I'd rather see pieces show up more frequently than wait for large chunks. It lets the story stay fresher in my head as well as know that it's not been abandoned.
An Everdistant Horizon (Worm/Horizon Series)
- Thread starter AlSmash
- Start date
- Crossover
- Location
- The Lair
Okay decision has been made. We'll be posting the one scene as Part 1 of the next chapter. I had originally planned for 2 or 3 scenes, but Lexy is looking formidable, between the information dump on things being different and establishing just how bad it is in Boston, and her first official encounter with Taylor, and then a third scene, which shall remain unnamed as its still up to possibly being changed, depending on how the lexy scene rolls.
Like I said, its looking to be a behemoth at least in my mental projections, and well, I barely get 1 day off at the moment, so finding the time, especially as business is ramping up for the holiday season, means I have fewer and fewer moments to balance my day off between writing and destressing.
Additionally. There is now an official discord.
Zero Dawn Technologies
Expected posting is sometime this weekend.
Like I said, its looking to be a behemoth at least in my mental projections, and well, I barely get 1 day off at the moment, so finding the time, especially as business is ramping up for the holiday season, means I have fewer and fewer moments to balance my day off between writing and destressing.
Additionally. There is now an official discord.
Zero Dawn Technologies
Expected posting is sometime this weekend.
Sprout 3.1 Part 1
- Location
- The Lair
Well. Here we are. Finally. I apologize for the time that it has taken, between work, and other things, it just turned into a long-ass delay. So my apologies on that. I'm not sure on the update schedule going forward, especially as my work is starting to enter into the compression period of the year. That means more hours and more work. And on the home front trying to batten down the hatches and prepare for the Winter has put a crimp on where I'm trying to balance destressing and writing, and not having a good amount of success for it.
Next chapter is already at 1000 words, but I'm projecting it to be at least 10-15K monstrosity, spread over two to three perspectives. So...maybe American Thanksgiving? I'm hoping that I get three days off in a row coming up. Also, filling out paperwork for going to Japan and ensuring that I have enough money for it is gonna be fun. But that is neither here or there.
I will make a note, that I am making some changes to the Endbringers as a whole. They are not story-shattering, but I feel that in this story, it's better to change a few aspects here or there, and reinforce others for the narrative and story. I'll be posting patch notes at a later date. That is, once I've locked down all of the changes. But there is something here, so I figured forewarned is forearmed.
Sprout 3.1 Part 1
Danny Hebert
"We are once again urging-"
"Turn it off," the terse words escaped his lips before he could stop himself. Kent, their driver, didn't even spare him a look before he turned the dial off on the radio, leaving them in the silence only punctuated by the roar of the diesel engine propelling their semi towards Boston.
It had been seven hours since the Endbringer sirens had gone off, and when they had first sounded, he had been terrified that Brockton Bay was the target. That terror had quickly found itself supplanted by sickening realization as the phone alert system linked to Endbringers announced that Leviathan's target was Boston.
He knew as soon as Leviathan's target had been announced that Taylor would not be able to resist the clarion call to action. Nor was there any way he would be able to talk her out of doing so. They had cleared the air over that weeks ago, even if he still had misgivings about it. But he knew that this was the path his daughter wanted to take in life, and he had promised that he would support her, regardless of his feelings.
So he had steeled his heart and began doing what he did best: organizing the mobilization. It had been determined last week that they would need a minimum of nine semi trailers, with one being a flatbed in order to transport the Titan, as it was too large for an enclosed trailer. Three more trailers would carry the other machines in their enclosed shipping containers with additional fuel cells. After that, two more trailers would contain spare parts for the machines and store the chemicals that were used to convert biomatter into blaze.
And while the first six trailers revolved around the logistics necessary to support the machines' operation for two weeks, the last three trailers carried supplies that would be worth their weight in gold after an Endbringer battle: food, water, clothing, toiletries, sanitation products, and tools to help with the cleanup. It could not possibly match what Taylor was about to do, but to those who were just likely robbed of the essentials of modern civilization it would be a balm for the soul.
Speaking of which, he turned his head back to where Taylor was sitting in the back of the cab, sitting beside Quentin Tate, both of them poring over a laptop. They were talking with one another in hushed whispers as Taylor motioned towards something and Quentin nodded along with her.
He was worried about her. She had only gotten to sleep three hours before the Endbringer sirens had gone off, having just fixed the bug in the Titan's communication protocols. He knew that she was exhausted, and he had tried to get her to rest, but she had been adamant to monitor everything as the machines had loaded up. Her solution to her exhaustion had been to have one of her employees raid a nearby convenience store for energy drinks and stock her up. Even as she talked to Quentin, she took a sip from one of them.
Taking a deep breath, he turned his head back to the front, looking at the bumper-to-bumper traffic in the other lane, moving away from Boston. He had heard enough from the radio to know that the situation in Boston was bad. Usually, according to Taylor, attacks by Leviathan were provided with a small warning, usually no more than thirty minutes to an hour, just enough time for the Protectorate to begin to mobilize capes to attempt to repel the Endbringer. Only it seemed that Leviathan had provided less than fifteen minutes warning this time, leaving the defense of Boston woefully unprepared.
It was only because of Taylor's ability to glean information, and the few reports that were being shared via the radio going in, that they were able to peace together a glimpse of what had happened in Boston after that. But it took nearly an hour and a half of fighting before the Endbringer was finally driven off. But details were sparse, because there were issues getting any communications out of Boston whatsoever. Taylor was unsure of why, but only that it seemed to affect the Greater Boston area.
But these details were all beside the point, at least to Taylor. What mattered to her was that Boston had been devastated and there were likely thousands trapped in debris within the city. This was the very reason she had pushed so hard for the production of her machines to make a difference now instead of later.
He could only watch as his daughter suddenly reached up and tapped her ear.
"Jean, It's Taylor. Any news on Alain?"
The resultant frown told him just what the answer was.
"Okay, I'll look into it. I need you to do some things for me. I need you to reach out to the PRT, FEMA, FAA and the National Guard──No, I haven't had any luck contacting anyone, I'm hoping you can use Far Zenith's connections to get ahold of someone who can make decisions. Let them know what's on its way, and also find out if they need mobile network support, the Titan can link in quite a lot more if need be. Finally, see if you can find out if any drones are being deployed to Boston──Yeah, we're on the same page. If they have datalinks we can route them through the Titan and improve SAR efficiency. After that, see if you can get ahold of anyone with the Guild.──Yeah, Dragon. I tried reaching out to her but I'm only getting silence."
She stopped to listen to Jean, taking another sip from her energy drink. The fact that his daughter had apparently added a satellite uplink to her Focus was not even a surprise to him anymore. He had become inured at the various 'miracles' his daughter had become capable of.
"No, that's fine. I'll see what I can do on my end once we get to Boston. Look, I know you don't want to hear this, but we need to start diverting everything we can towards Hathor-model Focus production. The situation in Boston is a lot worse than I expected."
She paused, and tapped her Focus, and Jean's voice came through the satellite phone's speaker, allowing everyone to hear it in the cab.
"-Taylor, we've already had this discussion before you left. We're already stretched thinly as is, both in materials and manpower. If we divert production towards the Focus, we're going to have to reduce production on spare machine parts. We just don't have enough people to go around, and overtime as it is, is already going to be ruinous. And even if we start looking towards Focus production, the best we can manage is maybe one hundred units every three to four days..."
His daughter didn't say anything for a moment, instead closing her eyes, and he wondered exactly what she was going to say to that. He was firmly aware of the financial situation of the company, Jean constantly harped at him about it, because Taylor refused to listen to her.
"I know the timetables we are looking at to change production back to Foci, Jean. It can't be helped, but we only have five hundred of these as is, and it is not going to be enough, especially if my suspicions on why Boston's communications are down are right," she paused, chewing her lip, "Medhall isn't going to be any help, they are still a few months out on their first production run, and that's for the Horus model. What about the additions to the production team we had on standby, can we tap into them?"
"Taylor, we don't have the money for that. And even if you add them, that's maybe going to bump production up maybe another fifty to a hundred units in the same timeframe. Taylor, I think we need to settle on what we have."
"Can you reach out to Gene for me?"
There was a long pause from the other end, Jean, like himself, trying to figure out what Taylor was working towards.
"I can. May I ask why?"
Taylor was silent, turning her head and looking out the window, her expression inscrutable.
"Ask him," she hesitated, her head turning upwards to the roof of the semi, as if she were seeking divine providence, "ask him what it would take for him to provide an additional two million dollars."
Jean's silence on the other end was telling. Two million dollars was still quite a lot of money, even in the shadow of the money provided to start up Zero Dawn.
"Taylor, the company is already collateral for the startup loans. There is nothing we have on hand that we can offer that could back a request for that sum of money. Not to mention how it would make us look unreliable with our money. That is not the optics that you want or need as a new corporation. And even if you could get the money, it won't make a difference for those currently buried. They will be long dead before we can field any more units, Foci or otherwise, even if we could ramp up production now. You'd be better off seeing if he'd donate money for additional supplies for survivors."
To his surprise, Taylor didn't immediately answer, even though her expression suggested she was about to start arguing with Jean. Instead, she was silent, and he watched as she chewed the inside of her cheek, indicating both she was thinking about it, but also not liking what she was thinking.
"Taylor," Quentin spoke, but she shook her head towards him and he quieted.
"Okay, Jean. You're right," she reached up and massaged her face, exhaustion creeping through in her expression and body language, "why couldn't Leviathan give us another two or three weeks? I could have gotten us more money for additional Hathors and finished development of the Ptah. Reach out to Gene, see what you can get from him, you know him better than I do, if it's aid we can get, do it. I know we can get grants, and we will need machines going forward, especially if we want to help with Boston, but you are right, we need to focus on the most immediate impact we can provide right now."
Again, silence met them, before finally Jean answered, "I'm sorry, Taylor. I know you didn't want to hear that from me, but it needed to be said. I'll ask. I think Gene will be open to at least helping with the aid. But any more than that is going to be a tall order, I can at least get them to focus on maybe a few more spare parts, but anything larger is going to require another cash infusion we can't really afford to take loans on."
"And I appreciate it. We're all trying our best here. Just talk to him, see what he says. If he wants some sort of guarantee, I'll find a way, Jean," Taylor said after a pause, "just start shaking the trees for me. If it comes down to it, I'll do what I have to."
"I'll see what I can do, Taylor. I better get to work. Good luck."
"Same to you, Jean."
She then tapped her focus, and placed the sat phone down, taking a deep breath and then releasing it. She glanced up at him, and he wondered what was going through her mind right now. His daughter's single-minded drive for this moment, while admirable, was still a major risk. They hadn't the opportunity to truly test any of this, only Taylor's constant assurance that it would work driving this. If something went wrong, or worse, it failed completely, it would be devastating.
"Taylor-"
"I know," she cut him off, rubbing her tired eyes, "but we're looking at thousands, possibly tens of thousands, trapped. It will take days to get specialized SAR assets into the area thanks to the damage done to Logan. They'll probably shift a carrier battle group and the Comfort to assist, along with whatever heavy-lift rotor-wing aircraft they can scrape up. Anything that gives us an edge and saves even another life is not off the table. But for at least the next twenty-four hours we are on our own!"
"What about the Protectorate?"
She laughed bitterly, "Endbringer truces only last seventy-two to ninety-six hours from the first alert, depending upon the Endbringer and the target. Just enough time for the capes to fight, lick their wounds, collect their dead, and go back home for business as usual. There isn't even a dedicated unit to help with disaster relief, and because of politics, FEMA can't poach or even request capes who would be useful in disaster assistance. It's largely left to independent volunteers and capes that live in the affected area to pick up the pieces."
"Oh," and that's really all he could say on the matter. He was still learning as he went, this was still far outside his wheelhouse. The fact that Taylor was this well informed only lent credence that she had a far better understanding of the situation and that was why she was so adamant in producing more machines.
But it could be handled better, he felt. Jean had just as salient of a point in the fact that Zero Dawn was stretched thin financially, even with the sales beginning to come in from the materials sales, it was still not enough for the type of large expenditure Taylor was lobbying for. Yet at the same time, Taylor knew more of what was needed than he did.
It did help, however, that at least they were now communicating. Previously, he would have been unprepared for Taylor's request, but they had talked over the last week about what could take place and what contingencies she was planning for.
Honestly, it was amazing that she was planning so far in depth for what may or may not happen.
But even this was bordering on cataclysmic. Taylor's models had been good, but they didn't hold a candle to the reports that had been able to come out of Boston. The lack of sufficient warning had left many unable to reach the safety of shelter before Leviathan struck, stranding far too many to the mercies of the waves that were a staple of the Endbringer's attacks.
Taylor, however, had not been interested in that, as callous as that sounded. She was more interested in the status of Logan International Airport. The entire time they had been gathering together, she had been adamant to know exactly what its status was.
It had only been as they were getting into the semis, that they received the news that Logan International was, for all intents and purposes, completely gone. It had been the direct path of Leviathan, and the Endbringer had not excluded the airport from its wrath in its course for the center of Boston..
