partly because she really was a good kisser. It was starting to feel really, really easy to do what she wanted.

"What d'y' m'n?" I mumbled, when we broke for air.

"I mean, that's a sneaky and underhanded trick," she admonished me, with a smile on her face. "And you deserve a punishment that fits the crime."

I looked at her, not really comprehending what she was saying.

She kissed me again, briefly. "I let Danny and Anne-Rose alone, and in return, you agree to be my girlfriend for a week."

All I really got out of that was that Danny would be left alone to be with Anne-Rose. Which was, after all, the point of the whole exercise. So, like the half-drunk idiot I was right then, I slurred, "Deal."

She went to kiss me again; my eyes went wide, and I shook my head. She didn't know what was going on until I clapped my hand over my mouth.

We got the toilet lid up just in time.

-ooo-​

I looked up from the tablet just in time to see Lisa pull the lever that fired the cannon. I expected some sort of compressed air whoomph, but instead there was a tremendous BOOM, and the chicken hurtled out of the cannon at what looked like supersonic speeds. It struck the nose of the oncoming train, and the whole thing exploded in a tremendous ball of flame.

"Woo hoo!" whooped Lisa. "Sufficient velocity theorem – proven!"

I looked at the wreckage of the train, with a chicken-sized hole cored right through the middle of it, and the twisted train tracks. I'm not sure what that was about, I told her, but you sure as hell made a mess.

She grinned. "Didn't I, just?"

But I have more pressing concerns. I've been spiked, I'm unconscious, and I'm alone in my dorm room with my roommate, who has agreed to let Danny be with Anne-Rose so long as I agree to be her girlfriend for a week. Does that about cover it?

Lisa nodded. "Yeah." She paused. "Just so you know; it worked. Danny and Anne-Rose are on the way to forming a strong relationship."

And me? I asked.

"You could be, also," she informed me, with an impish grin.

Lisa, I pleaded. Don't leave me hanging. What's she done to me?

Rolling her eyes, Lisa relented. "She hasn't molested you. But she has … kind of undressed you and gotten into bed with you."

Oh god, I groaned. Oh god. How do I get out of this?

Lisa took me by the shoulders. "Taylor," she told me bluntly. "Andrea's a nice girl. She won't take advantage of you. She won't force you to do anything you don't want to do. The worst that's going to happen over the next week is severe embarrassment. And that never killed anyone."

I got a grip on myself. Okay, I muttered. Okay. One week. I can do this.

Lisa grinned at me. "That's the spirit." Her eyes twinkled. "Though I'm probably going to have to build an extra wing on to the memory palace for all the new experiences you're about to have."

I glared at her. You suck.

The unrepentant grin stayed on her face. "Yeah, but it's fun. Hey, do you want to stick around? I'm about to see what a frozen chicken does to a space shuttle on landing approach."

I shook my head. May as well wake up and face the music.

Lisa smiled and pulled me close. "Okay. Kiss before you go?"

Her lips were warm and soft, and tasted momentarily of dust and blood.

-ooo-​

I opened my eyes, and the kiss did not end.

As Lisa had warned me, I was lying in bed; the tactile sensation of the sheets warned me that I was either partly or totally naked. A warm body was entwined with mine – a female body, I noted absently at the back of my mind, given certain anatomical aspects – and the owner of said body was kissing me with a certain degree of enthusiasm.

I moved; the kiss ended. Andrea – for it was indeed she – pulled back and regarded me with a very familiar spark of mischief in her eyes. "Wakey wakey, sleeping beauty," she told me.

I sighed. Lisa's revelations had prepared me so that I did not freak out. "Morning, Andrea," I greeted her.

She smiled. "That's 'good morning, girlfriend,' she informed me with a giggle.

I didn't see any way out of it. "Good morning, girlfriend," I repeated obediently.

With a sigh of happiness, she snuggled against me; I was very aware of her body against mine. Then she pulled back again. "Wait a minute; how much of last night do you remember?"

For a moment, I considered claiming total amnesia. But if I broke the deal I'd made – admittedly, under the influence of alcohol and whatever drug had been used to spike my drink – then Andrea might well interfere between Danny and Anne-Rose.

"Uh, up until I threw up," I admitted.

"So you remember agreeing to be my girlfriend for a week," she pressed.

Glumly, I nodded. "But I don't recall working out terms, what that means. Things that you're allowed to do and not allowed to do, without permission anyway." I gestured at myself. "For instance, this? Undressing me? Sleeping with me? Kissing me? That's pushing the boundaries a bit, isn't it?" I stopped, a cold chill running down my back. Despite Lisa's assurance to the contrary, I stared at her. "Did we … actually … sleep together?" Because if that had happened, that would make the whole thing far creepier than I could handle.

Hastily, Andrea shook her head. "No, we just slept in the same bed."

"Naked," I added dryly.

She had the grace to colour slightly. "It seemed the thing to do?"

I stared levelly at her, until she looked away. "Okay, that was pushing it a bit, I guess."

I nodded. "Fine. Now, I've agreed to the girlfriend thing, but we need to establish ground rules. Okay?"

She looked a little apprehensive. "I … guess?"

"None of this guessing bullshit," I told her bluntly. "If we're going to be a couple, even for a week, we need to both know where the lines are drawn."

-ooo-​

" … okay, but any time we're in public, I get to hold your hand," Andrea stated.

"Holding hands, sure," I agreed. "But if you want to kiss me, you have to ask permission."

"Private or public?" she asked quickly.

"Both," I decided.

"All right, but you have to kiss me at least once, in public, per day," she countered. "And I'm allowed to grope you once a day."

"Only my ass," I warned her, "and only in private."

"That's no fun," she pouted.

"Okay, you can put your arm around my waist in public," I acceded.

"Okay, fine," she agreed.

We both sat, cross-legged, on her bed. I had put on underwear; she had chosen to stay undressed. I had the feeling that she was making a point.

"Okay, that covers the public affection part," I noted. "Now for the, uh, private stuff."

"Yeah," she agreed. Leaning forward, she whispered something extremely obscene in my ear. I felt the blush mounting to my hairline. Sitting back, she grinned at me. "We could do that, for starters."

I shook my head. "Ground rules. Nothing like that happens without informed permission. And that means no alcohol. Us being naked in the same bed, you kissing me while I'm asleep … not without permission. Never without permission."

She looked at me pleadingly. "Can we at least cuddle? In bed, but with clothes on? I don't know, two hours a night?"

I sighed, admitting the point. I had agreed to be her girlfriend, for a week. And this was balanced against Danny and Anne-Rose having a happy future together. And, darn it, Andrea was fun and bubbly and cute and interesting to be around. I liked her, a lot. Just not in that way. But if this would make her happy …

It could be a lot worse.

"Fine," I muttered. "Clothed cuddling. One hour a night."

"Kissing, with permission?" she asked.

I nodded. "I already agreed to that."

"Groping, with permission?" she pressed.

"If I say stop, you stop," I reminded her.

She nodded earnestly. "And sex?"

I blinked, then realised that she'd trapped me. I put a growl in my voice. "I, uh, if you ask, and I give specific and explicit permission, then yes. Otherwise, no."

"Yay!" she cheered. Leaning forward, she went to kiss me, then paused. "Uh, can I kiss you?" she asked.

I smiled and shrugged. "May as well."

I had to admit; being kissed by Andrea was an experience.

But however nice she is, I told myself firmly, sex is not going to happen.

Just for a moment, I thought I heard distant, far-off laughter.

-ooo-​

Wow, I muttered dazedly. What was that?

Lisa looked up from where she was in the process of tying down a velociraptor. "Oh, that?" she asked. "That was sex. Congratulations, by the way." She gestured. "Pass me that branding iron, will you? Careful of the hot end."

I passed her the branding iron, as requested. The captive 'raptor hissed and struggled and tried to bite, but Lisa had done her job well, and the ropes held. She pressed the iron to its flank, and the letters 'TT' were seared into its hide; it squalled and struggled, but to no avail.

As it got up, it tried to maul her; she deftly kicked it on the tip of the snout, and it backed off, blinking. After a moment, it decided to rejoin the rest of the herd, milling restlessly outside the yard.

"Well, that does that for the day," Lisa decided, dusting her hands off. She offered me a high-five.

"Well, was it all right?"

I returned the high-five. I guess. She kind of snuck it up on me though.

"But within the rules you set, though, right?" she pressed.

I nodded. Yeah, technically. Though I reckon asking me when and where she did ask me was kind of cheating.

She smirked. "It's called 'seduction' for a reason."

I glared at her. I thought you were against sex.

She shook her head. "Hell no. It's just that I've always been unable to carry it through, because my filters don't work when I'm in that kind of state."

I'm not surprised, I muttered, having very recent memories of being in 'that kind of state'.

She nodded. "But yeah, you enjoyed it, right?"

Reluctantly, I nodded. I … yeah. Andrea's really good at it.

She grinned. "Do you think you'll let her do it again?" We strolled over toward where a comb-crested dinosaur stood, eyes half-closed. It bore an elaborate saddle on its back, and the TT brand on its flank.

I scowled. Don't hold your breath. It was nice, but the week's up in two days.

She whistled shrilly and the comb-crested dinosaur obediently bent its legs so that she could climb up into the saddle. Leaning down, she gave me a hand up; I sat behind her on the saddle, my body pressed against hers. It reminded me of spooning with Andrea; the feeling was strangely comforting.

Turning her head, she grinned. "You don't need to break it off at the end of the week if you don't want to," she reminded me.

I shook my head. The last thing I need right now is a relationship of any kind. I have to keep my head in the game and my eye on the ball. Besides, I'm not into girls.

"I suppose not," she agreed, but amusement gleamed in her eyes. "Kiss before you go?"

I kissed her; her lips tasted of dust and blood …

-ooo-​

… and I awoke with my lips pressed to Andrea's.

She looked up at me, her eyes wide with surprise. I broke it off, realising that we were still in bed – we had pushed the beds together for this night – and exactly as unclad as we had been, the first morning I had woken up next to her.

Only this time, it seemed, I had kissed her awake.

"Oh, wow," she murmured. "That's what I call a wake-up."

She reached for me; I rolled off of her. "Uh, sorry," I mumbled. "I didn't mean to ..."

She went up on to one elbow, studying me. "Huh, you didn't, did you?"

I shook my head. "I was asleep, and dreaming ..."

" … and you kissed someone else, and it turned out to be me," she finished, then giggled. "Hey, I've got no problem with you cheating on me in your dreams." The idea seemed hugely funny to her.

"I wasn't cheating on you," I protested. "I was just … kissing someone. It was different."

"So tell me," she invited.

"It was a friend … I think … before I got my amnesia," I told her. She knew about my 'amnesia', of course, and had taken it in her stride. "I think she … died in my arms, or something. I kissed her goodbye. I dream about it, sometimes."

All of which was true, for a given definition of 'true'.

"Wow," murmured Andrea. "That sucks." She put her hand on my arm. "Was she your girlfriend?"

I shook my head. "No."

"Just a friend?"

I blinked my eyes against the tears that welled against the memory, still sharp. Always sharp. "Just a really, really good friend."

She gathered me into her arms, and for once it wasn't sexual, or even playful. It was just … comforting. Holding, soothing me.

It was … nice.

Maybe this isn't so bad after all.

-ooo-​

Weymouth Mall, early December

"We have to talk," Danny told me.

I looked at him, surprised at his sharp tone. "What? What's the matter?"

He inclined his head at where Anne-Rose and Andrea were browsing a rack of dresses, chatting amicably. "It's about Andrea."

"What about Andrea?" I asked him. "She isn't making moves on Anne-Rose, is she?" I was fairly certain she wasn't, but it never hurt to ask.

He shook his head. "No, but that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

I spread my hands. "What, then?"

"It's been three weeks since I met Anne-Rose," he began, his voice dreamy. "You've been … going … with Andrea ever since, haven't you?"

I nodded, slightly surprised. Has it been three weeks already? Wow.

-ooo-​

Andrea smiled sadly, looking down at Taylor's sleeping face. She looked so sweet, so innocent. So untouched by the world. But she was anything but; the scars that Andrea had never asked about, the reflexive movements, the murmuring in her dreams. They all pointed to past trauma, buried deep. Taylor seemed to get by when she was awake, but sometimes Andrea would see a shadow behind her eyes, a shadow of a past that Taylor could not recall or talk about.

Week's up today, she told herself with a touch of melancholy. She had originally stipulated the 'week as my girlfriend' as a kind of prank, fully expecting Taylor to rebel, waiting to see how long she'd go before telling Andrea to go to hell. But she had stuck it out, gradually unbent to the point where she seemed used to sleeping in Andrea's embrace.

The lovemaking had been a bonus; Andrea had never expected her to allow things to go that far. But they had, and Taylor, although inexperienced, had proven to be a quick study. It had only been the once, but Andrea would treasure the memory.

She wanted to wake Taylor with a kiss, like on the first morning, but just as she had shown Taylor things she had never expected, so too had Taylor impressed upon her the need to follow the rules. And Taylor had not given her permission to kiss her while sleeping, not this morning anyway.

Taylor opened her eyes slowly, and looked up at Andrea. "Morning, girlfriend," she murmured.

Andrea smiled. "Not any more," she reminded the younger girl. "It's Saturday morning. Week's up."

"Oh," replied Taylor, looking a little lost. "Wow. Already?"

Andrea rolled back, giving Taylor her space. "Yeah. Already. So we can pull the beds apart now. You don't have to be my girlfriend any more." She shrugged. "After all, we both know you're not into girls. We can go back to being just roommates." The pang of regret that she felt was very real.

Taylor sat up, crossing her legs unselfconsciously. Andrea, as always, admired the view. "Do you want me to?" Talyor asked directly.

Andrea blinked. " … what?"

Taylor spread her hands. "Do you want me to stop being your girlfriend? It's a simple question."

Andrea tilted her head, trying to make sense of what Taylor was saying. "Are you saying you want to … keep … being my girlfriend?" Her frown transfigured into a strained smile. "Are you saying you're into girls now?"

Taylor took a deep breath. "Yes. No. It's … complicated. I like you, a lot, as a person. I appreciate the things you've done for me. The way you're there for me. I like what we do; it's nice. If this was with a guy … I think … I'd probably enjoy it more, but … there would be a whole different dynamic. I'd probably end up pulling out at some point."

Andrea got the impression that she was speaking from experience, there. Taylor had never told that story; perhaps it was one that she could no longer remember, except by impressions.

"So … you don't want to stop?" asked Andrea.

Taylor shrugged diffidently. "If you don't mind having a girlfriend who's not actually into girls, who's just using you for emotional support … uh, sure?"

Andrea smiled. "I can do that." She paused. "The, uh, ground rules?"

Taylor reached out and took her hand. "Open to revision."

Andrea's smile widened.

-ooo-​

"What I want to know," Danny stated, bringing me back to the present, "is whether you introduced me to Anne-Rose just so you could engineer a break-up and end up with Andrea."

I gaped at him. "I … what?"

His voice was patient. "It's simple enough. Did you break up Anne-Rose and Andrea, using me as bait for Anne-Rose, so you could start a relationship with Andrea?"

I was so surprised, I began to laugh. Danny scowled at me. "It's no laughing matter," he told me severely.

I couldn't help it; I laughed harder. Dimly, I became aware of someone slipping into the seat beside me, putting an arm around my waist. I clung to Andrea, laughing even harder, now that the subject of the joke was actually there.

"What's funny?" she asked. "Come on, tell me the joke."

"It's not a joke," Danny growled. "It's serious."

"I'll tell you what it is," I gasped, trying to hold my laughter in check. "It's seriously funny, is what it is."

"What?" persisted Andrea. "What's so funny?"

Anne-Rose was looking at me with concern. "What are you laughing about?"

I managed to restrain myself to the occasional chuckle. "Andrea, Danny just asked if I split you and Anne-Rose up so that I could have a chance at you."

"What?" gasped Anne-Rose in shock, just as Andrea got the joke.

Now it was Andrea's turn to burst out laughing; it was infectious. I joined in again, while the other two stared at us from across the table as if we had gone mad.

"It's not funny," Danny snapped. The tone was close to his father's, and the words were the same as I had used to Lisa, when I had first discovered Andrea in bed with Anne-Rose. This set me off again.

Eventually, both Andrea and I managed to stop laughing at the same time. Faces red, eyes streaming, we clung to each other, still giggling occasionally.

"I'm waiting for an answer," Danny told me.

"Me too," Anne-Rose declared. "If you did do that, then that was a mean trick to play on Danny and me."

I frowned. "Really? Even though you two are so good together?"

She nodded earnestly. "Yes! What if there's someone out there better for him than me? Forcing me on him ..."

Danny shook his head. "Not forced, Anne-Rose. Never forced. But I still want to know."

I took a deep breath, and leaned into Andrea for courage; she leaned back, supporting me. "You've got it exactly backward, Danny. I didn't break them up so that I could be with Andrea. I broke them up so that you could be with Anne-Rose."

-ooo-​

Taylor's bombshell took Danny by surprise.

"What?" he blurted. "Why?"

Andrea turned to look at her girlfriend. "Actually," she mused, "I've been wondering about the 'why' myself." She grinned. "Not wondering too hard, mind you. But she was fairly set on you two getting together, even at the expense of getting into a relationship with yours truly, which made me wonder just a little bit."

"But that doesn't even make sense," Anne-Rose protested. "We've never even met before."

Danny nodded, remembering. "Taylor," he began, "remember back when we first met, and you told me we could never be together?"

Taylor nodded. "I remember," she told him softly.

There was a shape there; if only he could piece it together. "You said there was a reason we could not be together. You said you'd tell me someday."

Taylor grimaced. "If I asked you all to just forget about this, would you?"

She met three stares, coming back her way.

"Forget it? No," Andrea told her.

"We could drop it," Danny added.

"But we couldn't forget it," Anne-Rose assured her.

Danny blinked as a flash of insight came to him. "Is this anything to do with the fact that you and Anne-Rose look so much alike?"

Taylor half-rose, staring at him. "Don't go there Da-Danny. Please don't go there. Don't even think about that." The tone of pleading in her voice struck him to his core.

Silence fell, as the other three of course thought about that.

"Well, fuck," remarked Andrea. "Now I am curious."

Taylor took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes. "God fucking dammit," she muttered. "Okay, fine. But not here."

-ooo-​

We strolled along the Boardwalk. On a Saturday, it was fairly well-populated, but the people moved in clumps, and it was easy to see anyone coming before they got into earshot.

" … okay," I began, when the silent stares of the others became too much to take. "I'm a time traveller."

Anne-Rose's jaw dropped, Andrea looked like a kid opening her presents on Christmas day, and Danny merely nodded slightly, as if he had long since suspected something of the sort.

"When from?" he asked.

"Future," I told him, then shrugged. "Two thousand eleven."

"Wow, holy shit," blurted Andrea. "You're not even born yet."

I refrained from telling her that I probably never would be. "That's true," I agreed.

"So, uh, how -?" asked Anne-Rose. "Are you a parahuman? Is that your power?"

I shook my head. "No. I'm not a parahuman." Not any more. "I was … sent."

"What's it like in the future?" Danny wanted to know.

I took a deep breath. "Grim. Things … happen. I can't tell you too much, but it gets bad."

Andrea blinked. "What? A nuclear war or something? Alien invasion?"

I stifled a snort, trying not to think about what Lisa had told me about Zion. The alien invasion already happened. "No. Something … different."

Danny stared at me. "So why are you here? To warn us? Why haven't you?"

I shook my head. "How? Who would I tell, with the absolute guarantee that I'd be listened to, and not locked away and plumbed for the future knowledge locked in my head?" If I'd kept my powers as Weaver, I would have had half a chance. As plain, simple Taylor Hebert … not so much.

"Okay," Anne-Rose put in practically. "So why are you so determined to force us together?"

I looked at her, and at Danny, until the penny dropped.

"What?" she gasped. "We're married, in the future?"

I nodded. "In the future, you once told me that when you met Danny, you met a magnificent dorky guy with a warm heart and an awful lot of passion. He worshipped you, and you… I think he gave you permission to do what you really wanted to do in life, at a time when your parents were being controlling. Your mother never really forgave Danny for luring you off the track she'd set to be with him, getting you pregnant with … getting you pregnant so early in life."

Silence fell, as Danny and Anne-Rose turned toward each other.

"Worshipped you … " he murmured. "I can do that."

She smiled. "Permission to do what I really want … I think I like that."

They moved into one another's arms. I smiled, tears welling in my eyes, as I watched them kiss.

Andrea snuggled up to my side, her arm around my waist. "I saw what you did there," she murmured.

"Oh, really?" I murmured back. "And what might that be?"

She leaned up on tiptoe toward my ear, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You're their kid, aren't you?"

I nodded fractionally. "Yeah, but I can never tell them."

She snorted. "They'll figure it out."

I shook my head slightly. "They'll suspect. But they won't want to know for sure. Or at least, Danny won't."

She turned to look at me curiously; we had taken several paces away from the oblivious couple. "Why not?"

I grinned slightly. "Because when we first met, Danny ended up with a huge crush on me. And he nearly told me he loved me, once."

She grimaced. "Ew. Awkward." She blinked as things became clear. "Which is why you warned me off of him. So he could be with her."

I nodded. "And please, don't ever suggest a threesome again."

She shook her head. "Yeah, no. Too weird for words."

I slipped my arm around her shoulders; she leaned comfortably into me.

"So now you know," I ventured. "Still want to be my girlfriend?"

"Depends," she replied. "If you didn't come back to warn us, what did you come back for?"

I smiled. "To save the world."

She raised an eyebrow. "As simple as that?"

I shook my head, my expression showing her just how serious it was. "No. It's likely to be a long, bloody and violent affair. Dangerous as hell. But it's something I have to do."

She looked up at me, and shrugged. "What the hell. Count me in."

I leaned down and kissed her. It seemed fitting.

End of Part 2-2​

 

[Ack]

Recoil​

Part 2-3: Christmas Special​

I watched the others as they absorbed the revelation I had given them. Gradually, Danny and Anne-Rose separated, and turned to me.

"Wait a minute," Danny began. "If -"

I held up a hand. "Ice cream, then questions."

Andrea nodded firmly. "Yes."

-ooo-​

Several minutes later, armed with ice cream – in December, no less – we continued our stroll down the Boardwalk. Winter winds whipped in from the ocean, filling our nostrils with the scent of salt air.

"Danny," I stated. "You had a question."

Danny nodded. "Yeah. If Anne-Rose and I are together in the future -"

She elbowed him in the ribs. "Hey, what's this 'if', buster?" she demanded with a grin.

He put an arm around her and pulled her close. "Assuming that Anne-Rose and I are together in the future … " he began again.

"Better," she muttered. Andrea and I hid grins.

Ignoring her, he went on. "Assuming that, where do you fit in? Are you some younger relative to Anne-Rose? Because you do look alike."

From the look on Anne-Rose's face, I saw that she had just realised the truth. Her eyes went wide. "No," she breathed. "No way."

I grimaced. "I didn't want things to go this way. I didn't want people knowing."

Danny got it too, just then. His eyes widened as well. He looked as though he was about to be physically ill; remembering, no doubt, illicit fantasies about me.

Well, I can't help that.

I took a deep breath. Time to set some things straight.

"I am not your daughter," I told them firmly.

They both blinked, then, and stared at me. Andrea looked up at me curiously.

"But you look like -" began Danny.

"You just said -" Andrea started to say, at the same time.

I shook my head; my voice was crisp. "I will say this just once. I was born Taylor Anne Hebert. That's not me, not any more." I paused to let that sink in. "My name here and now is Taylor Snow. I was – will be – born in a different timeline to this one. My parents, Danny and Anne-Rose Hebert, are not you. They met in a different manner to how you two met. The life they had was – will be – subtly different from the life you will lead. Which means that while you will probably have at least one child, that child will not be me."

Silence fell as the wind whipped away my words.

Andrea was the first to speak. "But that means you'll never exist -"

I shook my head. "But I do exist. I'm standing here."

"If you're a time traveller at all," Anne-Rose stated unexpectedly.

Andrea and Danny stared at her; she stepped forward, but kept hold of Danny's hand.

"I'm listening," I told her.

She stared at me. "I could imagine you being our daughter," she mused. "I can see Danny in you. And I guess Danny can see me in you. But that could be coincidence, or disguise, or that you're related in another way."

I nodded. "It could. Or I could have a power that lets me look like you."

She nodded hesitantly, apparently taken a little aback by my willingness to go along with her statements. "And you don't need to be a time traveller to know that Danny and I are well matched. Hell, for all I know, you saw me and decided to foist Danny off on me because you were sick of him mooning over you."

I nodded. "Not a bad appraisal," I agreed. I looked around. "Anyone else want to add to it?"

"Wait a minute," Danny objected, "so you never had amnesia." It wasn't quite a question.

I looked at him. "Nope. I remember everything as clear as day. All my memories are intact." Even the ones I don't remember having.

He looked betrayed. "So you lied to me. You lied to Mom and Dad. You lied to Ms Veder."

I took a breath. "Danny," I reminded him. "I've been lying to everyone from the moment I arrived here. I couldn't confide in you. Or anyone." I rubbed my chin. "Though I think Nina might have her suspicions."

Anne-Rose broke in again. "But seriously, twenty years back in time? Is there anything, any power, that can do that?"

"Twenty-two," Danny corrected her didactically. "Me and Dad rescued her in nineteen eighty-nine."

"Twenty, twenty-two, whatever. My question stands."

I nodded. "There's one. He's really, really powerful." I tilted my head. "He was in his thirties when I met him, so he's probably in his teens now. Probably hasn't triggered yet."

She looked sceptical. "So you can't produce him."

I shook my head. "Nope. He's not in America, anyway. When I met him, he had one associate who could teleport mountains into orbit to create meteor showers, and another one who could teleport and bypass the Manton limit -"

Danny frowned. "The Manton limit? What's that?"

I paused, looking at them. "You don't know?"

Anne-Rose shook her head. "No. What is it?"

Huh. So it isn't common knowledge. I paused. Actually, it wasn't then, either. I remembered having to be told about it. Non-capes generally didn't hear about it.

"It's a kind of arbitrary limit on peoples' powers. If someone can affect non-living, they can't affect living, and vice versa. For instance, if I could become insubstantial, the Manton limit would be what stops me from putting my hand in your chest and pulling out your heart."

That brought on another silence, which I made use of, by eating my ice cream.

Andrea broke it this time. "Not that I don't disbelieve you, not really, but … do you have any actual proof that you're from the future?"

I sighed. "I could reel off future events until midnight, and there'd be no proof until they came to pass. And I can't tell you about past events because I might have heard of them. So, you can't prove I'm not from the future, and I can't prove I am. Impasse."

"So tell us stuff about the heroes we have now," offered Andrea. "Stuff that people don't know."

"Not their secret identities," I warned her.

She shook her head. "No, just other stuff."

I blinked. "Um. Let's see. Legend's gay. He'll be coming out in a few years."

Danny's jaw dropped, as did Anne-Rose's. Andrea looked startled, then smug.

"No way," breathed Danny.

I nodded. "I can guarantee it."

He shook his head. "Mom's not gonna be thrilled." He paused and grimaced, then looked sympathetically at me. "She's still mad at you, you know."

I nodded. I well knew Dot's views on homosexuality. Ever since she learned I was dating Andrea – and how she found that out, I would never know – I had not been invited back to the Hebert household. Ironically, this was at exactly the same time as Danny started dating Anne-Rose, and thus took that particular pressure off of me.

It still rankled at me; I, personally, had no axe to grind when it came to homosexuality or otherwise. Legend, Flechette, Parian, and undoubtedly quite a few other capes, were openly gay. In my era, it was less than a non-issue; it simply didn't make the radar. But here and now …

I did not consider myself to be a lesbian. I didn't even consider myself to be bisexual. I didn't look at girls and think, "Wow, that's sexy." I understood that some girls were more attractive than others, and Andrea was rather pretty in her own right, but that didn't affect my judgement in any way. But the relationship that Andrea and I had more or less fallen into was … different. We both fulfilled a need in the other; it just wasn't the same need.

To say that our relationship was 'complicated' was to understate matters considerably.

But the very act of sleeping in the same bed with another girl was apparently all that Dot needed to raise the red flag. I liked the woman; she put up with George, and had helped raise Danny without too many hangups, including her own bigotry, but I did wish she would get her mind out of the Victorian era.

"Wow, huh," Andrea commented. "That'll kick over a few hornet's nests."

"It makes the world a lot more accepting of the gay community, that's for sure," I agreed.

Anne-Rose gave me the same sort of stare that she had - would have, whatever – used on luckless students who presented sloppy work in her English class. "Unfortunately," she observed, "that still falls into the realm of 'unverifiable future events'. Do you have anything else?"

I was considering that, when Danny asked another question, one that got my attention.

"Why were you sent back? What happened?"

I debated telling them about Behemoth, about how the monster broke loose of the trap designed to kill him and set about rampaging across India. Across the world, for all I knew. But I didn't know how that would go.

One year, I recalled. He's going to emerge in just one year. The thought was shocking; when I had first arrived, I'd had three years. A comfortable margin, I'd thought. Not any more.

I shook my head. "I can't tell you. Sorry. It's too big."

Anne-Rose's expression turned more sceptical; I racked my brain for a way to convince her.

And then I had it. Why am I even trying to make her believe me?

"Danny?" I asked. "Do you believe that I'm a time traveller?"

Danny hesitated, then nodded.

"Why?" I asked bluntly. Anne-Rose looked at him, as if wanting to ask the same thing.

"Because … I know you," he said slowly. "I've known you for years. I pulled you out of the water. You're the exact opposite of stupid or forgetful. You would never be in the water without a lifejacket on. You're strong, tough, independent. Sometimes you say things that make me wonder. But you never, ever lead anyone on. Except with that damn amnesia thing." He smiled. "Whatever children Anne-Rose and I have someday, I'd be proud if they were half the person you are."

The warm feeling that his words gave me spread through me. Wow. I didn't realise that he felt this strongly. Anne-Rose – Mom – you're a lucky girl. I hope you realise that.

"Thanks," I told him simply, then looked at the redhead next to me. "Andrea. Do you believe I'm a time traveller?"

She frowned. "If time travel's a thing … yeah. I believe you."

"Okay," I responded. "Why?"

"Well," she began. "You have some really weird scars. And I can tell you've been through a lot; the way you act in crowds. How hard you train with ROTC." She paused.

"Yes?" I prompted. Wow, she's really perceptive.

That was when she dropped the bombshell. "And … you talk in your sleep sometimes. Conversations. About things that don't make sense."

I went cold all over. She's been listening to me talking to Lisa.

"What … have you heard?" I asked quietly.

She shook her head. "Like I said, doesn't make sense. About the Protectorate, and something called the PRT, and something else called the Triumvirate, and something else called Behemoth, and something called Endbringers …?"

