I spent the rest of Friday at the farm, watching the news and sipping hot chocolate, while my swarms continued to work and breed.
Initial theories focused on it being another of Bakuda's bombs, with some theorizing that she'd left behind a number of time-delay surprises. The investigation into the cause of the dockside fire was still ongoing, and the talking heads spent a good fifteen minutes tossing around potential explanations as to why she would have had some high property damage, low casualty showpieces waiting to go off. The consensus was coming around to the idea that she might have wanted to be able to make a demonstration in support of a ransom demand or something similar.
I shook my head.
I knew firsthand how both the fire in the north and the collapse downtown had come to be, and Bakuda hadn't had a hand in either.
Besides, even with only having met her once before her death, I knew her well enough to know that the idea of a low casualty demonstration was completely foreign to her way of thought. She was willing to kill her own minions for any reason or none. Sure, when I found her, she was experimenting with a lower-casualty method of handling recruitment and discipline… but I was pretty sure that was only because she knew Lung was on his way out of lockup, and she really didn't want to have to explain why she'd damaged something of his.
Understandable caution.
Killing random civilians… was something that she would only ever have cared about to the extent that someone made her care about it.
I sipped my hot chocolate.
One of the quicker reporters managed to confirm the rumor that the fire alarm had apparently been pulled on-site, and discussion turned to the mystery of just who could have pulled the fire alarm. It was nice, hearing reporters talk about how 'all of those who got out owe their lives to this anonymous hero.'
Nicer, at any rate, than hearing the argument that the bomber had pulled the fire alarm 'himself'.
From there, things progressed into dueling experts. One channel had someone claiming that, barring parahuman involvement, the evidence was conclusive that 'the explosives were distributed throughout the building during construction. This was a carefully planned demolition — look how cleanly it collapses down into its own footprint. That's a professional at work, and not something hastily improvised on the spot. If someone wanted to kill people with this demolition, they could have toppled the building into its neighbours, started a line of dominoes going."
On another channel, someone else was claiming that no properly built building would have collapsed this way, and that this was clearly insurance fraud on the grandest of scales.
I shook my head.
This would be why I watched the news so rarely.
Smaller stories on the crawl at the bottom of the screen included the start of the fire investigation at the Dockside Scar, a jewelry store robbery at lunch, and the continuing Cinderella story of Clarendon High's baseball team.
Almost forty-five minutes later, the story shifted to the rescue of Dinah Alcott. Lady Photon gave a statement from the hospital, taking credit for a successful assault on the base of Coil, regretting Coil's destruction of the Heritage Insurance Tower, warning the media to not disturb the Alcott's, and mentioning that they were pleased to have had an opportunity to help the PRT with their 'internal investigations.'
Huh.
···---···
The morning seemed altogether too early. It wasn't that I'd slept too little; the almost eleven hours I'd managed might have been the longest I'd slept… since I was in a coma. Still, everything seemed to hurt a little bit more, ache a little bit more deeply. The beating Cricket had given me, the pressure wave from the bunkerage disaster, the long days and short nights spent in pursuit of the various gangs.
I creaked when I got up to fix myself breakfast.
Enough so that I went for a hot shower first, and pulled a swarm inside to fix it for me instead. That was relaxing: the hot water pounding on tight muscles, the near-scalding weight of soaked hair against my scalp, even the way the bruises twinged pointed toward eventual relief. The simultaneous challenge of making breakfast, in a kitchen built for people, rather than swarms of cooperating bugs… was also relaxing. Figuring out where I could use a utensil with bugs, and where I needed to improvise something with arrays of silk and counterweights, was very soothing.
A sense of effortless flow, like the moments when a puzzle came together and everything just clicked.
And being able to watch the oatmeal cook and stir while taking the shower took away all the concerns about burning it. I could simply wait until the kettle hit a boil, and then step right out. I'd thought about letting the kettle cool and making green tea for a change, but the way I was feeling this morning… I wanted my tea hot.