The way Taylor's face had closed off said enough.
Before he could say anything more, they were interrupted by Kent.
"Hey boss, state patrol up ahead, they're blocking the road."
He turned away from his daughter to look out the windshield, and sure enough, on the straight-away that would pass by the Randolph exits, was a single state patrol car sitting in the middle of the road, its lights flashing illuminating its surroundings in the fading light, with a wooden barricade set up to further block the road and force them on a path to take the exit to the right.
Taylor had moved up into the cabin and looked out, even as the semi slowed down.
"Pull up to them," Danny finally said, already drawing a picture that he was not necessarily liking. The only reason they would be shutting Route 24 down was either damage down the line, which was unlikely with the oncoming traffic in the other lane of the expressway, or they were trying to control what was coming into Boston.
Coming to a stop in the left lane of the expressway, Danny proceeded to get out of the truck, Taylorhot on his heels as he walked towards the trooper. By the reaction of the trooper, that was probably not the best way considering how he tensed, his expression wary.
"Officer," he called out.
"Sir, I need you to get back in the semi and turn off into Randolph," a young state trooper approached, his hand resting upon his sidearm, but not drawing it yet, but the threat was evident, "no unauthorized vehicles are allowed beyond this point."
"Officer, we're here to help. I'm Danny Hebert of Zero Dawn Technologies out of Brockton Bay. I have behind me nine semi-trailers with rescue equipment and humanitarian aid for Boston. We set out to help as soon as we got the word."
"I'm sorry sir, but my orders are clear. I cannot allow you to pass."
"Can you at least-"
"I'm sorry sir, but again I can't allow you any further."
"May I speak with your supervisor? I'm sure that we can work something out to get these supplies to Boston."
There was a pause from the trooper, as he seemed to be looking for something. Whatever it was that he was looking for he found as his shoulders slumped slightly, his hand moving away from the sidearm.
"There is no supervisor, sir," he admitted, exhaustion and resignation lacing his tone, "Leviathan knocked out communications from Boston, what we are getting is spotty at best, and my orders are to shut down Route 24 to all non-essential vehicles. I have my orders sir. I'm sorry."
I can't violate those orders, sir. I'm sorry."
It was beginning to look much worse than any of Taylor's models, he realized with horror, the implications readily obvious. Without consistent communications, whatever response and coordination coming from Boston was going to be a mess at best. It meant that currently every single command was doing their own things according to their own operating procedure, and many of them likely had procedures that interfered with others.
Which meant that a lot of people were going to die.
"What's your name, son," he asked sincerely. He couldn't even fathom what must be going through the trooper's head right now. An Endbringer attack in Boston, and he was forced to shut down a road outside of the city, without any real idea of what was going on, the only thing he was left with were his orders and his own thoughts. He didn't envy the trooper.
"Waldren, sir," the trooper replied stiffly.
"I understand you have your orders, but this is aid to an Endbringer disaster area. Is there any way I can convince you to let us through, Trooper Waldren?"
The man hesitated for a moment. It was obvious to anyone he was caught between doing the right thing and following the orders he had been given. And for a moment, he thought he had gotten through to the trooper, before the man finally shook his head.
"Sorry, sir. I can't. I'm going to once again ask you to turn your convoy into Randolph. If you are offering aid to Boston, then talk with the authorities there. They can likely coordinate something with you. But I have to keep this route closed to all non-essential vehicles."
"Okay, son," he replied, holding back a sigh of resignation at the failure to reach the man. He hated it, but he could also understand the trooper's plight and couldn't hold it against him in this situation. So he turned around, and he found Taylor was already walking back towards the semi with fast, purposeful strides.
He then turned, and found Taylor was already walking towards the semi with fast, purposeful strides.
Ah shit, he thought, even as he started jogging after her. He had just caught up with her as she opened the door to the semi.
"Kent, signal the rest of the trucks, unload now. Quentin, get out here, we're going to have to improvise."
She then started towards the back of the semi, even as a "Fuck," escaped from the cab courtesy of Quentin. Kent himself began talking into his radio, obviously passing Taylor's orders.
"Taylor," he started, barely keeping up with her stride as she moved, "what are you doing?"
"What does it look like," she shot back, "if they won't let us through, I'll just go around."
"Go around," he repeated, and everything clicked into place, and he fought the urge to panic, "Taylor it's nearly twenty miles to Boston."
"Which I can cover in an hour with the LRL," she returned, coming to a stop at the back of the tarp, reaching up with her hands. Her fingers began moving as if she were typing, occasionally stopping to swipe her hand in the air. He didn't know exactly what she was doing, but with her Focus she had what she referred to as an augmented reality system that allowed her to interact with devices freely without needing a computer.
"Taylor, that isn't what we planned for. You told me that you needed a forward base so you could resupply and maintain the units. If you do this, you won't have any of that logistical support for god knows how long."
She paused, her hands hanging in the air.
"I know," she finally breathed, "but I'm not going to be deterred, Dad. If I can save even one life, then the cost is worth it. I couldn't live with myself otherwise."
He wanted to yell at her. He wanted to scream at her. To tell her that this was a mistake, that her life was worth more than anyone that she could save. But instead, he kept it back, because he knew it would be pointless. This was his daughter in a nutshell, she didn't care about the personal cost to her, all that mattered to her was that she was able to save lives.
Instead, he sighed, placing a hand on her shoulder, "Okay," he finally said, "What do we need to do?"
"The energy demands for this run are going to push the envelope on projections, we're going to have to lash as many extra fuel cells as we can to the Titan. It's a stopgap measure, but until we can get more support, it's the best option available. When I get to the disaster area, I should be able to get someone to actually let you guys through. Just wait for me."
He frowned, not liking what his daughter was saying. He intellectually understood what she was working towards, but the father in him did not like hearing it.
"Taylor, let me go with you," he pleaded, knowing that ordering her would achieve nothing. The idea that his daughter was planning to go alone into a disaster area was nearly too much. Why couldn't she just do the safe thing and wait?
Before she could answer, Quentin came up to them, the laptop in hand, "What do you need of me, Taylor?"
"I need you to do one more review of the stowed Focuses on the Titan. I have some suspicions as to why the trooper is only getting sporadic communications from Boston, and if it's true we'll need every single one of them ready to go."
"Roger that," the man nodded, turning back towards the cab, even as he began getting back to work on the laptop. As he did that, several men that had ridden along on the semis were congregating around them.
"Okay," Taylor called out, her voice carrying in air that might as well be still, "we're debarking the machines. We'll start with the Titan first, then the Watchers and Scrappers, and finally the Charger. I need you guys to ensure that they get off safely. We won't be able to unload any of the supplies or replacement parts for more than likely twenty-four hours, so make sure they don't get dinged. Ramirez, Brown, Eaton, and Yaxley, I need you to lash as many Fuel Cells to the Titan as you can as soon as we get it off the semi. We're going to have to do all of this on the fly, so let's do it right the first time, okay?"
The corresponding calls of acknowledgement caused him to swell with pride. Even at fifteen years old, she seemed to have taken the best of him, and combined it with the force of will of Annette, and shaping it into something uniquely her own. When she was like this, she had the presence that could make men and women triple her age snap to attention and follow her command without a question.
Satisfied her orders were out and getting done, she turned to him, providing him an answer to his question, "I need you here, Dad. On the sat phone with Jean and letting her know what's going on. I need you ready to move all of this on a moment's notice, these men and women respect you and will move through hell for you."
"They'll do the same for you, Taylor."
"But I need to be out there, guiding the machines, Dad. Even with all of the effort I have put into making them capable of independent action, it has to be a human hand that gives them their orders. I can't do that if I know I won't have reinforcements when we finally get the green light to move in the supplies."
"Don't move!"
Both of their head snapped towards the highway patrolman, who had moved up on them, but he had his gun in hand, drawn and leveled upon them, even as his eyes darted towards the Titan as the canvas had been removed from the storage container, and it was bared for all to see.
"What the fuck is this," the trooper demanded.
"Rescue equipment," Taylor turned towards him, "I'm Taylor Hebert, CEO of Zero Dawn Technologies. I am also Alloy, an independent cape. These machines are meant to assist in search and rescue. And under the Endbringer Truce, you are illegally obstructing a cape attempting to render aid to a disaster area."
"And what's-"
"Sir, I did not spend spend the last month and almost ten million dollars putting this together in some sort of convoluted attempt at suicide. I'm here to save lives," she then paused as a Burrower skulked up beside her, the machine being disturbingly quiet in its approach, "and you're in my way."
For a moment, he worried that Taylor had pushed too hard as the trooper's expression hardened for a moment. But then his features softened as he slowly lowered his weapon, his shoulders sagging slightly in what could only be described as relief.
.
"You're actually going to help," he asked.
"I am."
A few more moments of silence met them, before he nodded, "Alright. I'll let you through."
The trooper then turned and headed back to the roadblock, leaving them alone. But before he could say anything to Taylor, she moved towards the back of the second rig and he found himself following her.
"Ethan, you have it?"
"Yes, Taylor," came the response of Ethan, who handed her a thick jacket, one that not only provided warmth, but by its weave, it was also meant to provide protection. Taylor slipped off the slight jacket she was wearing and handed it to him, before putting the new one on.
"Taylor, what are you doing," he asked.
"I'm going on ahead," she stated as she zipped up the jacket, "Keep unloading, Ethan."
"Right, ma'am."
Instead of being angry as Ethan moved to rejoin the others, he sighed, knowing that the decision was already made, but even if that was true, it was his job as a father to try and convince her otherwise. Even if he didn't even think it was the wrong decision.
"Taylor, if you stay with us, we can reach the staging point that they are likely putting together and set up. That way you won't have to worry about supplies, and we can start coordinating with local law enforcement and anyone else."
The shake of her head told him all that he needed to know, as she reached into the bag and pulled out an odd device. It was a breathing mask of some kind, but one that he didn't recognize. She unclasped the strap, reaching up and securing it behind her head, leaving the mask to rest around her neck.
"If they are shutting Route 24 off at Randolph, that means that they are likely using I-93 as a main supply route. By breaking off, I can reach whatever command center they have set up long before the convoy could get there and arrange things. That way we can get set up before nightfall and get our orders on what to do. But I have to go now, especially if they are trying to control traffic into 93, with my machines, I can follow the interstate without getting caught in any of the traffic."
She then paused, looking towards him, "I just want to save lives, Dad. And every minute saved could be the difference for a lot of trapped people."
His heart leapt in pride, even as it was tempered by fear. His daughter's singular focus on saving lives had driven them to this point, and it appeared that it would keep driving them damn the consequences. He honestly could not be more proud of her if he could.
"You'll be alone out there, Taylor. We won't be able to back you up if something goes wrong."
Taylor's silence was telling, because it told him that she was at least listening. Even if he knew, deep down, that it was an exercise in futility.
"Being smart will count for nothing if you don't make the world better. You have to use your smarts to count for something, to serve life, not death."
"What?"
She shook her head, "I'm sorry. It's something that I keep thinking about in all of this. I have all this knowledge Dad, but if I don't use it, then what is the point? I'm the only person who can do this, right here, right now. Not a week from now, when it may be too late for dozens and maybe hundreds."
She zipped up the jacket, her expression resolute.
"I couldn't live with myself if I didn't do this."
He didn't say anything, because honestly, what was there to say? Instead, he pulled his daughter into a bone-crushing hug, trying to ignore the tears starting to trek down his face.
"Okay, Little Owl," he said softly, trying not to choke on his words, "I'm not going to stop. Just be careful and keep in contact."
"I can do you one better," she responded, leaving him confused, before opening a case she extracted from the duffel bag, opening it up to him.
"Taylor, I-," he lost his words looking at the Focus currently resting in the case before him.
"It's not as powerful or as customized as mine, but it will run circles around all of the ones on the Titan. I've disabled most of the user-side inputs, so everything needs to be accessed through manipulating the augmented reality interface. I don't recommend moving while doing that until you are comfortable doing so."
"Taylor. Why are you doing this? You know I'm pants with this technology."
"That's why the controls are simplified," was her response, still holding it out to him even in spite of his protests, "I have it paired to my device, so you can access what I am seeing on choice. That way you know what I am doing and how I am doing."
He stared at the device again, before looking back to his daughter. Unlike before, he took the time to truly take her in, knowing the efforts that must have gone into this. In recent weeks, he had begun to really learn just how to read his daughter, despite her own efforts to hide it. And right now, in spite of her attempts to appear calm, she was an open and ready book despite his inability to see her eyes.
There was hope there, even in spite of the fact that he had already given her his blessing, that he would readily embrace what she was doing. Not out of grudging admittance that he had no choice, that she would bull through him regardless, but ready acceptance.
In spite of the tough front she put up, deep down, she was still that fifteen year old teenager looking for acceptance from her sole remaining parental figure.