"Fuck," I muttered. "I'm going to have to start wearing a gag to bed or something." I stared at her, willing her to understand how serious this was. "Andrea. What you just said? Incredibly dangerous. Don't ever say those things out loud again. Okay? Try not to even think about them."

Thank God I didn't mention the Simurgh in her hearing, or Leviathan. Or how he hits Brockton Bay. Or – oh god – Eidolon's role with the Endbringers.

She stared back at me, her green eyes tinged with concern. "Okay, okay, I got it." But then her natural curiosity got the better of her. "But why?"

I sat down on a bench, and put my forehead in my hands. "In about one year, it'll all start becoming really, really clear. But I do not want to talk about it. Not here. Not now."

She sat beside me and held me close; I shuddered, then leaned into her embrace. "Hey," she murmured soothingly. "It'll be okay. It'll all be okay."

Her arms around me were so very comforting. This was the main reason Andrea and I had remained as a couple; she kept me grounded in a way that I needed. That I hadn't known I needed for two long years.

I shook my head. "No. No, it won't."

A creak informed me that Danny had sat on the other side of me. He put his arm around my shoulders. "Hey, are you all right?" he asked with concern.

"No," I told him, although I appreciated the concern. "You've all just reminded me that I need to start moving faster." I took a deep breath. "I need to set things in motion." Looking up, I caught Anne-Rose's eye. "You don't know me, you don't believe me. That's fine. Ask yourself; do you want to spend your life with anyone other than Danny Hebert?"

There was a long pause. She looked at me, then at Danny. Slowly, she reached down and took his hand. "No," she told me. "No, I don't."

I nodded. "Good enough. Forget the time travel stuff. Get your degree. Hell, change your degree to something else. Get married. Or get married and then get your degree; I don't care. Be with Danny. Have kids. Be happy." I smiled; it was brittle, but it was there. "I'm just a crazy girl who said some crazy things one crazy December day."

She still stood there, staring at me. I looked back at her. "Yes?"

She shook her head. "I don't know what to think, now. Time travel doesn't make sense, but … Danny believes you, and Andrea believes you … "

I smiled; it was more genuine. "I'm not going to force you to believe one way or the other. It's your choice. Just do me one favour."

She tilted her head. "What's that?"

I made my tone utterly serious. "Don't tell anyone what we've said today. At all. Ever."

She blinked. "Yeah, okay." A nervous chuckle escaped her lips. "Like anyone would believe me."

I nodded. "Exactly."

Danny squeezed my shoulders. "What can I do to help?"

I shook my head slightly. "You need to be with Anne-Rose, to make a life with her, to raise your kid – or kids – responsibly, and to do a good job in the Dock Workers' Association."

He frowned. "But … I want to help you."

"Trust me," I told him sincerely, "you will be."

He blinked. "Oh. Okay."

I put my arm around his shoulders and squeezed. "And just in case I've forgotten to say this in the past? Thank you, for being a good friend. I really appreciate it."

"You know," he commented doubtfully, "this is starting to sound awfully like a goodbye."

I sighed; white vapour puffed from my lips. "In a way, it is," I admitted. "I need to step up my game, and that means I'll be a bit busier from now on. I'm not welcome at your house any more, so Andrea and I will be getting an apartment."

"What will you do for money?" he asked. "Mom probably won't talk, but if word about you and Andrea gets back to the Port Authority, they might just find an excuse to let you go.". He grimaced. "She probably won't support it, but she wouldn't stand in the way either, not with her beliefs."

I grimaced; losing the job at the Port Authority would hurt; it had provided me with useful, if irregular, income over the last two years. "They'd have to give me two months notice, if they did it at all," I told him. "After that … I think we'll manage. Don't worry about me. Really."

We stood up together; I leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, then gave him a little shove. "Go. I'll be in touch."

Side by side, they made their way down the Boardwalk. Danny glanced back once; Anne-Rose, not at all. I waved. I think he waved back.

Andrea and I turned and began walking in the other direction. We made it about three steps before Andrea's simmering anger exploded. "Those bigots!" she burst out.

I'd been waiting for that; I knew Andrea's moods by now. She was friendly, happy, mercurial and intensely protective of me.

"It is what it is," I told her. "That's what people are like, these days. It will get better." I frowned. "It'll hurt if I lose that job, though."

Andrea clung to me. "What are we going to do for money?" she asked. "I have some saved up, and you have some yourself, but we're gonna run out sooner or later, if we have to depend on my pay." She got a stipend from her parents, and supplemented it with a part-time job at a local fast-food restaurant.

I held her close. "Do you believe I'm a time traveller?" I asked her softly.

She looked up at me, her green eyes huge. "I want you to be a time traveller," she told me fiercely. "I want you to be as cool, and interesting, and amazing, as I think you are." She paused. "But how's that going to make us money?"

I grinned. "Just leave that to me."

After a moment, she nodded. "I'm glad you told us that … about yourself," she amended. "But why? Surely you could have made up some other story?"

I shook my head. "I'm tired of lying," I sighed. "Just once, I wanted someone to know who I was, to have someone I didn't have to keep remembering to lie to."

"You could have told Gladys," she reminded me doubtfully. "As it is, Anne-Rose and I have only known you for a month or so. And Anne-Rose isn't all that sure you aren't crazy."

I nodded wearily. "Yeah, but … Gladys trusts me enough not to ask questions like that." I thought about it. "I might tell her anyway. Maybe. Later."

A chilly gust swept in across the Boardwalk. Even for Brockton Bay in winter, this was a cold day. Andrea shivered and snuggled up to me. "Can we go back to the College now? I'm getting cold."

I nodded. "Sure."

We set off, gloved hand in gloved hand. As we headed for the bus stop, Andrea looked up at me. "So you really want to get an apartment with me?"

I smiled down at her. "Really."

Her voice was playful. "So I'm not just your college fling?"

I tapped her gently on the tip of her nose with the tip of my finger. "Andrea, you were never my college fling. You're far more important to me than that." I raised an eyebrow. "Am I yours?"

Her voice was thoughtful. "At first, yeah, just a bit. Now … not so much."

"Good to hear it."

We had walked a little way when I had a thought. "Andrea … "

"Yeah?"

"If I asked you to change your major to business management, could you? Would you?"

She stopped and stared up at me. "I guess I could. It wouldn't screw me around too much. Why?"

"I was just thinking … I'm going to need someone I can trust utterly to run my financial empire, once I get it up and running."

She blinked. "Financial empire? Where are you going to get a financial empire from?"

I grinned. "You'll see."

She grabbed my arm and squeezed it. "Tell me."

I shook my head playfully, still grinning. "Nuh uh."

She bounced up and down on her toes, like a kid begging for candy. "Tellll meeee …."

My grin was threatening to burst into a giggle. "Mmmmmnope."

"You are mean and horrible and I don't like you any more."

"I'll show you when we get back to the dorm."

Her mood changed instantly. "Okay." She grabbed me and pulled me down for a kiss. I let her; if I admitted it to myself, Andrea's kisses made our odd relationship somewhat more enjoyable.

"You're still mean and horrible," she told me, "but I'll put up with that."

I grinned. "And you've got the patience of a gerbil on speed, but I'll put up with that."

She giggled; I put my arm around her shoulders and she snuggled into me. We walked the rest of the way to the bus stop in companionable silence.

-ooo-​

We stood atop a cliff; far below, the green carpet of the jungle rippled and swayed to the unseen motions of the massive creatures within. Lisa finished strapping on a helmet, then turned to look at me. "Coming along?"

I was eyeing the jungle, and a familiar-looking stone tower that arose from it, not far from the cliff. In the distance, winged figures wheeled; I was fairly sure that they weren't birds.

I'm not so sure. I seem to recall you mentioning 'extreme hang-gliding' once upon a time.

I paused. You do know that Andrea knows, right?

Lisa nodded. "That's fine. She's coming to terms with it. Anne-Rose won't tell either."

Right, right. Uh … you also know that I might be losing my job at the Port Authority soon.

Lisa nodded again, thumbing shells into the magazine of a large shotgun. "Yeah, saw that coming."

I grunted. I didn't. Thought she might support me more than that.

Lisa shrugged. "You told her you were straight, then you picked up a girlfriend in your first week of college. She can't help but see it as a betrayal of her trust."

I groaned. But I'm not gay.

"I know that, and you know that, but all Dot knows is that you're holding hands with another girl in public."

I didn't even mean to get involved with her! It was an accident!

Lisa grinned, fox-like. "Yeah. I know."

I looked suspiciously at her. You set the whole thing up, didn't you?

"Who, me?" she asked innocently. "Why, I'd have to be a master manipulator to do that."

In other words, yes.

She nodded, grinning. "Okay, now tell me you're not happy."

I sighed. Of course I'm happy. It's a little weird, but she's doing for me what I did for Brian. Only I'm more aware of it than he was.

"Because you weren't as damaged as he was. And you're stronger. A lot stronger."

I nodded. If you say so. Anyway. Before you leap off this cliff to your certain doom -

Lisa grinned and racked the slide on her shotgun. "Something's certain doom, anyway."

I snorted. Something like that, yeah. I just needed some information from you.

Lisa nodded. "Thought you might." She reached into a thigh pocket and pulled out a mini tablet. "Here's what you want. Stock market and racing tips. This should build you a nice amount of money with which to incorporate your company."

I nodded. Though that's a little way in the future.

She grinned and gave me a one-armed hug that made me nostalgic. "Three steps ahead, remember?"

I nodded. That's how you always used to play it.

She snorted indelicately. "'Used to', hah! I never stopped, and you know it."

I grinned. Good point.

She picked up the hang-glider, and I helped strap her into it. The shotgun went into a special holster that swung free from the frame. Ready?

She nodded. "Kiss before you go?"

I kissed her. Her lips tasted of dust and blood; the rising wind made me blink -

-ooo-​

I was reclining on my bed at the College; Andrea was just sitting down alongside me.

I smelt the sweet aroma of the cup of tea, just before she handed it to me. She helped me sit upright without spilling it. I sipped it; just the way I like it.

"So, what happens now?" she asked. "What was that all about?"

I grinned at her and handed her the pad that I had been holding in my other hand. On it was the information that had been on Lisa's mini-tablet.

She read it through, eyebrows elevating toward her hairline. "This is genuine?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Only one way to find out."

She went through the information again. "How did you … get this?"

I spread my hands. "Time traveller, remember?"

She frowned. "And you memorised every single movement of the stock market, every single winner of every single race, for the last twenty years? Just in case?"

I paused. "Not … exactly. But in a way, sure."

She bit her lip. "Isn't it kind of … cheating, to do it this way?"

Carefully, I put the cup down. Then I put my hands on her shoulders. "Andrea," I told her quietly. "I have seen death and devastation like you could never imagine. My friends, where I come from, are dead. All of them. Monsters walk the earth."

"Monsters?" she squeaked, her voice rising involuntarily.

I nodded. "Monsters. People with powers, who do unimaginably horrific things with them. And real, live, terrible monsters." I took a deep breath. "I intend to bring that to an end before it even begins. I will do absolutely anything to get that done. I will lie, I will cheat and I will steal. I will kill. Winning money on a horse race by mildly dubious means is the very least of what I'm willing to do, to achieve my ends."

She stared at me, green eyes wide. "You're serious," she whispered.

I nodded, unsure of how she would react. Have I driven her away?

She seemed to rally. "And me?" she asked. "Am I a part of this?"

I nodded, relief trickling through my gut. "Only if you want to be," I assured her. "But if you're in, you're in all the way. No holding back, no hesitation. I tell you what to do, you do it."

Slowly, she nodded. "I … can do that," she agreed.

"It'll be dangerous," I reminded her. "Once we get going, we will make enemies. Some of them will try to capture us, some will just try to kill us. I'll do my best to keep us safe, but … "

She nodded. "... but there are no guarantees. Got it."

I held up the pad. "There's instructions here for investing money in the stock market. Also, the best places to put bets on horse races. We follow those instructions, we should be able to make it work."

She smiled. "Okay, just one more thing."

I looked at her. "Oh?"

She pulled me close. "A kiss. For luck."

I snorted. "For luck. Sure." But I kissed her anyway. I'd heard of worse reasons.

-ooo-​

You're getting better at modelling reindeer, I noted. These ones don't all look the same.

Lisa nodded, smugly. She twitched the reins, and the massive creatures hauling the sleigh increased their pace a little. Snow flew up from their hooves, and sprayed up from the runners, as we cantered through the pine forest.

The cold wind of our passage turned my cheeks red and the tips of my ears numb; I whooped as Lisa expertly steered us around a large clump of trees, and on to a frozen lake.

And then the ice beneath us began to crack; large white fissures spread out in all directions.

Uh, Lisa …

Lisa shook out the reins and gave the deer their heads. They stretched out into a flat gallop, heavy sleigh and all. We pounded across the surface of the ice, ahead of a fantail of spreading cracks, the wind whistling past our ears. My fur hood fell back and my hair streamed out behind like a flag.

When I glanced behind us, the ice was breaking up, the cracked chunks falling apart and showing black water between. But the reindeer were still pulling strongly; Lisa was whooping with joy as we sped across the deadly terrain. I joined in.

And then we were off the ice once more; just as we gained the land, the runners of the sled dipped down just slightly at the back, as the ice gave way. But it was too late; we were safe on land once more. I could feel my heart beating rapidly, even though I knew we had never been in any real danger; Lisa had just been showing off.

A short passage through the snowbound forest later, we pulled to a halt before a picture-perfect cottage. Snow lay heavy on the roof and lined the windowsills; icicles drooped from the eaves. Yellow lamplight issued from the windows, and I could see decorations in plenty, both inside and out.

We jumped from the sleigh, the reindeer beginning to steam from the exertion of their run. Lisa did something to the front of the sled, and they were released from their harness; they trotted off to forage for feed.

We entered the cottage. Inside was toasty warm; we shed our thick furs, hanging them on a rack provided.

Wow, I murmured. A fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, and there were several comfortable looking armchairs around the room, as well as a sofa. One corner held a small round table with several chairs; in another, a large Christmas tree groaned under the weight of the decorations and lollipops, bon-bons and small toys, that adorned its branches. Beneath those same spreading branches, presents large and small, carefully labelled, were stacked.

Those aren't all for me, are they? I asked, indicating the presents. I had no idea what Lisa could 'give' me that I could use in the real world, but the thought that she would put in the effort gave me a warm feeling inside.

"Not all of them, no," she told me, but didn't elaborate further. "Now, would you like some egg-nog? I believe I have some here."

So we sat on the sofa and drank thick, rich egg-nog, and talked about the old days. About my first meeting with the Undersiders, and how I had joined them.

So you knew from the beginning that I meant to turn you in, I commented.

She nodded, grinning. "It was kind of obvious."

So why did you? Invite me in, I mean? I mean, I chose not to betray you in the end, but I did mean to, at least for a while there.

She put her arm around me and leaned into me. "It was a calculated risk, sure, but one I figured I could handle. Besides, it was all about you, then. You were trying to get yourself killed, and I didn't want to let that happen."

I nodded. Thanks for that, by the way.

She chuckled. "What are friends for?"

You know, looking back, it still doesn't feel like I was trying to get myself killed.

She held up her mug to the light, as if she could see through the ceramic and the thick liquid within. "Well, there are such things as subconscious actions. Your life was one big horrible mess. You saw no way out, except to become a hero and go down in a blaze of glory. Even the Wards were not what you wanted. So … "

Cold chills chased themselves down my back, at how close it had come. Yeah. And you invited me in, and you were so friendly -

"Hey," she admonished me playfully. "You needed a friend. But that doesn't mean I didn't like you from the beginning. You were so earnest, so naïve. And when you first saw Brian … " She giggled.

I covered my confusion by taking a drink from my mug. Enough about Brian. I feel bad enough about breaking up with him when I did.

"Not breaking up, not cutting ties, would have been worse for him, I think," Lisa told me. "But you came back to us, at the end. You were a part of us, when it mattered."

I leaned my head against hers. Thanks. That means a lot to me. I paused. Um, is there any chance, do you think, of preventing … the big guy?

Lisa shook her head, looking serious. "I can't see a way of either warning them or stopping Behemoth from emerging, without ending up squarely in Cauldron's crosshairs. We can't really stand that sort of attention, right now. So we fly under the radar and stick with the original plan."

I grimaced. So it's going to happen?

She squeezed my shoulders. "Yeah. That bit's gonna happen. Sorry."

Ugh. I sat back and drank the rest of my egg-nog. Well, at least we're starting to set things in motion.

Lisa nodded. "Yeah." Her head came up. "Oh hey, company."

I blinked. I'd been hearing crunching snow outside, but I had ascribed that to the reindeer. Now I looked out through the window, and I saw a huge creature move past, a giant lizard-dog thing that was achingly familiar.

Oh god. I turned to Lisa. Oh god. You didn't. You did. How did you - ?

A knock resounded on the door. I got up, took a step toward it, and froze. Lisa got up as well, and took my free hand. "Like you said," she told me simply. "I've been getting really good at modelling things. Like snow, and fire, and trees, and animals." She paused. "And people."

She towed me toward the door, and opened it.

A tall figure stood there; he stepped forward and pushed back his hood. I looked into Brian's eyes.

"Hey, Taylor," he greeted me familiarly. "How have you been?"

-ooo-​

It was much later in the evening.

Alec was passed out in one of the armchairs from a surfeit of egg-nog,and Aisha was stretched out on the sofa, playing with a toy from one of her presents; it seemed to consist of interlocked metallic rings. Rachel was sitting on the thickly-rugged floor of the cottage with a pup that Lisa had given her, teaching it commands, while Lisa and Brian and I sat around the table in the corner of the living room, talking about existential existence.

I pointed at Lisa; my vision doubled slightly, and I blinked. Wow, that egg-nog is strong. I didn't know you could get dream in a drunk. I mean, drunk in a dream.

Lisa smirked; Brian chuckled. I went on. Anyway. You two. Lisa, I'm not a hundred per cent sure that you're really the real Lisa I know. But, Brian, I know you aren't.

Lisa shook her head. "But in a way, he is."

I frowned. How's that work again?

"It's like this," Lisa told me. "I'm modelling him on what I remember of him – and if you recall, after my second trigger, I knew everything – and I've set it up so that he'll act exactly like the Brian you remember. And he 'remembers' everything that Brian did, about you and me, anyway."

But it's not really him, I told her stubbornly.

She shrugged. "You're not the same person you were when you met him," she reminded me. "Cells have divided and died. You've had new experiences. Much of your body is different. But you're still 'you'."

"Let me try," suggested Brian.

Lisa shrugged. "Be my guest."

Brian turned to me. "Imagine it's a Star Trek transporter. It's digitised me, frozen me, and just now reconstituted everything that's essentially me here and now."

I blinked, trying to process that. So you're 'kind of' Brian, then? I ventured. Not the original, but close enough that it doesn't matter?

Lisa nodded. "Just like the 'you' here in this dream is 'kind of' you."

Huh. I looked at Brian, and then turned to Lisa. Getting up, I took her in my arms, and held her close. Thank you, I told her. Thank you for doing this. Even if you never do it again. My eyes prickled, and I felt the tears start to flow.

She put her arms around me. "That's all right. You needed this, I think."

The tears flowed faster, and I cried on her shoulder while she held me close and patted my back. Brian put his strong arms around us both. We rocked back and forth while I cried for what I had lost, what I would never see again; my friends, my family, the world that I had once known.

When I was finished, Lisa gave me a tissue, and I wiped my eyes then blew my nose. Then I grabbed Brian.

Come here, you, I told him, and kissed him.

It was a good kiss, one that sent a warm feeling from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Andrea was a good kisser, but this was the difference; this was what had been missing.

Kissing Brian in real life had never had this effect on me; perhaps it was wish fulfilment, or maybe I was just more mature. It might have even been the egg-nog. In any case, by the end of the kiss, every nerve ending was buzzing and I was floating on air.

Wow, I murmured. Wow. I leaned against him – despite the fact that I was taller than I had been, he was still taller than me – to catch my breath.

But then, Lisa put her hand on my shoulder. "You're about to wake up," she told me. "Sorry."

Darn, I muttered. I let go of Brian and hugged Lisa. This has been a really wonderful evening, I told her. Thanks for doing this.

She smiled. "It was my pleasure, really. Kiss before you go?"

I kissed her; it was just a platonic peck on the lips, next to what I had just done with Brian. Her lips tasted of dust and blood and egg-nog. Tears of happiness, of regret, stung my eyes; I blinked.

Lisa and Brian spoke together. "Merry -"

-ooo-​

"- Christmas!"

I opened my eyes, to look up at Andrea. She was straddling me, on top of the covers, wearing a 'sexy Santa' outfit and a cheerful expression.

Reaching up, I grabbed her and pulled her down to my level. She yelped once, then accepted the situation, snuggling up next to me.

"Merry Christmas, girlfriend," I whispered to her, and kissed her, then held her close.

"Wow," she murmured with a giggle. "I should wake you up like that more often."

"It's a special day," I told her. "You're a special person."

She made no answer to that, merely wriggling under the covers with me and holding me closer. I noted that she made no attempt to grope me or kiss me without permission; since our first morning, she had been punctilious about following the rules.

Relaxing in her arms, I smiled. That was a really nice thing that Lisa did. Unlike an ordinary dream, the memory of Lisa's Christmas party was not fading away; I treasured every moment of it. Even though I knew quite well that it hadn't really happened, on one level it had, and I had enjoyed it immensely.

My smile widened as I recalled that last kiss with Brian, and how it had set every nerve ending afire. Maybe I should have sneaked upstairs with him, I thought with a silent giggle. But then, that might have gotten a little weird. I still didn't know exactly how Lisa's imaginary worlds worked, and I didn't want to put something like that on her.

"What's funny?" murmured Andrea, right next to my ear, her breath warm on my skin.

"Nothing," I murmured back, enjoying the feeling of closeness, of companionship. As much as Andrea understood me and my moods, I did not know how she would react if I tried to tell her about Lisa and her memory palace and many dreamworlds. Pushing the covers back, I sat up. "Shall we get up? There's presents to open and furniture to assemble."

-ooo-​

We had acquired the apartment just before Christmas Break started. Lisa's money-making tips had come in immensely handy; the bond payment and other expenses had gone from being a potentially ruinous expense to more or less pocket change. On Lisa's advice, we had taken certain steps designed to ensure that while our winnings would be taxed, they would not show up as directly belonging to a couple of previously-poor college students.

In time, we would contact the Number Man to handle our assets; right now, mainly to avoid coming to Cauldron's notice too early, we would refrain from that step.

Of course, Andrea knew nothing about Cauldron or the Number Man, and she would continue to know nothing. It was for her safety. I had gotten her into this, and I didn't want her getting hurt because of me.

-ooo-​

In a slightly bizarre reflection of a distant memory, most of our furniture had arrived flat-packed, and we were apparently expected to assemble it ourselves. I recalled doing this exact thing with Brian, on the day that I had first met Aisha. It seemed to me that I had been so young then; that was before I had turned sixteen. His presence had so overpowered me that at one point he'd had to remind me to breathe. That was, of course, before Leviathan, before the Nine, before Dragon, before I had shot Coil, before Echidna ... so much I had been through. So much adversity. Perhaps it had toughened me, strengthened me.

In any case, I was able to perform the same job with Andrea at her flirtiest and most playful without feeling the slightest bit awkward; even the amazingly dirty jokes that she told me did nothing more than make me laugh. There was one way she knew how to make me blush, but that way only worked in company.

Frank and Gladys arrived at around midday; they pitched in, so that when Danny and Anne-Rose arrived at one, even the big dining table was on its legs and looking good.

Along with Anne-Rose, Danny brought a surprise guest. I had seen Nina off and on over the last two years, but not regularly, and I hadn't been sure that she was still in town.

"My goodness, Taylor!" she exclaimed as we hugged tightly. "You've grown! And put on muscle!"

I smiled at her. "You haven't changed a bit," I told her. "How have you been?"

"Doing well, doing well," she assured me. She looked around at the apartment. "You've done well for yourself."

I nodded and smiled. "Have you met Andrea?" I asked. "Andrea, I think I told you about Nina. Nina Veder, Andrea Campbell. Andrea, meet the coolest psychologist and part-time ship's doctor in Brockton Bay."

Nina shook Andrea's hand with a smile. "Any friend of Taylor's is a friend of mine." She glanced from Andrea to me and back again. "Now, that's interesting."

"What's interesting?" asked Andrea.

"I've been getting chapter and verse from Dorothy Hebert about how Taylor's 'fallen into wickedness'," Nina explained cheerfully. "Danny's told me about how you two are in a relationship. But … "

I rolled my eyes. "Don't tell me. You're the only damn person in Brockton Bay who can tell that I'm not a lesbian, without me having to explain the point carefully for five minutes first? With diagrams?"

Nina grinned. "You forget. I live with two lesbians."

Andrea looked at her with interest.

"She's straight," I explained hastily.

"So are you," Andrea replied cheerfully.

Nina shook her head, with a smile. "Not interested," she forestalled Andrea. "I've already had all the offers. I do know what I'm missing, and I'm happy with what I've got."

Andrea pouted momentarily, then grinned at Nina. "Okay, fine," she conceded. "But I bet you haven't heard how Taylor and I got together."

"Actually," Nina agreed, "I haven't."

Andrea turned to me. "Can I tell her? Please please please?"

I sighed. "Sure, go ahead. Everyone else knows about it."

"Are you sure?" Andrea asked. "I know how much it embarrasses you."

I hugged her. "It should embarrass you too, but as we've both discovered, nothing embarrasses you for more than a minute."

She giggled. "Darn tootin'."

As I left, I heard her begin the tale. "The first time I met Taylor, I kissed her because I thought she was Anne-Rose ..."

In the kitchen, I checked on the soda. It was still chilling nicely, so I decided to leave it another half hour. While I was there, I poured myself a glass of cold water.

As I was drinking it, Anne-Rose entered the kitchen. "Oh, there you are," she greeted me cheerfully. "This is a nice place you have here. And I'm really enjoying the party."

I smiled at her. "You and Danny look good together," I told her truthfully.

She nodded, with a sly grin. "He's talking about getting that Engineering degree. That means we can spend even more time together on campus."

"That's excellent," I told her. "I'm happy for you."

"And I thought about what you said about changing my major," she added thoughtfully. "It's Mom and Dad who've been pressuring me to read law. I'm not sure it's my thing. But I don't know what I really want to do."

I kept my face impassive. "Do whatever makes you comfortable with yourself," I advised her. "You know he'll back you up."

Her smile lit up her whole face. "Yes. I know." She opened her arms and hugged me. Slightly surprised, I returned the embrace. "Thank you," she told me. "Thank you for introducing me to Danny."

I couldn't help smiling myself. "Hey, I had my reasons, right?" I replied. "I'm just glad you're happy."

She nodded. "Well, for whatever reason you did it, I'm glad. Thank you."

I shrugged. "That's okay. I was just getting a drink of water. Want one?"

Just about then, Gladys strolled into the kitchen. "Ah, here's where you are. You know Andrea's telling the story again, don't you?"

I nodded. "Nina hasn't heard it yet. And she tells it better than I do."

She grinned. "I've seen you turn bright red when Andrea tells it."

Anne-Rose giggled. "I've seen people fall off their chairs laughing when Taylor tells it."

I could feel the blush starting already, so to change the subject, I held up the cold water bottle. "Anyone want one? Or should I just pour it over your heads?"

They laughed and fetched cups; I poured water. "So how are you and Frank going, Gladys?"

"Thanks. Oh, we're doing fine. Frank doesn't know that I know it, but he's got a ring picked out. I overheard him telling Danny that he's gonna ask me to marry him when I graduate."

Anne-Rose squealed and grabbed her in a hug. I joined in, because I was happy for them both.

"That's great," I told her. "Frank's an awesome guy."

"And he'd still be fumbling over his own feet about asking me out if you hadn't put him right," Gladys observed accurately. "And made sure I was primed to say yes."

Anne-Rose blinked. "Taylor got you two together?"

Gladys nodded earnestly. "She was very sure about it."

"Huh," commented Anne-Rose, looking at me thoughtfully. "Isn't that interesting."

"What's interesting?" asked Gladys curiously. "That she got the both of us together?" She raised her cup of water – miraculously unspilt – to me in a toast. "A regular matchmaker, our Taylor. Along with her many other talents."

I cleared my throat uncomfortably. "Uh, Gladys, there's something that I need to tell you. That I should have told you before now. Come on, let's go out on the balcony."

"Why not here?" she asked.

I shook my head. "Someone might walk in. Let's talk on the balcony."

" … okay," she agreed. "The balcony it is."

Good old Gladys. She never argues. Never questions a direct decision.

We exited the kitchen, and were heading for the balcony when I heard a knock on the front door. Curious, I diverted to answer it. Who would this be? As far as I knew, everyone I expected to arrive was already there.

Danny got there first; he opened the door, then stopped. I moved up behind him, and stopped also. I recognised the visitor, of course; I just had no idea why he was there.

"Well?" he demanded. "Am I welcome to come in?"

I spoke first.

"Uh, sure. Come on in. I'm just wondering why you're here."

Danny and I stepped aside to allow the latest guest to enter, and Danny finally found his voice.

"Oh, uh, hi, Dad."

-ooo-​

Mercifully, Andrea had finished telling Nina the story; the aforementioned Ms Veder couldn't seem to keep a smirk off of her face. As George Hebert entered, all eyes turned toward him.

"I won't be staying long," he told us bluntly. "But young Taylor was a member of my household for some years, and so I believe she is owed this courtesy."

"I remember you!" Andrea burst out. "You're Danny's father. I met you when Taylor was moving in."

He nodded once, eyeing her abbreviated Santa outfit, with the matching red tights, which she had donned when Frank and Gladys arrived. "You were dressed scandalously then, and I see you have not changed your ways since."

She blinked, then glanced at me; I shook my head fractionally.

George turned to me. "I do not share Mrs Hebert's views on your situation. Nor -" with another side glance at Andrea, " - do I consider it an entirely wholesome one, but I am of the opinion that once one's bed is made, one lies in it."

I nodded. "Thanks, George. Uh, just so you know, my grades are pretty good. In case you thought she was, uh, distracting me."

He nodded slowly, conceding the point. "Just know that if you should ever want to come home, your room will always be free. With one condition, of course. Mrs Hebert would insist upon it." His eyes cut sideways to Andrea once more; the meaning was clear.

I kept my voice firm. "Thank you, George. I appreciate it, but as you can see, I am home. Andrea and I signed the lease on this place last week."

He frowned. "Are you sure that you can afford a place like this? Your job at the Port Authority -"

I nodded. "I know about that. It's all good. We can afford it."

"Hmph." Though obviously curious, he changed the subject. "Very well. I understand that you are responsible for Danny meeting Annette."