Black it was, then, without even the usual splash of milk.
And a hot shower, followed by hot oatmeal and hot tea, was in no way overkill.
I still hurt afterward, but I felt passably human.
Letting the insects tidy up their arrangements of silk and the lighter and cooler things, I did the dishes with my hands and stepped onto the porch with a second cup.
I still had to replace that cracked lens, and get more ammunition for my taser. And there was that discussion with Lisa…
I turned back inside and went for my phones. A half-written text to Lisa was derailed by the discovery of a text on the phone I'd used to call Brandish. "Same place, ten am."
Something urgent? A loose thread, Coil's subordinates? A trap?
Only one way to find out.
Ten.
I'd have to move quickly then.
Lisa could wait until lunch.
···---···
The law offices were as I remembered them, but quieter on a Saturday.
I was directed to a different conference room this time. The cubicles which normally held secretaries or paralegals were all but empty; the offices along the wall were almost two thirds full.
I wondered how many of the remaining third were working from home, or traveling for work.
These idle musings about what kind of hours lawyers worked popped when I passed a door marked Alan Barnes.
Emma's father.
Not here today, thankfully.
I wondered about what he was doing, what Emma was up to. I hadn't thought of her for a while. Hadn't really thought of Sophia since my effort to push the PRT to investigate her. Hadn't thought of Madison… for longer still. Something to look into, sometime. See if any consequences had found them.
I might even do so personally… after dealing with the Empire.
And possibly any successors.
There'd be new gangs moving in at some point. Easier to deal with; harder to find.
But first… the Empire.
Krieg had to go.
Hookwolf seemed to be a fighter, a leader even. What he wasn't was a thinker, in either sense of the word. Power, enough of it, could do a lot of things. The fact that Lung still walked free was proof enough of that. And while Empire Eighty Eight could survive losses, I was betting they couldn't survive being losers.
Krieg, like Kaiser and Allfather before him, was smart enough, careful enough, to keep the overall reputation of the Empire intact. To pick the fights they could win, avoid the fights they couldn't. To frame events in the most useful way, to turn defeats into heroic last stands, draws into moral victories, and victories into the promise of conquest. And as long as the promise was believed, more would come. Enough to make it a self fulfilling prophecy? Probably not.
Enough to make for a constant blight on the city?
It had been in the past.
So.
Krieg had already proven himself willing to set a large chunk of the city on fire. If he kept that up there would be a heavy-handed response. Perhaps if he'd taken credit for the fire, it would have already happened.
Right now, the official word on the fire was 'causes unknown', and the closest E88 came to being linked with it were reports of people seeing Fenja walking out of the fire, carrying the others. Given the various powers involved, all that meant was that speculation inclined to E88 having been fighting someone who did use fire or explosives. Given the disappearance of the Merchant capes at the same time, people were focusing on Squealer… but there was a minority holding out for Lung.
Even having been there, I wasn't sure either theory was wholly wrong.
My last glimpse of Squealer's monster truck placed it moving, uncontrolled, into the bunkerage compound. The chain-link fence guarding it wouldn't even have slowed that juggernaut down, and it was massive enough that it could have breached a bunker by ramming. Or one of the weapons placed on it could have gone off. Or Lung could simply have called forth fire the instant he felt the conflict ebb — Krieg had theorized that even a nearby conflict could let him grow stronger — in a bid to trigger the trap while he was at his toughest. Or Victor could have made a mistake.
Hard to say what happened, exactly. I hadn't had my usual panoramic view because Cricket had been jamming my swarms at the time. Also, hitting me.
Hard.
However the fire had been touched off, the plan had been Krieg's.
Another reason to deal with him. How should I…
I would have walked right past the conference room if not for my bugs. While I thought about Krieg, and ways to end his power, I could simultaneously feel the building and people around me — not that I was splitting my concentration, not really. More that I could feel both things at once, really both at once, not juggling them.