It was too much, as he surged forward and wrapped her into a hug. Sure, it was maybe a bit too much, hugging his daughter out in public like this, but he couldn't help himself at the pride he felt in her. It had been a worry not three weeks ago that her would lose her, that to see her now, going to such extents to include him.
"I'm proud of you," he said, and his daughter stiffened in his hug, before relaxing slightly. He then released her after a few moments, stepping back slightly.
"Okay, show me how to use this."
I would like to note, for those of you who missed the update, that this story now has a Discord. So feel free to come on down and join in.
discord.gg
Next chapter is already at 1000 words, but I'm projecting it to be at least 10-15K monstrosity, spread over two to three perspectives. So...maybe American Thanksgiving? I'm hoping that I get three days off in a row coming up. Also, filling out paperwork for going to Japan and ensuring that I have enough money for it is gonna be fun. But that is neither here or there.
I will make a note, that I am making some changes to the Endbringers as a whole. They are not story-shattering, but I feel that in this story, it's better to change a few aspects here or there, and reinforce others for the narrative and story. I'll be posting patch notes at a later date. That is, once I've locked down all of the changes. But there is something here, so I figured forewarned is forearmed.
Sprout 3.1 Part 1
Danny Hebert
"We are once again urging-"
"Turn it off," the terse words escaped his lips before he could stop himself. Kent, their driver, didn't even spare him a look before he turned the dial off on the radio, leaving them in the silence only punctuated by the roar of the diesel engine propelling their semi towards Boston.
It had been seven hours since the Endbringer sirens had gone off, and when they had first sounded, he had been terrified that Brockton Bay was the target. That terror had quickly found itself supplanted by sickening realization as the phone alert system linked to Endbringers announced that Leviathan's target was Boston.
He knew as soon as Leviathan's target had been announced that Taylor would not be able to resist the clarion call to action. Nor was there any way he would be able to talk her out of doing so. They had cleared the air over that weeks ago, even if he still had misgivings about it. But he knew that this was the path his daughter wanted to take in life, and he had promised that he would support her, regardless of his feelings.
So he had steeled his heart and began doing what he did best: organizing the mobilization. It had been determined last week that they would need a minimum of nine semi trailers, with one being a flatbed in order to transport the Titan, as it was too large for an enclosed trailer. Three more trailers would carry the other machines in their enclosed shipping containers with additional fuel cells. After that, two more trailers would contain spare parts for the machines and store the chemicals that were used to convert biomatter into blaze.
And while the first six trailers revolved around the logistics necessary to support the machines' operation for two weeks, the last three trailers carried supplies that would be worth their weight in gold after an Endbringer battle: food, water, clothing, toiletries, sanitation products, and tools to help with the cleanup. It could not possibly match what Taylor was about to do, but to those who were just likely robbed of the essentials of modern civilization it would be a balm for the soul.
Speaking of which, he turned his head back to where Taylor was sitting in the back of the cab, sitting beside Quentin Tate, both of them poring over a laptop. They were talking with one another in hushed whispers as Taylor motioned towards something and Quentin nodded along with her.
He was worried about her. She had only gotten to sleep three hours before the Endbringer sirens had gone off, having just fixed the bug in the Titan's communication protocols. He knew that she was exhausted, and he had tried to get her to rest, but she had been adamant to monitor everything as the machines had loaded up. Her solution to her exhaustion had been to have one of her employees raid a nearby convenience store for energy drinks and stock her up. Even as she talked to Quentin, she took a sip from one of them.
Taking a deep breath, he turned his head back to the front, looking at the bumper-to-bumper traffic in the other lane, moving away from Boston. He had heard enough from the radio to know that the situation in Boston was bad. Usually, according to Taylor, attacks by Leviathan were provided with a small warning, usually no more than thirty minutes to an hour, just enough time for the Protectorate to begin to mobilize capes to attempt to repel the Endbringer. Only it seemed that Leviathan had provided less than fifteen minutes warning this time, leaving the defense of Boston woefully unprepared.
It was only because of Taylor's ability to glean information, and the few reports that were being shared via the radio going in, that they were able to peace together a glimpse of what had happened in Boston after that. But it took nearly an hour and a half of fighting before the Endbringer was finally driven off. But details were sparse, because there were issues getting any communications out of Boston whatsoever. Taylor was unsure of why, but only that it seemed to affect the Greater Boston area.
But these details were all beside the point, at least to Taylor. What mattered to her was that Boston had been devastated and there were likely thousands trapped in debris within the city. This was the very reason she had pushed so hard for the production of her machines to make a difference now instead of later.
He could only watch as his daughter suddenly reached up and tapped her ear.
"Jean, It's Taylor. Any news on Alain?"
The resultant frown told him just what the answer was.
"Okay, I'll look into it. I need you to do some things for me. I need you to reach out to the PRT, FEMA, FAA and the National Guard──No, I haven't had any luck contacting anyone, I'm hoping you can use Far Zenith's connections to get ahold of someone who can make decisions. Let them know what's on its way, and also find out if they need mobile network support, the Titan can link in quite a lot more if need be. Finally, see if you can find out if any drones are being deployed to Boston──Yeah, we're on the same page. If they have datalinks we can route them through the Titan and improve SAR efficiency. After that, see if you can get ahold of anyone with the Guild.──Yeah, Dragon. I tried reaching out to her but I'm only getting silence."
She stopped to listen to Jean, taking another sip from her energy drink. The fact that his daughter had apparently added a satellite uplink to her Focus was not even a surprise to him anymore. He had become inured at the various 'miracles' his daughter had become capable of.
"No, that's fine. I'll see what I can do on my end once we get to Boston. Look, I know you don't want to hear this, but we need to start diverting everything we can towards Hathor-model Focus production. The situation in Boston is a lot worse than I expected."
She paused, and tapped her Focus, and Jean's voice came through the satellite phone's speaker, allowing everyone to hear it in the cab.
"-Taylor, we've already had this discussion before you left. We're already stretched thinly as is, both in materials and manpower. If we divert production towards the Focus, we're going to have to reduce production on spare machine parts. We just don't have enough people to go around, and overtime as it is, is already going to be ruinous. And even if we start looking towards Focus production, the best we can manage is maybe one hundred units every three to four days..."
His daughter didn't say anything for a moment, instead closing her eyes, and he wondered exactly what she was going to say to that. He was firmly aware of the financial situation of the company, Jean constantly harped at him about it, because Taylor refused to listen to her.
"I know the timetables we are looking at to change production back to Foci, Jean. It can't be helped, but we only have five hundred of these as is, and it is not going to be enough, especially if my suspicions on why Boston's communications are down are right," she paused, chewing her lip, "Medhall isn't going to be any help, they are still a few months out on their first production run, and that's for the Horus model. What about the additions to the production team we had on standby, can we tap into them?"
"Taylor, we don't have the money for that. And even if you add them, that's maybe going to bump production up maybe another fifty to a hundred units in the same timeframe. Taylor, I think we need to settle on what we have."
"Can you reach out to Gene for me?"
There was a long pause from the other end, Jean, like himself, trying to figure out what Taylor was working towards.
"I can. May I ask why?"
Taylor was silent, turning her head and looking out the window, her expression inscrutable.
"Ask him," she hesitated, her head turning upwards to the roof of the semi, as if she were seeking divine providence, "ask him what it would take for him to provide an additional two million dollars."
Jean's silence on the other end was telling. Two million dollars was still quite a lot of money, even in the shadow of the money provided to start up Zero Dawn.
"Taylor, the company is already collateral for the startup loans. There is nothing we have on hand that we can offer that could back a request for that sum of money. Not to mention how it would make us look unreliable with our money. That is not the optics that you want or need as a new corporation. And even if you could get the money, it won't make a difference for those currently buried. They will be long dead before we can field any more units, Foci or otherwise, even if we could ramp up production now. You'd be better off seeing if he'd donate money for additional supplies for survivors."
To his surprise, Taylor didn't immediately answer, even though her expression suggested she was about to start arguing with Jean. Instead, she was silent, and he watched as she chewed the inside of her cheek, indicating both she was thinking about it, but also not liking what she was thinking.
"Taylor," Quentin spoke, but she shook her head towards him and he quieted.
"Okay, Jean. You're right," she reached up and massaged her face, exhaustion creeping through in her expression and body language, "why couldn't Leviathan give us another two or three weeks? I could have gotten us more money for additional Hathors and finished development of the Ptah. Reach out to Gene, see what you can get from him, you know him better than I do, if it's aid we can get, do it. I know we can get grants, and we will need machines going forward, especially if we want to help with Boston, but you are right, we need to focus on the most immediate impact we can provide right now."
Again, silence met them, before finally Jean answered, "I'm sorry, Taylor. I know you didn't want to hear that from me, but it needed to be said. I'll ask. I think Gene will be open to at least helping with the aid. But any more than that is going to be a tall order, I can at least get them to focus on maybe a few more spare parts, but anything larger is going to require another cash infusion we can't really afford to take loans on."
"And I appreciate it. We're all trying our best here. Just talk to him, see what he says. If he wants some sort of guarantee, I'll find a way, Jean," Taylor said after a pause, "just start shaking the trees for me. If it comes down to it, I'll do what I have to."
"I'll see what I can do, Taylor. I better get to work. Good luck."
"Same to you, Jean."
She then tapped her focus, and placed the sat phone down, taking a deep breath and then releasing it. She glanced up at him, and he wondered what was going through her mind right now. His daughter's single-minded drive for this moment, while admirable, was still a major risk. They hadn't the opportunity to truly test any of this, only Taylor's constant assurance that it would work driving this. If something went wrong, or worse, it failed completely, it would be devastating.
"Taylor-"
"I know," she cut him off, rubbing her tired eyes, "but we're looking at thousands, possibly tens of thousands, trapped. It will take days to get specialized SAR assets into the area thanks to the damage done to Logan. They'll probably shift a carrier battle group and the Comfort to assist, along with whatever heavy-lift rotor-wing aircraft they can scrape up. Anything that gives us an edge and saves even another life is not off the table. But for at least the next twenty-four hours we are on our own!"
"What about the Protectorate?"
She laughed bitterly, "Endbringer truces only last seventy-two to ninety-six hours from the first alert, depending upon the Endbringer and the target. Just enough time for the capes to fight, lick their wounds, collect their dead, and go back home for business as usual. There isn't even a dedicated unit to help with disaster relief, and because of politics, FEMA can't poach or even request capes who would be useful in disaster assistance. It's largely left to independent volunteers and capes that live in the affected area to pick up the pieces."
"Oh," and that's really all he could say on the matter. He was still learning as he went, this was still far outside his wheelhouse. The fact that Taylor was this well informed only lent credence that she had a far better understanding of the situation and that was why she was so adamant in producing more machines.
But it could be handled better, he felt. Jean had just as salient of a point in the fact that Zero Dawn was stretched thin financially, even with the sales beginning to come in from the materials sales, it was still not enough for the type of large expenditure Taylor was lobbying for. Yet at the same time, Taylor knew more of what was needed than he did.
It did help, however, that at least they were now communicating. Previously, he would have been unprepared for Taylor's request, but they had talked over the last week about what could take place and what contingencies she was planning for.
Honestly, it was amazing that she was planning so far in depth for what may or may not happen.
But even this was bordering on cataclysmic. Taylor's models had been good, but they didn't hold a candle to the reports that had been able to come out of Boston. The lack of sufficient warning had left many unable to reach the safety of shelter before Leviathan struck, stranding far too many to the mercies of the waves that were a staple of the Endbringer's attacks.
Taylor, however, had not been interested in that, as callous as that sounded. She was more interested in the status of Logan International Airport. The entire time they had been gathering together, she had been adamant to know exactly what its status was.
It had only been as they were getting into the semis, that they received the news that Logan International was, for all intents and purposes, completely gone. It had been the direct path of Leviathan, and the Endbringer had not excluded the airport from its wrath in its course for the center of Boston..
The way Taylor's face had closed off said enough.
Before he could say anything more, they were interrupted by Kent.
"Hey boss, state patrol up ahead, they're blocking the road."
He turned away from his daughter to look out the windshield, and sure enough, on the straight-away that would pass by the Randolph exits, was a single state patrol car sitting in the middle of the road, its lights flashing illuminating its surroundings in the fading light, with a wooden barricade set up to further block the road and force them on a path to take the exit to the right.
Taylor had moved up into the cabin and looked out, even as the semi slowed down.
"Pull up to them," Danny finally said, already drawing a picture that he was not necessarily liking. The only reason they would be shutting Route 24 down was either damage down the line, which was unlikely with the oncoming traffic in the other lane of the expressway, or they were trying to control what was coming into Boston.
Coming to a stop in the left lane of the expressway, Danny proceeded to get out of the truck, Taylorhot on his heels as he walked towards the trooper. By the reaction of the trooper, that was probably not the best way considering how he tensed, his expression wary.
"Officer," he called out.
"Sir, I need you to get back in the semi and turn off into Randolph," a young state trooper approached, his hand resting upon his sidearm, but not drawing it yet, but the threat was evident, "no unauthorized vehicles are allowed beyond this point."