I blinked, then realised that he meant Anne-Rose. Only he would use just her first name.

"Uh, yeah. I introduced them and they basically hit it off."

He turned to look at Anne-Rose and then back to me. "My memory was not deceiving me. You two do look remarkably alike."

I shrugged. "You know how it is. They say everyone has a double somewhere."

"I believe they may be distant cousins," Nina Veder suggested. "She once told me that she recalled that her grandparents live, or lived, in Brockton Bay."

George nodded stolidly. "That would make a certain amount of sense," he agreed. "Someone who did not know you well could easily mistake one for the other."

I glanced at Andrea and raised an eyebrow; she coloured slightly, then poked her tongue out at me.

George didn't seem to notice. "If you will excuse me, I need to talk to Danny."

I nodded. "Sure. Thanks for turning up. I appreciate it."

He moved off, and I caught Gladys' eye; we headed for the balcony once more.

-ooo-​

"Wow!" she muttered as I slid the glass doors shut. "That man does not do tact, does he?"

I shrugged. "I suspect that he's never seen the need."

Just then, the glass doors slid open again, and Andrea joined us on the balcony.

"Is it just me, or did he just insult both of us in front of everyone?" she demanded.

I hugged her; unusually for her sunny temperament, she was stiff as a board. Gradually, as I held her, she relaxed.

"Hey," I murmured. "He's like that." I grinned. "Get Danny to repeat his speech about how if he caught Danny sniffing around after me, he'd throw me out on the street."

"Sniffing?" she repeated. "Are you serious?"

"The exact word," I assured her. "He's a Christian, and serious about it. The fact that he's even turned up here is evidence that he still thinks I'm not beyond redemption."

"Wow, really? Redemption?" asked Andrea. "There's people who still think like that?"

Gladys nodded. "Hell yes. You should meet his wife. Lovely old lady, full of Christian charity, but will not abide gays. Simply won't even go there."

"On second thought," I ventured. "Maybe you shouldn't."

"Hm, yeah," Gladys agreed. "Anyway, Taylor. You said there was something you needed to tell me out here. We're out here. What was so important?"

In the silence that followed, I became suddenly aware of Andrea, watching Gladys' face, getting ready for the first reaction of surprise.

I took a deep breath. "You're my best friend. I should have told you this earlier. You know the amnesia I've always said I had? It's not true. I'm actually a time traveller."

Gladys' expression did not change; she looked at me, then at Andrea, then back at me.

" … yeah, thought it was something like that," she commented at last. "Future, right?"

-ooo-​

Andrea's jaw dropped in pure astonishment. Mine wasn't far behind.

"You – what – how - " I gasped.

"Lots of little clues," Gladys explained. "The whole 'pulled out of the ocean' thing was a big giveaway. No identification, no relatives looking for you. You speak subtly differently to everyone around you – well, now you don't, but two years ago, you did. You use different slang, but you know the layout of the city. And to anyone who really watches you at classwork, at ROTC, it's obvious that you've been through hell already, and you're preparing for it all over again. Plus, there's your choice of classes." She shrugged. "Simple, when you know what to look for."

"Holy shit," I managed. "When did you figure it out? Who else knows?"

She chuckled and shook her head. "I knew there was something strange going on, but I never actually connected all the dots until you told me, just now. And there's no-one who's spent as much time with you over the last two years, especially in stressful situations, as I have." She glanced at Andrea.

"She already knows," I hastened to assure her. "Also, Danny and Anne-Rose. I told them a little while ago. I just needed to tell you."

She smiled. "Well, thanks for letting me in on it." Tilting her head toward the interior of the apartment, she asked, "So, does Nina know?"

I took a deep breath. "I haven't told her. But that doesn't mean that she hasn't figured it out on her own. She's very, very sharp." I looked at her. "Does Frank know?"

She looked steadily back at me. "Do you think he needs to know?"

I paused. "You're going to be married to the guy. Do you think he does?"

She took a deep breath. "I … no, I don't. Unless it's actually life-threatening or whatever … no." She gave me a pleading look. "But if I ever decide that it's absolutely imperative that he knows – can I tell him?"

I grimaced. "Let me know that you're doing it, beforehand if possible, afterwards if not, okay? And let me know what he thinks about it." Implicit was the observation that I trusted her judgement. We hadn't gone through two years of JROTC together without learning to trust one another.

She nodded, once, curtly. "Will do."

I smiled. That was her field persona kicking in; efficient, concise, to the point. I hugged her; she returned it. "Thanks."

Andrea was looking from one of us to the other. "I got a question," she observed.

I turned to her, grinning. "Shoot."

"How come you two never got together? I mean, seriously."

I chuckled. "We are straight, you know."

Andrea shrugged. "So? You two could be so easily gay for each other."

Gladys cleared her throat. "When I was in high school, I got bullied by girls who accused me of being gay. Taylor rescued me. Ever since then, if I even had a passing thought about another girl, even about Taylor, I shut it down hard. The memories of what they called me were too painful. I had to prove them wrong."

"So you could be gay," Andrea pointed out.

Gladys smiled and shook her head. "Nope. No repressed yearnings, here."

"Have you tried it?" pressed Andrea.

I rolled my eyes. "Seriously? Are you gonna try to turn all of my friends?"

"No, just the nice ones," Andrea returned with a giggle.

Gladys sighed. "I can see you're not going to let this go. Taylor, hold still."

I held still. Gladys leaned up and deliberately kissed me. Her lips were warm on mine; she wasn't as good a kisser as Andrea, and it sure as hell didn't give me the same sparks as the dream-kiss from the dream-Brian. It was nice, sure, but not fantastic.

The kiss ended; Gladys pulled back, her eyes thoughtful.

"Well?" demanded Andrea.

Gladys shrugged. "Nope. Still straight." She smiled. "Though it was nice to make sure."

"Maybe you should try with me," challenged Andrea.

Gladys shook her head. "I'll pass. I called your bluff and kissed Taylor. No result. I'm not interested in girls. Okay?"

Andrea grinned. "Okay. You win."

"I'm kind of glad we don't have a thing for each other," I mused. "It would have made our field exercises a bit more stressful. Out on our own, with no-one to watch us … "

Andrea burst out laughing; Gladys grinned. "That could have made it harder for us to kick their asses," she agreed.

The glass doors slid open again, and Nina joined us on the balcony. It wasn't all that large; with the four of us there, it was just a little crowded.

"Well, this party is starting to look interesting," she observed. "Or did I not see Taylor kissing Gladys, just now?" She looked from one to the other of us, amusement on her face. "Is there something that I need to know?"

-ooo-​

Gladys blushed; I came to her rescue. "No," I told Nina. "Andrea was of the opinion that Gladys and I should be a couple, given how close we are. Gladys proved that we weren't."

Nina nodded. "An understandable concept," she agreed. "And brave of you, Gladys, for taking that step." She tilted her head to one side. "What would you have done if you'd discovered that you were attracted to Taylor?"

Gladys went blank. "I … I have absolutely no idea," she confessed.

We all burst out laughing; Gladys joined in a moment later. "It would've been a bit awkward, wouldn't it?" she observed. "I mean, I love Frank, and I also love Taylor, but in a different way."

Nina nodded. "I'm sure you would have worked something out."

Andrea smirked. "I'm sure I could've helped."

I put my arms around her from behind and took her in a mock headlock. "I'm sure you would have just hated that," I chided her.

She turned around in my arms and snuggled up to me. "Yup," she grinned up at me. "Kiss?"

I kissed her; Gladys and Nina watched with interest.

"Well, I'm gonna get back to the party, before Frank decides I've been kidnapped for a lesbian orgy," declared Gladys.

"See you in there," I agreed; she opened the sliding door and slipped inside.

"I have to admit," I mused, "for a party with only one lesbian in attendance, there's an awful lot of girls kissing each other."

Andrea looked up at me. "And what's wrong with that?" she demanded.

"Nothing, nothing," I reassured her. "Just making the comment."

"If you two want your privacy … " offered Nina.

I made my mind up. "Wait. There is something you need to know."

She stopped in the act of reaching for the door. "Yes?" she asked.

I cleared my throat. "It's about me. Where I came from. Where I was, before I got pulled out of the water."

"You've remembered?" she asked quietly.

"More like I never forgot," I told her. "I'm sorry; I've been lying to you all this time."

She nodded slowly. "So I surmised. I have some theories as to why. I'd be interested as to which one is true."

"Oh, you've got to be shitting me!" burst out Andrea. "You figured it out?"

Nina glanced down at her, smiling slightly. "You forget, Andrea, that I've known Taylor more or less since the minute that she was pulled out of the water."

"So tell me your theories," I suggested.

Nina nodded again. "There are several permutations, but they boil down to three options. You've travelled in time, or you've travelled between alternate worlds, or you've done both."

Andrea's jaw dropped; I spoke up. "So … you've pretty well ruled out a more mundane explanation?"

She nodded. "I've done some checking. You're not showing up on any database, anywhere. Your scars and injuries, such as that plug of aluminum in your shoulder, they don't match with anything I can find anywhere. So you're a child soldier from a war I never heard of, who somehow ended up knowing all about Brockton Bay, or … " She trailed off. "My personal preference is time traveller from the future. A dark future."

I shook my head. "Christ. How many other people have you told?"

She grinned tightly. "What do you take me for? I'm it."

I nodded. "Well, you're essentially correct. There's a dark future coming. I'm trying to prepare for it. Build resources. I have plans, but you'll understand if I don't tell you everything up front."

She nodded. "I understand. Is there anything I can do to help?"

I hugged her; it was so like her, to simply offer, just like that. "Not right this second, but if I ever do need your help … "

She hugged me back. "All you have to do is ask. You know that."

I kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks. I appreciate what you've done for me. More than you can know."

She held me at arms' length. "You've made something of yourself, Taylor. I only gave you a hand-up. I look forward to seeing what you do in the future."

I smiled wanly. "I can only hope that it's more than I managed the last time around."

She looked interested. "Care to share details?"

I shook my head slowly. "Not right now." I indicated the glass doors, and the people within. "Right now, we have a party to have fun at."

She inclined her head. "Indeed. Let's go do that thing."

We slid the glass doors open; with one arm through Nina's, and the other through Andrea's, I went back to the party.

-ooo-​

Hours had passed. George had made his excuses and left; I had hugged him goodbye, to his gruff protestations. I noticed, however, that he didn't stop me.

The soda had come out, along with alcohol that Andrea had smuggled into the apartment; Danny and Frank had also brought some along as well. I asked if anyone knew how to make egg-nog; Nina declared that she knew a recipe. So we made a large quantity of egg-nog, and it made the rounds as well.

I was cautious with the drinking, recalling the last disastrous foray I had made into that world. Andrea reminded me that no-one was spiking my drink this time; I was still careful. I didn't like feeling that helpless, that far out of control.

I took a moment to look around, as we sat on the chairs and sofa that Andrea and I had purchased for the apartment. My friends, all the real friends I had in the world, were gathered with me to celebrate this day. They weren't the Undersiders; my father wasn't my father. I was struck with a burst of nostalgia, back to the dream-party that Lisa had hosted for me, and farther, two years and more, when I had been with Lisa and the others in their base.

We had been younger then, with bright dreams, unaware of just how fast the world was sliding into ruin. I had lost everything since then, and had been cast up here, in a Brockton Bay not my own. I'd had to start fresh, with no powers, dependent on the charity of strangers. The future lay spread out before me.

That I could change things, with the help of my friends, with Lisa's invaluable assistance, I was sure of. Whether the changes would be for the better … that remained to be seen.

"Hey." I looked up, it was Andrea's voice.

"Hm?"

She leaned in and kissed me, her lips tasting of egg-nog. I was reminded of the last kiss from Lisa. "No brooding now. It's Christmas. Let's be happy."

I smiled and kissed her back. "Of course it is." Getting up, I went to the stereo. We'd been playing background music during Christmas dinner, soft and low, not loud enough to disrupt conversation. Now, I changed out the cassette for a different one.

"Everyone!" I called out. "Time for some Christmas songs!"

They all sat up, except for Danny, who was sprawled on the sofa with Anne-Rose draped over him; she was apparently feeding him popcorn with her lips. I clapped my hands; this time, they sat up as well.

"Are we ready?" I pressed Play, then went back to sit with Andrea.

The songs were ones we all knew; Jingle Bells, Silent Night, and so on. We sang loudly and with great enthusiasm, though not always in tune. Andrea squeezed my hand tightly while she sang; I put my arms around her.

And then the next song came on.

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind …."

As the song went on, a lump grew in my throat. Tears stung my eyes, overflowed, blurred my vision. I could not see clearly, and it seemed that there were more people in the apartment than there had been a moment ago.

"We'll take a cup of kindness yet, for the days of auld lang syne … "

I could not swear to it, but it seemed to me that my friends of old moved among the guests at my party.

"Here's a hand, my trusty friend, now gie's a hand o' thine … "

They smiled at me and raised their glasses in a toast as the song moved to its conclusion.

" … for the days of auld lang syne … "

Tears were streaming down my face; Andrea held me tightly.

I had no idea what the future held, but I knew that this would be our last good Christmas; our last good year. Before the next year was out, everything would be changed, irrevocably. With Behemoth in the world, the death and destruction would begin.

I stood; Andrea stood with me. As the tears cleared from my eyes, my old friends wavered and disappeared. I raised my glass to them anyway, toasting them silently.

Everyone looked at me expectantly. I cleared my throat.

"A toast," I told them. "To us."

"To us," they echoed.

"To the future."

"To the future."

I took a deep breath. "God bless us, every one."

As they echoed the last part, I sat down.

Because we're sure as hell going to need it.

End of Part 2-3​

 

[Ack]

Recoil

Part 2-4: The Light at the End of the Tunnel is an Oncoming Train
​

January 1992

"So how are we going to do this?" asked Andrea cheerfully.

I swallowed the bite of cheeseburger I had just taken, and looked at her. "Do what?"

She waved her hands vaguely. "You know, save the world."

I paused. "Ah." I belatedly recalled that I had not given Andrea many details. In fact, I hadn't given anyone many details.

Though, ironically, I was regularly giving Andrea details – passed on from Lisa – about how the stock market was going to react, and which horses were likely to win in which races. Our war chest was growing in leaps and bounds.

She was looking at me a little quizzically. "'Ah'? That's not very informative."

I nodded. "I know." Glancing around at the McDonalds restaurant, I finished off my cheeseburger and chucked the remains of my shake in the bin. "Let's get out of here. What I've got to say isn't for casual eavesdroppers."

"Okay!" she agreed enthusiastically, and bounced out of her seat. She was always so enthusiastic, so bouncy. It was hard not to like her.

She hummed the Mission Impossible theme all the way out to the car. It was so adorably dorky that I couldn't help but laugh.

"So," she began, once we were out of the parking lot, "is this where you swear me to silence?"

"No point," I told her. "If you're gonna keep it secret, then you'll keep it secret no matter what I say. If you're gonna tell people, then the same thing applies. All I can do is ask you not to spread it around."

She nodded. "Okay, got it. Secret agent stuff. What's the first thing you were going to tell me?"

I took a deep breath. "Saving the world really isn't … saving the world. I just want to … head off some bad stuff. Stop some really big menaces." I sighed. "And, yeah, eventually save the world."

She tilted her head, glancing at me before putting her eyes back on the road. "Eventually?"

I grimaced; there was no way around it. "Andrea, this isn't going to be a quick job. I'm going to be at this for years. Decades."

She stared at me so hard she must have jerked the wheel, because the car swerved slightly. "Road!" I warned her, just as the guy in the car behind honked his horn; she had taken her foot off of the accelerator, and we were slowing down.

"We need to talk about this when we're not in the car," she decided, once we were back in the flow of traffic. "If you're gonna be dropping bombs like that on me, I definitely need to not be driving."

I nodded. "Yeah. Home?"

She grinned in reply. "Home."

-ooo-​

Back in the apartment, we took our time getting comfortable on the bed. I was wedged up in the corner of the room with a pillow behind me, while Andrea lay back in the other direction, with her feet on my lap. She liked me to rub them, and I didn't mind; her feet were so delicate and cute.

Occasionally, she rubbed my feet when I asked, like after a gruelling ROTC exercise. Or she gave me a back massage, which was also nice. She didn't mind doing either one for me; it was how she'd gotten past my defenses that first time, after all.

"So when you say 'decades', you're not using a figure of speech, are you?" she commented perceptively.

I shook my head, cupping the balls of her foot in my hand. Slowly, I began to massage, the way she liked it. "No. I'm figuring twenty years as a rough ballpark."

"Why so long?" she asked. "Why can't we just locate whoever's gonna be causing the problem and just … I dunno, deal with it pre-emptively?"

"I wish we could," I admitted. "But I've been over all of this dozens of times, and it just won't work if I charge in like a battering ram. Plus, some of the problems are something I can't fix on my own. And some of the people I need help from haven't been born yet."

She raised her head to stare at me. "That might be the single strangest thing anyone has said to me while rubbing my feet."

I grinned back at her, and started on her other foot. She stretched out and sighed, enjoying the attention. After a while, she rolled over and started massaging one of my feet in return. This was one of the things we did. It made our odd relationship work.

"Things are going to get worse before they get better," I warned her, squeezing hard on the balls of her feet with my thumbs. "In December, something's going to happen. Something bad. I need to be ready. I need to be graduated by Christmas."

"Something bad, here in America?" she asked, massaging my Achilles tendon.

I shook my head. "No. Overseas. But it will affect everyone, everywhere, eventually. I can't tell you what or why, not right now. Just that it's a really, really bad thing." I bit my lip. "Bad enough that I might actually risk warning the heroes beforehand."

"If you do that, will it change matters?" she asked seriously. "Ooh, that tickles."

I tickled her again, just for fun; she wriggled, but didn't protest. Then I got serious again. "Probably not," I admitted. "What happens … it's a huge shock to everyone, everywhere. Especially after they realise the implications."

"Which are?" she asked quietly.

I stopped massaging her foot, and held out my hand to her. She took it, allowing me to pull her around so that she lay partly across my body. I held her close. "No-one's safe," I told her softly. "Anywhere. It will keep recurring. People will die. Thousands of people at a time. Normal people and parahumans too." I clenched my eyes shut, recalling the utter devastation of Behemoth's attack on New Delhi. Hot tears leaked out between the lids. "Too many people," I whispered.

Her arms went around me, and she embraced me as hard as she knew how.

"I'm here, Taylor," she told me. "I'll help. Any way you need me to."

I buried my face in her hair, and let her nearness comfort me. I know. And you have no idea how grateful I am.

-ooo-​

February 1992

"So when you said you needed to be graduated by Christmas, you weren't joking," Andrea observed, eyeing the stack of books I had just deposited on my study desk.

"No," I agreed, "I was not. Like I told you, the thing that happens causes a massive reaction. One of those reactions is that the Protectorate becomes a government parahuman team, and recruits other capes as well."

"Capes?" She paused for a second. "Oh, costumed superheroes." She gestured to her back. "Because they wear capes."

I nodded. "It's what they end up calling them, in a few years." I paused, because she was looking at me questioningly. "What?"

"What's that bit got to do with you?" she asked. "Are you going to offer your powers to help out?"

"I don't have powers," I told her reflexively.

She shook her head, chuckling gently. "The hell you don't, girlfriend. Those aren't guesses you're writing down, every week."

I took a deep breath. "I … that's not a power, exactly. I … I'm getting help from … a friend."

She tilted her head. "I'd like to meet this friend of yours. He or she seems to know an awful lot."

"She did," I told her dully. "But she's dead. She died three years ago, and nineteen years in the future."

There was a long pause, as she worked this out. "Just before you came back," she eventually realised.

I nodded. "She was my best friend. Saved my life more than once. But … she died. When all this happened." I bowed my head, closing my eyes. Andrea's arms went around me, comforting, holding me close to her.

She held me while I cried.

-ooo-​

A little while later, we lay side by side on the bed. My eyes were still red, but I wasn't sniffling any more. Andrea brushed my hair out of my face, and kissed me gently. "Feeling better?"

I nodded. "Thanks," I whispered. "Thank you for being here."

She nodded brightly. "All part of the girlfriend service. So, you were telling me about your friend."

I grinned ruefully. I'd found out the hard way exactly how persistent Andrea could be. And I did want to talk to someone about it.

"Her name was Lisa ..." I began.

-ooo-​

April 1992

"Wait, wait, you really studied all the way through spring break?" asked Gladys. "I thought you were joking about that!"

I shook my head as I slid the magazine into the pistol. Making sure my ear protectors were firmly in place, I hit the button to run the target away downrange.

"No," I told her, raising my voice so as to be heard through the protectors. "There's stuff I need to be ready for."

Gladys ran her own target downrange as well, and readied her pistol. "Such as?"

I raised my hand to get the range captain's attention; he walked over, checked us out, and nodded. A buzzer sounded, to warn people that we would be opening fire at any moment.

"Everything," I told her, then lined my pistol and squeezed off the first shot.

Beside me, Gladys also fired. We both hit the ten-ring, shot after shot; repeated practice had done that for us. But just as she was better with a rifle, I was better with a pistol; by the time our magazines were empty, I had put more rounds through the X-ring than she had.

I engaged the safety catch on my pistol, then placed it on the bench in front of me with the action open to show the empty breech and the muzzle pointed downrange; Gladys did the same. We ran the targets back up to where we stood, and plucked them from the clips.

"Nice," observed Gladys, tapping the cluster of bullet-holes on my target. "I'm gonna need to up my game if I'm going to get the pistol trophy off you this year."

I made a rude noise with my lips. "As if. You're already a shoo-in for the rifle trophy, and you're likely to take boxing as well. I'll keep pistol, thanks."

We grinned at each other; when I had first met Gladys, she had been shy, uncertain and timid. Now, she was assertive and aggressive when she needed to be, and no-one shot against her for money. There was a reason she was captain of the rifle team.

But with all that, she was still a really nice person to be around, and still my best friend; Andrea understood that, and also that there was nothing between us but friendship. For Gladys' part, she had taken my relationship with Andrea on board with equanimity, and her own relationship with Franklin was getting along just fine.

I still kept in touch with Danny – he had started attending for his engineering degree, though still living at home – and Anne-Rose, although I saw them less often than I would have liked. Danny rarely referred to the revelation I had handed them in December; Anne-Rose, not at all. This didn't surprise me all that much. In other news, Anne-Rose had apparently been given 'my' room in the Hebert house when she stayed over, and was an established part of Danny's life.

Which suited me fine. I just wanted them to have a good life.

-ooo-​

"So when you mean 'everything'," she commented, as we exited the firing range, "you mean ..."

"Just that," I told her. "Everything. Like I told you in December, there's a lot of shit approaching the human race at speed, and I need to be prepared to be in the right place at the right time."

"So you can stop it?" she asked, unlocking the door to her car.

"So I can help divert it. Eventually," I replied.

"And how's that going?" she asked.

I grimaced. "Not so great. I've sounded out my professors about accelerating my course load, and while some of them are of the opinion that if I can handle the pressure, they can help me along ..."

" … not all of them are of that opinion?" she guessed.

I nodded. "Yeah. One of them in particular."

"So what are you gonna do?"

A sigh. "Study harder. Prove to him that I can take it."

She eyed me carefully. "Can you take it?"

Another grimace. "Gonna have to, aren't I?"

-ooo-​

June 1992

I grunted in pain, my face pressed into the mattress. Andrea held me down, mercilessly digging her thumbs into my back and shoulders. It felt for all the world as though she was trying to dig out my spine with her bare fingers, and succeeding.

And then something popped, and I felt a release of tension that I hadn't known was there. The relief was palpable, and I gasped out loud.

"One down," Andrea stated with satisfaction. "Many more to go. Taylor, half your back is a solid mass of knots. You're pushing yourself too hard."

"I've got to be ready," I told her stubbornly. "Once college lets back in, I've got four months to go, and Professor Kingsley's pushing back on the topic of my final paper. He says my research conclusions are erroneous, and if I write a paper based on them, he'll have no choice but to reject it."

"Because his name'll be linked to it?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said. "But he's wrong. I can write a paper that'll knock his socks off if he'll just read it."

"But what if he doesn't?' asked Andrea pragmatically. "He's under no obligation to accept your paper. You won't graduate. Sure, you'll write the best paper ever. B ut what use will it be to you if you're half-blind from studying in poor light, hunchbacked from too many tension knots in your back, and neurotic from pushing yourself too hard, too fast, and you haven't graduated by Christmas?"

I tried not to think about the excellent logic in her argument. "Andrea, I -" There was another pop, and I gasped again. "Oh god, that was amazing."

"I bet you tell that to all the girls," she replied; I could hear the wicked grin in her voice.

Which brought to mind our odd relationship. Andrea and I had met on my first day of college, and through a very odd series of developments, had ended up … together. Sort of.

Andrea, I learned very early on, was bisexual, although she much preferred girls. I considered myself straight, but I was open minded enough – especially for the time in which I found myself - that the thought of kissing another girl was acceptable to me; I could even appreciate the experience, on an aesthetic level. Maybe it was all the times I'd kissed Lisa goodbye …

… wait a moment.

Lisa had died in my arms, back in New Delhi, after the Behemoth debacle, in 2011. The very last thing she had done in life was to kiss me. Every time I had visited her in my dreams, or in a self-hypnotic trance, I had said goodbye to her with a kiss.

I was used to kissing girls.

Had Lisa been getting me accustomed to kissing girls, so that when I met Andrea, it would not be so unthinkable to enter into a physical relationship with her? Had she seen that far ahead?

Lisa, I told myself grimly, when I see you next, you got some 'splainin' -

Another knot in my shoulders went pop, and I lost my train of thought.

"Oh god," I groaned. "That feels so good."

"Wow, you just keep feeding me these straight lines," Andrea chuckled. "Just remember, you're making this up to me, tonight."

Awkwardly, I reached up and back; divining my intention, Andrea took my hand.

"I couldn't do this without you," I told her sincerely. "You mean a lot to me." Which meant that I would venture quite a way outside my normal comfort zone for Andrea. I had to admit, though, on the occasions that we did do anything, we both ended up having quite a lot of fun. Even if it still felt just a bit weird.

And the rest of the time, her emotional support, her down-to-earth nature, kept me grounded, kept me on course. Kept me from despairing at the magnitude of the task I had set myself.

She squeezed my hand. "You're pretty damn special to me too, Taylor," she responded. "Messiah complex and all."

I had to chuckle. "Is it really a Messiah complex if you are actually trying to save the world?"

"Let me get back to you on that one," she decided; letting go my hand, she dug her thumbs in again. "You've still got more knots than a Boy Scout convention here."

"Jamboree," I told her.

"What?"

"Boy Scout conventions are called Jamborees."

"Oh, shut up." She dug deeper.

Pop. That time, the release of tension nearly gave me whiplash.

"Oh holy god, what was that?"

Her expression was hidden from me, but I could hear the satisfaction in her voice. "Another five minutes of foot-rubbing, tonight."

I grinned and pillowed my chin on my crossed arms. "You got it."

-ooo-​

September 1992

Andrea entered the apartment and looked around with a certain amount of surprise.

"Uh, why the mood lighting?" she asked.

I glanced around; the lights were nearly all out, and I had candles everywhere I could safely put them. Soft music was playing on the stereo.

Approaching her, I put my hands on her shoulders. "Do you remember what today is?" I asked softly.

She frowned, taking in the dressing gown I was wearing, and not making the connection. "Uh, the eighth of September?"

I smiled, then leaned in and kissed her, trying to make it sexy and tender. "It's our anniversary, silly."

Her eyes opened wide, then even wider as I undid the gown and let it slide back off of my shoulders to fall to the ground. Under it, I was wearing an extremely brief, extremely lacy, extremely transparent negligee.

"Holy shit," she murmured. "I forgot. I've never been in a relationship long enough to have an anniversary before." Her eyes lifted to mine with an effort. "I'm sorry."

I shook my head and gave her a smile, trying not to let her see the strain there. "Me neither. But you've stuck with me this far, and I thought I'd give you something nice." I gestured at my body. "Me."

"But you're straight," she protested.

"And you're not," I responded. "I know you want to -"

"What I want doesn't matter," she interrupted, then shook her head. "God, I never thought that I'd be trying to talk you out of letting me have sex with you."

I hesitated. "I – look, you mean a lot to me. You've helped me through so much. You've been here for me. It doesn't matter that Lisa manipulated me into being with you. You're a really nice person, and I like you a lot, and can't I just -"

She took my hands. "Taylor," she interrupted softly. "I like you a lot, too. But I like you when you're being you, not the person you think I want you to be. I like the shy, sweet Taylor, the one who doesn't throw herself at me."

I was beginning to shake, and she led me to the sofa and sat me down.

"We've had sex before -" I began.

"Yes," she agreed. "And it was my idea each time. I've had to get you into the mood, more or less trick you into it. That's the fun of it, for me with you. The look in your eyes when you realise what's going on."

I giggled, involuntarily, but it sounded high-pitched, almost hysterical. She put her arms around me, holding me, comforting me.

"You thought you had to do this, didn't you?" she murmured. "You thought you had to let me have sex with you on our anniversary, or what we have means nothing. That maybe I'd leave you for greener pastures if you didn't."

I nodded; I was still shaking with the tension. "I was going to do everything you wanted," I told her, trying not to choke on the lump in my throat. "I was going to be your perfect lover, just for tonight."

She shook her head, giggling at me, and kissed me; it was a simple, loving, affectionate kiss, not a romantic or deeply sexual one. "Don't you get it, Taylor?" she asked me. "You are my perfect lover. What we have together is better than anything I've ever had before. You mean something to me. You aren't in it for the sex. You like me for me. And when I do manage to sneak up you every now and again, that just adds spice on top."

I leaned against her, unable to speak. Tears spilled down my cheeks. This was a side of Andrea that I had never seen before, had not ever suspected.

"Come on," she told me softly, "let's get some clothes on to you before I forget myself and have my wicked way with you."

This time, my giggle was more natural, for all that I still had tears in my eyes. "I thought you were in it for the sex," I commented as we headed for the bedroom.

"Well, I am," she agreed readily. "It's just that, with special people like you, there's more than just sex to consider." She paused, and looked me up and down. "But I have to say, I do like the anniversary present you were going to give me." I flushed and giggled again.

And so she helped me get dressed again, and if she lingered a little over it, I wasn't going to deny her the small pleasures in life.

We slept that night in one anothers' arms, as usual, but this time, I felt just that little bit more at home in her embrace.

-ooo-​

I took a deep breath and tried to keep my voice reasonable. "Professor, all of my research points to the same thing. Parahumans are going to be dominating the criminal scene in Brockton Bay in the next five to ten years. It's inevitable. If you'll just look at my reasoning ..."