Within the conference room sat Brandish.
Or, since she was wearing a suit instead of a costume, Carol Dallon.
I closed the door and took a seat opposite her.
She pushed a sealed envelope across the table to me.
I opened it, finding a single sheet with my name on it. I looked back at her, one eyebrow arched.
"A precaution." She smiled. "The thought that your information was a trap… had occurred to me. If I didn't make it out, there needed to be someone who knew enough to send the heroes after you."
"You thought it was a trap, and you went anyway?"
Her eyes were steady. "We couldn't just stand by."
Heroes.
And all I was doing was skulking around, and avoiding straight up fights. So far I'd mostly let conflict among the gangs do most of the work, and both the Scar and the rubble downtown bore witness to the results of that strategy.
Still less destructive than handling Bakuda personally. Even so, there had to be something I could do differently, some way to achieve my goals less wastefully…
I'd think on it another time. And I'd think about precautions and failsafes. I'd left word with Quinn Calle about Jack Slash, but there were likely other ways I could prepare for a defeat. Death didn't have to mean failure, if you knew what you were doing. But…
"Why not just tell someone?"
"Ethics and logic both. You came to me as a client, remember? If the PRT has been infiltrated, there are few places secure. And the only sure way to keep a secret… is to tell no one. Or at least no one except those who must be told… and, if you were telling the truth, no one else needed to know. So I wrote that letter, sealed it, and told no one. The law firm has your visits as two different false names, potential witnesses on different cases. I'll write off the time, won't bill it to anyone, but there shouldn't be a trail to you here. Even the family only knows that a 'friendly Stranger' provided us with the target and on-scene intelligence. Right down to the self-destruct."
I winced. "I hadn't seen that ahead of time, and I should have. It's exactly the kind of thing someone like him would do…"
She waved. "You do what you can… and you did get the fire alarm — unless there was another Stranger running around in that building? Despite everything, yesterday was a win. Dangerous villain down, kidnapped child saved. Giving the envelope to you now is a bit of an apology… though I do recommend staying hidden for a while. The PRT's rathunt is ongoing, but I don't know if they've gotten all of Coil's spies. And I know that there's no way to begin being sure they have, not so soon."
I nodded. "That's why your sister was announcing PRT cooperation."
"One of the reasons. No need to make enemies there, and giving them some of the credit for catching their own infiltrator means that their reputation will fare better. Mostly, they do good work, and the reputation is part of that. And it's never bad to be owed another favor."
"You could have suppressed Coil's connection to Calvert entirely… wouldn't that have been a bigger favor?"
She waggled a hand. "Arguably. But what's good for the PRT isn't always what's good for the world the PRT is supposed to protect. New Wave was founded on the belief that sunlight disinfects. The fact that you could come to us is proof enough that, sometimes, the Protectorate needs the help of independent, accountable, heroes. Kicking the PRT while they're down doesn't help… but neither does hiding their mistakes, not in the long run."
I thought about it.
She continued. "Besides, there's more than one way to make a difference. I didn't stay a lawyer just because I wanted a life outside the costume. Brockton Bay's had a rough month… a rough decade, if we're being honest. But Coil being Calvert, and the base he had, say some interesting things about Fortress Construction. And with the right lever…"
She smiled. "I can move the world."
I stayed to listen for a time.
···---···
Lisa was, as arranged, in one of the retail areas at the south end of the Boardwalk. No sign of any of the other Undersiders, no sign of mercenaries, no sign of the Travelers…
No sign of anything but people going about a Saturday's shopping.
Paranoid, perhaps, but she had just asked me to kill.
We settled down with our trays in one of the booths in the back of a soup and sandwich place.
"Thanks."
"For Coil?"
"His death meant freedom in a couple of different ways."
I thought about that. One, I knew. The other…
"He had a hold on you?"