"Officer, we're here to help. I'm Danny Hebert of Zero Dawn Technologies out of Brockton Bay. I have behind me nine semi-trailers with rescue equipment and humanitarian aid for Boston. We set out to help as soon as we got the word."
"I'm sorry sir, but my orders are clear. I cannot allow you to pass."
"Can you at least-"
"I'm sorry sir, but again I can't allow you any further."
"May I speak with your supervisor? I'm sure that we can work something out to get these supplies to Boston."
There was a pause from the trooper, as he seemed to be looking for something. Whatever it was that he was looking for he found as his shoulders slumped slightly, his hand moving away from the sidearm.
"There is no supervisor, sir," he admitted, exhaustion and resignation lacing his tone, "Leviathan knocked out communications from Boston, what we are getting is spotty at best, and my orders are to shut down Route 24 to all non-essential vehicles. I have my orders sir. I'm sorry."
I can't violate those orders, sir. I'm sorry."
It was beginning to look much worse than any of Taylor's models, he realized with horror, the implications readily obvious. Without consistent communications, whatever response and coordination coming from Boston was going to be a mess at best. It meant that currently every single command was doing their own things according to their own operating procedure, and many of them likely had procedures that interfered with others.
Which meant that a lot of people were going to die.
"What's your name, son," he asked sincerely. He couldn't even fathom what must be going through the trooper's head right now. An Endbringer attack in Boston, and he was forced to shut down a road outside of the city, without any real idea of what was going on, the only thing he was left with were his orders and his own thoughts. He didn't envy the trooper.
"Waldren, sir," the trooper replied stiffly.
"I understand you have your orders, but this is aid to an Endbringer disaster area. Is there any way I can convince you to let us through, Trooper Waldren?"
The man hesitated for a moment. It was obvious to anyone he was caught between doing the right thing and following the orders he had been given. And for a moment, he thought he had gotten through to the trooper, before the man finally shook his head.
"Sorry, sir. I can't. I'm going to once again ask you to turn your convoy into Randolph. If you are offering aid to Boston, then talk with the authorities there. They can likely coordinate something with you. But I have to keep this route closed to all non-essential vehicles."
"Okay, son," he replied, holding back a sigh of resignation at the failure to reach the man. He hated it, but he could also understand the trooper's plight and couldn't hold it against him in this situation. So he turned around, and he found Taylor was already walking back towards the semi with fast, purposeful strides.
He then turned, and found Taylor was already walking towards the semi with fast, purposeful strides.
Ah shit, he thought, even as he started jogging after her. He had just caught up with her as she opened the door to the semi.
"Kent, signal the rest of the trucks, unload now. Quentin, get out here, we're going to have to improvise."
She then started towards the back of the semi, even as a "Fuck," escaped from the cab courtesy of Quentin. Kent himself began talking into his radio, obviously passing Taylor's orders.
"Taylor," he started, barely keeping up with her stride as she moved, "what are you doing?"
"What does it look like," she shot back, "if they won't let us through, I'll just go around."
"Go around," he repeated, and everything clicked into place, and he fought the urge to panic, "Taylor it's nearly twenty miles to Boston."
"Which I can cover in an hour with the LRL," she returned, coming to a stop at the back of the tarp, reaching up with her hands. Her fingers began moving as if she were typing, occasionally stopping to swipe her hand in the air. He didn't know exactly what she was doing, but with her Focus she had what she referred to as an augmented reality system that allowed her to interact with devices freely without needing a computer.
"Taylor, that isn't what we planned for. You told me that you needed a forward base so you could resupply and maintain the units. If you do this, you won't have any of that logistical support for god knows how long."
She paused, her hands hanging in the air.
"I know," she finally breathed, "but I'm not going to be deterred, Dad. If I can save even one life, then the cost is worth it. I couldn't live with myself otherwise."
He wanted to yell at her. He wanted to scream at her. To tell her that this was a mistake, that her life was worth more than anyone that she could save. But instead, he kept it back, because he knew it would be pointless. This was his daughter in a nutshell, she didn't care about the personal cost to her, all that mattered to her was that she was able to save lives.
Instead, he sighed, placing a hand on her shoulder, "Okay," he finally said, "What do we need to do?"
"The energy demands for this run are going to push the envelope on projections, we're going to have to lash as many extra fuel cells as we can to the Titan. It's a stopgap measure, but until we can get more support, it's the best option available. When I get to the disaster area, I should be able to get someone to actually let you guys through. Just wait for me."
He frowned, not liking what his daughter was saying. He intellectually understood what she was working towards, but the father in him did not like hearing it.
"Taylor, let me go with you," he pleaded, knowing that ordering her would achieve nothing. The idea that his daughter was planning to go alone into a disaster area was nearly too much. Why couldn't she just do the safe thing and wait?
Before she could answer, Quentin came up to them, the laptop in hand, "What do you need of me, Taylor?"
"I need you to do one more review of the stowed Focuses on the Titan. I have some suspicions as to why the trooper is only getting sporadic communications from Boston, and if it's true we'll need every single one of them ready to go."
"Roger that," the man nodded, turning back towards the cab, even as he began getting back to work on the laptop. As he did that, several men that had ridden along on the semis were congregating around them.
"Okay," Taylor called out, her voice carrying in air that might as well be still, "we're debarking the machines. We'll start with the Titan first, then the Watchers and Scrappers, and finally the Charger. I need you guys to ensure that they get off safely. We won't be able to unload any of the supplies or replacement parts for more than likely twenty-four hours, so make sure they don't get dinged. Ramirez, Brown, Eaton, and Yaxley, I need you to lash as many Fuel Cells to the Titan as you can as soon as we get it off the semi. We're going to have to do all of this on the fly, so let's do it right the first time, okay?"
The corresponding calls of acknowledgement caused him to swell with pride. Even at fifteen years old, she seemed to have taken the best of him, and combined it with the force of will of Annette, and shaping it into something uniquely her own. When she was like this, she had the presence that could make men and women triple her age snap to attention and follow her command without a question.
Satisfied her orders were out and getting done, she turned to him, providing him an answer to his question, "I need you here, Dad. On the sat phone with Jean and letting her know what's going on. I need you ready to move all of this on a moment's notice, these men and women respect you and will move through hell for you."
"They'll do the same for you, Taylor."
"But I need to be out there, guiding the machines, Dad. Even with all of the effort I have put into making them capable of independent action, it has to be a human hand that gives them their orders. I can't do that if I know I won't have reinforcements when we finally get the green light to move in the supplies."
"Don't move!"
Both of their head snapped towards the highway patrolman, who had moved up on them, but he had his gun in hand, drawn and leveled upon them, even as his eyes darted towards the Titan as the canvas had been removed from the storage container, and it was bared for all to see.
"What the fuck is this," the trooper demanded.
"Rescue equipment," Taylor turned towards him, "I'm Taylor Hebert, CEO of Zero Dawn Technologies. I am also Alloy, an independent cape. These machines are meant to assist in search and rescue. And under the Endbringer Truce, you are illegally obstructing a cape attempting to render aid to a disaster area."
"And what's-"
"Sir, I did not spend spend the last month and almost ten million dollars putting this together in some sort of convoluted attempt at suicide. I'm here to save lives," she then paused as a Burrower skulked up beside her, the machine being disturbingly quiet in its approach, "and you're in my way."
For a moment, he worried that Taylor had pushed too hard as the trooper's expression hardened for a moment. But then his features softened as he slowly lowered his weapon, his shoulders sagging slightly in what could only be described as relief.
.
"You're actually going to help," he asked.
"I am."
A few more moments of silence met them, before he nodded, "Alright. I'll let you through."
The trooper then turned and headed back to the roadblock, leaving them alone. But before he could say anything to Taylor, she moved towards the back of the second rig and he found himself following her.
"Ethan, you have it?"
"Yes, Taylor," came the response of Ethan, who handed her a thick jacket, one that not only provided warmth, but by its weave, it was also meant to provide protection. Taylor slipped off the slight jacket she was wearing and handed it to him, before putting the new one on.
"Taylor, what are you doing," he asked.
"I'm going on ahead," she stated as she zipped up the jacket, "Keep unloading, Ethan."
"Right, ma'am."
Instead of being angry as Ethan moved to rejoin the others, he sighed, knowing that the decision was already made, but even if that was true, it was his job as a father to try and convince her otherwise. Even if he didn't even think it was the wrong decision.
"Taylor, if you stay with us, we can reach the staging point that they are likely putting together and set up. That way you won't have to worry about supplies, and we can start coordinating with local law enforcement and anyone else."
The shake of her head told him all that he needed to know, as she reached into the bag and pulled out an odd device. It was a breathing mask of some kind, but one that he didn't recognize. She unclasped the strap, reaching up and securing it behind her head, leaving the mask to rest around her neck.
"If they are shutting Route 24 off at Randolph, that means that they are likely using I-93 as a main supply route. By breaking off, I can reach whatever command center they have set up long before the convoy could get there and arrange things. That way we can get set up before nightfall and get our orders on what to do. But I have to go now, especially if they are trying to control traffic into 93, with my machines, I can follow the interstate without getting caught in any of the traffic."
She then paused, looking towards him, "I just want to save lives, Dad. And every minute saved could be the difference for a lot of trapped people."
His heart leapt in pride, even as it was tempered by fear. His daughter's singular focus on saving lives had driven them to this point, and it appeared that it would keep driving them damn the consequences. He honestly could not be more proud of her if he could.
"You'll be alone out there, Taylor. We won't be able to back you up if something goes wrong."
Taylor's silence was telling, because it told him that she was at least listening. Even if he knew, deep down, that it was an exercise in futility.
"Being smart will count for nothing if you don't make the world better. You have to use your smarts to count for something, to serve life, not death."
"What?"
She shook her head, "I'm sorry. It's something that I keep thinking about in all of this. I have all this knowledge Dad, but if I don't use it, then what is the point? I'm the only person who can do this, right here, right now. Not a week from now, when it may be too late for dozens and maybe hundreds."
She zipped up the jacket, her expression resolute.
"I couldn't live with myself if I didn't do this."
He didn't say anything, because honestly, what was there to say? Instead, he pulled his daughter into a bone-crushing hug, trying to ignore the tears starting to trek down his face.
"Okay, Little Owl," he said softly, trying not to choke on his words, "I'm not going to stop. Just be careful and keep in contact."
"I can do you one better," she responded, leaving him confused, before opening a case she extracted from the duffel bag, opening it up to him.
"Taylor, I-," he lost his words looking at the Focus currently resting in the case before him.
"It's not as powerful or as customized as mine, but it will run circles around all of the ones on the Titan. I've disabled most of the user-side inputs, so everything needs to be accessed through manipulating the augmented reality interface. I don't recommend moving while doing that until you are comfortable doing so."
"Taylor. Why are you doing this? You know I'm pants with this technology."
"That's why the controls are simplified," was her response, still holding it out to him even in spite of his protests, "I have it paired to my device, so you can access what I am seeing on choice. That way you know what I am doing and how I am doing."
He stared at the device again, before looking back to his daughter. Unlike before, he took the time to truly take her in, knowing the efforts that must have gone into this. In recent weeks, he had begun to really learn just how to read his daughter, despite her own efforts to hide it. And right now, in spite of her attempts to appear calm, she was an open and ready book despite his inability to see her eyes.
There was hope there, even in spite of the fact that he had already given her his blessing, that he would readily embrace what she was doing. Not out of grudging admittance that he had no choice, that she would bull through him regardless, but ready acceptance.
In spite of the tough front she put up, deep down, she was still that fifteen year old teenager looking for acceptance from her sole remaining parental figure.
It was too much, as he surged forward and wrapped her into a hug. Sure, it was maybe a bit too much, hugging his daughter out in public like this, but he couldn't help himself at the pride he felt in her. It had been a worry not three weeks ago that her would lose her, that to see her now, going to such extents to include him.
"I'm proud of you," he said, and his daughter stiffened in his hug, before relaxing slightly. He then released her after a few moments, stepping back slightly.
"Okay, show me how to use this."
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That trooper hopefully won't be publicly known
That trooper probably just saved a bunch of lives by reacting like a human instead of an automaton. I hope like hell he's recognized as being a part of the solution rather than part of the problem.
Recognized for all the wrong reasons.
"Yeah boss, I kept ZDT out of the city, just like I was supposed to, according to my last orders."
"You idiot. They had supplies, and SAR equipment that would have saved hundreds if not thousands. WTF were you thinking, you should have checked what they had and let 'em through. Nobody is gonna bring three trailers of survival supplies to try and cause trouble. Jesus, I'm working with morons."
Recognized for the right reason.
"Yeah boss, I let ZDT through the roadblock. The let me inspect the trailers. Six with equipment, and three with humanitarian supplies."