Professor Kingsley was in his sixties; he'd had tenure at Brockton Bay College since long before super-powers were a thing, since well before Scion had ever appeared. The more I spoke to him, the more I got the distinct impression that he considered the whole cape phenomenon (to coin a phrase that wasn't in common parlance yet – oops) to be just a passing fad.

Except that he didn't seem to be interested in changing that opinion. Normally I wouldn't be worried about someone else's ignorance, but this time it was directly affecting my chances of graduation.

More and more super-powered individuals were cropping up all over; since January, both Allfather and Galvanate had gone public. Allfather had either moved to Brockton Bay recently, or had been flying under the radar up until now; Galvanate, I knew, was a former Mob enforcer who had triggered with powers, and gone into business for himself. Marquis had yet to show himself, but I was fairly certain that he was already in Brockton Bay, awaiting the ideal time to make his move.

The Mob, in Brockton Bay as with the rest of the United States, was more or less on the way out. Given their decades-long run in America, they were as conservative as any organised-crime syndicate could get. The rank and file were 'made men', and the upper echelon were all Family. This meant that a Johnny-come-lately super-powered upstart could not just buy himself into a place on the board; one did not simply step into a command position in the Mob without being scrutinised for years beforehand. In addition, given the conflict-based nature of parahumans and the 'passengers' that gave them their powers - Lisa and I had had several fascinating conversations on the subject - it went against the grain for the average cape to even consider accepting a non-powered boss. The Mob could not and would not adjust to this reality, and so they were destined to go the way of the dinosaur.

I also knew that in the next few years, with the shipping crisis leading to the creation of the Boat Graveyard, and the downturn in the city's fortunes, more and more villains would make the city their home. I was still a little hazy on whether the economic downturn would lead to the shipping crisis, or vice versa; it was very much a chicken-and-egg thing. One of the knock-on effects, though, would be the demise of Grantley High School, and the decline of Winslow.

All of which gave me excellent material upon which to base my final Criminology paper; worded vaguely enough, and with sufficient supporting evidence, it would pass for an intuitive but not magically prescient piece of work.

If only Professor Kingsley would let me write the thing the way I wanted, the way I knew things were going to turn out.

-ooo-​

James Kingsley eyed the young woman on the other side of his desk with well-concealed disfavour. He did not approve of the liberal attitudes of the modern era; as far as he was concerned, a woman's task was to attain just enough of an education to be able to manage a household, and then find a suitable husband and do just that. Moreover, they ought to be demure, modest and above all, respectful of their station in life.

Taylor Snow, in the time that he had been aware of her, seemed to not care about any of this; she wore jeans instead of skirts, was a regularly attending member of ROTC, did not kowtow to anyone else's opinion on anything, and aggressively attacked the course-load in his class with an enthusiasm that was positively daunting. She had also clashed with him several times in class, politely but firmly disagreeing with his positions on the role of parahumans in the world.

He knew that she was studying ahead, buying textbooks where needed, to cover aspects of the subject that he had not yet touched upon. Herein lay a curious dichotomy in his mind; were a male student of his to push so hard, Kingsley would encourage him and wish him well. But he could only regard Taylor Snow's efforts with irritation that she was 'getting above herself'. Worse yet were her misguided opinions on parahumans, upon which she intended to base her final paper.

Kingsley was wholly unaware of the strong misogyntic streak in his nature, and would have been shocked and disbelieving had anyone pointed it out. In his own mind, he was entirely justified in his attitudes and actions; a not uncommon belief, even among the worst of tyrants.

In this instance, the conviction that he had formed was this: Taylor Snow is utterly mistaken about parahumans and she must learn the error of her ways.

Accordingly, he gazed across the width of his desk at her, and spoke calmly and firmly. "Request denied, Miss Snow. Your citations are weak and confused at best. I cannot in good conscience put my name to it." A patient smile, that only missed being condescending by a very narrow margin. "After all, in years to come, this paper may well affect your career. Do you want it to stand as a shining example of your work, or drag you down into medocrity?"

"But, Professor, I - "

He held up a hand. "I've said my piece. My judgement is final. That paper, written as it is, will not pass muster."

-ooo-​

I stared at him in frustration. I had no idea why he had taken such a set against me. I was, of course, no stranger to adversity from those in authority; in Brockton Bay of 2011, I had encountered more than my fair share of such. But this had generally stemmed from either laziness, corruption, or the fact that I had been a supervillain for much of the year. Taking over great chunks of the city and terrorising the opposition with millions of bugs does tend to breed a little resentment.

However, in the case of Professor James Kingsley, I had no idea of the cause of the animosity.

That there was animosity, I had no doubt; he hid it well, but I had come up against that very sort of stonewalling obduracy too many times to mistake it. He refused to accept the central premise of my paper, and no amount of persuasion was going to change his mind.

And therein lay the problem; back in the day, I had had three ways to deal with obstacles. The first, and simplest, was to gather my resources and smash my way through them. The second way was to circumvent them, to go around. And the third was to simply walk away, as I did when Blackwell made it clear that she wasn't going to help against Emma's bullying; if I wasn't at school, then they couldn't bully me at school. So I stopped going to school.

Unfortunately, none of these tactics would work against Kingsley. I couldn't beat him up - or rather, I could, but it would do me no good - I couldn't work around him, and I really needed to graduate, in order that my credentials be sufficiently impressive when they started recruiting for the PRT in January.

Stymied, I turned and left his office. I managed not to slam his door, but it was an effort.

-ooo-​

October 1992

"Whoof!" Gladys staggered back from the blow, and I followed up fast. I wasn't her equal in the boxing ring – quite a few of the male ROTC students weren't – but padded staffs were just the thing for me. I had long arms and speed, and that made up for her superior strength, for the most part. Although, when she was on form, she could hand me my ass with those, too.

Today, however, I was doing well. My staff-ends thwacked against her protective padding hard enough to sting, but not quite hard enough to break bones. She back-pedalled, then rallied and counter-attacked. I defended, slipping her blows aside, then hit her high and low in rapid succession.

The bell went, signalling the end of the round, and we stepped apart, saluting with our staffs. Applause broke out around the gym; I glanced around, surprised. I hadn't known we had an audience. Gladys joined me, grinning, as we pulled our head protectors off. Together, as if we had planned it, we took a bow to the assembled students.

"And that, folks, is why you don't piss off Harvey or Snow," announced the ROTC instructor. "At least, not when they've got a big stick at hand."

Laughter arose as we stepped off the mat. "Geez, Taylor, you were on fire out there," one of the guys complimented me. "Are you sure she's your best friend?"

"Only outside the ring," I informed him, to more laughter, handing off the staff to him. "Now if you'll excuse me, I think I need to take a shower."

-ooo-​

"Soap?" requested Gladys, her hair full of suds. I handed her the soap, then took the shampoo.

"Thanks," she added. I began to lather up my own hair.

"No problem," I told her. "Sorry if I was a bit hard on you out there."

She shook her head, then sputtered as a little lather from her hair fell across her lips. "Pfft. No, it's not a problem. It's like you said. There's no friends in the ring. You get out there, and you win."

I smiled as I closed my eyes and ducked my head under the shower head to wash the lather out.

"Though you really were pushing hard today," she mused, soaping herself up. "Issues?"

"Kind of," I admitted.

"Problems with Andrea?" she asked, probing cautiously.

I shook my head, wet strands of my hair whipping about. "Oh god no. She's the only thing keeping me sane. It's Kingsley, my Criminology professor. He's refusing to let me present my final paper as it is. Says my conclusions are all wrong, but won't give me a viable alternative."

Gladys ran her hands over her face, pushing her wet hair back, as she stared at me. "You're fucking kidding me."

"I shit you not," I assured her, turning off the shower and reaching for my towel.

"And you can't appeal this or something?" she asked.

I sighed. "I can't prove discrimination, not without something to hang it on. A professor is allowed to think that a student's work isn't up to scratch. That's basically his job. But he dislikes me for some reason. I just don't know what for."

She turned off her own shower, and began to dry her hair. "Maybe you're approaching this all wrong."

I turned to her, quizzically. "How so?"

"You've always been the best tactician I know of," she told me, briskly rubbing her head. "With that tape deck of yours. And afterward, without. Just closing your eyes and going away for a little bit, then opening them and having the plan all laid out. Right?"

I nodded, squeezing the water out of my own hair. "Yeah, so?"

She paused in her drying efforts. "So apply tactics to this. Go wherever you go, and find out how to beat this guy at his own game."

It was like the sun had come out. She was so very, very right. Why the hell hadn't I asked Lisa about this?

For that matter, why hadn't she told me whatever the solution was?

Because she needed me to ask. I needed to make that connection. Right.

I dropped my towel and hugged her, then kissed her soundly. "Gladys, you're a genius."

"Right, right." She grinned at me. "Not that I don't like you, Taylor, but you might want to let me go, before people come in and get the wrong idea."

I giggled. "Oh, okay." Letting her go, I stepped back and retrieved my towel. Gladys seemed to be a little embarrassed by the incident; I supposed I may have been as well, before I met Andrea. "Sorry. But what you said was so right."

She shook her head and smiled at me. "That's okay. You were excited." She tilted her head. "But are you sure you're not into girls? You were awfully huggy and kissy, just then."

I stuck my tongue out at her.

-ooo-​

The roar of the motorcycle engine was loud in my ears. I settled down over the fuel tank, or what I assumed to be the fuel tank, and twisted the throttle wide open. Heads-up displays spilled across the interior of my helmet visor. Picking out a single menu, I selected it by eye, and immediately the sound dampers cut in, reducing the engine noise to bearable levels.

Lisa lay astride a similar bike, alongside me. She wore racing leathers similar to mine, although her theme recalled her Tattletale costume, while mine looked remarkably Skitter-like. The motorbike itself had the lines of a jet fighter, or a space shuttle, all smooth curves and raked-back fairings. LEDs rippled back and forth along the side of the chassis, and within the engine itself, for no apparent reason other than to make it look twenty percent more awesome.

We raced along a smooth road, cutting through rugged terrain of rocks and scrubby clumps of grass. I leaned the bike to take a corner, and the HUD indicated that the active tyre treading was coming online to handle the extra load.

"Just up ahead," Lisa told me via the helmet radio. "Get ready."

Moments later, I spotted the first bogey; a blocky craft, hovering on some sort of jet propulsion. It swooped in over the road, an ugly-looking cannon swivelling to aim at us.

"On it," Lisa reported laconically, as twin cannons unstowed themselves from alongside the front wheels of her bike. They canted skyward, and spat fire. The craft detonated in midair, scattering shrapnel far and wide. "Scratch one."

I spotted the next one on bike radar, coming in hard from the left. Lisa wasn't in position to get it.

Immediately, I put the bike into a slide; Lisa, divining my intent, accelerated and pulled ahead.

The bike cannon could not swivel sideways normally, but in this instance, with the entire bike turned at ninety degrees, it was amazing what one could manage.

The enemy craft was just lining up to shoot when my targeting pipper intersected its course. I mashed the Fire button, and blew it to pieces. Scratch two.

I was still sliding sideways, but I engaged the active treads; they gripped the road and gave me extra traction. Gyros got me back on to my wheels again, and I put on the power to catch up with Lisa.

So much for the welcome wagon, I told her. What's next?

"The big boys," she warned me. "In three."

I counted down silently in my head, and at 'zero', we topped the rise ahead of us, going airborne in the process.

Ahead were a whole lot more adversaries, all robotic. Some hovered on underjets, while others moved around on wheels, tracks or legs. All were turning to aim weapons at us.

We were currently airborne, which is not a good place for a motorcycle to be in a hostile environment. But at a simultaneous command, both of our cycles ceased being cycles.

On 'zero', just as we went airborne, I had given the command for my bike to go to secondary mode; it pulled itself apart, and rebuilt itself in midair, wrapping itself around me to form a suit of powered armour. My helmet integrated itself with this, and a whole new suite of HUD readouts sprang up on the interior of the visor.

The bike cannon had ended up on the arms of the suit, and we were both firing before we hit the ground. Leg-jets slowed our fall, and our fire tracked over the airborne opponents. One after another, even as fire sleeted past our armoured forms, we blew them apart in gouts of debris.

Once on the ground, we were faced with what is commonly known as a 'target-rich environment'. I was well versed in fire-and-move tactics, and Lisa obviously had a good grounding in it as well. We couldn't avoid all the incoming rounds, but our suits were equipped with basic force shields that took the edge off the enemy fire.

I fired, spun, covered Lisa, fired again, crouched to allow one landcrawler to destroy another with an ill-aimed shot, fired again, leaped on to the landcrawler to wrench its turret off, leaped off again …

The battle was over in a few minutes; I stood there panting, listening to the creaks and pops of my armour's heat sinks slowly cooling. Lisa came to stand beside me, observing the havoc which we had wrought. She popped her helmet visor, and I did the same.

"Nicely done," she praised me. "I got the impression you needed to shoot something."

I grinned. That fit the bill, all right. Thanks.

Her vulpine smile answered me. "That's all right. It was a lot of fun. You've been kind of stressed recently."

I eyed her. And you know why.

She nodded, unabashed. "But I needed you to ask me. I can't hand you every solution on a silver platter."

I suppose … I answered grudgingly. Not that I'm still not pissed over the Andrea thing.

She rolled her eyes. "She was the best thing for you," she pointed out. "Still is. If you weren't with her, you'd be a lot more stressed right now. So I had to … facilitate."

I know, I know, you're right, I agreed. But just because you're right doesn't mean I can't still be annoyed at you.

She giggled. "Okay, so long as we've got that straight. So, your problem with stress."

I nodded. Kingsley.

"Yeah," she agreed. "You're gonna have to do your research on this one."

What? I gasped in simulated shock. It's not already in my memory palace?

"Sure it is," she told me. "But it's probably better if you find it on your own."

I paused, waiting. When she didn't continue, I made a 'go on' gesture.

In return, she pulled a tablet from a thigh compartment of her armour and handed it to me. "It's all on here."

I scanned the screen. There were the usual stock and racing tips, and then right down at the bottom, just a few lines.

Brockton Bay Bulletin.

17 July, 1975.

Page 6.

I looked up at her. This is where I'll find what I need to know?

She spread her hands. "Maybe." But her grin said yes.

You're enjoying this, aren't you? I grumbled, but my heart wasn't in it.

"Uh huh," she told me cheerfully. "I've got to get back to the palace. Want to come with? I've added a new wing."

Regretfully, I shook my head. I'll check on it next visit, I assured her. Thanks for the shoot-em-up, and this information. Whatever it is.

"That's cool," she told me. "Give Andrea a hug for me. Kiss before you go?"

I kissed her; her lips tasted, as always, of dust and blood. At the same time, I closed my eyes …

-ooo-​

… and opened them to look into Andrea's eyes.

"Hey, you," she greeted me softly, her lips curving into a smile.

"Hey, you," I responded.

We lay side by side on our shared bed, not two feet apart. In my hands I held a pen and pad, upon which was written the information that Lisa had given me.

"It's always weird watching you do that," she told me with a grin. "Talking to Lisa … it's really real, inside your head, isn't it?"

I nodded. Ever since I had told Andrea about Lisa coming with me into the past, she had understood my trances and my dreams a lot more. Telling her about the escapades that we got up to was an endless source of amusement for her; the chicken gun, the zeppelin battles, the velociraptor wrangling, they all left her laughing helplessly.

"She said to give you a hug," I noted, and proceeded to suit action to word. Andrea didn't object that I noticed; hugging was something she could get right on board with.

"I like her more and more," she told me, once we disengaged. "Especially since she set it up so that we'd be together." This was another thing that amused her greatly, especially since I was less than pleased at being so manipulated.

I rolled my eyes. "I like being with you, Andrea. Don't think I don't. It's just that … I hate it when I find out that I never had a choice in matters."

She nodded sympathetically. "Well, at least it's all to the good," she pointed out. "So, what do we have for today?"

I tore off the top sheet of the pad, then tore off the strip of paper that held the newspaper information. "This is yours," I told her, handing her the top bit, "and this is mine."

"What's that for?" she asked curiously.

"Lisa says it will help with Kingsley," I explained.

"Well, if it's anywhere near as good as the stock tips, I'd check it out as soon as possible," she advised me.

I climbed off the bed, and started looking around for my pants. "Just what I thought," I agreed. "I'll bus it over to the library, while you're working on our financial empire."

"Bring back whatever you find," she told me. "I want to see, too."

I leaned over and kissed her. "It's a deal."

-ooo-​

Andrea stared at the photocopied newspaper article. "Holy crap," she murmured. "So that's what it's all about."

I nodded. "That's it, all right. That's the reason, right there."

She looked up at me. "So what are you going to do? How do you even use something like that?"

I grinned. "I know someone. A friend of a friend."

"Really?" she asked. "Someone I know?"

"Not yet," I told her. "But I'll introduce you." I grinned. "You two have something in common."

-ooo-​

The train pulled in to the station as Andrea and I waited impatiently with Danny.

"Thanks for doing this," I told him for about the tenth time.

"Hey, if I can't help my, uh, foster sister out every now and again, what sort of brother would I be?"

I grinned up at him, and elbowed him gently. "Thanks, Dad," I told him, very quietly.

He looked startled, then gave me a mock glare. Andrea was grinning broadly; she'd heard what I'd said.

"Don't do that," he muttered. "I'm still not quite sure that I believe it."

"You don't have to," I assured him. "I'll still like you whether you do or not."

He went to reply, but just then a voice called out to us.

"Danny! Taylor! Over here!"

We turned and looked, and there was Alan Barnes, broad-shouldered and powerfully built, pushing his way through the crowd. His red hair flamed in the sunlight, and he grinned widely at the sight of us.

"Alan!" Danny greeted him. He came together with his friend; hugging, back-slapping and shaking hands vigorously. Alan turned to me next, holding out his hand. I shook it, feeling the power in his grip.

"Christ, Taylor, you've grown," he told me. "Nearly as tall as the beanpole there."

"Hey hey hey," I warned him. "I'm a bit of a beanpole too, remember."

He chuckled and ruffled my hair, before turning to Andrea. "I don't believe we've met. Alan Barnes, attorney at law – almost."

"Andrea Campbell," she responded. "How are you, Mr Barnes?"

"Call me Alan," he insisted. "Danny's mentioned you. So you're Taylor's girlfriend, are you?"

"I think it's more that I'm her girlfriend," I corrected him with a grin.

He nodded, taking that in. "So … how's Dot taking that?" he asked shrewdly.

Danny looked uncomfortable; I decided to make it very simple. "She's not," I told Alan bluntly. "What I do in my time is my business, and if I'm not welcome back there, it's her loss, not mine."

"Well said," he applauded me. "So, what's this business you called me here for anyway?"

"Why don't we get back to our apartment first?" I suggested. "That way, we can sit down and discuss the matter in private."

It didn't take long to grab his luggage, and then we were on our way.

-ooo-​

"Okay," Alan commented, perusing the photocopies I had made, "it seems pretty clear. Back in 'seventy-five, his wife was all about women's rights. He supported her, right up until she left him for a commune, where she shacked up with another woman." He looked up at me. "So you're independent, you know what you want, and you've got Andrea. That's three for three. I'm not surprised he doesn't really like you, even if he's not sure why himself."

"Okay ..." I sipped at my cup of tea. "Can we threaten him with a discrimination lawsuit? Get him off my back?"

He shrugged. "Oh, sure. It'd take the right lawyer, but in about six to twelve months we could wear down the college to the point that they'd give us a payout just to get us off their backs. But they'd never accept you back as a student after that."

I grimaced. "That's the exact opposite of what I want." With a groan, I leaned back on the sofa, and Andrea put her arm around me comfortingly. I leaned against her.

"Okay." Alan put the papers down, automatically straightening them. "What do you want?"

"I want to graduate by December," I said automatically. I didn't add the reason why, because Alan wasn't in on the secret yet. Nor would he ever be; I recalled his older self all too well.

"Oh, that's easy then," he said with a smile. "Write the paper Kingsley wants. He gives it a glowing review, you graduate at the end of the semester, and you never have to worry about him again. Win-win." His tone of voice seemed to ask why I was wasting his time on such an elementary question.

"But then that piece of dreck is there on my public record," I protested. "Kingsley believes stuff about parahumans that just isn't true. That's why he's rejecting my paper. If I write that and it gets published, I'll look like an idiot in five or ten years."

"Oh?" Alan sat up. "You've got my interest now. Do you have the paper here?"

I nodded. "I've got my latest draft, sure." Disengaging myself from Andrea, I got up from the sofa and went to collect the ring-binder which contained the latest version of the contested paper. Hardcopies, I had found, were the best way to find errors.

"Thanks," he said when I gave it to him. He settled back to read it while I sat back on the sofa. I sipped tea, and ate cookies which Andrea fetched from the kitchen. Alan nibbled one absently, turning pages on autopilot while he read my work. I found myself unaccountably nervous; what if he rejected it too?

It was nearly fifteen minutes by the wall clock by the time he put it down. I wouldn't have been able to tell by my heart-rate; to me, it had felt like hours. "So?" I asked cautiously. "What do you think?"

He shook his head. "It's brilliant," he said flatly. "Pure fucking brilliance. Right there on paper. I wish I could write something nearly as good. You're right. We can't let this just vanish into obscurity."

"Told you," Danny said unexpectedly. "She's smarter than I'll ever be."

I shot him a smile of thanks for the compliment, but my expression was serious as I turned back to Alan. "So what do I do? Kingsley won't accept the core concept of that paper, and without that I can't graduate."

He pondered for a moment, tapping the paper. "Taylor, let me ask you a serious question. Have you ever deliberately lost in your life?"

I blinked at him. "I ... don't understand what you're saying."

He chuckled warmly. "Didn't think so. You have the air of someone for whom losing happens to other people. Well, losing can sometimes be part of a strategy toward winning. So here's what you'll do ..."

He spoke, and I listened.

-ooo-​

Professor Kingsley looked up in irritation as I entered his office. "Miss Snow," he stated firmly, "I have told you that my judgement is final. Your conclusions are based on faulty data."

I nodded as meekly as I knew how. "I know, sir," I said. "I've been over it, and I've realised where I was going wrong." Pulling a document envelope from my handbag, I slid it across the desk. "Here's the revised precis of my paper."

He frowned, looking up at me suspiciously. Putting his reading glasses on, he opened the unsealed envelope and pulled out the sheets from within. The frown only lasted halfway down the first page; by the end of the third page, he was beaming. Once he finished, he read over the synopsis once more, nodding a few times and making marks in the margins.

"That's much better, Miss Snow," he said, his voice warm with approval. "I've made some suggestions for improvements, but if you can write it to that outline, I will have no problem with it whatsoever."

Inhaling deeply through my nostrils, I nodded. "Thank you, sir," I said once I trusted myself to speak politely. "I'll get right on that."

Closing the office door quietly behind myself, I walked along the corridor, down the stairs, and out through the main entrance to where the other three were waiting.

"So?" asked Danny. "How did he take it?"

I tried not to grimace. "He loved it. Ate it up with a spoon." Turning to Alan, I nodded. "You were right. I wish you weren't, but you were."

"It's called strategic losing," he reminded me. "Like a queen sacrifice in chess. Just remember your next move."

"I won't forget," I said. "Are you sure a law review publication will print my paper?" It was an idea I'd never considered. Maybe I should've asked Lisa about it. Then again, she wasn't great at predicting my own successes.

He snorted. "You kidding? They'll eat it up. Especially given that it's written by an undergrad." He grinned at me. "Trust me, it'll get out there."

"Thanks," I said sincerely. "I really appreciate your help in this."

"So then you'll graduate?" asked Andrea, her eyes bright and interested.

I nodded. "Then I'll graduate."

She squealed, grabbed me, and kissed me hard. Then she grabbed Alan, and bestowed the same upon him, this time to his right cheek. I added a kiss of mine to his left cheek.

"Thank you," I told him fervently. "I appreciate it, so much."

He grinned back at the both of us, rubbing his cheeks where we had kissed him. "Best legal fees I never collected," he commented with a chuckle.

Danny slapped him on the shoulder. "I appreciate it, Alan. You gonna hang around, or do you want a lift back to the train station?"

Alan nodded. "No problem. A lift would be nice, thanks. Zoe'll be waiting up for me."

Andrea hugged me tightly. "You're gonna graduate, you're gonna graduate!"

"Not so fast," I warned her. "I still have to actually write the second paper, then polish the first one till it gleams."

"Pft!" she told me dismissively. "You haven't come so far to fall down on that. I won't let you."

I held her tightly. "I know," I murmured. "And thanks."

She snuggled into my embrace. "You're welcome."

-ooo-​

13 December 1992

I opened the front door to let Danny and Anne-Rose in.

"So what's this all about?" asked Danny as I led them through to the living room. Gladys was already sitting on the sofa, chatting with Andrea.

"Proof," I told him briefly. "Have a seat. It'll be coming up shortly."

I went into the kitchen and emerged with a tray holding several glasses, and a couple of bottles of whiskey.

"This isn't you, Taylor," frowned Danny. "I remember the last time you got drunk. It didn't agree with you at all."

"Andrea says my drink was spiked," I reminded him, as I sat next to the redhead. She took my hand, and I squeezed it. "We're going to need these, in a moment."

The TV was already on, and I changed channels, to the one Lisa had told me to go to.

"I'd heard that there was some sort of earth tremor in the Middle East -" Anne-Rose ventured hesitantly.

I reached out and took her hand. She looked startled, then took a look at my expression, and her eyes widened. "Trust me," I told her softly. "Pour yourself a drink. You're going to need it."

Glass clinked against glass, and alcohol was poured out. Andrea sipped hers, then put it down. I did the same, feeling the bite of the liquor.

I turned the TV up.

" - live from the Marun Field in Iran, where a strange earth tremor has manifested into something else altogether. I'm aboard a news chopper, but we've been warned to stay far back by the Protectorate. We'll try to bring you images via telephoto lens."

The picture was jumpy and occasionally blurry, but it was possible to see the figures of the Protectorate, in their distinctive costumes, flying and standing, around the growing mound of disturbed earth and rock. Local parahumans were also scattered around, deferring to the American heroes. I caught a glimpse of Hero in his powered armour, and a lump rose in my throat.

We were so innocent, I told myself. We didn't know.

And then the mound split, and spilled away, and the top of his head emerged. Black, with obsidian horns, and the single glaring red eye. More earth was literally shouldered aside as an arm reached up, pulling the grotesque body from the ground.

Over the sudden tangle of voices from the TV, Danny gasped. "What the goddamn fuck is that thing?" Testament to his shock was the profanity, which I had rarely, if ever, heard him use.

"Behemoth," I told them, through the lump in my throat. Tears spilled down my face. "They'll call him Behemoth."

We watched, then, in silence, as the monstrosity, the first Endbringer, hauled himself out of the ground, and stood hunched over. The reporter was breathlessly describing the scene, speculating on what the thing was, what it wanted, where it was from -

And then Behemoth roared.

We literally saw the shockwave racing out from the distant creature, heard the shout of alarm from the pilot, saw the picture tilt crazily as he tried to turn the craft and flee.

All to no avail. The shockwave struck, the picture tumbling over and over. Sky, ground, sky, ground, over and over. A glimpse of a flailing human figure, spraying blood from where its face should be, a helicopter with its rotors windmilling uselessly as it tumbled over and over until it hit the ground.

And then the camera struck, and the picture went blank.

There was a very long pause before the transmission was renewed; a news anchor, sitting shocked and stunned at his desk. "We'll … we'll bring you more of that as it comes in," he croaked. The TV cut to an advertisement, and I turned it off.

"So that's it," I told them. "Now you know why I came back."

Danny stared at me, then picked up his glass and drained it. I held out the bottle, and he took a refill, the neck of the bottle chattering against the glass.

Anne-Rose was white as a sheet. "You knew that was going to happen?" she whispered.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"But – why didn't you - "

"Say something? Do something? Warn them?" I put down the bottle before I dropped it. "Say what, to whom? I'm safest, I can do what I have to, from behind the scenes."

Andrea was crying softly; I did my best to comfort her. She clung to me.

"You're going up against that?" she whimpered. "You'll die."

I shook my head. "Nope. I know where it's from, and I know how to stop it. All I need is the right time and opportunity."

Gladys put her hand on my shoulder. "You're nuts," she advised me. "You're absolutely nuts. But sign me up too."

Again, I shook my head. "No. Where I've got to go, what I've got to do, isn't for you. Get your degree. Be a teacher. Make sure Danny and Anne-Rose's kids get a square deal in school."

Slowly, she nodded. "But if you ever need help -"

I took her hand and squeezed it. "You'll be the first one I'll call on."

-ooo-​

Later that night, as Andrea and I lay together in bed, she shifted a little.

"Taylor?" she mumured.

"Hmm?" I asked, moving so I could hold her closer.

"What you said to Gladys, about calling on her first?"

"Yeah?"

"What about me?" Her voice was lost, desolate.

I smiled and kissed her. "Sweetie, I'll never stop calling on you. Financial empire, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." She snuggled closer into my embrace.

"Now get some sleep. Tomorrow's gonna be a big day."

"Okay, Taylor."

And we slept.

End of Part 2-4​

 

[Ack]

Recoil

Part 3-0: Another Brick in the Wall​

January 1993

Life in the PRT, decided the recruiting sergeant, was not all that it was cracked up to be. Previously a corporal in the Marine Corps, he had been attracted by the promise of a straight-up promotion to sergeant, as an incentive to transfer from one service to the other. There had been glowing words about 'forming the core' of the Parahuman Response Teams, of 'being at the forefront' of the 'brave new service'. He'd be working with the Protectorate, he'd been told. Associating with the superheroes.

Yeah, like that had happened.

The closest he had come to even saying hello to any of the members of the Protectorate, much less getting an autograph, was a distant glimpse of someone who may or may not have been wearing a costume, as he was walking from one transport aircraft to another at some airbase in the middle of god-knows-where.

Join the PRT and meet the superheroes. Right.

He hadn't even met an officer in the PRT yet; his entire experience had been of senior NCOs, giving orders. Pack your duffel, be on this plane by oh-dark-thirty. Transfer to that plane, on the double, hut, hut, hut!

And now he was in Brockton Bay, which equated to the ass-end of nowhere, as far as he was concerned. He strongly suspected that he was the PRT presence in Brockton Bay, right at that moment. One very lonely recruiting sergeant, a Parahuman Response Teams soldier without a team.

They had given him a sedan, recently repainted with the PRT logo on the doors. He also had the recruiting booth, a folding chair, and a couple of folding tables, one of which was to act as his desk, and the other to hold the information booklets. And as he was a serving NCO in the brand-new Parahuman Response Teams, they had issued him one duty sidearm, nine-millimetre, self-defence, for the use of. That was it.