She shook her head. "Just the threat of death. He found me, made me the proverbial offer you can't refuse."
I thought about what I knew of her.
"And you took it?"
Her smile was meaner than I'd ever seen it. "It's easier to stab someone in the back if you get behind them first."
I nodded.
"From the moment he told me to serve or die, one of us was going to have to go… it was just a question of when."
I dipped the edge of my sandwich into the tomato soup, and took a bite.
"And whom." She sighed.
I ate another bite.
"So yeah, I'm glad he got to the top of your little list. I'm glad your lawyer was pushing for a low Tinker rating with the PRT for contract-scale reasons, that you've kept a generally low profile, and that the bastard never condescended to put me on finding you until the very end, when it was too damn late."
She paused. Inhaled.
"Anyway. Thanks."
I nodded.
"What now?"
She tilted her head. "Food. And then I'm going to spend some of my new freedom shopping. For clothes. After that… I'll have to talk to the others."
I chewed. I had no idea of what Coil's financial resources had been, beyond immense — a base like that and mercenaries like that were not things he could have gotten with his power alone, money must have been involved at some point — nor what fraction Lisa could have seized in the aftermath. Passwords, account numbers, safes, hiding places, bailees… I did not doubt she could have reached some of it. Enough to retire on? Enough for all the Undersiders to retire on? What did they want from life, anyway?
I could afford to let that settle out. Best case, taking out Coil had also removed the Undersiders from the scene. Worst case… well, I'd worry about Krieg and the Empire first.
It occurred to me that Coil had described other bases, staffed with detachments, and that there was now a fair-sized group of highly competent mercenaries at loose ends in my city. If they were wise, they'd take this opportunity to melt into the background. I could go by the bases I'd identified, check on that.
Later.
···---···
Shopping with Lisa was exhausting.
Not physically — I'd vetoed most of the outfits she'd suggested, or I wouldn't have been able to carry my own bags. Some of the first batch called for cleavage I didn't have, and wouldn't ever develop without serious surgery. Most of them stood out more than I'd like, but she had a definite eye for fashion: the clothes she'd picked worked with me, and with each other. If I'd wanted to look good, to look sexy, or wholesome, or sporty, I suspect she could have found a way to let me pull any of those looks off. I couldn't tell if her Thinker power applied to coordinating outfits as well, or if she was just good at fashion.
Still, anything that exposed skin meant vulnerability. And anything that was covering, but tight, meant I couldn't wear my armored costume beneath it.
When had 'can I wear my armored costume underneath it' become my primary criteria for choosing clothing?
I did take note of a few designs that offered more stylish coverage. Maybe, eventually, I could make versions from reinforced spider silk: just as safe, and flattering enough to wear out as myself.
I also managed to pick a new lens to replace the one Cricket had broken — several, actually, as I wanted to have spares on hand. High grade ones, too: Trivex tinted lenses. I would have to pop them out of the frames they were currently in, but buying them loose might have attracted attention I didn't want, and buying several identical sunglasses at once apparently only indicated that I wanted to have a set accessible in several different locations.
We parted ways as the afternoon slanted toward night, she with her load of clothes, me with my few bags.
I made my way to Walker's, afterward. I had spare cartridges of darts (though extras would be nice) and I definitely needed extra batteries for my taser. The old man wasn't there, and the clerk working in his place was decidedly less chatty. I shot a few practice rounds with the taser, again noting the way that I could simply point to any of my bugs. With either hand, at the same target or different ones, simultaneously — nothing more difficult than touching both earlobes at once. I thought about the pistols there… and rejected the option. Not legal to buy, not at my age. I'm sure I could learn how to clean and maintain them, and I was equally sure that I could obtain some either by purchase or by hitting an E88 operation… but I wasn't really sure what it would gain me. If I wanted to kill, I could do that with my swarms.
Still.
Contingencies.
For later, though.
Right now, I had to find Krieg.