"Congratulations officer. You actually used your head and made a good decision. If they'd been empty trailers, or even lightly loaded, they'd probably have been here to loot or cause trouble. Checking and letting 'em in was the right choice. You've got no idea how much impact they've had, and they even boosted our communications abilities. Cell service with them onsite has been fantastic. Following orders blindly isn't what we trained you for. Using your noggin intelligently makes you a much better officer as well as a person. Keep it up."
Recognized for all the wrong reasons.
"Yeah boss, I kept ZDT out of the city, just like I was supposed to, according to my last orders."
"You idiot. They had supplies, and SAR equipment that would have saved hundreds if not thousands. WTF were you thinking, you should have checked what they had and let 'em through. Nobody is gonna bring three trailers of survival supplies to try and cause trouble. Jesus, I'm working with morons."
Recognized for the right reason.
"Yeah boss, I let ZDT through the roadblock. The let me inspect the trailers. Six with equipment, and three with humanitarian supplies."
"Congratulations officer. You actually used your head and made a good decision. If they'd been empty trailers, or even lightly loaded, they'd probably have been here to loot or cause trouble. Checking and letting 'em in was the right choice. You've got no idea how much impact they've had, and they even boosted our communications abilities. Cell service with them onsite has been fantastic. Following orders blindly isn't what we trained you for. Using your noggin intelligently makes you a much better officer as well as a person. Keep it up."
Dr. Thunder
Philosopher-King of Florida
- Location
- USA
- Pronouns
- He/They
Well it's either this or what she did in canon and become Warlord Skitter and this is probably going to end better than that
Well it's either this or what she did in canon and become Warlord Skitter and this is probably going to end better than that
Key word "probably"
TikiTau
Commander Pangolinski
- Location
- Texas
Ah.
The trooper was running on 'this is how Parahumans usually are' rules.
IE, see his utter befuddlement at ZDT -actually being there to help-, not to sneak in and stake out territory or something. And going 'yeah, okay, you can go through'. And the line '. . . You're -actually here to help-.' bit. Yikes. Also good to see Cauldron/the PRT's in-fighting are being 'Helpful'. 'Yeah, FEMA isn't even allowed to ask for volunteers from parahumans who don't want to fight who'd be perfect for disaster relief because HOW DARE THEY TROD UPON OUR REMIT SKRONK!'
(And then Costa-Brown attempted a threat display worthy of a velociraptor at the FEMA director. Her staff switched her to decaff afterwards. It didn't help.)
Also, bringing the mobile communications node to the city that just had all its communications knocked out is going to be Useful...
most importantly, it is Time...FOR ROBOT DINOSAURS AND OR OTHER ANCIENT CRITTERS!
Just the small ones, so far, granted. BUT IT IS A START!
The trooper was running on 'this is how Parahumans usually are' rules.
IE, see his utter befuddlement at ZDT -actually being there to help-, not to sneak in and stake out territory or something. And going 'yeah, okay, you can go through'. And the line '. . . You're -actually here to help-.' bit. Yikes. Also good to see Cauldron/the PRT's in-fighting are being 'Helpful'. 'Yeah, FEMA isn't even allowed to ask for volunteers from parahumans who don't want to fight who'd be perfect for disaster relief because HOW DARE THEY TROD UPON OUR REMIT SKRONK!'
(And then Costa-Brown attempted a threat display worthy of a velociraptor at the FEMA director. Her staff switched her to decaff afterwards. It didn't help.)
Also, bringing the mobile communications node to the city that just had all its communications knocked out is going to be Useful...
most importantly, it is Time...FOR ROBOT DINOSAURS AND OR OTHER ANCIENT CRITTERS!
Just the small ones, so far, granted. BUT IT IS A START!
Arimai
Curmudgeon
Piece
It had been within the direct path
I want to slap her. If she dies, Humanity dies! I fucking hate her complex.
IT BURNS! IT'S SO GOOD IT'S BURN!
Man, Am I behind a lot, but am glad to finally make the progress. Will caght up soon, An who know, mayby one day I will even read the original. Mhahahah
Edit: I mean, Alloy resquig the Vice president would be quite a PR boost. even if he would stay in coma for years to come.
Funnier still if it becomes HIS Triger event.
But yeah, would definetly feel like a wast of build up to just have him die off screen.
On another note, if he has daughter that is Taylor age... possibilities...
So, who would be crazy enough to sneak into a post-Endbringer city, to try to kill either vice president or Accord?
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Sprout 3.1 Part 2
- Location
- The Lair
Made a mad rush to get this part out before American Thanksgiving. Wanted something for you guys to digest alongside whatever it is you choose to consume for those who celebrate for the holiday. Not a lot to say here, just keep not meeting my deadlines and schedules due to energy and stress levels. It's probably going to get a lot worse soon, as I am working to conjure up enough money for Japan in April. That means picking up additional shifts and probably doing some gig work. Which means less time to write.
That, and I'm dragging my ass to the gym. Need to get healthier and reduce the strain on my knee.
Anyways, enough about my personal bullshit, you all want the chapter, not to listen to my drivel.
Nothing really overall to note, I'm doing a bit of a darker angle on Lexy I feel, but it's based out of her own biases and beliefs, than any type of of malice. I'm introducing a bit of an easter egg, but no, he is not THAT man, though, but it fits.
As for Taylor, well, we get to see a bit of how the Focus operates. The fact of the matter is, we don't know much of the Focus, outside of how it operates within game. So I'm working to build at least something into it to make it work. There will be further exploration into it going forward.
I'm currently unsure if Part 3 will be the final part, or we're gonna drag out a Part 4. I'll get back to you on that via my discord once I know what the hell I'm going to do.
Finally, I want to thank Ansraer, Reynard, BigBadBen, Geas, and Tigers-Tall-Tails for all of the assistance. Especially Tigers, as they helped work me out of a serious rut and kicked my ass back into gear.
Sprout 3.1 Part 2
Alexandria
Far too many, if they were in her position as she flew through the fading light and caught a glimpse of the ruins of the once great city of Boston, would only have one question dominating their shell-shocked minds.
How could this have happened?
But to Rebecca Costa-Brown - to Alexandria - There was no great revelation. No great secret. There was only the cold, unvarnished truth.
They had grown complacent.
They had grown confident in their analysis of Leviathan. They had believed that they knew exactly what the hydrokinetic Endbringer was capable of. They had made models built upon the foundation of fifteen years of data, confident that they had divined the full breadth of its abilities.
Complacency was why; when he had settled into the Laurentian Abyss, thereby indicating where he was likely to strike once the Endbringer window opened, she had authorized the placement of Tinkertech sensors and sonar arrays in the area. It would serve as an early warning net so they would have word when he eventually moved.
They had been secure in the knowledge that, based upon previous attacks by Leviathan, it should work. That they could use it as a model that would save the tens of thousands of lives from future attacks.
They could not have been more wrong.
Their only warning had been mere minutes before Leviathan's landfall. And it had only been because of luck and the USS Kidd, an Arleigh Burke-class Guided Missile Destroyer, that they had any warning whatsoever. The destroyer had been on a shakedown cruise after finishing a refit at Bath Iron Works in Maine. The Commanding Officer had been running sonar tests when they had detected Leviathan two hundred miles from Boston. Immediately he had raised the alert, even as Leviathan accelerated to nearly four hundred knots away from Kidd.
The alert had been met with skepticism. Not from his superiors, but from the PRT itself. Even as the captain was sounding all the alarms he could and the Kidd was plotting the Leviathan's track in the direction of Boston, the sensors placed to monitor Leviathan were reporting that the Endbringer was still in the Laurentian Abyss. It was only a few minutes later, however, that it was revealed to their horror as Leviathan disappeared from their scopes in the Abyss, that he was no longer there.
Precious minutes were wasted between initial contact and when the Endbringer sirens were sounded. But by then, it was already too late for many to get to safety. The tidal wave that was a staple of Leviathan's initial assault had rolled through Massachusetts Bay without impediment, tearing through the various islands and islets before slamming head-on into Logan International Airport, wiping it away as Leviathan made a path straight for downtown Boston.
As this was taking place, Leviathan revealed yet another previously unknown ability. While it began its assault, the atmosphere in and around Boston became charged, the sudden massive change to the clouds, along with the rapid speed, built up a large-scale and persistent ionic discharge. Electronics, the lifeblood of American society, suddenly found themselves fried, or in the case of those hardened to resist such energetic situations, unable to reliably communicate with the outside world.
Even more time was lost after that initial landfall and without stable communications, there was no coordination to quickly mount a counteroffensive against the Endbringer. What happened next was that the Boston Protectorate and villains found themselves on their own, even as the rest of the Protectorate attempted to mobilize under the Endbringer Truce. But without communications the incoming assets did not know where to establish a staging point, or even where it was safe to place medical personnel.
What resulted was a piecemeal counteroffensive, launched from the outskirts of the greater Boston area. Without the ability to even communicate through Dragon's armbands, there was nothing cohesive to their defense. Many capes were injured, with quite a few killed, simply because there was no ability to coordinate, as Leviathan used the weather and terrain to its advantage. There were even instances where the Endbringer would simply disappear into the pouring rain, only to strike out elsewhere like a ghost. All the while, lightning was falling everywhere, as the weather manipulation that had robbed them of communications had also provided Leviathan with an additional weapon to its arsenal.
This was certainly not the usual behavior of the Endbringer. They had been used to Leviathan's hit and runs, of course, using the tributaries and waterways of its targets in order to mount attacks. But it hadn't shown previously any ability to manipulate weather patterns in such a way to create mass lightning storms and electromagnetic interference.
But in the end, these tactics, as different and effective as they were, were unable to stop it from being driven off thanks to the sacrifices of several capes. Leviathan suffered significant damage thanks to a weapon from a Brockton Bay cape, though said cape was currently being treated due to his weapon having overloaded and exploding in his face.
It was something that she would have to further investigate once she had the time. Kid Win had certainly put a spotlight upon himself in spite of the injuries he had suffered. If he could produce a weapon like the one used against Leviathan, then maybe with the appropriate resources he could do something more if…nudged in the right manner.
But that was the future, not the present. And the present was a harsh enough reality as it was.
The local Protectorate and PRT Boston were effectively gone. Director Armstrong and Bastion were dead, with most of the Protectorate, and a large portion of the Wards also dead or walking casualties. The PRT was reporting eighty-three percent force casualties incurred in the chaos with many of those casualties suffered when the Boston HQ was destroyed in the initial minutes of the attack.
Likewise, the state and local governments were also ravaged. Too many officials and functionaries with any capacity for leadership had been gathering for the economic summit and gala.
Even the local villain scene was devastated. The Teeth were done as a functional gang. Outside of Vex, every single Teeth cape was dead. But even more worryingly, Butcher was missing. The last sighting of the fourteenth iteration of the cape had her fighting Leviathan and then nothing after. It was safe to say that there was a high chance that the cape was dead, and as a result, both Legend and herself were keeping a wide berth from the downtown business district in order to prevent a chance of becoming the fifteenth Butcher. Even if there was evidence that Butcher could not migrate to any Cauldron capes, it was better to be safe than sorry.
But to add to the proverbial shit sundae of all of it? The Vice President was currently missing and more than likely dead. The probability of Jack Ryan's survival while being in the epicenter of Leviathan's attack were statistically so close to zero that it was worthless to calculate.
There was a part of her that was relieved that 'The Cardinal of DC' was dead. Whether it was clashing over policy and how capes should be utilized, or him and his proxies sticking their nose where they shouldn't be, the man had been a persistent thorn in her side. The fact that he was positioning himself for the Presidency had left her many sleepless nights, despite Contessa's assurances that it was part of the Path.
So while his death would simplify her life, it created its own set of issues. There was no doubt in her mind that there would be blowback for his death, as one last fuck you from the man. The president had become far too close to Ryan over the years, despite her attempts at preventing it, and the fact that it had been the Protectorate and PRT that actively hindered an advanced warning on Leviathan's approach was likely to bring Durling's ire upon her.
It would be inconvenient, to say the least, what was likely to result soon. There would likely be a thorough investigation, and with the jackals in human skin that resided within the confines of the machine in DC, everyone and their dog would soon know what allegedly went wrong and who was to blame. Just the fact that she would likely have to suffer through several congressional panels and investigations for unimportant functionaries obsessed with their self-worth made her want to find Ryan to give her the satisfaction of knowing that he was truely dead and not using this as some elaborate spy plot. It sounded like something out of a novel, but she wouldn't put it past the man.
But that was her personal feelings and thoughts talking. What mattered was the mission, everything else was secondary. She would persevere and the Plan would continue uninterrupted, and with Ryan gone, at least her part would be easier going forward.
So why did she continue to feel uneasy?
Discarding her feelings, she came to a stop and slowly descended, spotting the command post, and the further-in-the-distance medical tents that had been hastily put together to coordinate operations within Boston. Awaiting her was a familiar face and the way his expression was closed off, she knew she was not going to like the news that she was going to hear before she went in for this meeting.
"Legend," she greeted, choosing to keep herself a few inches above the ground. It Wouldn't to get mud all over her boots.
"Alexandria," he returned, his tone flat. For someone as expressive and personable as him, he may as well have been screaming to the heavens just how angry he currently was.