He'd heard that there were two ongoing parahuman-led criminal gangs in Brockton Bay; if rumours about this new guy called Marquis were true, then a third was on the rise. Gloomily, he wondered what his chances were like if any of these parahuman criminals decided to object to the presence of the PRT in Brockton Bay. Not good, he suspected. Even with the pistol.

But, as per orders, he had set up on the campus of the Brockton Bay College. No-one had bothered him, parahuman or otherwise. Oh, he'd had a few people wandering up to see what it was all about, and to leaf through the literature, but no-one had shown much in the way of interest. Except for a few screwballs who had somehow gotten the idea that if they signed up, they could be given super-powers of their own. Like that was even possible.

He was leaning back in the chair, reading one of the leaflets, and learning more about the PRT than he had to date, when he heard someone clear their throat.

"Excuse me?"

Dropping the leaflet back on the table, he sat up straight. "Yes, can I help you?"

Even as the reflexive question left his lips, he was looking over the trio who now faced him. For a split second, he thought it was two guys and a girl, but then he realised that they were all female. A tall blonde, broad in the shoulders, an equally-tall brunette, skinny, with glasses, and a shorter redhead with a cheeky grin.

The blonde would be joining, he guessed; she had height and heft, and unless he missed his guess, serious muscle under that coat. The tall brunette and the short redhead were probably along for moral support.

But to his surprise, it was the brunette who stepped forward. She held herself with a certain air of confidence and poise, and he found himself straightening in his seat. "I'm here to sign up," he heard her say.

"Uh, certainly, ma'am," he agreed, not entirely sure why it was that he used the honorific, rather than 'miss'. He glanced again at the blonde. "Are your friends joining as well ...?"

The blonde nudged the brunette. "I could," she murmured in an undertone.

"No, Gladys," insisted the brunette, in a tone which made the sergeant suspect that this was not the first time that this subject had come up. "Be a teacher. Be with Franklin."

Gladys sighed. "Okay, fine." She jerked her thumb sideways at the brunette. "She's joining, I'm not."

The sergeant nodded. One recruit was better than none, and while he'd have preferred the blonde, her friend seemed at least to be fit and healthy. "Very well. I've got a recruitment form right here -"

"Uh, one thing?" interjected the brunette. She put her bag on the table and took out a sheaf of papers. "I'll be wanting to apply for officer training, please."

He stared. "Officer training?"

"Sure," she replied, putting the papers down before him. "ROTC grading papers. Field exercise scores. Graduation transcripts."

He took the papers and leafed through them. They were meticulously organised, and painted a rather impressive picture. Good marks in physical training, excellent marks in shooting and hand-to-hand, outstanding marks in tactical and strategic planning.

As for the academic transcripts, the material was over his head, but all bar one showed glowing reports. The one exception was for Criminology; the sergeant had read enough grudging progress reports that he could tell that the teacher had not much liked the student.

But that wasn't his business; this girl, Taylor Snow, wanted to apply to join the PRT, and it was his job to accept the application and send the paperwork in.

He watched her as she filled out the form. Short-sighted, he guessed, from the rectangular-lensed glasses she wore. Right-handed. Neat penmanship. A serious look on her face, which he guessed was habitual rather than assumed. And something else. A focus, an edge, in her expression, in her stance. A glint in her eye. He'd known people like that in the Green Machine. Those were people he'd learned not to cross.

As she handed over the paperwork, and gave him the pen back, she nodded. "Thanks, sergeant."

"You're very welcome, ma'am," he replied. The redhead, who had not spoken, gave him a mischievous grin, before tucking her arm through the brunette's.

As they walked away, the recruiting sergeant reflected that he might just have met his first PRT officer.

That kid's going far.

-ooo-​

February 1993

"So this is it." Andrea looked away.

I nodded. "I got the letter today. I'm to report for induction at midday tomorrow. Bus leaves tomorrow morning."

She breathed deeply once, and then again. "Fuck." Her voice was tight.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Fuck." Stepping forward, I folded her in my arms.

For a moment, she was rigid, tense, but then she relaxed and leaned against me. I felt hot tears soaking through my shirt. "It's not fair," she told me, face still buried in my chest.

"No, it's not." I held her close, resting my chin on her head. "I thought -"

She paused, tilting her head. Turning her face so that I could see her. "Thought what?"

I breathed deeply myself, trying to get over the lump in my throat. "Thought that this would be easier. Wouldn't hurt so much."

She chuckled, or tried to. It sounded too much like a sob for my liking. "Whatever gave you that stupid idea?"

Tears were flowing down my cheeks now. "Didn't know I loved you so much."

Her arms were wrapped tightly around me. "Well, I knew. Gladys knew. I think everyone knew. Just like they know how I feel about you."

I tilted her face up and kissed her; there was salt on her lips, from my tears or hers, I didn't know. Didn't care. She kissed me back, fiercely.

"I'm sorry," I sobbed. "I'm really, really sorry."

"What – hup! - what are you sorry about?" She was hiccuping now, between gulps for breath.

"Got you into this. Made you love me."

She snorted laughter, tears still on her face. "Made me love you? You moron, I fell in love with you all by myself."

My eyes overflowed with tears; I couldn't see any more. I could only feel. And my heart was breaking. "I wish there was another way. I truly do."

"Me too, Taylor. Me too. But we can't be together, not if you've gotta do what you've gotta do."

We had discussed this matter, numerous times. Andrea didn't know my exact plans, but she knew that we had to separate our private lives once I entered the PRT. We could still be friends, but no more than that.

Because there were things I was planning to do that she was better off not being associated with.

But knowing the truth of the matter didn't make it any easier.

I clung to her, the bastion of stability who had kept me sane for more than a year. My girlfriend. My lover.

We clung to one another, and cried.

Somehow, we ended up in the bedroom. I looked at her, and she looked at me, and we moved together. For the first time, I submitted to her needs without demur, because just for this night, they were my needs too. Slowly, softly, gently, we made love for the last time.

And that too, in its own way, was a goodbye.

-ooo-​

"Snow! Drop and give me -"

I was already on the ground, pumping out the first push-up, by the time the drill completed his shout; " - twenty!"

I had done push-ups before; our ROTC instructor had been very big on them. Due to him, my upper-body strength was better than it ever had before. And with Gladys to compete against, I had not slackened off since leaving college, and with it, ROTC.

I was already halfway through the allotted number when the drill's boots – so shiny I could admire my face in the mirrored surfaces, had I a mind to – came to rest in front of me. I kept cranking them out; this sort of harassment was so minor that it barely made my radar.

"Snow!" shouted the drill. "Are you trying to be smart?"

"Sarge, no, sarge!" I shouted, timing it so I didn't lose my rhythm with the push-ups. "Trying to do push-ups, sarge!"

Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen.

"Twenty, sergeant," I reported, bouncing to my feet.

He eyed me grimly. I took the time to catch what little of my breath I had lost while he decided on his next angle of attack. The winter breeze whistled between the buildings, and chilled my scalp.

My scalp. It had bothered me more than I had thought it would, losing my hair to the barber's clippers. For years, I had considered my hair to be my best feature; I even wore an open-backed mask as Skitter and then Weaver so that my hair could hang free.

Entering Boot, all recruits had their hair cut. Men were trimmed down to the cue-ball look, what the drill called 'mighty fine'. Women – not that there were very many of us in that first intake – got the option of a shoulder-length trim instead of having it all taken off. I had opted for the all-over look; I didn't need anything else differentiating me from the men.

This had the odd effect of bringing me closer to the male recruits, but distancing me from the few female recruits. All the rest had accepted the modified cut; they seemed to think I was 'butch' for having the lot taken off.

The only regret I had was not having been able to save the hair. I had thought maybe I could have parcelled it up and sent it to Dad, before recalling that 'Dad' was no longer someone who really existed, here and now. But even that wasn't something I wanted to try. I was already marked out enough as it was.

My gaze was fixed at a point over the drill's head. He gave me a grudging nod. "Back in formation, Snow. On the double."

"Sergeant!" I replied, moving off 'at the double', to catch up to the formation, which was still marching away, and had been ever since I was called out to do push-ups.

I knew exactly what the drill was trying to do, and I wholeheartedly supported it – for other people. He was trying to break us down, to knock civilian modes of thought out of us, so that we could be built up again into soldiers, men and women who would, if necessary, stand against parahumans in the defence of civilians.

I'd done that. I was right there with that mindset. It was, in brief, the reason I was there, the reason I had joined the PRT. I had faced more cape menaces than the drill ever had, and probably ever would. They gave us lectures about the potential opponents we might face; I could have added examples that would have had the entire cadre collectively wetting themselves in terror.

I had faced Lung. The Nine. Leviathan. Echidna. Behemoth.

Against Behemoth, I hadn't won, but I had faced him and I'd survived. Which put me light-years ahead of anyone else in the PRT, when it came to 'knowing your enemy'.

So I didn't need toughening up; mentally, I had been as tough as I'd ever get, before I ever turned seventeen. Physically, I was probably not at my peak yet, but that would be a matter of growth rather than exercise.

However, there was no way I could convey this to the drill in such a way that didn't either totally blow my cover, or make him think I was nuts (washing me out) or sound like I was complaining (which I really did not need). So I accepted, and endured, and kept track of things around me. Kept track of my fellow recruits.

Such as one that Lisa had informed me would be coming in with the second intake. She was on officer track, like me, but also like me, she had to do the boot training.

Like me, she had opted for the cue-ball haircut. Her name was Emily Piggot.

-ooo-​

"Red Five! Bogey at your six, E-plus!"

I spun the agile little singleship on its axis and dived into the tumbling rocks that made up the gas giant's rather elaborate ring system. The Brak ship streaked past my stern in a stutter of laser fire that vaporised three rocks, but missed me by a whisker. Through the ring layer, I pulled hard upward, feeling the inertial compensators struggling to keep up. The Brak ship would be through the rocks in a moment, and I had to be lined up …

"Red Three. Got your six, Red Five."

I keyed my mic. Roger, Red Three. Let's take out the trash.

"Now you're playing my song."

Abruptly, as the Brak ship burst into the E-minus – the half of the stellar system below the ecliptic – I yanked at my controls; my singleship yawed and then tumbled away, moving erratically and apparently out of control. Brak were descended from predators; the pilot would not, could not, ignore a wounded, weakened foe. It turned after me, its tracking system seeking to lock me up.

Red Three – Lisa – dropped out from behind a tumbling rock the size of a Brak cruiser, and tucked in behind the fighter. She gave him just long enough to realise exactly how boned he really was, then she blew him into very small pieces.

Radio messages began filtering in from the other fighters of Red Flight. The Brak had been destroyed or driven off. It was time to return to base.

Red Three formed up alongside me on the flight back. She pushed up her visor and gave me a thumbs-up and a victorious grin; I grinned back.

Back in the hangar, we climbed out of our fighters, turning them over to the tender mercies of the mechanics. I nodded to her. Nice work out there, partner.

She nodded back, her helmet under her arm. "Nice work yourself. If we hadn't arranged it between ourselves, I would have fallen for your dying-duck impression."

I grinned. Thanks. Now, other matters. Emily. How should I approach her?

Lisa rubbed her chin. "Direct approach usually works with her." She raised an eyebrow. "I still think you'd make a better Director."

Except for all the other stuff.

She sighed. "Yeah, well. Except for that."

The lighting flickered; I glanced around. What's that? An attack?

Lisa shook her head. "No. They're rousting the barracks for that midnight pack march."

I rolled my eyes. Figures. Okay, gotta go. Leaning in toward Lisa, I kissed her. Her lips tasted of dust and blood. Night.

"Night."

The lights flickered again; I blinked.

-ooo-​

Lisa had forewarned me about the pack march; I'd been careful to retire as early as possible, while wearing most of the clothing I would need on the march. My pack, already prepared, was waiting in my locker. And so, as the fluorescent lights flickered on down the length of the barracks, I sat up, turned, and put my sock-clad feet right into my boots. Then I grabbed my glasses from where I kept them beside the bunk.

"Pack march! Up you get! Rise an' shine! Show a leg! Let's get you out of those bunks, you scummy patch of … "

The drill, shouting as he went, banged with his baton on each bedframe that he passed. In his wake, sleep-confused recruits tumbled from their beds and began to hazily fumble on their uniforms. By the time he got to me, however, I was already shrugging into my pack, and tightening the straps.

Two bunks down, Emily Piggot was also more ready than most, although she was still climbing into her uniform. I saw her glance sharply at my state of readiness, but then the drill was stopping at my bunk.

"SNOW!" he bellowed.

I went to attention, and bellowed right back at him. "SERGEANT!"

He took a moment to look me up and down. "Snow, are you trying to be funny?"

"Sergeant, no, sergeant!" I replied, matching his tone.

"Snow, who told you there would be a pack march?"

"You did, sergeant!"

He paused. There was dead silence in the barracks. I couldn't even hear anyone breathing.

"When. Did. I. Do. That?"

"Just now, sergeant!"

I could see his face beginning to turn purple. It may, I realised belatedly, have been a bad idea to bait him.

"Pack inspection, Snow! Now now now!"

"Sergeant!" I removed the pack and passed it over to him. He unbuckled it, dropped it on the bed, and began to pull out the contents. They were, one and all, what was expected on a pack march. I'd made sure of it.

When the pack was empty, he turned to me. "Get that pack filled, Snow! On the double!" He turned to the rest of the barracks, and added, "And if any one of you finishes after Snow, you'll be running laps!"

I packed it again, under his gimlet eye, exactly as I had been shown in Basic. Around me, others were working to complete the task ahead of time, but it didn't bother me. I knew I could get it right.

Buckling the straps and pulling them tight, I swung it on to my shoulders. "Done, sergeant!"

The drill glared around at the rest of the barracks. Most of them stood at attention, their packs on their backs. Several still frantically worked to fill their packs; they stilled at a bellow from the sergeant. He began to describe their shortcomings in great detail, covering their parentage, habits and general appearance in one sweeping appraisal; Skidmark might have been able to improve on his descriptive capability, but not by much.

Glancing around, I noted that Emily was not one of those still getting ready. As my eyes fell on her, she returned the gaze. It was steady, discerning. Appraising. I nodded to her, very slightly. She nodded back. Then we both turned eyes front, because the drill had finished lambasting those who still had to fill their packs, and was marching back up between the beds.

"Everyone!" he shouted. "Because some of you are not. Yet. Ready …" He paused ominously.

We waited. Some of the others looked apprehensive.

"They'll be doing extra punishment duty when they get back. But for now … we can't have you standing idle. So, you will be doing push-ups, with packs, until they have finished packing their damn packs!"

Most of the recruits were still staring at him in shock by the time he finished. I was on the ground, cranking out the push-ups.

"What are you waiting for?" he shouted. "Go!"

So we did push-ups, while the tardy recruits hurried to fill their packs, and get the rest of their uniforms on. With a pack on, it was a lot harder than doing it unencumbered, but I could do it. Before I'd entered ROTC, I would not have been capable.

Privately, I resolved to find the guy who finished last, and have a chat with him about getting his pack filled faster. But then, I figured, I was not the only one. So I shelved it, for the moment.

We did push-ups. The last pack was filled. We started on our pack march.

-ooo-​

I was moving along steadily, swinging my arms, working out the kinks of the push-up session, when Emily Piggot moved up alongside me.

"Snow."

"Piggot."

"Fuckin' push-ups," she muttered.

"Fuckin' push-ups," I agreed.

She paused for a moment, then went on. "You were fast, getting geared up."

"Mm." It was true; I didn't waste my breath.

She didn't give up; nor did I did expect her to. "How did you know?"

A half-shrug, hard with the pack on my back. "Had an idea."

I could tell she was looking sideways at me. "You have a lot of ideas."

"Could say that."

"And you use my full name."

"It's your name."

"Not everyone thinks so." The bitterness in her voice was well hidden, but it was there.

Nicknames were a big thing in the recruit cadre. It was rare that a recruit got to choose their own. I had been saddled early on with "Ice Queen"; partly because of my name, and partly because I hadn't shown any interest in bunk time with any of the male recruits.

This was not to say that 'fraternisation' between male and female recruits was a permitted thing; it was most definitely out of bounds. But because the vast majority of PRT recruits were male, they couldn't justify opening another barracks room just for us. So we all slept in a section, and changed behind hung blankets, or in the toilet cubicles. Some of the women slept with the men; I just hoped they were being careful.

The nickname didn't bother me; it was both accurate and totally misleading, both of which I could make use of. Emily's nickname, on the other hand was another thing altogether.

She was shorter than me, and a little heavier. Most people were shorter and heavier than me. Emily wasn't skinny, but nor was she fat by any reasonable description, not like she would become in twenty years. At most, she was chunky; there was more muscle there than fat. Without her unfortunate name, no-one would even have noticed it. But the weight was there, as was the name, and some unkind souls had capitalised on it. So now, to a certain section of the barracks, she was "Pig" or "the pig".

I always called her Piggot. She professed not to notice those who used the other names. I could sympathise; she wasn't going to complain, or go through channels. She was going to simply prove the bastards wrong. It was the single-mindedness that would get her through the battle with Nilbog, and thereafter, serve her well over ten years as Director of PRT ENE.

But up until now, she hadn't made any overtures. This was a break. I turned my head partially toward her. "I'm Taylor."

Her reply took so long in coming that I thought she hadn't heard me. Then she replied. "Emily."

"No talking in ranks!" bellowed the drill, three files back. It wasn't us he was talking to; others were also snatching conversations in the middle of the pack march. "If you've got breath to talk, you've got breath to go faster! On the double! Hup, hup, hup!"

We broke into a trot, and after that, there wasn't any more breath to talk.

-ooo-​

"Officer track, huh?" asked Emily; we sat side by side on my bunk, shining our boots and buckles. I was a better hand with the buckles, while Emily could bring out a deeper shine with the boots.

"Yeah," I replied. "What are you going for?"

"Infantry," Emily responded, rubbing at a difficult patch. She spat on it, and rubbed again; it seemed to work better. "You?"

"Intel." I worked away at the buckle with a fingernail, picking off a piece of dirt. Slowly, I registered that she'd stopped working at the boot. I turned my head, meeting her stare. "What?"

"The fuck, Taylor?" she demanded. "You've got 'senior officer' written all over you."

I shook my head. "I don't want to command. I like to work with the big picture, figuring out what it all means."

To be honest, that was Lisa's thing rather than mine, but the plan we had evolved required me to go down this path.

Emily shook her head. "Christ fuck. You'll be wasted as an intel weenie. I've seen your initial tactical scores. They're likely to try to talk you straight into a command bracket."

I shook my head. "They've got field officers already. They're weak on analysts. Especially ones with degrees in parahuman studies, psychology and criminology."

She blinked. "You've got all those?"

I nodded. "Had an idea I might need them."

"Fuck." Slowly, she began to rub at the boot again. "Well, all I can say is, if you keep having these ideas of yours, you'll be able to go wherever you like."

I grinned at her. "That's the idea."

She finished with the boot, and picked up its mate. "Fuck, do you look for mud puddles to wade through?"

I shrugged. "Blame the drill, not me."

"True," she agreed. "Say, just between you and me … "

I waited. "Yeah?"

"If you ever happen to have any of your little 'ideas' that I'd be interested in hearing … "

I nodded. "You'll hear."

"Thanks." And if I can ever do you any favours, she didn't have to say, consider them done.

We went back to polishing and cleaning.

-ooo-​

March 1993

"Aim!"

They aimed.

"Fire!"

Nearly every rifle spoke at once.

"Aim!"

They aimed.

"Fire!"

This time, the barrage was a little more ragged. The drill noted with irritation that several recruits had fired before he gave the word.

"Safe weapons!"

There was a series of muted clicks as each recruit snapped over the safety on his or her M-16.

"Weapons down!"

Each recruit placed his weapon on the ground and lifted his hands clear of it.

Hands clasped behind his back, the drill went strolling down the line. "When I say 'Fire', you sorry sacks of shit, I mean fire when I say so, not when you feel like it! Got it? Not half a second before, and not fifteen seconds after! Do you understand?"

A ragged chorus of "Yes, sergeant," answered him.

"I said, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

"YES, SERGEANT!"

He nodded. "Good. Now, let's see what sort of sorry showing you've made here."

Without even waiting to check to see if the weapons really were down – there was a corporal, observing the recruits from the side, to ensure that – he strode downrange, to the targets.
"Good … good … abysmal … fair … fuck me."

He stopped, opposite one target, and tugged down his sunglasses so as to get a better look at it. At first glance, it seemed that only one or two shots had hit; however, on closer examination, he saw that the X-ring was a cluster of overlapping bullet-holes. He turned to face the firing line. "Whose target is this?"

A recruit raised her hand, from where she was kneeling on the ground. "Sergeant, that's mine. Recruit Snow, sergeant."

He had taken note of her before; she was serious, intent, and never needed telling twice. She also worked well with others, but tended to take charge in group situations. But this … holy fuck.

He tugged the target free of its clips, and walked back up to the firing line with it. "Where the fuck did you learn how to shoot, Snow?"

"JROTC, sergeant. Winslow High, Brockton Bay."

"Who's the instructor there, Snow?"

She frowned for a moment. "Uh, Campbell, sergeant. I think his first name was Joseph."

He nodded slowly. "Joe Campbell. I know him. He was a good drill, in the day. I'm gonna have to send him a case of beer. Seems he's been doing his job right." He waved the target sheet. "Look very carefully at this! This is what you have to aspire to! And Snow!"

"Sergeant?"

"I want to see this every fucking time. Got it?"

Snow nodded. "Got it, sergeant."

-ooo-​

April 1993

"Taylor!"

I braced myself; Andrea was petite, but she leaped at me as though she was trying to bring me to the ground. I caught her, and she promptly wrapped her arms and legs around me, and kissed me soundly.

I grinned and kissed her back, in a somewhat more restrained fashion, although I was very glad to see her. "Wow," I observed. "It's like I was away for two years, not two months."

She giggled and put her legs down, although she kept her arms around me. "I missed you so bad," she told me. "Have you grown? It feels like you've grown."

Gladys, grinning broadly, shook her head. "No, she hasn't grown. But it looks like she's bulked out a little."

"Pack marches and push-ups," I informed her. "I can now bench more than my own weight."

Gladys snorted. "I've been able to bench your weight since forever."

"Yeah," I responded, letting go of Andrea with one hand so I could poke her in the ribs, "but that's because you're a musclebound hulk. I'm a skinny waif."

Andrea let go of me, but took firm possession of my arm. "Yeah, but you're my skinny waif."

Grinning, I turned to Danny and Anne-Rose; they seemed to be staring at me in a state of slight shock. "What?"

"Wow," Danny told me. "You've … you're a soldier."

I nodded. "That's the way of it," I informed him. "Join the armed forces, and they tend to do that to you."

I thought that Anne-Rose was staring at my face, then I realised what was going on. "Yeah, they took it off."

"All that beautiful hair," she murmured, unconsciously touching her own tresses. Mine had been darker than hers, closer to Danny's shade, but our hair had still been very much alike.

"Yeah," I agreed. "It was a bit of a jolt to part with it, but that's the way it is." I touched my scalp beside the cap; a couple of months in, the hair was starting to grow back, but it was still not much more than a buzz-cut.

It would, I noted with inner amusement, make it a lot easier to tell us apart.

"I like the uniform," Danny noted, "but isn't it a little … ornate?"

"The uniform's cool," Andrea stated firmly.

"It's dress uniform," I informed him. "Not to be worn in the field." I shared a glance with Gladys; she knew what that was about.

"So when do you officially finish boot camp?" asked Gladys.

"Already finished," I told her. "We got two weeks of leave, before I go on to officer training. Catch up with family and friends."

"So who are we?" he asked with a grin. "Family or friends?"

"Yes," I replied with an answering grin.

Andrea laughed out loud.

-ooo-​

"It'll be fine," Danny assured me.

I wasn't so certain. I hadn't spoken to Dorothy, or seen her, since I started college. Since I had met Andrea. Eighteen months, more or less. "Maybe this is a bad idea."

He shook his head. "No. You've got to bite the bullet, sooner or later. Find out, one way or the other."

Stepping forward, he mounted the steps and rang the doorbell. It was audible from inside the house; a few moments later, the front door opened.

George Hebert stood there; stolid, solid, as craggy and grey-bearded as ever.

"Dad," Danny told him. "Taylor's back from training."

George looked past him. "So I see," he observed.

"Good afternoon, Mr Hebert," I greeted him politely.

He frowned. "Do you intend to stand there all day?"

I swallowed. "I don't know if I'm welcome … "

"Hmph. Well, come in. This was a Christian household, the last I checked."

I nodded briefly. "Thank you."

He stepped back, allowing Danny to enter. I followed on. Andrea had chosen to stay away, with Gladys and Anne-Rose; I had agreed at the time that it was probably best with just me and Danny there, but right then, I wished I had my friends for support.

"Dot!" called out George as we entered the living room. "Company!"

Dorothy Hebert entered from the kitchen; her eyes flicked from her husband to her son, and then fixed on me.

"Who -?" she began, before she recognised me. Her face changed. "Taylor. Is that you?"

I nodded, wanting to retreat. There were few things I was scared of, but I did not want to be there.

"Yes, Mrs Hebert," I replied softly. "It's me."

She frowned sharply, looking past me. "You haven't brought that girl with you, have you?"

By which she meant Andrea, of course.

I shook my head. "No. I broke things off with her when I left for basic training."

She snorted. "A simple thing to do, when you wouldn't be seeing her anyway."

Again, I shook my head. "No, ma'am. It's over between us."

Gradually, a smile crept across her face. "Good. I've always felt that you had the makings of a good Christian girl in you, Taylor. Now, you'll be coming to Sunday mass with us ..."

"No, ma'am," I stated firmly.

She stopped, and looked harder at me. "No? Well, some other time will do as well, I suppose."

"No," I repeated. "Dorothy, there is something you need to understand."

She stared at me. "Taylor?"

I took a deep breath. "I broke up with Andrea for my own reasons, not yours. I've come back to try to make peace, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to bow down to your every whim. What I had with Andrea wasn't what you thought, but you never asked, merely assumed the worst. What it was is between Andrea and myself, and that's none of your business. So we've got a choice. You can accept me for who I am, what I am, with all my flaws. Or you can tell me to go, and never see me again."

Dot was staring at me, her eyes wide. "Taylor Snow!" she gasped. "How dare you speak to me in that tone of voice!"

Danny was frozen, apparently stunned by the turn of events. I glanced at George; he did not seem inclined to intervene.

"Dorothy," I responded. "Mrs Hebert. You took me in. You sheltered me. For that, I will be forever grateful. But I have grown, and I have moved on, and I no longer live under your roof. I choose the rules I live by, and I choose not to let your approval, or lack thereof, dictate the way I live. While I am your guest, I will abide by your rules. But once I walk out that door, I am no longer bound by them. Now; do I stay, or do I go?"

Dorothy continued to stare; it was George Hebert who spoke next.

"Well said, young Taylor," he told me, clapping me on the shoulder. "Sit down. I have a feeling we have a lot to talk about."

Dot's stare flicked to her husband. "George!" she protested.

He gave her an irritated glare. "What, Dottie? The girl is our guest. Are you going to throw her out for being plain spoken? She obviously knows her own mind, and has chosen her own path. There's precious little you can do to change that, now."

Dorothy stared at George, then looked to Danny. "Do you -"

"Mom," Danny cut in patiently. "Taylor's my friend. I've liked her ever since we met." Ever since I saved her life, was what he didn't say, and didn't have to."I had a crush on her for the longest time, but that's over with, ever since I met Anne-Rose. But I don't let who she sees, who she keeps company with, dictate whether or not I like her. I like her for her."

Dorothy opened her mouth, then shut it again. She was strong-willed; she would have to be, to maintain her way in a household of two males, especially where one of them was George Hebert. But nor was she stupid; she could see which way the wind was blowing. She could order me out, and I would go, but it would not stop me from seeing Danny and George outside the house, not if they chose to do so. So she chose the lesser of two evils.

"Very well, Taylor," she allowed. "Please stay; I'll put the teapot on."

"Thank you, Mrs Hebert," I replied.

She gave me a dry look. "And now it's back to 'Mrs Hebert'. Am I only Dorothy when you are chastising me?"

I hid a smile. "No. Thank you, Dorothy. It will be a pleasure to stay."

So we sat, and I drank tea, and we chatted.

-ooo-​

"I think Dad was impressed," Danny commented as we walked back to his car. "Even proud."

I blinked. George had given me the third degree, almost, about my time in basic training. Pack marches, hand to hand combat, shooting, even down to cleaning the barracks; he had wanted to hear about it all.

"I felt like he was testing me," I replied. "Making sure I actually went and did it, instead of just going away for ten weeks."

He shook his head with a chuckle. "No. He wanted to see how you felt about it, about doing it. Being in the military. He was going to join the Navy, once, when he was about my age, but he never really got around to it. But you're almost family, as far as he's concerned, and he's proud that you're doing it. He just wants to be sure that you think you're doing the right thing."

I nodded. "It's the right thing, all right. I'm where I've got to be, in order to do the things I have to do." I glanced sideways at him. "How are things with you and Anne-Rose?"

He smiled. "Pretty good. I don't have enough money for us to even think about getting married quite yet, but maybe by the end of the year." He paused. "She's getting heat off of her parents for letting me 'distract' her from her studies. When it's really her not being sure if she wants to keep up with her law studies."

"Talk to her," I suggested. "Ask her what she really wants to do. What she sees herself doing in ten years." I squeezed his arm. "Make sure she knows she has your full support."

He frowned. "She already knows that."

I raised an eyebrow. "Have you actually told her, in so many words?"

"Uh, no, but -"

I shook my head and smiled. "No buts. Tell her. She needs to hear it from you. More than once, if that's what it takes."

"Well, if you're sure … " he answered doubtfully.

I rolled my eyes. "Do I have to threaten to beat you up? Because I'll do it."

He pretended to cringe. "Nope, nope. All good here. I'll tell her. I promise."

I grinned, and slugged him gently on the shoulder. "Good boy."

"Ow." He rubbed his shoulder. "I think you left a bruise."

"Wimp."

"Bully."

"Want me to hit you again?"

"Nope."

-ooo-​

Andrea raised her glass. "It's good to have you home."

I raised mine in return, and took a sip. The wine was dry and astringent; it still wasn't really to my taste. "It's good to be home."

I smiled at Andrea; she had put candles on the table, and we ate in their soft yellow glow.

I cleared my throat. "I hope you haven't been too lonely while I've been gone."

Giggling, she shook her head. "Nope. You're still the only one for me, but I've been consoling myself with other college girls. Usually tall brunettes, for some reason."

I raised an eyebrow. "Not Anne-Rose, I hope."

She giggled again. I got the impression that the wine was getting to her. "Oh, no. Since she met Danny, she's been silly in love. I think I was just a long-term experiment, and now she's settled down."