"How bad is it," she asked, even as she floated past him and headed toward the command center.
"The line of succession for Massachusetts is gone."
She froze, her mind parsing the information for a moment, even as she recalled the line of succession for the state. That meant that not only was the Governor dead, but so was the Lieutenant Governor, Secretary of State, Attorney General, Treasurer and Receiver General, and State Auditor. Which meant the state was currently without a legally-appointed leader until something could be organized or the courts could rule upon.
Which meant a major element of the rescue and recovery was leaderless.
She had to wonder if that was intentional, but then quickly dismissed it. Endbringers picked their targets based upon the local cape situation, usually when activity or events reached a certain conflict threshold. There was nothing to indicate a departure from this model of operation. Boston was relatively stable, but there had been some indications that a possible second iteration of the Boston Games was brewing. Perhaps that was what drew Leviathan's attention?
"What is our status," she finally asked, really not liking the picture her mind was putting together.
"Communications are still unreliable, the only good news is that the interference is dying down and hopefully will be gone within the next few hours, then we should have a clearer idea of what we have left. I don't expect we will be happy with what we'll have. Strider is currently acting as a message runner to DC, but he's going to need downtime after he returns from New York with the FEMA team from over there. The really bad news is that thanks to what Leviathan did the National Weather Service is now predicting another major thunderstorm with heavy rains arriving within the next forty-eight hours, upwards of three inches of downfall and temperatures dropping below freezing"
It just had to be worse.
"What about the local FEMA branch?"
"Dead or missing," was his terse response, "their building was downtown, along with most of the other organizations disaster relief would be reliant upon. The only good news is we have the USS Kidd out in the bay, and the Colonel from Hanscom Air Force Base has brought a convoy over here with people and aid. He's also trying to jury-rig up a communications relay system that may be able to get around the interference. But other than that, we're right back to square one."
And we can't assume leadership because it is not within our remit, she thought with a hint of irritation. It was a decision that she had made years ago, in order to segregate capes from the government, but also prevent the optics of capes taking control of things like this, creating the wrong message.
Now it was coming to bite them in the ass.
Drawing in a breath, she counted to ten, before releasing it, organizing her thoughts with the new data, trying to figure out just what they could do in lieu of everything. It was one of the perks of having a memory such as hers, it was a literal data repository that she often used to gain an advantage over her opponents.
"Okay. We're going to have to lean on the military."
This drew a blink from her counterpart, as he stared at her as if she had grown a second head. It was obviously something he would never expect her to say.
"What?"
"Without legitimate state leadership, there is not much the federal government can do beyond the basics for rendering aid. We have to be invited to do things, and even with the Endbringer Truce, we are on a timetable. As long as there is no governor, or the local politicians can't get creative, the only way to get around that would be to lean upon the local military leadership to assume control until something can be arranged. We'll need Strider to head to DC after this, see if we can get Durling to issue an order reflecting this."
"You're talking about a Colonel, Alexandria. I'm not sure that is going to fly with the local politicians. They're too busy arguing over who should be in charge."
"Then we'll give them no choice in the matter," she declared, "Who's the Colonel?"
"Herres."
The name didn't ring a bell. Which probably would make it easier for them in the long run. Having a relatively no-name Colonel to blame for the disaster relief would make things easier to take the heat off the Protectorate.
"Okay, we'll push him into-"
"What the fuck?!"
The sudden exclamation made her head snap in the direction of Shadow Stalker, who was busy staring out from the field command center towards a group of military trucks that were coming down the road in the fading light. But it wasn't that that drew the reaction, it was what was moving beside them.
Immediately, she brought herself around, readying herself for a possible fight, even as she took in the machines that were moving in a loose formation beside the convoy. The blue lights coming from the machines were almost blinding for eyes that had adjusted to the encroaching night. It was only the polarized glass on her mask that prevented the glare from blinding her. But it also provided her an ability to count that there were nine machines of four different models. In the front was a man-sized quadrupedal machine, moving with the gait of a large canine. Four of the other machines were human-sized and bipedal; long necks and long tails with a cylindrical body. Their head could best be described as a giant blue flashlight. Sensors maybe? Another two were shorter, but longer machines, and she couldn't help but see some sort of resemblance to a weasel in how they scampered along. Behind those two was a machine with a rhinoceros-like head that towered over them. Comparing it to the military truck that it was pacing next to, it was clear that it was even taller than that, and it certainly backed it up with mass, as the sounds of its footfalls grew in volume as it approached.
But it was the last machine that drew her attention, the one closest to one of the trucks. It was a machine that looked like a facsimile of a horse, but with curled horns like a ram. On its back rode a person. Even in the distance, there was a soft glow on the side of her head, even if she couldn't make out any other features.
It seemed that Shadow Stalker's exclamation had drawn quite a lot of attention, as people were reacting at the sight that was approaching them. Which was perfectly understandable, the Endbringer fight was already over, why would anyone be arriving after it, unless they were here to cause trouble.
Thankfully, no one made a move yet, as the trucks finally came to a stop a short ways away, and the machines did as well. The door to the truck opened, and out stepped a soldier, just as the figure on the back of the horse machine dismounted allowing Alexandria to get a better look at what she know realized was a teenage girl
She was certainly not dressed in what you would expect for a cape. In fact, she looked inordinately mundane outside of the breathing mask around her neck and the glowing circle hovering over a device at her temple…
Immediately, she knew who she was looking at, but before she could do or say something, another man walked past her. She didn't get a good look at the man other than he was dressed in BDUs, but he carried an air of being a man used to being in charge. He came to a stop and the man beside the woman came to attention. She took the time to get closer, just so she could hear what was being exchanged.
"Sergeant, good to see you," the man greeted.
"Sorry, we're running behind, sir. We ran into some trouble coming in. Corporal Yates nearly lost a truck when the road washed out, and if it wasn't for Miss Hebert here, we would have to leave his truck behind. But sir, I think you need to hear this."
This must be Herres, she realized, even as the Colonel turned his head towards Taylor Hebert.
"Thank you for assisting my men, Miss Hebert. What is it you have for me?"
Aaron Herres II
Earlier
What an absolute clusterfuck!
That was the thought racing through his head as Lieutenant Colonel Aaron Herres II, United States Air Force, watched as the civilian 'leaders' of the great state of Massachusetts began to argue once again about who was in charge. This was now the fourth such instance he was witness to since he had arrived.
"You don't have the authority to do that! A minimum quorum is required befo…"
"Hang the bloody quorum. We need leadership now, and that passes through seniority..."
"Precedent says that the judicial branch takes control in.."
When the Endbringer Alert had sounded, he had been at Hanscom Air Force Base, inspecting several of the projects ongoing at the base at the behest of the Pentagon.
The damned alert always caused him to pause. The memories of the doomed Operation Autumn Thunder, the combined US military's first, and last, attempt to destroy an Endbringer came to the forefront again. The feeling of helplessness as everything that they threw at Behemoth proved utterly useless as the beast wiped out some of the best and brightest of the Army, Air Force, and Marines.
He had been one of the lucky survivors, though he never felt it. Because instead of a swift death, he lived to bear witness to the slow strangulation of his beloved Air Force. Autumn Thunder had not only been a military disaster, but it heralded a dramatic shift in government priority and funding. It hadn't been the military that drove back Behemoth that day, it had been the nascent Protectorate, spearheaded by its four founders.
To be fair, the blame didn't truly lie solely in the hands of the Protectorate. The emergence of capes, the collapse of the Soviet Union and People's Republic of China, and the erosion of the world economy, had caused some very pointed questions to be asked about the military budget. Too many threats and responsibilities were simply not there anymore to rationalize such massive expenditures. Especially with the domestic issues that were beginning to rear their ugly heads on the criminal and economic fronts.
The failure of Autumn Thunder had been the final nail in the coffin of the argument and the futile expenditure of billions of dollars in hardware and loss of thousands of servicemen and women provided the grave marker. Across the board, every military branch found their budgets reduced by levels not seen since the Great Depression. With the stroke of a pen, the strongest military in the history of the world found itself a shadow of its former self.
The first to go were the overseas bases, abandoning alliances that had lasted for decades. Returning troops came home to stateside posts that were shrinking by the day. Ships and planes were mothballed, army bases closed their doors, recruiting stations were closed. Air-Force bases and runways were sold to the civilian air industry. DARPA, the research arm of the US military, was, after a few tinker integration disasters, slashed to the bone. Servicemen drifted into the various diminished National Guard units, private security companies, or even the newly formed PRT.
To this day, the only reason he wasn't discharged from the Air Force was because of his father, a retired colonel, pulling some strings. But in the face of massive cuts, the Air Force, like the rest of the military, decommissioned their forces en masse in order to meet budget targets. It was a chaotic time, with far too many being served their discharge papers without any warning as air wings and bases were shut down wholesale.
Yet even though he was safe from the butcher's knife of cutbacks, his 33rd Fighter Wing, or rather what was left of it, was not so fortunate. It had been one of the first units decommissioned, ostensibly because they no longer had the budget to reconstitute it back to full strength. But the truth was far harsher: The higher-ups in the Air Force viewed Autumn Thunder, and the component units involved, as a source of shame. It was much easier to decommission 'cursed units' than it was to do it to intact units.
He was never going to fly again. No amount of pull or favors would get jets in the air, and fuel in the tanks. It had almost been enough for him to resign his commission. But it turns out, even when everything was falling apart, there were opportunities to be found. With the near death of DARPA, they struggled to find anyone they could. Most of their staff being poached by private interests, or the rising power of the PRT. So he found himself traveling the country, overseeing several projects the Air Force still had operational. Administration had been a minor interest from his days in flight school, and it had ended up serving him well by keeping him in uniform.
And now he was in Boston. Listening to idiots.
"I will have my staff research the amendment! The Law is on my side."
"The only staff you have are interns, who haven't wised up to your ways! You're unfit!"
He turned and stormed out through the flap of the command tent, letting the bickering fools continue to argue. No leadership was going to come with them, it would likely take communications being reestablished with DC that maybe, just maybe, sanity would be allowed to once again prevail and they could work towards actually saving lives.
Glancing towards his watch, a gift from his father, he noted that Sergeant Forsythe was running behind. He should have been back by now with the rest of the gear needed to establish a communications relay chain. It would be a crude solution, but whatever interference Leviathan had created was leaving them on an island when they needed all the help they could get, and it was likely the only way they could get around it for the time being.
Idly, he noted Alexandria and Legend discussing something, but dismissed them just as quickly. Legend may as well have doubled as furniture in that room. As a federal officer, he had just as much weight as he did, and probably even less, because the man would be on his way in a few days anyway.
Just what inspired the insanity that was the Protectorate, he would never understand. As a federal organization, it boggled the mind at just how inefficiently it operated, with so many policies and standards that only served to get in its own way. It was a small miracle that it was capable of operating as it was, only being held together by the personalities of its leader and local commanders.
Reaching towards his pocket, he fought back a grimace as it found it lacking the telltale comfort of his cigarettes. The mad rush down to Boston had not afforded him the opportunity to resupply, and he had foolishly spent what he had left trying to keep his calm in the face of absolute incompetence.
"What a shit show."
His head turned to take in the figure of First Lieutenant Anthony Adams, his assistant. The man might officially be an assistant, but really he was meant to shadow and learn from him. Officer training schools weren't exactly flush with cash, and the Air Force had thus instituted a program that focused more heavily on in the field training. His eyes then caught the offered cigarette held out to him. Grunting in appreciation, he took it from the other man, before reaching into his pocket and retrieving a light. He then flipped it open, and holding the flame to the other man who leaned in with his own cigarette and lit it. The action completed, he then took the time to light his own cigarette, before closing the lighter with an audible clink.
"Agreed," he declared after finishing taking a deep inhalation of the cancer stick and releasing the noxious fumes. The man shared a quiet moment as he considered his options, none of them to his liking.
"Status on the Seahawk," he asked, only to be rewarded with a shake of the other man's head.
"According to Lieutenant Simmons, it's not going to be able to go anywhere. He suspects that it's something in the rotor system, but he won't be sure until they can get it into a maintenance bay and strip it down to the individual screws."
Closing his eyes, he took another deep drag from the cigarette, analyzing the development and how it affected the current situation.
Without the Kidd's Seahawk, their ability to communicate with the outside world for the time being remained a relay system that may work, or Strider, the independent cape. Unfortunately, Strider was currently due to be indisposed thanks to exhaustion from already acting as the main mode of transportation for capes in the initial counterattack on Leviathan and then serving as a runner for hours afterwards. It was made clear that any further usage would be disastrous until he could rest. And no other flight-capable capes were offering their services, preferring to do their own things spread out across the city. Well meaning, but a fragmented response was sometimes worse than no response at all.
It came back to the relay system.
And even if it reestablished a connection with the outside world, it still came back to the fact that there was no local governance that could make the hard decisions necessary in this situation. Any solution to the matter would take too damn long, and they were in a fight against the clock.
There was one possible solution, but it was a dated measure that had never been practiced, only explored as a theoretical contingency in the event of a nuclear attack. The only reason he even knew of its existence was because he had been privy to several deep discussions in the Pentagon on the matter of Endbringers. Contrary to what the Protectorate would want, the military had not forgotten its oath, and it had certainly explored scenarios involving the Endbringers and capes.
No, he had no choice in the matter, and he would be damned once he did it. But he could not sit idly by and allow tens of thousands of people to be sacrificed for the egos of self-important men who couldn't think of anything but their own selfish pursuits, even in the face of catastrophe.
Opening his mouth, he prepared to commit himself, when a sudden shout drew his attention to a teenaged cape decked out in grays and blacks. He then followed her gaze toward the road and found himself blinking at the sight before him.
There was the military convoy that he was expecting from Sergeant Forsythe, but it was what was accompanying it that caused him to stop and take a moment to process what exactly he was witnessing.
As one of the troubleshooters for project management, he was required to be kept abreast of parallel developments. But a large portion of discussions also stemmed from the exploration of reverse engineering Tinkertech into something that could be mass produced. That meant that he was aware of almost every single known Tinker in North America.
What was coming down the road was not of any design or theme that he was aware of.
Recognizing that whatever it was that was coming his way, was likely somehow involved in the delay of his convoy, he flicked the cigarette to the ground, letting nature take its course as the rain-soaked ground extinguished it. The action done, he strode towards where the vehicles were approaching, taking the time to analyze what he could only describe as animal-themed machines, drinking in their details as he attempted to divine their function.
He felt that he had figured out most of them by the time they came to a stop before him, and he watched as Sergeant Forsythe disembarked from the truck, alongside another figure that jumped off a machine that looked like a horse with a ram's horns. Strange choice for personal transportation, but he wasn't sure what to make of any further function.
Four of the machines were obviously a sensor platform of some type. He had already put together that the glowing blue pieces where eyes were on other machines was likely the same, only taken to an extreme level with their cyclopic nature. It also helped that even after stopping, they were acting like prey animals, constantly scanning their surroundings.
There were two smaller machines, but he was unsure of what purpose that they could serve. They scuttled about in a way that reminded him of weasels, and they certainly looked to have sharp 'claws' at the end of their legs. What those were for, however, the jury was still out, though he leaned toward the probability judging by the animal theme, was likely for digging.
Of the machines the canid-themed one looked the most threatening. Even at this distance he could make out the various grinders and blades that made up its 'mouth'. It could easily rip and tear whatever it was put to, but the fact that there was only one reduced the overall threat in his mind. Could it be for another purpose? Maybe digging? But the shape of it was wrong.
His gaze then fell to the largest machine, one that worriedly was larger than the truck that had brought Sergeant Forsythe. The machine's purpose was a question mark. He wanted to say that it was a communications design, judging by the various antennas and spikes. But for something that size it seemed rather inefficient as a design. There was probably more to it, but it escaped him.
And then Sergeant Forsythe was before him, offering a salute in recognition.
"Sergeant, good to see you," he greeted, returning the salute.
"Sorry, we're running behind, sir. We ran into some trouble coming in. Corporal Yates nearly lost a truck when the road washed out, and if it wasn't for Miss Hebert here, we would have to leave his truck behind. But sir, I think you need to hear this."
He nodded, before looking over 'Miss Hebert'.
She was young, painfully so. Though he found himself wondering why the girl was wearing black glasses when night would be falling soon. The glowing triangle on the side of her head was even more noteworthy.
"Thank you for assisting my men, Miss Hebert. What is it that you have for me?"
"As Sergeant Forsythe said, I'm Taylor Hebert, CEO of Zero Dawn Technologies out of Brockton Bay," she declared, holding out her hand to shake, and he took it, taking note of the solid grip that raised his assessment for her, "I have three sixteen-wheelers full of aid supplies on the highway right now about half-an-hour out."
She then retrieved her hand and turned, and he found himself following her as she approached the arranged machines, "I've also got this. A Light Rescue Lance rated for search and rescue in any environment. They operate semi-independently, but work best alongside rescue crews."
He found himself frowning, appreciating the proffered help, but hating the position that it would place him in, "Look Miss Hebert, we appreciate it, but we just can't take…"
"I'm not done yet," she interrupted him. His brow raised slightly as he adjusted his assessment of the girl.
It took quite a bit of confidence that you didn't see in many young people to interrupt a soldier. And from her expression, it was the confidence not borne of cockiness either.
She came to a stop near the largest machine, wrapping her knuckles against its side. The machine huffed in a remarkably lifelike fashion, before bending at the knees dropping its large bulk to the ground in a lying position. She then took a few steps back to the flank of the machine, tapping against it slightly. In response to the motion, a panel opened up, revealing carefully arrayed stacks of hard cases. Dozens of them. Reaching in, she slid one out, before turning towards him and opening it up to reveal dozens of triangle devices slightly smaller than the one affixed to her temple.
"I'm going to hazard a guess, Colonel, that the reason you are all unable to talk with one another is because Leviathan used his hydrokinesis to create something similar to a localized Carrington-style event. Most communications and electronics are knocked out because they are not hardened for such an event, and the residual electrons currently in the local atmosphere are disrupting any abilities to send and receive communications."
"I cannot confirm the specifics of what you are suggesting, Miss Hebert. But, you are correct on the continuing difficulty in reestablishing communications."
She nodded, before reaching into the case and retrieving the device and holding it out on the palm of her hands, "I can help with that. This is a Focus. It is a multipurpose sensory interface with point-to-point communications, capable of audio and video recording and transmission. The control interface operates through an augmented reality system that responds to hand gestures and voice commands. It will cut through the interference and make it possible for you to be able to communicate and coordinate."
And thereby speed up the rescue and save lives, he added, finding himself respecting the girl further for not trying to appeal to emotion. He stared at those black glasses, before found his gaze drawn back to the device resting in her hands.
"Tinkertech," he asked, keeping his emotions in check. This was the answer to all of his issues, but he had seen this song and dance before. Especially from a cape. Far too many times had reality failed to meet the actual sales pitch.
She shook her head, her short hair waving back and forth and a few strands dangled in front of her face, but she didn't make an attempt to return it.
"No Tinkertech involved. It's engineered, advanced certainly, but perfectly replicable. I've got a patent for several models of these and a factory that is beginning to churn these out by the hundreds every week. They were due to hit the consumer market in a month's time, but an Endbringer disaster takes priority."
Releasing a sigh, he reached for it. There was probably no one better suited to test it, even if it was a quantifiable risk.
Before he could grab it, however, Adams interceded, taking the shard-like device from the girl's hand.
"Sorry sir, but it'd probably be best if I am the one that tested it. How does this work, Miss Hebert?"
If Adams's intercession had bothered her, it didn't show. Instead, she merely carried on as if it weren't a bother..
"You place it against your temple. You'll then feel a pinch, like a small bug bite. That will let you know that it is beginning the synchronization process."
Hesitating for a brief instant, Adams then placed it as suggested to his temple. There was a small flash of discomfort, but it looked more like it was out of surprise than anything. There was always a stark differential in the translation from knowledge to experience, but the fact that Adams didn't complain hinted at it was a minor consideration.
They then stood there for a minute or so, even as he took the time to look around him. He noted the rapt attention that was being given to them, even as the machine-animals shifted and pawed the ground in a life-like fashion.
Adams then started, a segmented glowing blue circle appearing around and over the device affixed to his skin.
"Uhh, First Lieutenant Anthony Adams? United States Air Force?"
He looked back to Miss Hebert, raising a brow in question.
"It's completing identification set up. Name, affiliation, and other pertinent details. That way when you call someone…"
"Whoa," Herres looked back to Adams, a man who'd been steady under every kind of situation…was now waving his hands in the air.
"Okay," Hebert started, "you've got the basic interface. Most of the settings are currently locked. We'll unlock them as we go. You should have a map, call, and scan function currently. We're not fully set up yet, so I'll need you to hit the scan function, either through voice activation or using your hands. That will start the data compilation process. Fair warning, the scan process is a pretty large data dump, as it actively scans all surrounding objects within a thirty meter radius with limited penetrative capabilities, it will even identify active electronic signatures."
"Activate scan," there was a certain awe and giddiness to Adams' voice that he had never heard from the younger man. Even as he watched Hebert snort in response, her hair blowing against her face. He felt his hair stand up on end, as if something had run through him, but he couldn't put his finger on just what it was.
"You're not talking to a toaster oven, Lieutenant," he noted the omission of Adams' full rank, a decidedly uncivilian-like behavior that spoke of a familiarity with military structure, "It's quite better than that at picking up voice prints. It can understand most languages, and can even pick up accents and dialectical anomalies," she explained.
Adams' head then snapped to her, his expression becoming one of shock, "Wait…you're blind?"
What?!
"What's that, Adams," he demanded, not quite sure that he heard what he just did.
"Uh, sir," Adams' head turned back to him, the blue circle spinning on the side of his head, "The device-"
"Focus," was Hebert's injection.
"Miss Hebert omitted that the Focus can provide basic vitals. Heart rate estimates, injury assessment, and even a notice from her device…"
"Focus."
"Focus," he corrected himself again, "it's giving me an alert that Miss Hebert is blind."
He felt the unconscious urge for another damn cigarette. As much as this girl may solve his problems, she was now giving him more.
"Is that true, Miss Hebert? Are you blind?"
In response, she pulled up her glasses, big stylish wraparounds that you would expect from an athlete or someone on the beach. Underneath the glasses were her eyes, but they were clearly ruined judging by the milky-white glaze and the discolored skin that framed them and now that he could see that, he could see the tissue running down her face.
"I am. But my Focus fixes that. Think of it as an advanced real-time mapping system. I receive a high-resolution wire-grid beamed directly into my brain."
Clearly the system was excellent, because her head turned towards Adam's shocked expression, "No, yours does not directly interface with the brain. You can stop worrying."
"But it still interfaces with the brain?"
"It's designed to be non-intrusive and link with the optic nerve. However, in order to use the interface and features to maximum effect, it does have to establish a connection to stream the data to the user."
He chewed over the bit for a moment. The idea of anything connecting directly to the brain was the stuff of horrors, even if it was as innocent as Miss Hebert claimed. There had been Tinkers in the past who played with such things, and they were all criminals.
Could he afford to take such a risk with this? Even if it was the answer that he sought to the situation. He could be inviting a trojan horse that could already add devastating damage to an already catastrophic situation. Even worse, it would likely cost even more lives than if he chose to follow protocol.
"Look. Colonel. I know what you are thinking. This is highly irregular and dangerous. But I did not just spend a quarter of my company's startup fund, drive into a disaster area, and risk a violation of the Endbringer Truce, which could end up with me thrown in the Birdcage or worse, just to pull some sort of plan only a saturday morning cartoon villain would cook up. Frankly it would have been easier on my company if I stayed home and spent that money and time on improving its portfolio.. But I am here, putting not just myself, but the future of my company and everyone who depends upon me, at risk, to save lives. So please, let me help."
Now he really wanted that cigarette, both to buy him some time, but allow him a few moments of clarity. On one hand, yes, it didn't make any logical sense for doing all of this just for some sort of long con. There were too many moving points and points of failure for it to work. That didn't mean that it wasn't possible, only that it wasn't rational.
But even ignoring that possibility, was he willing to put all of his eggs into an untested technology with an unknown teenage girl. There were just too many things riding on this to take lightly. And even then…
"You said that you could reestablish communications. Prove it."
"If you could contact anyone at this moment, who would you need it to be?"
He actually found him blinking at the unexpected question. He honestly believed that she would offer something simple or something that she controlled. Not actually putting the power in his hands. That suggested that whatever he was going to ask that she was confident that she could fulfill the request.
"I need to contact the Pentagon."
"The Focus has a transmission and reception range of about seventy-five miles in peer-to-peer communications. With the Titan providing a signal boost, that can reach about two hundred and fifty. If you want a direct line to DC, I can provide it, but I'd be breaking several telecommunications laws in doing so."
What?
"How," he found himself asking before he could stop himself
She brushed her hair back, placing on her glasses again, "While the Focus is supposed to go on the market next month, legally, my devices are still not meant to interface with the cellular network yet. I have not been provided authorized access and would have to spoof as another authorized cellular carrier in order to access the network. Which, as you can guess, is highly illegal."
The fact that she talked about committing a crime as nonchalantly as she did should worry him. But that paled in the face of the thought that she could do something as complicated as what she was describing in the field. He knew quite well how communications worked, and the idea of spoofing something like that, especially in the byzantine hell that was America's telecommunications network, was not a light task in the least.
"But you could do it?"
"You give me three minutes, I could have you able to contact anyone with phone service. The only caveat would be that you have to use the Focus in order to do so."
He didn't even hesitate, holding out his hand, and Miss Hebert placed the Focus in his hand. He then began to place it up to his temple when a voice rang out, causing him to pause.