I took another bite of the steak, and chewed. After military rations, it was heavenly. Andrea watched me. I looked back at her. "What?"

"So, have you found anyone else yet?" she teased.

I shook my head. "Haven't been looking. Not really interested."

"What, guys or girls?" she asked, honestly curious.

I shook my head. "Before I met you, my entire sexual experience was contained to one month. I had a boyfriend, who was really, really needy. It was kind of why I became his girlfriend. We had sex a few times, but then … well, then things changed, so I had to leave him."

She raised an eyebrow. "That sounds kind of … cold."

"Oh, there's more to it," I hastened to add. "I always liked him, before, but he considered me to be more like a sister. Until just after the thing happened that screwed with his head. He confessed that he was thinking about me more than he should. And after … well, I had to leave him, because I was kind of going to jail. But I felt that he thought that I abandoned him while he still needed me."

"Wow," Andrea observed. "I'm gonna have to get the full story of this out of you someday."

I chuckled. "Wanna hear the really bizarre part?"

She grinned. "Hit me."

"He gets born in about two months."

She blinked. "Your boyfriend?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

She shook her head. "Okay, that's … really weird. Yeah. I can't top that."

I put my glass down and stood up from the table. She stood up, too.

"This was a wonderful meal, and I've really enjoyed being back with you," I told her, and held her tight. "But I'm shipping out in the morning, so I think I'll go to bed."

"Oooh."

"To sleep," I clarified.

"Awww."

I relented a little. "But you can snuggle up anyway."

"Yay!"

-ooo-​

May 1993

"Cadet Snow, the board would like to know why it is that you have chosen Intelligence for your career branch."

I stood at attention, thumbs along the seam-lines of my uniform trousers. Facing me were five officers; three men and two women. It was a male officer who had spoken; he wore the insignia of a major-general.

"Sir," I replied. "It's where I feel most comfortable. I'm good with data analysis."

One of the women – her rank insignia marked her out as a bird colonel – tapped a sheet of paper on her desk. "These results state otherwise, Cadet Snow. Your tactical skills are high, and you have proven over and over that you can lead men in the field."

"Nonetheless, ma'am," I responded respectfully, "I do not feel that that is where my strengths lie."

Which was crap; it was exactly where they lay. Even after losing my powers, I had maintained a certain knack for multi-tasking, and in getting people to follow orders. A field officer in the PRT? I wouldrock.

But it wasn't where I needed to be.

I needed to be behind the scenes, managing matters my own way.

"And you believe that they lie in the field of intelligence gathering and analysis?" asked another one of the men, a general.

"Sir, yes I do," I agreed.

There was a long pause, then the major-general spoke. "Dismissed, Cadet. We will consider your application."

"Sir." I saluted, turned, and marched from the room.

-ooo-​

"So, what do you think?"

The female colonel looked at the major-general, who had asked the question.

"Sir," she started carefully, "she's a natural in the field. I've looked at her scores, from JROTC up to the present day, and she's gone from strength to strength."

The other woman, who had not spoken so far, cleared her throat. "May I make a comment here?"

"Of course," the major-general allowed. "It's what we're here for."

The woman nodded. "Well, her field scores are exceptional, as are her basic combat capabilities – I have a drill sergeant who wants to send her to sniper school – but have you actually looked at her intelligence analysis scores?"

The major-general frowned. "A little, but -"

The woman pushed a stack of papers his way. "Look at this. She's able to analyse a tactical situation and find all the weak points. The write-ups of these field exercises shows that. Plus, you might want to read a paper she wrote up in her final year."

"I glanced at it," the female bird colonel stated dismissively. "Her professor gave her good marks, but her conclusions are way off."

The other woman shook her head. "You're reading the wrong paper. The one I've got is basically the diametric opposite to the one she submitted for her Criminology class. This one got published in a law review publication, and it's very interesting. She reaches some startling conclusions regarding the future of crime and parahumans in the region of Brockton Bay, over the next few years."

"Really?" asked the major-general. "And how do they stand up so far?"

"Rather well, actually," was the answer. "She's taken many factors into account, and it makes a fascinating piece of reading."

"Hm," replied the major-general. "Get a copy to each of us. We'll read it over, and reconvene in the morning for our decision."

-ooo-​

"Cadet Snow."

"Sir."

"Before we make our final decision, it would please this board to know why you wrote two different papers for your Criminology class." I could hear the question he wasn't asking. Were you hedging your bets?

I drew a deep breath. "My professor and I didn't see eye to eye on certain matters, sir," I explained bluntly. "If I wanted to graduate, I had to write the paper he wanted to see."

"I see, Cadet Snow." Gimlet eyes stared down at me. "And do you intend to hide your conclusions from all your superior officers?"

"No, sir!" The protest was jerked from me. "I gave him the paper he wanted, but I made sure the real paper got seen as well."

"Hmm." He stared at me; I couldn't read his expression. Leaning back in his chair, he exchanged a few murmured words with his fellow officers. After an excruciatingly long few moments, he leaned forward again. "We have considered your application, and have decided that it has merit. You may continue along your chosen career branch."

"Thank you, sir."

"Dismissed."

"Sir."

I saluted, turned, and marched out of the room. Behind me, the doors closed.

Another step on the path.

But there were many, many more to go.

-ooo-​

July 1993

"and the orders of the officers appointed over me."

"and the orders of the officers appointed over me."

"according to the regulations of the PRTCJ."

"according to the regulations of the PRTCJ."

"So help me God."

"So help me God."

The wind cut across the open parade ground, relieving some of the effect of the hot summer sun. After we finished taking the oath, I wanted to look around me, at my fellow cadets, who had just become officers in the Parahuman Response Teams, just as I had. There were far fewer than we had started out with; most of the women and some of the men had washed out, either through injury or personal choice. One woman had gotten pregnant. One man had come down with a galloping case of venereal disease, acquired off-base.

Those of us that were left stood tall, wearing our dress blues proudly. Each of us wore our career and rank insignia on our uniforms; mine indicated that I was a lieutenant in the Intelligence Corps. Normally, graduating cadets entered the military as second lieutenants; given my ROTC scores, and my overall performance during my time in training – helped not a little by Lisa's guidance and assistance – I had skipped a pay grade.

Wow, I thought. Dad would be so proud.

-ooo-​

After the ceremony was over, I felt a touch at my elbow. Glancing around I saw it was Emily Piggot.

"Lieutenant," I greeted her, with a grin.

"Lieutenant," she replied, with a smile of her own.

We ignored the fact that she was a second looey; there would be time enough for that, later. "So, where are you going on from here?"

She considered. "Advanced infantry course, I think. Maybe counter-terrorism. Then I start climbing the ladder. You?"

"I guess I go out in the field and learn how to be a real spook," I replied cheerfully. "Hey, your folks here?"

She shook her head. "They couldn't make it."

"Come meet my friends, then," I invited her.

She tilted her head. "You sure?"

I nodded vigorously. "Sure I'm sure. Remember my rifle scores?"

She rolled her eyes. "You were always too damn good on the range."

I grinned. "Come on, I'll introduce you to my best friend. She's an even better shot than me."

"Christ," she muttered as I pulled her along. "What's she do? Army sniper?"

"Nope," I replied. "She's a high school teacher."

The look on Emily's face was golden.

End of Part 3-0

Part 3-1​

 

[Ack]

Recoil​

Part 3-1: Meeting Again for the First Time​

The zombie lurched toward me, tried to grab me. Its mouth was open in a near-silent groan; I wrinkled my nose at the stench.

I brought my sword up and around in a glittering arc; the zombie took one more step, then its head slid from its shoulders. Spinning around, I kicked an importunate member of the undead in the middle of the chest, beheaded a third, and then bisected the one I had kicked. Twirling the sword in an intricate move designed to remove zombie bits from the blade, I paused to catch my breath.

Lisa was doing well also; instead of a sword, she carried two long knives. As I watched, she pirouetted between two zombies, stabbing each of them in the eye-socket as she went past. A third one, reaching for her, lost both its hands in quick succession before she scissored its head off.

A groan behind me reminded me that I was not yet out of danger; I stabbed up and back, barely bothering to turn, and then pulled my sword out again. As the tip of the blade slid out of the zombie's mouth, it collapsed bonelessly to the ground.

Lisa came running toward me, knives held up ready to throw. I crouched; she threw. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw two more walkers, each currently decorated with a knife hilt in the middle of the forehead. Their shrivelled eyes tried to cross, in an attempt to look at their new fashion accessories, before they both fell over backward.

Showoff, I accused her with a grin.

She smirked at me as she retrieved her knives. "Yeah, but it's fun."

Oh, so very true, I admitted.

After cleaning the blades on a not-too-filthy strip of cloth torn from the closest zombie's shirt, she put them away and pulled a mini-tablet from the pocket of her cargo pants. "Latest stuff to send to Andrea. She's doing well, by the way, but she misses you."

I sighed. I miss her too. More than I thought I would. More than I missed Brian, to be honest.

She shrugged. "I could model her in here for you, if you want."

I was tempted, but shook my head. Thanks, but no thanks. I need to keep a clear separation. And besides, it might get weird.

"Your loss. Oh, and there's a note on there for you."

I started to scan the data on the tablet, but she shook her head. "No time. Kiss before you go?"

I put my arms around her, pulled her close, and kissed her. Her lips tasted of dust and blood. She snuggled against me, and I closed my eyes for a moment -

-ooo-​

August 1993

- and opened them in my barracks room, sitting at my desk.

There were two pads in front of me, each with a chatty letter covering the top two pages. Each had been carefully, even meticulously, written while I was communing with Lisa. One was directed to Danny, and the other to Gladys. My intent was to write two of these letters and send them away every two weeks; I had written the first two on my first night back as a fully commissioned officer.

Thus, the letters were not unusual; it was the scrap of notepaper, resting on the letter to Gladys, that caught my attention. It held five words that chilled me to the bone.

Intruder in the security office.

I replaced the pads in my desk drawer, then stuffed the notepaper in my mouth. As I chewed and swallowed it, I took my pistol belt and buckled it on.

I wasn't duty officer on that day, but I had the feeling that Lisa didn't intend for me to go through regular channels on this. Accordingly, then, I exited my barracks room, locked it behind me, and headed for the security office at the double.

The PRT was still finding its feet; there were bases established in each of the major cities, and they were working on the smaller capital cities. I was currently based in Chicago, in what used to be an old school; it wasn't perfect, but it was certainly better than nothing. The security office was in a different building, but it was supposed to be guarded. It held filing cabinet after filing cabinet, holding all the classified records of known parahumans, as well as the computer terminal that linked us through the nascent DoD internet to all the other PRT bases.

The summer breeze cut across the campus as I hurried between buildings. Chicago would never be hot, but today was warmer than some. I supposed that growing up in Brockton Bay had spoiled me a little.

Entering the building containing the security office, I frowned. There should be officers and NCOs stationed here, primary lines of defence, but they were conspicuously absent. I moved faster.

Outside the door to the security room itself, an armed MP sergeant stood, at parade rest. I wasn't reassured. There was something seriously wrong here, especially when he didn't come to attention or salute when I approached.

I stopped right in front of him. "Sergeant. Has anyone entered this room in the last hour?"

His eyes focused on me, and he finally saluted. "No, ma'am." He hesitated, then added, "No-one important."

I fixed on that. "No-one important, or no-one at all?"

His eyes shifted. "I … " He went for his pistol, while reaching for me with his left hand.

I took his wrist, spun him around, and slammed him face-first into the wall opposite. Then I kicked him behind the knee, dropped him to the ground, and plucked the gun from his unresisting hand. Taking the cuffs from his belt, I secured his hands behind him, then stood up once more. That, I decided, was much easier than it should have been. His ingrained duty had been fighting all the way against whatever orders he had been given.

The sergeant's gun in my left hand, my own pistol in my right, I kicked open the door to the security room. Armed and ready for anything, I leaped in through the doorway, dropping to the floor and rolling, then came up on to one knee, both guns aimed at the room's sole occupant.

The guy feeding files into the shredder looked over at me. "I'll be done in a moment," he told me mildly. "If you can wait outside till then?"

I stood up and holstered my pistol; not sure what to do with the sergeant's gun, I stuck it in my belt. "Okay, sure," I agreed, brushing myself off. "Sorry to have bothered you."

He nodded. "Oh, could you leave that gun here please?" he requested. "I might need it."

"Not a problem," I agreed, pulling the sergeant's pistol from my belt and putting it on the desk. "Anything else I can do for you?"

"No, that'll be fine," he told me. "You can go now."

I turned and exited the room, pulling the door closed behind me. As I did so, I became aware of something wrong. Dimly, in the back of my head, someone was screaming at me. I couldn't make it out. Frowning, I concentrated -

- my right arm moved, without my volition, pulling the pistol from my holster and firing three shots into the closed door -

- and suddenly it was as if a fog had lifted from my mind. There was an intruder in the security office!

I looked down at the smoking gun in my hand. I had no recollection of choosing to pull it or fire it. Slowly, cautiously, I pushed open the door. In the back of my mind, I made a mental note to have the lock fixed. Slumped over the shredder was a nondescript man in his twenties, wearing clothes that might look like a uniform at a distance, with three closely-spaced bullet holes in his back. I approached carefully; there was a pistol within reach of him on the desk. I vaguely recalled putting it there, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Not until I had hooked the gun away from him with a pen I found on the desk did I begin to relax. From the placement of the bullet holes, he was either severely injured or dead, but I checked his pulse anyway. He was gone.

At my touch, he slid to the ground, crumpling in an untidy heap. I looked down at him, then heard boots thundering down the hallway. Shouts of alarm rose as someone saw the handcuffed MP sergeant.

"Is anyone in there?" a voice shouted.

"Yes!" I called back at once. "Lieutenant Snow! We also have an intruder; he's dead!"

"Are you armed?"

"Yes!" I replied. "There are two pistols in here!"

"Slide them out one at a time, then get down on your knees, hands clasped behind your neck!"

I complied, placing the pistols on 'safe' before sliding them out. "This one's mine!" I called. "Careful handling it; I shot the intruder with it." One went out, then the other. Then I got down on my knees. "Ready," I told them.

They were careful anyway; I approved. First, rifle barrels showed around the doorframe, and then, cautiously, the soldiers carrying them. They entered, rifles swivelling to covering the room, including me. I stayed kneeling while they searched me and checked the dead guy. Even though I was led out under guard, I wasn't too worried; I had an idea of what was coming next. The building would be placed on lockdown, and each and every one of us would be interrogated to find out what had happened.

I already had a fairly good idea of what that was.

-ooo-​

A Day Later

"We found Lieutenant Wyzowski in the security office; his throat had been cut and he'd been stuffed behind a filing cabinet," the MP reported. "He was security officer for the day; he had the keys to get in. We located the keys on the body of the deceased."

Major Hamilton nodded, then turned to me. "Lieutenant Snow; did you know that Wyzowski was in the security office?"

I remained standing at attention. "Sir, no, sir," I replied. "I only knew that there was something wrong in the building."

His head came up at that. "Something wrong? Please elucidate, Lieutenant."

"Sir. I was passing by the building, and decided to look it over. On entering, neither the MP guard nor the NCO at the front desk were in evidence. This did not look right, so I investigated further. The only person I found was Sergeant Kinsey, at the door to the security room. He did not react to me as I approached, so I asked him some questions. He attempted to attack me, I subdued him, then investigated the security office."

Hamilton frowned. "Lieutenant, Sergeant Kinsey teaches hand to hand combat. I understand that you are good at it, but Kinsey outmasses you twice over, and has ten years of experience on you. I find it hard to believe that you could overpower him so easily."

"Sir, yes, sir," I responded. "I believe that Kinsey was under outside compulsion to not allow anyone to investigate the security office while the intruder was inside. However, he is a loyal soldier, and he was fighting to throw off the compulsion. It was only his strength of will that allowed me to beat him so quickly."

Hamilton stared at me, as if I had begun reciting the Lord's Prayer in Urdu. "Outside compulsion? Strength of will?" he repeated. "What, exactly, are you referring to?"

I took a deep breath. "Sir, are you aware of the parahuman -" I was careful not to use the word 'cape', even now - "power category known as 'Master'? Or 'Stranger'?"

He frowned. "I'd heard something about it." The lightbulb visibly went on, over his head. "You're saying that the intruder was a Master, or maybe a Stranger. That he was controlling Kinsey."

"Yes, sir. I suspect both. He was able to simply pretend to not be important enough to notice by everyone who saw him. And he was able to give orders that people followed without question. Once he was dead, of course ..."

He was nodding now. "The compulsion went away. I see." He peered closely at me. "I've looked over your jacket, Snow. You studied this sort of thing in college?"

"I did, sir. I grew up fascinated by the parahuman phenomenon -" true enough - "and when I reached college, they had a class on the subject. So I took it."

"Indeed." He steepled his fingers before him. "Which leads us to the most important question, Snow. You were in the room with this man. He gave you orders, which you followed. To give him Kinsey's pistol, and to leave the room. Orders which you followed without question."

"Sir, yes, sir," I agreed. "I was under his compulsion." I knew what was coming next.

"So it seems," he went on. "But why, if you were under his compulsion, did you then draw your own service weapon and fire it through the door? How did you break his compulsion?"

"I've been wondering about that myself, sir," I 'confessed'. "I suspect that it has to do with an incident that happened some years ago. I was involved in a fairly traumatic event, a disaster at sea, and I lost some of my memories. Afterward, at my doctor's suggestion, I took up self-hypnosis and even managed to regain some of my lost past."

I took a deep breath. "Since then, I have retained the habit of putting myself under for a few minutes at a time, when at my leisure. It helps to centre my mind and aids in concentration. I suspect that it has given me a stronger connection to my unconscious mind than most, and when I was undergoing that level of inner conflict, such as Sergeant Kinsey was, I managed to act without consciously thinking about it, once I was out of line of sight. Just as Kinsey did."

I actually had my own ideas about what had really happened, but I'd have to wait till later to investigate.

Hamilton was nodding slowly. "Yes, I've read about that incident. Self-hypnosis, hmm? It sounds like a neat trick. Could you teach it to others?"

I paused, as if thinking about it. "I could try, sir, but it's not something I picked up overnight. I've been doing it for years."

I had known that Hamilton had perused my past; going into the intelligence community, I would necessarily be scrutinised more closely than most. Therefore I had prepared the way, using the resources of my growing financial empire to have false records inserted here and there, so that investigators would find just enough of a fragmentary paper trail to ascertain that yes, Taylor Snow had been born a citizen of the United States. Parents were of course dead, with no relatives close enough to recall little Taylor, but that was the way of things sometimes, wasn't it?

"Hm," responded Hamilton. He nodded to his aide de camp. "Make a note. It might be something we can look into. We can't have these Masters and Strangers simply waltzing in and destroying our files at will. It would destroy the organisation before we even got started."

I noted the 'we'. The questioning was no longer adversarial; I had been included in the major's worldview of 'us'. "Sir, a suggestion."

"Yes, Lieutenant Snow?"

I took a breath. "I can look into devising protocols to use, to detect cases of people being manipulated by Masters and Strangers. There are quite a few case studies on record, and I've kept up with the literature."

His gaze upon me sharpened. "That sounds like a very interesting suggestion, Lieutenant Snow. I believe it has merit. What resources would you be needing?"

"Relatively few, sir," I responded. "Access to all the latest research, mainly." I paused. "And if I could have Sergeant Kinsey assigned to me, sir?"

He frowned. "Kinsey? Why him?"

"Because, sir, he's the one person on this base that I know has a fighting chance to resist a Master's influence. I'd prefer to have him at my back, protecting it, because once these protocols get out, I may just find myself with a target painted on it."

He rubbed his chin. "But he's already been affected by this Master mind-control. Wouldn't he be more susceptible, the next time?"

With Regent, he would have been, yes. "Not necessarily, sir," I replied. "By your same logic, he's been exposed to it, so he's just as likely to be more capable of fighting it off, the next time he encounters a Master."

He nodded, slowly. "Your point is valid, Lieutenant Snow." An expression creased his lined face that in another man might have been mistaken for a smile. "You've got him."

"Thank you, sir."

"No, Lieutenant. Thank you. Dismissed."

I saluted, about-faced, and marched from the room. Already, in my head, I was crafting the Master/Stranger protocols that they would need.

The PRT may have been a sieve early on, but by God, it's going to be airtight by the time I'm done with it.

-ooo-​

"Sergeant Kinsey."

Kinsey looked up from where he had been reclining on his bunk. "Lieutenant Snow?" He still, I saw, had a bruise on his face from where I had slammed him into the wall.

"Up and at 'em, sergeant. You're with me, now."

Blinking his confusion, he got to his feet. "I've been taken off of regular duties, since that thing in the security office, ma'am. I'm not sure -"

"I've dealt with that, Kinsey. I've had you assigned to me. I needed a staff, and you're it."

My brisk tone must have surprised him. "But I attacked you -"

I shook my head. "No, Kinsey, you tried to attack me. And failed. You were under outside control. I'm going to be making sure that sort of thing doesn't happen in the PRT again, and I want you helping me."

Now a frown creased that broad, battered face. "How can I help you, ma'am? I'm no brain."

I recognised the lack of surety; he'd lost control of his body, his capabilities. He'd been moved around like a puppet, forced to act against his sworn duty, and it had wounded him, inside. It was a lesser version of what had happened to Brian, after Bonesaw had taken him apart. Hopefully, I could help restore Kinsey's confidence without needing to go to the lengths that I had with Brian.

"You can guard my back, Sergeant," I told him, putting the snap of command into my voice. He straightened to attention without meaning to. "I can't watch my back every second of every day, and there are going to be some very angry Masters and Strangers out there, once we start using the protocols that I'll be devising."

"But I didn't fight them off," he protested. "I tried to attack you."

"And failed, which shows how much you were fighting back," I pointed out. "Or can't you kick ass on the mat, any more?" My tone was deliberately challenging, now.

His eyes narrowed, his pride stung. "Any time the Lieutenant wishes to try her hand at a return match," he retorted, "I'm ready to accommodate her."

I smiled tightly. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear, Sergeant. Because not only will you be guarding my back, but you'll be showing me every trick you've got. I suspect that, sooner or later, I'll need them."

Sergeant James Kinsey came to full attention and gave me a parade-ground salute. "Ma'am," he declared, "I am at your disposal."

I returned the salute. "At ease, Sergeant," I told him. "Now let's go; we've got work to do."

-ooo-​

I lifted the drink from its holder on the side of my floating pool lounge and tasted it; it was delicious and tart. Over our heads, beyond the transparisteel dome, the starfield slowly wheeled. Every three minutes, the sun passed overhead, sending sparkles reflecting from the water all around us. I pushed my sunglasses down slightly, so I could look over them at Lisa.

She was floating on a similar lounge, but her drink had more fruit in it. Both of us wore spectacularly skimpy swimsuits, and quite a lot of sunscreen; outside the atmosphere, it was easy to get a wicked sunburn. Lisa was already well tanned.

So spill.

She raised an eyebrow. "Spill what?"

How were you able to take over my body?

She took a sip from her drink, then mustered an innocent look. I didn't trust it for an instant. "Take over your body? Would I do a thing like that?"

Given that you already did, the answer would be 'yes'.

She sighed, putting her glass down. "Okay, fine, yes I did. Kind of."

Kind of?

"It was a special case. You know how you do that automatic writing thing?"

I nodded. It was how I wrote the letters to Gladys and Danny. But that's when I'm in a trance.

"And you were nearly in a trance right then. Your conscious mind was suppressed to the point that you were nearly under already; I just gave you a bit of a push, and grabbed control. I couldn't hold on for long – you weren't really under – but I managed for long enough to shoot that bastard."

So who was he, anyway?

She grinned her fox-like grin. "You've heard of Nice Guy?"

My jaw dropped. Holy shit. I killed Nice Guy?

"The one and only."

But he's supposed to be a member of the Nine.

She nodded. "He was going around the country, destroying files on the members of the Nine, to make it harder for the PRT to get a grip on them. Your base was the fourth one he'd hit."

And we'd heard nothing, I marvelled. I stretched out on the lounge and finished my drink.

"One of the perks of being a powerful Master/Stranger," she agreed.

Raising myself on one elbow, I looked at her. Will this damage our plans for later?

She grinned again. "Already factored in."

Excellent.

A klaxon blared. Lisa sighed. "Back to work."

She rolled off her lounge into the water; I followed suit. The oxywater allowed us to breathe as we swam down, down to the airlock at the bottom of the pool. We cycled through, stepping into a busy corridor. A harried-looking ensign stood there at attention; he saluted Lisa, back held rigidly straight.

"Commander Wilbourn, the Brak have returned," he reported. "We need you to lead us out against them." He gave her a beseeching look. "You're our only hope."

I must have snickered, because Lisa shot me a stern look. "They believe it," she murmured. "Far be it from me to disabuse them of the notion." She touched an inconspicuous button set into the shoulder-strap of her swimsuit; immediately, it shimmered and became a full military flight suit.

"Go save the world yet again," I told her with a grin. "Kiss before you go?"

She smiled, and pulled my face down to hers. Her lips tasted of dust and blood.

-ooo-​

Kinsey and I circled each other on the mat, eyeing each other warily. He was bigger than I was, by a factor of two or three, but I was a little taller. I was also a little faster, but there wasn't much in it. Kinsey, just gone thirty, was horrendously fit and very strong. What he didn't know about hand to hand dirty fighting wasn't really worth knowing.

This wasn't to say that I was a total novice; I'd had training from Brian, once upon a time, backed up by real-world experience on the streets of Brockton Bay. But Brian was a dabbler; trained primarily in boxing, he had gone into other fighting forms, just to pick up a little from each of them. At seventeen, he'd been good for his age and weight group. Against Kinsey, he wouldn't have had a chance, assuming he didn't use his powers.

Kinsey moved in, moving cautiously. He'd learned caution in our first few bouts; while he was the better fighter, I still had a few tricks, and I used them ruthlessly. He flicked out a kick at my kneecap, watching my eyes. His foot wouldn't lift high enough to grab, so I pivoted, dropped, and swept a leg at his rear foot. I connected, but he was already falling; I realised that he'd decoyed me into going down so that he could get me on the ground.

Rolling to the side, I raised a knee so that he'd wind himself on it when he landed on me. He twisted, taking my knee on his hip, but one brawny arm still encircled my ribs. I started the counter immediately, and when the flurry of motion ceased, we were in a deadlock; I had his arm stretched out in a bar, but he held my leg twisted at a most uncomfortable angle.

We paused for a long moment, then I spoke up. "Draw, Sergeant?"

He nodded. "Draw, Lieutenant. Go again?"

"Go again." We released each other and rolled apart. "I'm not even going to pretend that I got the drop on you that time, Sergeant. Something's on your mind. What's the matter?"

He looked troubled as we came to our feet. "I think someone's snooping around, Lieutenant. Checking you out. Not going through regular channels. It's got me worried."

I shook my head. "It's fine. A security thing. Just do your job, and I'll be fine."

He nodded, once. "If the Lieutenant says so."

I returned the nod. "I say so."

"Good. Then let's see how that should've gone."

We moved together again.

Predictably, this time, I didn't do nearly as well.

-ooo-​

September 1993

Hamilton's phone rang; he picked it up. "Major Hamilton."

"Sir, I have a call for you on the secure line."

Hamilton put the receiver down and pressed a red button set into the phone before picking it up again. He heard the squeal of encrypted lines synchronising, then the line became quiet. "Hamilton here."

"Captain Michaels, reporting."

"Michaels. What do you have?"

"An extensive written report, sir, but I can give you the gist over the phone."

"Fire away."

"It took a bit of digging, sir, but we found a paper trail. The yachts docked at Savannah on their way north, and it seems that Snow joined them there, as a deck hand, off the books. Underage, you see."

Hamilton made notes. "Not exactly unknown. Go on."

"Backtracking from there, we have notes on police blotters regarding a girl of her description travelling through. No arrests, no fingerprinting, just warned and moved along."

"That fits with what we already have."

"The trail curls around a bit there. The people we have earmarked as her parents moved around a bit. They spent some time in and around Brockton Bay, but didn't form lasting connections. Snow apparently had latent memories of the city when she was pulled from the water."

"Yes; I read Doctor Veder's report, too. So you're saying she was travelling around with her parents?"

"So it seems, sir. They died in a traffic accident when she was quite young; we managed to find the orphanage that she was sent to. It's since closed down, but we got hold of some of the paperwork concerning her time there. Unfortunately, we were not able to locate the name of the family that adopted her. Nor could we find a copy of her birth certificate, just a notation that one had been deposited in the registry office in Boca Raton. Which has since been destroyed by fire."

Hamilton sighed. "Well, at least we have a partial picture of the life story of our talented Lieutenant Snow. It's no surprise, given that she's so self-reliant. What have you uncovered about her life in Brockton Bay?"

"That she was entirely up front and honest in her self-assessment, sir. She lived for two years with the Heberts, the family of the boy who saved her life. By all accounts, she formed a close friendship with him, but there are no romantic overtones there."

"Any truth to the rumours that she may be a practising homosexual?" Hamilton hated asking the question, but any crack, any chink, in the integrity of his officers had to be examined. He had nothing against gays or lesbians, but the practice was strictly forbidden in the armed forces. As a result, homosexuals, however blameless, could be blackmailed into betraying their country.

"A Ms Gladys Harvey was her closest friend in high school and went through college with her. There is no evidence of an improper relationship there; Harvey is currently engaged to her long-time boyfriend, Franklin Knott."

He paused. "However, her roommate throughout college was one Andrea Campbell, who was and is an openly practising lesbian. All indications were that they were in a very close relationship, not inconsistent with a romantic pairing. One of her professors, who did not wish to be named, confirmed this. He was very vocal about it. Also, outside of college, they rented a shared apartment."

Hamilton let out a sigh. "And now?"

"Upon completing recruit training and being commissioned, Lieutenant Snow cut off the relationship. While she writes regularly to Hebert and Harvey, she has written perhaps three letters to Ms Campbell, all of them devoid of any romantic feeling. Her name has also been removed from the lease on the apartment."

"What does she write to Hebert and Harvey about?"

"Nothing untoward, sir. She leaves no indication of where she is, or what she's doing. She is quite careful about that."

"Your personal judgement on the situation?"

"My read on it, sir, is that the liaison between Lieutenant Snow and Ms Campbell was nothing more than the experimentation of a young woman away from the strictures of home for the first time. The Heberts are devout Christians, you see."

Hamilton made another note. "Indeed. Regarding the Campbell girl, do you believe that there are any bad feelings arising from the split?"

"Not that I can see, sir. It appears to have been entirely amicable on both sides. For her part, Ms Campbell occasionally sees Mr Hebert and Ms Harvey on social occasions. As an interesting aside, Mr Hebert is seeing a young woman who bears a remarkable likeness to Lieutenant Snow."

"Interesting, yes, but probably irrelevant. What about Lieutenant Snow's behaviour since enlisting?"

"Absolutely professional. She has neither made advances toward any officers - or enlisted, for that matter - or accepted such advances. While she takes regular physical combat training with a Sergeant Kinsey, there is nothing unprofessional between them. She does correspond with a few friends she made in recruit training, but there is no evidence of any improper leanings there, either."

"Does she meet with anyone off duty? In or out of the service?"

"Not that I can determine. She may as well be a nun. I could wish that we had more like her."

Hamilton cleared his throat. "Well. Be that as it may. Any progress on the last query I had; specifically, the incident we had last month, and Snow's part in it?"

"As you know, sir, the science to determine whether someone has parahuman powers is still in its infancy. The best I can tell you is that there is anecdotal evidence pointing at a high level of intuitive capability; she made much use of that in JROTC and ROTC, during tactical exercises."

"Any indication of more than human ability in that line? Clear evidence of clairvoyant or telepathic activity, or whatever the big brains are calling it these days?"

"None, sir, but you and I both know that even if she did have such capability, it would not be hard to dumb it down to avoid suspicion."

"Or she could simply be very intuitive. We might be overthinking the whole thing." Hamilton was thinking out loud now. "After all, isn't intuition in an officer something we prize?"

"That's very true, sir."

"Also, she was visibly upset when we found Wyzowski. If she were truly clairvoyant, surely she would have arrived in time to save his life, or at least have known about him?"

"I don't know about that, sir. But one question. She was due to graduate this year, but she pushed for early graduation, before Christmas. Before ... that thing emerged, in Iran. Before the PRT was formed."

Michaels paused; Hamilton waited. "Yes?"

"The question I would like to ask her, sir, is ... how did she know? How did she know to graduate early, to be ready to enlist when the PRT was formed?"

Hamilton leafed through the folders on his desk. "I've actually got that somewhere here. Someone did ask her, during her initial psych exam. The question came up, and she answered it without hesitation." He turned over a sheet of paper. "Ah, here we are. She said, and I quote, 'I just had a feeling.' Does that answer your question?"

All Michaels said was, "Intuitive."

"Indeed," agreed Hamilton. "She was studying the parahuman phenomenon, along with her other courses, and somewhere along the line she got the feeling that something big, something bad was about to happen. She has proven herself capable of taking the most tenuous of data and building a complete picture out of them. Maybe she just saw this coming before anyone else did?"

-ooo-​

"It still doesn't prove that she's not a parahuman, sir," Michaels reminded him.

"Do you have anything to prove that she is, Captain?" Hamilton asked sharply.

"No, sir," replied Michaels promptly. "Nothing explicit, or even implicit."

"Well then," Hamilton told him. "Keep an eye out for any irregularities, but for the moment, we're going to treat her just the same as any other officer. She helped us dodge a huge bullet, and she does not deserve to be singled out just because she's good at her job."

"Yes, sir,"acknowledged Michaels, tactfully not mentioning that the investigation that Hamilton had set him on had been aimed at doing precisely that.

"Good work, Michaels," Hamilton stated. "You've done well."

"Thank you, sir."

"Hamilton, out." And the line went dead.

Michaels put the phone down. "Lieutenant!" he called.

The lieutenant, a tall thin scarecrow of a man, entered his office. "Yes, sir?"

"Take these files back to storage. And just by the way, the major said you did well on this investigation."

The lieutenant saluted. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.". He scooped up the files and started from the office. At the door, he paused and looked back. "Ah, sir, what further action on the subject?"

Michaels waved a hand. "No further action, Lieutenant. She's doing a good job; we leave her alone."

"Very good, sir.". The lieutenant headed on back to his desk with the files. He paused there for a moment, perusing them.

"So, Lieutenant Snow is Intelligence's new fair-haired child, hmm? Well, well, well." He tapped the photo on the jacket with one fingernail. "We might need to get to know each other a little better, in future."

Lieutenant Thomas Calvert straightened the files, and called for a sergeant to convey them back to Records.

-ooo-​

October 1993

"Attennnn-hut!"

Major Hamilton barked the order; I went to rigid attention, as did Sergeant Kinsey. Director Rankine rose from behind his desk, and walked around it to stand before us. He was an older man, a political appointee, from what Lisa had told me. He was shorter than me, his grey hair was thinning, and he walked with a limp.

"For outstanding meritorious service to the United States and to the Parahuman Response Teams, on the eleventh of August, nineteen hundred and ninety three, Lieutenant Taylor Snow is awarded the Defense Meritorious Service Medal," declared Hamilton.

I stood, stock still, as Rankine carefully pinned the medal on to my uniform, then shook my hand.

"For outstanding achievement leading to the foiling of an enemy combatant on that same day, Sergeant James McMartin Kinsey is awarded the Joint Service Achievement medal," Hamilton went on.

Kinsey stood equally still as Rankine pinned the medal to his immaculately pressed uniform jacket. Rankine shook his hand, then walked back around behind his desk.

"At ease," Hamilton went on. Kinsey and I relaxed, and went to parade rest.

"Thank you, Major Hamilton," Rankine told him. Then he turned to us. "You two will be allowed to keep your medals," he stated. "You did, after all, earn them. However, the circumstances under which you did earn them must forever remain secret. The Parahuman Response Teams are a very new organisation, and if word of this leak got out, we would be in very grave danger."

He paused, and smiled, as if he could read our minds. "Not from parahuman criminals, although I suppose they would be heartened, but from Washington. We must be seen to be strong, and secure." He nodded to me. "Your Master/Stranger protocols are making the rounds even now, Lieutenant Snow. They have caused quite a bit of aggravation, and not a few complaints."

Again, he paused. "However ..."

I raised my head. He glanced my way. "Yes, Lieutenant Snow?"

"Sir, they've caught some people already, haven't they?"

The smile that split his face was wide and genuine. "Hamilton, you said she was a bright one, and by god, you were right. Yes, Lieutenant Snow, your Protocols have already proven their worth. You are to be congratulated."

"Uh, thank you, sir," I replied.

"Think nothing of it, Lieutenant. If you have any other bright ideas, and the good Major is unavailable, my door is always open."

I had my doubts about that; he had been a politician after all. But he seemed sincere.

"Lieutenant Snow! Sergeant Kinsey!" barked Hamilton. "Dismissed!"

We both came to attention, saluted with parade-ground crispness, and marched from the room.

-ooo-​

November 1993

"Danny!" Andrea grabbed the tall form of Danny Hebert and swung him around. "Wow, you've grown."

Danny shook his head. "Not that much. You're still short." He grinned down at the petite redhead; she stuck her tongue out at him.

"Watch it," she retorted, "or I'll steal Anne-Rose back off of you."

"Not a chance," she heard from behind her, just before a pair of arms went around her. She squirmed around to look up into the smiling face of Danny's girlfriend.

"You sure?" she asked with a grin.

Anne-Rose nodded seriously, so like Taylor that it nearly broke Andrea's heart. "I've decided. Danny's the one for me."

"Well, good for you, girl," Andrea told her. "Make Taylor proud."

"What was that about Taylor?" asked Gladys, moving up to hug Danny, and give him a kiss on the cheek.

"Oh, nothing," Danny told her. "Where's Frank?"

"Parking the car," Gladys told him, then looked around. "Is it just me, or do a lot of college students come here to drink?"

Andrea looked studiously innocent. "Maybe," she hedged. "The drinks are cheap, and the College isn't too far away."

"Riiight," Danny observed, very dryly. "Ah, there's Frank. Shall we get a table?"

The five of them managed to snag a table before the bar became too full; as if by chance, Andrea sat between Danny and Gladys. Her handbag was on her lap; under the table, she felt first Danny and then Gladys handing her a sheet of folded paper. These both went into a zippered compartment of her bag.

The evening passed with general merriment; Andrea told them cheerfully scandalous stories about her escapades, and Danny retorted with tales of doings among the Dock Workers. He was still working on the docks on the weekend while doing his engineering course-load during the week; it was hard work, and he was filling out just that little bit more.

Eventually, Andrea got up from the table and went to get them more drinks. On the way, she encountered a college student with whom she had been exchanging glances for the last half hour. Not entirely by chance, the student was tall and brunette.

She took the drinks back to the table, made her excuses, and went back to talk to the college student. Half an hour and two drinks later, she left. The college student went with her.

-ooo-​

"Well, that's her for the evening," sighed Danny, as he watched Andrea leave.

Anne-Rose put her arm through his. "What, are you jealous?" she teased him.

He shook his head. "Not really. It's a little sad. Taylor's gone, so she keeps taking girls home who look a bit like her."

Gladys put her arm around his shoulders, and squeezed; he felt his spine creak. "Taylor won't be gone forever," she predicted. "She'll be back. She's not the type to leave someone in the lurch like that. Andrea's waiting for her."

"Andrea's taking girls home every week!" sputtered Franklin; his clean-cut upbringing rebelled slightly at the idea of Andrea's free-living ways.

"Yeah," Gladys pointed out, "but she's taking a different girl home each time. So she doesn't get attached to them."

Anne-Rose put her head on Danny's shoulder; he put his arm around her. "I hope Taylor does come home one day," she murmured. "I hope she doesn't die out there."

Danny squeezed her tightly; he agreed whole-heartedly.

If she does, he thought, she'll die doing what she has to do. Because that's Taylor.

Of that, he had no doubt.

-ooo-​

Andrea lay under a roughly-pulled up sheet, holding the slender body of her bed partner for the night. She hadn't even bothered to learn the girl's name; after a few more drinks on her sofa, the girl had been entirely pliant to her wishes, and had even suggested a few variations. Now, passion was spent, and the girl was asleep, snoring slightly.

She felt suddenly sick to her stomach; this was how she'd been before she had met Taylor. Meet and seduce, wham bam thank you ma'am. When she tired of one, move on to the next. It had been a hobby, the sex mindless and fun. Until she had met the straight girl who tried to seduce her.

Taylor had challenged her worldview, changed how she saw things. Slowly but inevitably, Andrea had fallen in love with her. It wasn't the sex; that had happened infrequently enough to make it a delightful treat when Andrea did manage to wheedle her into it. It was the togetherness, the meaningfulness that a real relationship brought to them. The little things; breakfast in bed, foot rubs, long walks around the campus or along the Boardwalk while they discussed the events of the world.

Taylor had known more about such things than Andrea; more than that, she had known of the deep causes, the events behind the events. Andrea had spent fascinated hours listening to her, explaining how and why the real world operated as it did.

And then, like the last wrappings of a present being stripped away, the real revelation of Taylor had come to light. Taylor was a time traveller, sent back to save the world. It had blown Andrea's mind, had totally stunned her, that this serious-faced girl, who was so deliciously naïve about certain bedroom matters, had chosen her to assist her in her quest.

She had fallen in love with Taylor all over again.

And so, Taylor had trusted her with certain secrets, certain information, that she kept even from Danny and Gladys. Together, they had built the foundations of what Taylor cheerfully called her 'financial empire'; the money from those first few investments having blown out of all proportion. There was now a company, the ownership of which led back to Andrea by devious and slippery means, which handled corporate investments. And handled them remarkably well, thanks to Lisa's information. Andrea wasn't quite sure how much she and Taylor were worth now, from day to day, but there were sure a lot of zeroes involved.

Which reminded her; she eased her arm from under the snoring girl's body and slipped from the bed. Naked, she padded into the small room which she had set aside for the computer which Taylor had advised she get. On her first leave back from officer training, Taylor had sat up all night writing some sort of massively complex computer program, which she had stored on a floppy disk.

Andrea sat down at the computer and pressed the power button. When the start screen came up, she opened a drawer and leafed through a series of floppies until she found the one marked 'Household Expenses 92', right between those for 1991 and 1993. Inserting the disk, she typed the command to load a program name which did not show up on the screen. Nonetheless, the program opened. A single box showed itself. READY.

Despite the lack of a prompt, she typed in a password, which was long and quite complex. The screen flickered a few times, then went blank.

Getting up, she went out into the living room, and retrieved her handbag. On the way, she checked on the girl in the bedroom. She was now lying on her back, snoring more loudly.

Opening the zippered pocket, Andrea pulled out the folded sheets. Taking them back into the computer room, she set them down beside her, re-creasing the folds the other way to make them lie flat. They were photocopies of the originals, she knew.

Carefully, she proceeded to type the text of each letter into the computer, leaving out the salutations and ignoring punctuation and spaces. Two blocks of text, separated by a single carriage return. She checked her work carefully, then pressed F1 and F2 simultaneously. Normally, this would have no effect.

The computer seemed to think otherwise; it hummed, and the screen flickered again. The text disappeared; this was Andrea's cue to feed the letters into the shredder next to the desk. By the time the last of the sheets had become finely subdivided ribbons of trash, the computer screen was showing a result.

First was the stock market listings for the next two weeks; or at least, those that would show appreciable climbs and dives. Secondly was a list of winning horses in various races; it was up to Andrea which ones to take. Third was a series of instructions for employing a group of men who would otherwise be engaged in acts of mayhem around the world. Without them ever seeing her, she would pay them a handsome retainer, to be employed by her in whatever means she saw fit, at some later date.

She wrote the instructions carefully down on a piece of paper, spread flat on her desk, which she then folded and slid into the floppy envelope.

Finally, there was the letter, encoded within the other two, meant for her and her alone.

Dear Andrea,

I miss you so much. It's so hard being away from you. It hasn't gotten any easier with time.

Taylor went on to joke with Andrea about her habit of bringing college girls home, and to tell her how technology trends would run over the next few years. Her letter was chatty and sweet and loving, and brought a lump to Andrea's throat.

Lisa says I've got to end the letter soon, so I'll just say this now. I love you and miss you, and I don't care what I've got to do; we'll be together again someday. Maybe not soon, but someday.

Forever yours,

Taylor

Tears stood in Andrea's eyes as she pressed two fingers to her lips, and then to Taylor's name on the softly glowing screen. "I love you too," she whispered.

Then she pressed the space-bar; an instant later, the message was deleted, gone forever, even from the computer's memory. She took the floppy disk out and stored it back in its envelope, along with the folded paper, in the desk drawer.

She was just shutting the computer down when the computer room door opened; the college girl stood there, looking drowsy and a little bewildered.

"I woke up and you were gone," she murmured.

Andrea constructed a smile. "I was just doing some work," she reassured the girl. "Come on, let's go back to bed."

The girl smiled back. "Okay."

Someday, Andrea promised Taylor as she led the girl back to the bedroom, it will be just you and me again.

-ooo-​

December 1993

I climbed the steps to the front door and rang the bell. Moments later, the door was opened by Dorothy.

"Taylor," she exclaimed. "You're back!"

"Only for a couple of days," I told her. "We're very busy, but I managed to get weekend leave."

"Oh," she replied. "Well, come in. Come in."

I entered the house, closing the door behind me. Immediately, I felt warmer; although Brockton Bay was warmer than most places in the northeast, December could still get quite chilly.

Danny got up to greet me; I hugged him, feeling his arms around me in return.

"How have you been?" I asked him. "Have you been getting my letters?"

"Regular as clockwork," he assured me. "How do you get the time to write them?"

I chuckled. "I'll tell you a secret," I stage-whispered. "I get the lower ranks to write them out for me. It's a privilege of rank."

He snorted and ruffled my hair, which was still quite short. I slapped at his arm.

"It's good to see you," he told me. "Hey, wow, you've got medals. What are they for?"

I pointed at the ribbons. "Sharpshooting, good conduct, and … I forget what this one's for. Whistling while standing on one leg, I think."

He rolled his eyes. "Seriously, I think you've gotten worse since you went away."

"More dangerous, for sure," I agreed. "I'm taking training off a guy who could give Bigfoot the heebie-jeebies."

He blinked. "That, I believe. Why do I believe that?"

"I dunno," I informed him blithely. "Maybe because it's true?"

"Taylor," asked Dorothy, coming back into the room, "will you be staying for dinner?"

I shook my head. "Sorry, gotta bolt. But it's good to see you." I hugged her, feeling once more the fragility of her. When we separated, there were tears in her eyes.

"Taylor ..." she began. I waited. "Taylor … I'm sorry we had our differences. I'm glad you came back."

"I'm glad I came back too," I told her honestly.

-ooo-​

Andrea sat on the sofa. Christmas Eve. Spending it alone depressed her. She wished she had Taylor with her; wearing the sexy Santa outfit, teasing her, making her laugh.

There was a bottle of bourbon in the cupboard, but she didn't want to get drunk. Nor did she want to go out to the Club; no doubt she'd pick up, but she really didn't want to do that either. To do it when she wasn't getting the coded messages from Danny and Gladys felt like she was actually cheating on Taylor, rather than just pretending to.

There was a knock on the door. Listlessly, she climbed to her feet and wandered over. When she opened the door, her mouth dropped open and her eyes went very wide indeed.

"Merry Christmas," Taylor told her.

-ooo-​

Much later, they lay in bed together.

At first, they had sat on the sofa talking, but there were things that Taylor could not or would not talk about, and so they had just held each other. And then Taylor had started crying. Slowly, by degrees, Andrea had coaxed her into the bedroom; quite readily, Taylor had gotten undressed and into bed with her, where Andrea held her while she got it out of her system.

The strain, Andrea gathered, was getting worse. Taylor was having to deal with things first-hand, and it was not easy on her. But she was doing it. She was getting things done. She was setting up preparations for events that were years yet in coming.

"You know what you need?" Andrea asked her. "You need a good old-fashioned back massage."

Not taking no for an answer, she had fetched the coconut-scented oil, had made Taylor lie on her stomach, and had begun the massage. She had not lost any of her skill, if Taylor's contented murmurs were anything to go by. Inch by inch, bit by bit, she worked her way down Taylor's back, every well-known part of her body.

And then, she grinned to herself, I'll pounce.

Slowly, subtly, she massaged the oil in, until her lover was relaxed, her guard lowered to its minimum. And then she started to caress her in more lewd and lascivious ways. She waited for a murmur of protest, which never came. What did come … was a faint snore.

After all that, after all the setup leading to the moment of seduction … Taylor had gone to sleep.

For a moment, Andrea was quite offended. But then, she saw the humour of the situation, and so she climbed out of bed, washed the oil off of her hands, and climbed back in with Taylor.

Holding her close, comforting her even in her sleep, she drifted into dreamland herself.

-ooo-​

Given my two-day leave in Brockton Bay, I had managed to avoid the base Christmas party, which had been my intent. Too much alcohol, too much general merriment. I had awoken on Christmas morning alongside Andrea, feeling more relaxed than I had in months; suspecting that we'd had sex during the night, I questioned her, only to nearly fall off the bed laughing when she told me what had actually happened.

We had spent the morning together, visiting Gladys and Frank, and finished it off with lunch on the Boardwalk. I couldn't stay, I told her. Things were going to start warming up. Events were going to start coming together, and I was going to be in the thick of it.

How right I was.

-ooo-​

January 1994

For the first half of January, I worked on predicting parahuman trends. I didn't have to do much work, to be honest; Lisa helped me work out graphs and charts that were just far enough off to be reasonable, but close enough to be in the ballpark. More and more people started coming to me, showing me their work, asking me where they were going wrong. Some, I could help. Some, I could not. And always, with Lisa, I laid my future plans.

The eighteenth of January was an event I would not be able to dodge. The PRT was determined to celebrate the first anniversary of its inauguration in style. Every officer who was not either hip-deep in alligators or literally unable to come was told, quite firmly, to ensure that their dress uniform was up to scratch.

I tried to get out of it, and may well have even succeeded, if Lisa hadn't suggested that I go after all. I thought back to the last time that I'd ignored her recommendation, when Andrea had wanted me to come to the Club with her and meet Anne-Rose. Had I gone with her on that occasion, perhaps many embarrassing things might not have occurred. And so, I conceded, and had Kinsey lay out my dress uniform.

Sergeant Kinsey had gravitated into the role of my orderly quite readily; with my workload, I needed someone to take care of my personal affairs, and he seemed to hold a strong level of loyalty to me. We still worked out regularly on the sparring mat, and he seemed to take a fatherly pride in my progress. He still beat me on a regular occasion, but I was beginning to hold my own. He had also been rather adamant that I attend the anniversary ball.

-ooo-​

And so, on the night of the eighteenth, he drove the hired car up around the curving driveway in front of the White House, north side. Pulling to a halt where indicated by one of the multiplicity of attendants, he got out and opened my door. I climbed out of the car, straightened my dress jacket, and gave him a slight nod. He looked me up and down – eyeing the uniform, not the body underneath – and gave me a fractional nod in return, which he backed up with a parade-ground perfect salute. I returned it; while he got back in the car and drove to the designated parking area, I strode past the colonnade and up the broad steps. Resisting the urge to rub my arms – January in DC is cold at night! - I entered the main doors as they were held open by yet more attendants.

The wave of warm air washed over me as I stepped on to the wide marble floor of the Entrance Hall, decorated in a diamond pattern. Squaring my shoulders and straightening my back, I strode forward, the clicking of my heels echoing along with those of everyone else who was also entering.

The attendants directed us to the right; we passed between gorgeous columns and entered what I recognised as the Cross Hall. I made way for higher-ranking officers in the PRT, until I recognised Major Hamilton, Director Rankine, and a few of the other officers from the Chicago base. As a junior officer, I tucked in behind them, not wanting to be seen or heard. I had to be there; I didn't have to like it.

-ooo-​

Before we ate, cocktails were served in what they called the Green Room. I could easily tell why; the wallpaper, the furnishings, all were in shades of green. It was more or less required that I accept one glass, and that glass lasted me all the way up until we were informed that dinner had been served. I put that glass, still half full, on an attendant's tray on the way out of the room.

We ate in the State Dining Room. It was the first time I'd eaten in such palatial surroundings; the very plates from which we ate had gold rims, and the silverware was more gold. The food was good, but not spectacular; I kept my elbows in, my head down, and ate. I was vaguely aware that the President and First Lady were in the room, but I didn't gawk and I didn't look around.

After the meal, we were informed that the ball would begin in approximately one-quarter of an hour, in the East Room; this was readily accessible, to be found at the far end of the Cross Hall. Attendants would show us, we were also informed, to any facilities that we wished to make use of.

I wasn't particularly interested in dancing, so I decided to look around a little; not so far that I would get lost – not that the ever-present attendants would allow that, of course – and yet not look as though I was hanging around with nothing to do. First, however, I decided to avail myself of the proffered facilities, that being one of the first unwritten rules I had learned in Basic.

There was less gilt in there than in the State Dining Room, but not by much.

Needs of biology assuaged, I wandered along the Cross Hall, taking a right into the Blue Room. In the East Room, I could hear what sounded like a live orchestra tuning up.

The Blue Room lived up to its name, just as much as its mate next door had. However, it was quite a bit larger, and was oval in shape. From my recollections of the White House in plan, it was in the semicircle that bulged out on the south side. I strolled up to the tall windows that looked out on to the South Lawn; in the glare of the floodlights, the first snowflakes were beginning to fall.

And then a voice addressed me from behind. A quite familiar voice.

"Lieutenant Snow, I presume?"

I turned, slowly, to get my reactions under control. He was tall, skinny, and wore a PRT uniform, just as I did. Like me, he sported a lieutenant's bars, with an Intelligence flash.

"The name's Tom," he greeted me. "Tom Calvert."

End of Part 3-1

Part 3-2​

 

[Biigoh]

Lol.... oh Calvert.

 

[CptTagon]

This is probably my favorite story that you've written, Ack. I look forward to what happens next.

 

[Navrin]

Early Master/Stranger protocols that might actually be better than what they ever devised will have HUGE repercussions. As will the death of Nice Guy. I hope that Grey Boy is also marked for early annihilation, perhaps by GU.

Intriguing method of encoding messages that would be absolutely ludicrous for most people.

I think Andrea and Taylor are both REALLY looking forward to Legend coming out and the aftermath of that.

It's possible that Calvert will actually be a useful ally, but he's probably going to cause at least half as many complications as he solves. Though them buying him the cauldron formula themselves in exchange for a stronger hold over him might be possible.

Has Taylor stuck with her story that she's amnesiac, doesn't remember her past, and wasn't able to find anything of note?

Thanks for the chapter, and looking forward to more.

 

[Jiven]

This is indeed my favorite story of yours Ack. I am already waiting for the next chapter.

 

[esotericist]

This is probably my favorite story that you've written, Ack. I look forward to what happens next.

Click to shrink...

Concur. Not that Ack doesn't have a lot of neat things, but this is my favorite of the set.

 

[cosoco]

He looked a little sick, but then, he had posited the promotion. "Seal it with a kiss?" he ventured.

Click to shrink...

That's... a really creepy thing to do. I wonder if he does that with all of the men he asks favors from.

As an interesting aside, Mr Hebert is seeing a young woman who bears a remarkable likeness to Lieutenant Snow."

"Interesting, yes, but probably irrelevant.

Click to shrink...

Oh god, I never thought about how that looked.

 

[Ack]

That's... a really creepy thing to do. I wonder if he does that with all of the men he asks favors from.

Oh god, I never thought about how that looked.

Click to shrink...

He's jealous of Taylor's capabilities and accomplishments. He wants to gain some sort of power over her. If she hadn't kept some level of control over the conversation, he would have pushed for sex - he's that sort of guy.

 

[Ack]

Okay; given a certain amount of opinion being expressed about it, I'm thinking of clipping off the last bit (January 1994) and using it as the beginning of my next chapter.
Comments?

 

[Biigoh]

I'm fine with either way Ack

 

[Ack]

Just btw, changed the name of the chapter. Decided I had a better use for the title for another time.

 

[Ack]

I've trimmed the chapter a little. The text has not been lost; next chapter (which I am currently writing) will start there.

 

[Ack]

Recoil

Part 3-2: Conversations and Revelations​

[Author's Note: For those who think the first part looks a little familiar, that's because I took it off the last bit of Part 3-1 and added a little more detail. I think the story flows better this way.]


18 January 1994

Blue Room, The White House

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Lieutenant Calvert," I lied. "What PRT base are you with?"

"I'm currently based in Washington, actually," he informed me. "And let's ditch the Lieutenant this and Lieutenant that, shall we? After all, we're both the same pay grade."

I nodded slightly. "So, Calvert," I began.

He rolled his eyes. "Seriously? Tonight's a night for us. We can take the sticks out of our asses and let our hair down. Unless we actually set fire to the drapes or something, we're not gonna get in trouble." He grinned at me; on any other man, I would have called it engaging. "So call me Tom."

"Okay," I allowed. "Tom. I have a question."

He bowed slightly; I was wary. He was really pushing the charm here. What does he want from me?

"Shoot," he invited.

I got right to the point. "How did you know me by sight, from behind?" I asked him bluntly.

He raised an eyebrow. "I asked someone who you were," he told me.

Something seemed a little off with that explanation. "Why?" I asked.

He looked slightly taken aback. "Because … you're a good looking woman, and you're a lieutenant like me, and … well, I'm interested in you."

I blinked. I'm not one to think of myself as 'good looking'. My face is too long, my expression too serious, my bosom … well, we'll leave that one well alone. Even with four years of growth since I showed up in Brockton Bay, I still hadn't graduated past an A-cup.

Which left the last reason as the most plausible. And somehow, I suspected his interest in me was something other than carnal. Although, given his utter lack of a moral centre when I had known him as Coil, that could be a factor as well.

I decided to test him. "I'm not getting in trouble for having sex in the White House," I stated flatly.

That rocked him a little. "Well, not just interested in you for that," he admitted. "Though seriously? Haven't you ever wanted to do it in a public place?" He raised an eyebrow in what he probably imagined was a roguish fashion. "There's all sorts of quiet corners in a place like this."

I tilted my head. "Why else are you interested in me?"

He sighed. "Because you're a rising star in the Intelligence community. Your name is spoken in some quite high places. To be honest … you're where I want to be."

I had a flash of insight. Lisa's not the only one who can put two and two together. Calvert was jealous. He felt challenged. And he didn't have much in the way of moral restraint … less so after he got his powers, of course. But here and now, he wanted to prove his dominance over me, by the most primal way possible. By possessing, conquering, my body.

I wondered for a moment, if I had not been here, who else he would have been talking into a quiet corner right at this moment. Because I had no doubt that he would have been. He was that sort of guy. He would have done it because he could.

But he was still talking. "There'll be a promotion in the pipeline for you, probably sometime soon. To match the medal, I mean."

My hand began to move toward the few medals that I wore, then I stopped it. This was dress uniform, so I wore the actual medals, not just the ribbons.

"Which medal do you mean?" I asked coolly. I knew which one; I was wondering how he knew.

He smiled conspiratorially. "The big one. The DMSM. I know what you got it for."

"The circumstances around me getting that medal," I stated firmly, "are secret."

He shrugged. "Hey, it's the intelligence community. Secrets sometimes aren't secret. And to be honest, yours is kinda badass. How'd you do it, anyway?"

"Clean living and pure thoughts," I informed him firmly. "I'm not going to answer questions on that matter, until I'm cleared by a superior officer. End of story."

Something else was becoming clear. He had known about me, knew who I was. He hadn't had to ask someone about me; he knew. I had been targeted by him from the moment I walked in the door. He was willing to use whatever means it took, it seemed, to get his hooks into Lieutenant Snow, rising Intelligence star.

He rolled his eyes again. "Okay, fine. So, anyway. I make it my business to get to know people. To make contacts. I'd like you to be one of my contacts. You do me favours, I do you favours. You see how it goes?"

I eased up on him a little; not because I was beginning to warm to him, but because I needed him to think he'd won me over. He would serve a use for me, but in order to make that happen, I had to make him think that I would serve his uses.

"Sure," I agreed. "I know how it goes."

He smiled again. "So, here's my proposition. I know people. I know people who know people. Now, with a couple of phone calls, I can have your promotion fast-tracked. But in return, you gotta do me a favour."

"Really? And what would that be?" I asked, trying to sound interested.

"I'll be transferring soon, over to the Strike squads," he informed me. "Better chance of getting a promotion."

Better chance of getting dead, too, I did not say out loud. "What's the favour?"

"A pipeline," he proposed. "You feed me your intel, I keep using my influence for you."

If Calvert had any influence, I felt certain that he'd use it for Calvert first, last and always.

But I had to at least pretend to make the bargain. "Sure," I told him. "Soon as I make Captain, you got it."

He looked a little sick, but then, he had posited the promotion. "Seal it with a kiss?" he ventured. So we're back to that again.

Well, it was a small enough sacrifice. I steeled myself and let him kiss me, a quick lips-to-lips press. It was probably better than being kissed by a poisonous reptile, but I couldn't really tell the difference.

Before he could make it any deeper, or start getting friendly in any other way, I pulled back. "I have to go. Sorry. My boss? Absolutely hidebound. I'm too far away from his side, I get strips torn off. Good to meet you. See you around."

As I hurried from the room, I heard his voice. "Call me?"

"Absolutely," I lied.

But I didn't go to the ballroom, and I didn't go to find Major Hamilton. Instead, I went back to the bathroom that I had already been to.

I got there just in time, before I started retching.

-ooo-​

Lisa held my hair as I puked.

Absently, I noted that strange discrepancy; in Lisa's dream world, my hair was still as long as it had been before I joined the PRT, not the efficient inch-long cut I kept it at these days.

"I can't believe you actually let him kiss you," Lisa exclaimed in tones of wonder.

I heaved again, and more imaginary vomit joined that which I had already brought up. Wiping my mouth, I looked up at her. You said to make nice with him, I croaked.

"Yeah, but I didn't mean to kiss him," Lisa told me. Her face and voice were solemn, but there was a light in her eyes that suggested to me that she was deriving far too much enjoyment from this. "All you had to do was smile a bit, act like you didn't utterly despise him ... but wow. That's what I call going above and beyond."

Oh, shut up, I mumbled. Getting up from where I'd been kneeling over the bucket, I sat down on the patio lounge next to me. Lisa handed me a water bottle and I gargled and spat into the bucket, repeated the process, then finally drank.

Whew, I muttered. That's better.

"You know," Lisa told me seriously, "Calvert, here and now, might not be such a bad guy. He's not Coil yet. He hasn't kidnapped Dinah, killed his captain, tried to have you killed, or committed any of the other crimes he's guilty of in our time."

I stared at her. You're saying he could be a good guy?

She returned my stare for a long moment, then burst out laughing. "Oh god no," she chuckled. "He's an asshole, even now. The effort required to turn him around ... no. We let him go on his way. We let him be Calvert."

I leaned back on the patio lounge, watching the fountain spraying lazy arcs of water droplets into the air. Does this jeopardise the plan? I asked at length.

She shook her head. "No. In fact, it makes him all the more likely to call on you when the time comes."

I grimaced. So, in a way, that makes kissing him actually a good thing.

"Long term, yeah," Lisa agreed. "Short term, not so much. By the way, they're just looking for you now. Kiss before you go?"

I closed my eyes and touched my forehead to hers. I don't know what I'd do without you. Then I kissed her. The taste of dust and blood wiped away, once and for all, the memory of Calvert's lips on mine.

-ooo-​

My forehead rested against cool porcelain. The taste of bile was thick in my throat, but it appeared that I had not brought anything up, at least in the real world. I had merely knelt over the toilet bowl, dry-retching, before relaxing and slipping into a much-needed respite with Lisa.

There was a discreet knock on the door. "Lieutenant Snow? Are you all right, ma'am?"

I drew a deep breath. "Yes, I'm all right. Something I … ate. I think it didn't agree with me."

"Do you require medical attention, Lieutenant?"

Carefully, I climbed to my feet and checked my uniform. No marks, no blemishes. I had to hand it to the White House staff; they kept even the bathrooms so clean one could no doubt eat off the floor. Not that I was about to accept that particular challenge. Gold-rimmed plates worked well enough for me.

I unlocked the toilet stall and mustered a smile for the female attendant who stood there; she peered at me anxiously. "I'm fine," I assured her. "I think I had a bad snack, earlier, before I got here."

"You're a little pale," she pointed out. I turned toward the mirror, and indeed, I was looking paler than normal.

"I'd say that's down to the sudden attack of nausea," I suggested. Going over to the washbasin, I removed my glasses and splashed water on my face, careful not to get any on my uniform. My medals clacked against the bench as I did so.

The attendant followed me, hovering. solicitously. "Would you like to lie down? I can fetch cool towels."

I turned to look at her, feeling much more myself. "No, but some sort of cold drink would be heavenly. Preferably non-alcoholic." As I spoke, I washed my hands. She proffered a towel as I finished.

"I can certainly bring you one," she assured me, and hurried out.

I finished drying my hands, and put the towel back on the rack before putting my glasses back on. Upon exiting the bathrooms, I found myself face to face with Major Hamilton.

"Ah, Lieutenant Snow," he greeted me. "Not feeling unwell, I hope?" He looked at me searchingly.

I shook my head. "No, sir. I … felt suddenly nauseous, but I think it might have been something I ate, earlier. Or the cocktails. I don't drink, you see."

He inclined his head. "And you are, if you will excuse the phrase, more of a lightweight than most of us. I can understand alcohol having an unwelcome effect on you."

I smiled gratefully. "Thank you, sir. I don't want to put you out, and I don't want to show our part of the PRT in a bad light."

He shook his head. "You're not about to do that. I've had several people trying to poach you off of me already, and we've only been here for an hour. And what's this I hear about you having a rather private conversation with young Calvert in the Blue Room, earlier? He wasn't trying to grab you for his boss, was he?"

I shook my head. "No, sir. His interest in me was more … personal." I met his eyes. "Just so you know, I turned him down."

"Really?" he asked curiously. "He doesn't seem to be a bad fellow, what I hear of him. He's transferred around a bit, but he's always eager to learn new things."

Oh, if only you knew. I shook my head. "He came on a bit strong for me, sir. Left a bad impression. I really don't think I like him, sir."

"Hm." He grimaced. "Well, you're my best analyst by far, so I strongly suspect that your opinion is better than most. A pity; I'd heard good things."

"It is possible for unpleasant people to be good at their job, sir," I offered diplomatically.

"Very true, very true. Ah, thank you." The female attendant had returned with a tray of drinks.

One was in a different glass, and she guarded it with her other hand. "This one is for the Lieutenant, sir." She handed it to me; I sipped it, and found that it was chilled milk. It went down very nicely, and washed the sour taste from my throat.

"Thank you very much," I told her, replacing the glass on the tray. "I appreciate your assistance."

"You're welcome," she replied, and bobbed in a sort of curtsey. "Major; Lieutenant."

We watched her walk away, and the Major Hamilton offered me his arm. I blinked a little in confusion. "Major?"

"It is customary for senior officers to offer a dance to junior officers at an event such as this. It breaks the ice, and allows the junior officers to feel as though they belong." His eyes twinkled. "And, Lieutenant Snow, I consider you to be a very promising young officer, and so you need to be shown off as such."

"Thank you, Major," I responded with a smile. "It would be my pleasure." I slid my arm through his, and we went to the dance.

-ooo-​

I had never spent much time learning how to dance. Mom had me take a few lessons, way back when, back before all the unpleasantness began to start. Back when Emma was my best friend, and I had two parents. It was a thing we did; I learned to dance, Emma learned the piano, and neither of us ever thought we'd ever need to know how to do it anywhere that was actually important.

That had been a long time ago. A lot of water had passed under any bridge you cared to name. It was also, oddly enough, more than ten years in the future.

But the memories were there, the steps, if not the name of the dances themselves. I suppose all those tours through the memory palace that Lisa had constructed for me had been worthwhile after all.

I didn't step on Major Hamilton's feet, and I didn't make an idiot of myself. We circled the room, and I remembered to breathe, and after a while it seemed to come a little easier. Which, given the sheer amount of brass gathered in the East Room of the White House, was a minor miracle.

They aren't all staring at me, I told myself. It's just what it feels like.

It was strange; back in 2011, I had cared a lot less what the average PRT officer thought of me. I'd injured a few, and killed three Directors – well, only one that was actually in uniform at the time – but their opinions had rarely mattered to me. Except, of course, when I was trying to get their cooperation on something. Which rarely happened; the PRT, it had seemed to me on more than one occasion, had been hidebound, dead set against giving any supervillain what he or she wanted, even if that thing was actually good for all concerned.

And now I was an officer in the PRT. And I was getting the cooperation I needed. By not being a supervillain. By being one of them. Even if what I was doing, the seeds I was planting, would not show up for years, or even decades. But in doing so, I needed their good opinion.

It was a strange, strange world.

-ooo-​

"You look serious, Lieutenant," Major Hamilton observed quietly. "You only get that look when you're working on a particularly difficult problem."

I worked at getting the serious look off my face. "Just making sure that I don't trip over my feet, sir," I assured him. "And trying to convince myself that everyone isn't staring at me, waiting for me to do something stupid."

His chuckle was warm and helped me to relax slightly. "Oh, they'll notice if you do, but they aren't watching for it. You're just another junior officer in a plethora of them here, tonight. And those who know of your real contributions to the PRT aren't waiting for you to trip over your feet; they're waiting to talk to you, and see if they can't persuade you to transfer to their commands."

Which didn't really help the butterflies in my stomach. "Not really wanting to do that, sir," I assured him. "Maybe once I get a few more notches on my belt, but right now, Chicago is where I want to be."

He bestowed an approving look upon me. "Well said, young Snow. Loyalty to one's commanding officer is one of my favourite qualities. I've said this before, and I'll say it again. You're my best analyst by far, and I'd hate to lose you."

Which was the perfect opening. I metaphorically held my breath and took the plunge.

"Which reminds me, sir. Something I've been working on. It's very marginal, so far, but the implications are far-reaching. I need to talk to you about it."

His gaze sharpened. "Really? What's it about?"

I tilted my head to gesture to the throng around us and shook my head slightly. "Not in here, sir."

He took my meaning immediately. "Is it about an immediate threat?"

"Not one that's going to happen this month, sir."

A firm nod. "My office, as soon as we get back, then," he agreed.

The music drew to a close, and we moved off the dance floor. "Thank you for the dance, sir," I told him politely.

He nodded to me. "Entirely my pleasure, Lieutenant Snow. You dance well."

I had to smile. "Sir, you do realise that I am an analyst." And I know when you're lying to me, I didn't have to add.

Chuckling at my sally, he snagged a drink off a passing tray. "Go. Mingle. Enjoy yourself, young Snow. But remember – my office, the moment we get back."

"Definitely, sir," I agreed.

At that moment, I saw the disagreeable – or too-agreeable – Lieutenant Calvert prowling around the edges of the dance floor, head raised as if searching for something, or someone. It didn't take much in the way of analytical ability to figure out who he was seeking. I didn't feel like another encounter with him, so I slipped out through the doors into the Cross Hall once more.

-ooo-​

There were too many attendants wandering around for me to want to go out through the Entrance Hall, and I didn't think they'd let me go upstairs or downstairs, so I went back into the Blue Room – thankfully, without Calvert following me this time – and opened one of the doors leading out on to the South Portico.

It was still cold out – the snowflakes were falling a little more thickly, now – but the wind was coming from the north, and I was in the lee of the building. I was absolutely certain that there were men out there, on the roof and in the shrubbery, rugged to the eyeballs in winter gear, watching the grounds and the skies in all directions. More than one of them, most likely, had just put a night-sight scope on me and checked me out.

Radio messages would be passing back and forth, along these lines:

Ah, someone's come out of the Blue Room on to the South Portico. Female PRT lieutenant. A bit on the skinny side. Not armed. Leaning on the rail.

Roger that, keep an eye on her.

Will do. Out.

The metal rail was freezing cold under my gloved hands, just as cold as the air that I pulled into my lungs. It stung, and I welcomed it. I needed it. I had to focus.

I was starting to slip into the military mindset, and I hadn't even noticed it. I had been honestly worried back there that I might slip while dancing, and that the top PRT brass would notice it, and all form flawed judgements of me.

What they think of me doesn't matter, I told myself fiercely. I haven't even been born yet, but I'm going to save the world, whether they like it or not. And it's me that's going to do it. Taylor Hebert. Skitter. Weaver. Not their idea of who 'Lieutenant Snow' should be.

I rolled my head on my neck, watching the puffs of white vapour as I breathed in and out. I've got a job to do, and I'm damn well going to do it.

And then, a voice cut through my reverie.

"A little chilly out here, isn't it?"

-ooo-​

This was the second time tonight that someone had sneaked up on me while my attention was distracted; I really needed to up my game. I turned to face whoever it was – the voice had been vaguely familiar, but not overly so – and blinked in surprise.

The face was very familiar. The last time I'd been this close to her, I'd killed her shortly after.

Alexandria.

Or rather, Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown; instead of the dark costume with the heavy cape, she was wearing the dress uniform. Ornate as it was, she wore it well.

I'd known she was at the anniversary ball, of course. She was the Chief Director. Of course she would be here. But I hadn't expected to come face to face with her. This represented all sorts of dangers; she had, in my time, been an accomplished cold reader.

Of course, in my time, she'd also had eighteen years' more experience, and the same amount of accumulated knowledge. Lisa had explained to me that she had gotten her powers from Cauldron in August of 'eighty-six, and had been in her teens then. Her power serum had apparently matured her body to that of a young adult, and then frozen it there. Her hair did not grow, nor did her nails. When her eye was ripped out by the Siberian, in years yet to come, it took Eidolon's powers to heal her face so that she was able to wear a prosthetic eye and appear normal to the world.

Here and now, she'd had her powers for a bit over seven years, and been a part of the Protectorate for just under six. She had faced Behemoth once in Iran, and again in Sao Paulo, while I was still in training.

I covered my consternation and confusion with a salute. "Uh, Director Costa-Brown, ma'am," I stammered.

She smiled and returned the salute. For all that she'd only been in the employ of the PRT for just a little longer than I had, the gesture was picture perfect. Photographic memory. Right. A Thinker rating, even. Wonderful.

"Lieutenant Snow, yes?" she replied, verifying the first part of my thought. "I've heard good things about you."

"Thank you, ma'am," I replied promptly. She's heard everything about me. False modesty will not be my friend here. "I've done my best, ma'am."

She nodded fractionally. "And your best, Lieutenant, is very good indeed, so I hear." She paused, inclining her head toward the tall windows behind us. "Perhaps we could speak indoors? While it is more private out here, it's not conducive to a long conversation."

This was for my benefit, not hers, I knew. For all I knew, Alexandria could sunbathe on an iceberg in a bikini and not notice the cold. Myself, I was a Brockton Bay native, born and bred, and chilly winters like this were not to my liking.

"Thank you, ma'am," I told her, and escaped to the warmth of indoors. She followed, closing the door behind us. "You wished to talk, ma'am?"

"Yes." Her nod was contemplative. "I like to know my people. I like to have an idea of the quantities with which I am dealing. Your work on the Master/Stranger protocols was very impressive; ground-breaking, even. And I understand that they stopped several security leaks in the making."

I nodded; I was beginning to feel the tips of my ears again. They ached with the returning blood circulation. "So I heard, ma'am. But I'm sure that someone else would have -"

She smiled and shook her head slightly, cutting me off firmly. "But they didn't, Lieutenant. You were the one with the training. You were the one with the foresight. You were the one, indeed, who encountered a Master-Stranger in your base, and managed to stop him. Isn't that so?"

I swallowed. "Yes, ma'am. But he did kill another soldier -"

She nodded. "Yes, I know. Wyzowski. A pity. It's just a mercy that you happened by at the right time to ensure that nothing worse happened."

She was getting at something, and I feared that I knew what it was. This was no casual encounter, not with Alexandria involved. I had been able to resist the influence of a powerful Master/Stranger, and Alexandria wanted to know how. As Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown, she had to accept the official verdict; but Alexandria wanted to know how I had done it.

My glasses had misted over, from coming back into the warmth. I bought some time by taking them off and wiping them, then warming them with my hands. My eyes were down, and my face partially averted, when I next spoke.

"I had a hunch," I explained. "I get them. I didn't know what was wrong, not really, till I got there."

As I slid my glasses back on to my face, she frowned. I got the impression that she wasn't satisfied, not one hundred percent, but it wasn't enough to make her actually suspicious of me.

"When you were under his influence," she pressed, "were you truly controlled by him? Or were you just pretending?"

"Oh, definitely under his control," I told her truthfully. "It wasn't until I left the room and closed the door that some part of me managed to regain control enough to act."

"Whereupon you drew your service weapon, and fired three shots through the door, hitting him with all three rounds," she concluded, raising one perfect eyebrow. "That's … quite some shooting."

"I won competitions in ROTC," I explained, again quite truthfully. "I still keep it up." When I could. Sergeant Kinsey was better at hand to hand than with a pistol, but he was a top-rate coach.

She inclined her head, conceding the point. "It's good to be skilled; it's better to be lucky. It appears that you are both, Lieutenant Snow." Her voice dropped slightly, and she flicked a glance at the doors from the room; all were still closed. "Or … is there another factor involved?"

I manufactured a puzzled frown. "I … don't think I get your meaning, ma'am."

Her expression was serious. "I will make myself plain. Are you a parahuman, Lieutenant Snow? Do you possess powers?" She paused. "Understand that if you are, no penalty will befall you. In fact, quite the opposite."

I wanted to pause, to think about my answer. With Alexandria herself as my patron, as a cape working undercover for the PRT, I could make so much happen.

But my oversight would be that much more onerous.

No. I have to follow the plan.

Lisa knew that this would happen.

She had to know which way I would jump.

I looked Alexandria in the eyes and stated firmly, "Ma'am, I do not have powers." Truthfully, I added, "I only wish that I did. But I do not."

She paused for a long, long moment, looking at me searchingly. I could almost feel her leafing through my random thoughts, reading my micro-expressions. It's really hard to keep expression off your face, while not appearing to do so.

Eventually, she nodded. "Very well. Carry on, Lieutenant." Her eyes bored into mine. "This conversation never occurred; you do understand this, correct?"

I raised my eyebrows in a parody of innocence. "Conversation, ma'am? We've just been talking about the weather."

Her perfect lipstick curved in a brief, ironic, smile. "Just so. Good evening, Lieutenant Snow. It has been educational, meeting you."

"Ma'am." I stiffened into a brace, and saluted her. She returned it, gave me one more enigmatic look, then left the room.

As the door clicked shut behind her, I sagged into a chair. My heart was doing a fairly good impression of a trip-hammer, and even though I had just been out in sub-zero temperatures, I felt sweat beading on my brow.

I never want to go through that again.

When I had gotten my breathing and heartbeat under control once more, I got up from the chair. I can't hide in here forever, I decided. Might as well go back to the ball and dance with some lieutenant who's never heard of me. If I can find one.

But the moment I stepped out of the door, I saw Major Hamilton hustling along the Cross Hall. "Oh, good," he called. "I was wondering where you'd gotten to, Snow."

"What's the matter, sir?" I asked.

"We're heading back now," he told me. "I've called and sent your Sergeant Kinsey on ahead; you'll ride with me. There's been an airline hijacking; we'll teleconference on the way."

I frowned. "A hijacking? But that doesn't rate the PRT. Unless … " I didn't complete the thought.

He nodded. "Unless the perpetrators are parahumans."

I raised my eyebrows. "And are they?"

He nodded. "It appears to be the case. Come along, they're holding our plane at the air force base now."

I hurried with him. It appeared that even on this night of nights, we weren't going to be able to relax and let our hair down.

Not that I minded all that much. If I hung around this place much longer, I might run into Calvert again, and I didn't really want to have to worry about hiding a body.

-ooo-​

January 21, 1994

"No, Frank, it was our pleasure, really it was." Major Hamilton's voice was pleased. "Thank you, you have a good day too." He put down the receiver and nodded to me. "Well, we've just gotten another pat on the back, Lieutenant. Put yourself down for a 'very well done' on the airline thing. Your insights managed to defuse the whole thing before it could get bloody."

I nodded. "Thank you, sir," I replied. "It wasn't hard, once we got the skinny on who was actually on board."

"Not hard," he snorted. "Some days, Snow, I'm convinced you have a crystal ball hidden in your desk drawer."

"No, sir," I responded, deadpan. "It's actually on the top shelf of my locker."

He barked a laugh, then picked up an envelope and held it out to me. "Here," he offered. "A letter from home. Mail call came this morning while you were working."

"Thank you, sir." I accepted the letter, and turned it over. It was addressed to me, all right, in Gladys' angular handwriting. I looked up at Hamilton.

"Go on," he urged me. "We don't have a world-ending catastrophe to deal with right at this second. Go read your letter."

"Thank you, sir," I repeated, and saluted. He returned it, and I left the office at a fast walk.

Back in my office, I settled down at the desk and carefully tore the letter open.

Dear Taylor, Gladys wrote, It was good to see you over Christmas. I know Franklin was glad to see you too. I hope you can get the time off for our wedding. It will mean a lot to me.

I smiled. It would mean a lot to me, too. Gladys had been my favourite teacher, back in Brockton Bay, and on my second go-around, she had become my friend and my confidante.

Oh, and I don't know if they've told you yet, but Danny's finally asked Anne-Rose to marry him. He did it on the Ferry, on the observation deck. She squealed so loudly that they thought someone had fallen overboard. She said yes, of course. They haven't set a date yet, but it'll be sometime later this year.

I had to stop reading, because tears had welled in my eyes. Dad and Mom are getting married. I hoped they would be happy. I knew they would be happy.

Her parents, less so.

But that wasn't my problem.

I wiped my eyes and blew my nose, and kept reading.

Oh, and you know your friend from Boot Camp, Emily? She had leave just after Christmas, and would you believe, she visited us in Brockton Bay? You should see her now, she looks even leaner and meaner and more dangerous than she did when she first got commissioned.

We took her out to dinner, me and Frank and Danny and Anne-Rose, and Andrea too, of course. She told us all about what you two got up to in Boot, and we told her about how you got into JROTC for beating up Larissa and her friends, and Andrea told her about how you two met for the first time, and I don't think any of us has laughed so much in a long time.

I shook my head. Poor Emily. She would have definitely had her eyes opened, meeting Andrea. With a grin on my face that wouldn't go away, I read on.

We went out and about and showed her the sights, and we all had a good time. She thought we were crazy, going down to the Boardwalk to buy ice-cream in January, but we talked her into it, and now she's a convert.

Danny and Anne-Rose took her to meet Dorothy and George, and she definitely made an impression there. From what I hear, Dorothy wasn't quite sure what to make of her, but she rose to the occasion like a good hostess. George, on the other hand, got along quite well with her. I'm not surprised; Emily's very no-nonsense, just like he is.

I wasn't surprised either. Gladys was spot-on with her appraisal of Emily and George. They were both straight shooters.

Oh, and get this. You know how I've been Mr Murray's assistant teacher with Computer Studies? Well, he's finally decided to step down and give me the class altogether. I think he'll be teaching PhysEd or something. But he'll still be a member of the Computer Club. They've still got a picture of you up on the wall in there, you know. You kind of left an impression.

I rolled my eyes. How could I forget? With Lisa to coach me, I had been the computer go-to person for the Club. I'd had fun there, too, of course, but there had always been the knowledge that people saw me as just short of God, when it came to working with computers. It had actually bothered me slightly; I'd felt like I was somehow cheating in order to garner popularity.

Which was, I imagined, possibly why I had enjoyed the physical stuff of JROTC and ROTC so much; it was something I could do, and learn, and get right. My way.

I was glad for Gladys, of course. She'd earned her place.

Anyway, I hope you like the photo. We had the waitress in the Club take it while Emily was visiting. She got hit on by college boys, which amused her immensely.

Photo? I tilted the envelope, and a glossy six-by-four slid out. I picked it up, and there they were. Danny, Anne-Rose, Gladys, Franklin, Emily … and Andrea. Who, predictably, was making a face.

In the background was the Club as I had known it; Danny and Anne-Rose looked happy, as did Gladys and Franklin. Emily looked simultaneously amused and bemused, as though not quite sure whether to burst into laughter or hide under the table. Andrea looked like … Andrea. There were no words to describe her; or rather, there were many. Too many to use all at once.

Tears filled my eyes again, and the photograph wavered in my vision. I missed them all terribly; I had not realised how much until just now. I'd thought that visiting them over Christmas had helped me out there, but now it was back at full strength.

I wiped my eyes on a fresh tissue, blew my nose, and finished the letter.

We all love you and miss you, and I'll see you next time you're in town. Take care, and give the bad guys an extra kick in the ribs for me.

Cheers,

Gladys

I smiled at that. I sure will.

Looking one more time at the photo, I slid it back into the envelope, along with the letter. This was something I would keep, and cherish, over the long hard days to come.

It had also reminded me of something. Dropping the envelope into my desk drawer, I went back to Major Hamilton's office.

"Major?" I asked, knocking on the door frame. "A word?"

He looked up from the paperwork he was dealing with. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

I drew a deep breath. "The, uh, matter I wanted to talk to you about at the ball? When would be a good time for that?"

It took him a few moments to recall what I meant, them I saw his eyes click into focus. "Give me half an hour," he told me decisively, "and then we'll go for a walk."

I nodded. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Saluting, I left his office.

-ooo-​

Several soldiers were doing PT on the school's running track as we strolled around its perimeter, heavy jackets and scarves warding off the winter chill. I'd thought August was cool in Chicago; it had nothing on January.

"So talk to me, Lieutenant," he invited me. "What's the problem?"

"This is really big," I began. "I'm gonna have to feed it to you in bite-sized chunks, if that's okay?"

He nodded. "Probably best," he agreed.

I paused, marshalling my thoughts. Lisa and I had agreed that this was probably the best way to put this across to him. Without real-time access to my every word and action, without the ability to predict exactly how people would react to what I did, Lisa could only advise me on things like this. It was up to me to make it work.

"Are you aware of the mechanism of trigger events?" I began. "The way parahumans get their powers?"

"I'm aware that they happen," he replied. "Not exactly sure of the whys and wherefores. One day someone doesn't have powers, next day they're juggling semi-trailers."

I nodded. "Well, in between, there's a situation of conflict. Something happens to the person to put them under strain, or there's a conflict within themselves." I drew a deep breath of winter air. "I've heard it described as 'the worst day of your life'. That's what gives people powers. The very worst thing that ever happens to them."

He was silent for a moment. "So … it's when they're attacked, or feel threatened … "

"... or feel abandoned, or all alone, or they're so caught up in a conflict that they don't feel anything at all," I finished. "There are many causes in the literature; so many that trying to replicate it is worse than useless. I personally believe that each trigger event is personally tailored to each parahuman. You can't inflict the same trauma on John Doe that you did on Mary Smith, and expect him to manifest any powers at all, much less the same powers that she got."

"So you're not talking about being able to trigger powers at need in people," he concluded.

I shook my head. "No, sir. I don't think we'll ever be able to do that. But you follow my point about how conflict and powers are closely linked?"

"Yes, I do," he agreed. "So where do we go from there?"

"Well the next point," I went on, "is that all powers are capable of causing conflict of some sort. Some might be physical, others might be mental, others might be emotional. Every power allows its user to lash out at other people. At the world around them."

For another long moment, he didn't speak. "You realise, Lieutenant, you're not making me any more sanguine about whatever your eventual point may be. But yes, I understand where you're going with this. All powers can be used to hurt others, in some way. To cause conflict. Another link between powers and conflict. Go on."

"Third point," I noted. "It's early days yet, and we haven't got nearly enough data to be certain about this, but it appears that those parahumans who use their powers for conflict, regularly and repeatedly, seem to get better with their powers than those who use them for non-conflict means."

He frowned. "By 'better' do you mean more skilled? Because any skill will improve with use."

I shook my head. "Not exactly, sir. I mean that their power and range increases – fractionally, but the increase is measurable. Their control over the effects is improved. They learn more tricks." I took my hands out of my pockets and spread them. "They get better at using them, better than the ones who are using them for normal, everyday pursuits."

He absorbed my words. "Conflict," he stated at last.

"Conflict," I agreed. "Now, the next couple of points are hypothetical. Extremely hypothetical. I have no proof, no data to back me up on them. They're just … hunches."

He turned his head to look at me. "Lieutenant, I would back your hunches over a dozen informed intellectuals from any college you would care to name. Be assured that I will give you a fair hearing on this. Fire away."

I nodded. "Thank you, sir. Hypothetically speaking, what if there was an … intelligence? A thing, out there somewhere, that was bestowing powers on humanity? Because powers aren't coming out of nowhere. They're coming from somewhere. Something's giving them to us. Something is reaching out its finger, and tapping people on the head, and saying, 'when you have the very worst day of your life – you will get super-powers'." I paused. "What if that something's doing it deliberately? What do you think its motives might be?"

Major Hamilton shivered, and I didn't think it was from the cold. "Christ, Snow, you have a way of asking very big, very scary questions."

"I'm sorry, sir."

He shook his head. "Don't be. It's very pertinent question. And the answer's simple. To foment conflict within the human race." He stared at me. "Do you think that's even possible?"

I drew a deep breath, welcomed the sting of chilled air in my lungs. "I don't know, sir. I have no data. But I have another hypothetical to run past you."

"And the hits just keep on coming. Shoot."

"This creature that came up out of the ground in Iran, and attacked Sao Paulo last year … "

"Sierra Mike Alpha, yes," he replied. "I believe the press are calling it the 'Behemoth'." He paused. "Do you think that might be your instigator … ?"

I paused, then shook my head. "No, I don't think so. But what if it's guided by conflict? What if it's drawn to it? Either moving toward an area that has ongoing conflict – such as the Middle East – or toward a place that will be most thoroughly destabilised by it attacking?"

He stopped talking, and stared at me. "Snow … are you saying you know why it attacked those places?"

I shrugged lightly. "I've been doing a lot of research, sir. Correlating a huge number of factors. Then squinting sideways at the data to see if I can make a pattern emerge." I made my tone light. "Everything short of nailing a map to the wall and throwing darts."

He didn't react to my levity. "And what did you come up with?"

"A lot of very loose numbers, sir. Numbers that need to be crunched before I can reach a solid data point, something that I can hold up and say, I know this for certain." I drew a deep breath. "But I suspect that there'll be another attack within the next three months. And my gut tells me that it will be within the continental United States."

I stopped. His stare had, if anything, intensified. I waited.

Eventually, he spoke. "Lieutenant Snow." His voice was almost harsh.

I stiffened into a brace. "Yes, sir?"

"I am ordering you to not speak on that matter to anyone other than me, until further notice."

"Sir, yes sir."

"Furthermore, you are to only pursue that matter in absolute secrecy. No-one but you and I must know about it, until you can actually produce verifiable results."

"Yes, sir. I understand, sir."

"Tell me what resources you need."

I drew a deep breath of the winter air. "A computer, sir. Top of the line. I can crunch the data much faster with it than without."

He nodded, sharply. "You'll get it. Now remember, you report to me, and only me, on this matter. If word got out, there would be a panic. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir. I understand perfectly, sir. This is why I came to you with it, sir."

He bent a faint smile on me. "Carry on, Lieutenant Snow."

"Yes, sir."

We strolled back to the offices, and we did not speak any more of conflict.

End of Part 3-2

Part 3-3​

 

[Navrin]

Very enjoyable, Ack. Thanks for the chapter.

I wonder, did Taylor actually successfully bluff Alexandria, or did she fail and Lisa just hasn't mentioned it on-screen?

Did Emily manage to get Gladys to the shooting range so she could see for herself her skills?

And this Endbringer preparation is intriguing, and I look forward to seeing how it will be made useful.