"Colonel Herres, I apologize for interrupting, but it may be unwise to use an uncertified Tinker device."
He paused, turning to the source of the voice, as Alexandria floated towards them. He had wondered just when the second-in-command of the Protectorate would finally intervene. The woman had always struck him as a stick in the mud from his observations when she wasn't busy being aloof, and she had done nothing to dismiss that perception once he had met her.
"I don't see where you are going with this, Alexandria. Miss Hebert has claimed that this Focus is not Tinkertech. The fact that she has what appears to be a large amount of them lends credence to this claim. Unless you are suggesting that Miss Hebert has some sort of ulterior motive."
"I am not, Colonel Herres. However, I would like to note that Watchdog has flagged Miss Hebert's, codename Alloy, 'Focus' device for further review. There is concern that the revisions that she has submitted for the existing patent are a possible means to obfuscate Tinkertech applications. As far as I am aware, Miss Hebert has been informed of this review."
His hand moved away from the device, looking back to Taylor, who was giving the member of the Triumvirate a flinty gaze, "Is this true, Miss Hebert?"
"I honestly do not know what she is talking about, Colonel Herres. I have not been contacted by the Protectorate in any capacity in nearly a month since I submitted myself to their power testing after they illegally raided my company. What Alexandria is omitting is that I am not a Tinker by their classification, but a Thinker."
"Obviously there has been a breakdown somewhere in notifying you, Alloy. However, I would like to note that you have submitted no less than twelve revisions to the design at last report."
"Of course I have! It is because I am an engineer and revisions are the bread and butter of the process. We don't just rest upon our laurels after we have created something, especially if we know damn well that we can make improvements to it. If it wasn't for those improvements you are currently voicing Watchdog's concern about, I would not have this device here and ready to use it in its current iteration in the first place!"
"That does not take away from the fact that you have made revisions that have not been certified, Alloy."
"My name is Taylor Hebert!"
"But the cape name you chose was Alloy."
He found himself drawn back to the device in his hand, even as the two women continued trading arguments. He only provided a modicum of attention towards them, idly noting that while Alexandria was right in the stance of the Protectorate, and didn't that stick in his craw, he also noted that Miss Hebert also offered her own valid arguments in opposition.
But what drew the majority of his attention was the Focus resting in his hand. The cool white metal drinking almost all of the light to make it faintly glow in the fading light. It was strange that something so light and small could have as much power contained within it without being Tinkertech. Yet, nothing about it felt like Tinkertech, instead, it felt almost like a logical expression of technology despite looking like something out of science fiction.
His gaze shifted towards the machines, looking increasingly anxious at their creator as she continued her argument with Alexandria. It would have been quite what you'd expect from animals looking at their owner if they weren't multi-ton machines.
Yet it was the material over them that he focused upon. The same white metallic sheen and material, just like the Focus in his hand. It told him far more than one would expect. Too many Tinker's had a singular theme to them, a motif, if you will. Something that differentiated them amongst their peers, but it was all the same thematically.
Looking between the Focus and then the machines. There was no common theme, in fact, there was nothing that would suggest outside of the materials that they were even connected. Yet, they did have a common denominator in that they were both created by Taylor Hebert.
Realistically, the Protectorate might be able to call a Master-Strange quarantine on him and anyone else who used the Focus device. And they certainly had the forces gathered here to enforce it. But doing so would directly impede the rescue efforts of millions of Americans. And if he could get in contact with the Pentagon… there were options to sideline the Protectorate.
And that was enough for him.
Taking a deep breath, he brought the Focus to the skin over his temple, and felt the twinge as it 'bit' him.
And here we...go!
That, and I'm dragging my ass to the gym. Need to get healthier and reduce the strain on my knee.
Anyways, enough about my personal bullshit, you all want the chapter, not to listen to my drivel.
Nothing really overall to note, I'm doing a bit of a darker angle on Lexy I feel, but it's based out of her own biases and beliefs, than any type of of malice. I'm introducing a bit of an easter egg, but no, he is not THAT man, though, but it fits.
As for Taylor, well, we get to see a bit of how the Focus operates. The fact of the matter is, we don't know much of the Focus, outside of how it operates within game. So I'm working to build at least something into it to make it work. There will be further exploration into it going forward.
I'm currently unsure if Part 3 will be the final part, or we're gonna drag out a Part 4. I'll get back to you on that via my discord once I know what the hell I'm going to do.
Finally, I want to thank Ansraer, Reynard, BigBadBen, Geas, and Tigers-Tall-Tails for all of the assistance. Especially Tigers, as they helped work me out of a serious rut and kicked my ass back into gear.
Sprout 3.1 Part 2
Alexandria
Far too many, if they were in her position as she flew through the fading light and caught a glimpse of the ruins of the once great city of Boston, would only have one question dominating their shell-shocked minds.
How could this have happened?
But to Rebecca Costa-Brown - to Alexandria - There was no great revelation. No great secret. There was only the cold, unvarnished truth.
They had grown complacent.
They had grown confident in their analysis of Leviathan. They had believed that they knew exactly what the hydrokinetic Endbringer was capable of. They had made models built upon the foundation of fifteen years of data, confident that they had divined the full breadth of its abilities.
Complacency was why; when he had settled into the Laurentian Abyss, thereby indicating where he was likely to strike once the Endbringer window opened, she had authorized the placement of Tinkertech sensors and sonar arrays in the area. It would serve as an early warning net so they would have word when he eventually moved.
They had been secure in the knowledge that, based upon previous attacks by Leviathan, it should work. That they could use it as a model that would save the tens of thousands of lives from future attacks.
They could not have been more wrong.
Their only warning had been mere minutes before Leviathan's landfall. And it had only been because of luck and the USS Kidd, an Arleigh Burke-class Guided Missile Destroyer, that they had any warning whatsoever. The destroyer had been on a shakedown cruise after finishing a refit at Bath Iron Works in Maine. The Commanding Officer had been running sonar tests when they had detected Leviathan two hundred miles from Boston. Immediately he had raised the alert, even as Leviathan accelerated to nearly four hundred knots away from Kidd.
The alert had been met with skepticism. Not from his superiors, but from the PRT itself. Even as the captain was sounding all the alarms he could and the Kidd was plotting the Leviathan's track in the direction of Boston, the sensors placed to monitor Leviathan were reporting that the Endbringer was still in the Laurentian Abyss. It was only a few minutes later, however, that it was revealed to their horror as Leviathan disappeared from their scopes in the Abyss, that he was no longer there.
Precious minutes were wasted between initial contact and when the Endbringer sirens were sounded. But by then, it was already too late for many to get to safety. The tidal wave that was a staple of Leviathan's initial assault had rolled through Massachusetts Bay without impediment, tearing through the various islands and islets before slamming head-on into Logan International Airport, wiping it away as Leviathan made a path straight for downtown Boston.
As this was taking place, Leviathan revealed yet another previously unknown ability. While it began its assault, the atmosphere in and around Boston became charged, the sudden massive change to the clouds, along with the rapid speed, built up a large-scale and persistent ionic discharge. Electronics, the lifeblood of American society, suddenly found themselves fried, or in the case of those hardened to resist such energetic situations, unable to reliably communicate with the outside world.
Even more time was lost after that initial landfall and without stable communications, there was no coordination to quickly mount a counteroffensive against the Endbringer. What happened next was that the Boston Protectorate and villains found themselves on their own, even as the rest of the Protectorate attempted to mobilize under the Endbringer Truce. But without communications the incoming assets did not know where to establish a staging point, or even where it was safe to place medical personnel.
What resulted was a piecemeal counteroffensive, launched from the outskirts of the greater Boston area. Without the ability to even communicate through Dragon's armbands, there was nothing cohesive to their defense. Many capes were injured, with quite a few killed, simply because there was no ability to coordinate, as Leviathan used the weather and terrain to its advantage. There were even instances where the Endbringer would simply disappear into the pouring rain, only to strike out elsewhere like a ghost. All the while, lightning was falling everywhere, as the weather manipulation that had robbed them of communications had also provided Leviathan with an additional weapon to its arsenal.
This was certainly not the usual behavior of the Endbringer. They had been used to Leviathan's hit and runs, of course, using the tributaries and waterways of its targets in order to mount attacks. But it hadn't shown previously any ability to manipulate weather patterns in such a way to create mass lightning storms and electromagnetic interference.
But in the end, these tactics, as different and effective as they were, were unable to stop it from being driven off thanks to the sacrifices of several capes. Leviathan suffered significant damage thanks to a weapon from a Brockton Bay cape, though said cape was currently being treated due to his weapon having overloaded and exploding in his face.
It was something that she would have to further investigate once she had the time. Kid Win had certainly put a spotlight upon himself in spite of the injuries he had suffered. If he could produce a weapon like the one used against Leviathan, then maybe with the appropriate resources he could do something more if…nudged in the right manner.
But that was the future, not the present. And the present was a harsh enough reality as it was.
The local Protectorate and PRT Boston were effectively gone. Director Armstrong and Bastion were dead, with most of the Protectorate, and a large portion of the Wards also dead or walking casualties. The PRT was reporting eighty-three percent force casualties incurred in the chaos with many of those casualties suffered when the Boston HQ was destroyed in the initial minutes of the attack.
Likewise, the state and local governments were also ravaged. Too many officials and functionaries with any capacity for leadership had been gathering for the economic summit and gala.
Even the local villain scene was devastated. The Teeth were done as a functional gang. Outside of Vex, every single Teeth cape was dead. But even more worryingly, Butcher was missing. The last sighting of the fourteenth iteration of the cape had her fighting Leviathan and then nothing after. It was safe to say that there was a high chance that the cape was dead, and as a result, both Legend and herself were keeping a wide berth from the downtown business district in order to prevent a chance of becoming the fifteenth Butcher. Even if there was evidence that Butcher could not migrate to any Cauldron capes, it was better to be safe than sorry.
But to add to the proverbial shit sundae of all of it? The Vice President was currently missing and more than likely dead. The probability of Jack Ryan's survival while being in the epicenter of Leviathan's attack were statistically so close to zero that it was worthless to calculate.
There was a part of her that was relieved that 'The Cardinal of DC' was dead. Whether it was clashing over policy and how capes should be utilized, or him and his proxies sticking their nose where they shouldn't be, the man had been a persistent thorn in her side. The fact that he was positioning himself for the Presidency had left her many sleepless nights, despite Contessa's assurances that it was part of the Path.
So while his death would simplify her life, it created its own set of issues. There was no doubt in her mind that there would be blowback for his death, as one last fuck you from the man. The president had become far too close to Ryan over the years, despite her attempts at preventing it, and the fact that it had been the Protectorate and PRT that actively hindered an advanced warning on Leviathan's approach was likely to bring Durling's ire upon her.
It would be inconvenient, to say the least, what was likely to result soon. There would likely be a thorough investigation, and with the jackals in human skin that resided within the confines of the machine in DC, everyone and their dog would soon know what allegedly went wrong and who was to blame. Just the fact that she would likely have to suffer through several congressional panels and investigations for unimportant functionaries obsessed with their self-worth made her want to find Ryan to give her the satisfaction of knowing that he was truely dead and not using this as some elaborate spy plot. It sounded like something out of a novel, but she wouldn't put it past the man.
But that was her personal feelings and thoughts talking. What mattered was the mission, everything else was secondary. She would persevere and the Plan would continue uninterrupted, and with Ryan gone, at least her part would be easier going forward.
So why did she continue to feel uneasy?
Discarding her feelings, she came to a stop and slowly descended, spotting the command post, and the further-in-the-distance medical tents that had been hastily put together to coordinate operations within Boston. Awaiting her was a familiar face and the way his expression was closed off, she knew she was not going to like the news that she was going to hear before she went in for this meeting.
"Legend," she greeted, choosing to keep herself a few inches above the ground. It Wouldn't to get mud all over her boots.
"Alexandria," he returned, his tone flat. For someone as expressive and personable as him, he may as well have been screaming to the heavens just how angry he currently was.
"How bad is it," she asked, even as she floated past him and headed toward the command center.
"The line of succession for Massachusetts is gone."
She froze, her mind parsing the information for a moment, even as she recalled the line of succession for the state. That meant that not only was the Governor dead, but so was the Lieutenant Governor, Secretary of State, Attorney General, Treasurer and Receiver General, and State Auditor. Which meant the state was currently without a legally-appointed leader until something could be organized or the courts could rule upon.
Which meant a major element of the rescue and recovery was leaderless.
She had to wonder if that was intentional, but then quickly dismissed it. Endbringers picked their targets based upon the local cape situation, usually when activity or events reached a certain conflict threshold. There was nothing to indicate a departure from this model of operation. Boston was relatively stable, but there had been some indications that a possible second iteration of the Boston Games was brewing. Perhaps that was what drew Leviathan's attention?
"What is our status," she finally asked, really not liking the picture her mind was putting together.
"Communications are still unreliable, the only good news is that the interference is dying down and hopefully will be gone within the next few hours, then we should have a clearer idea of what we have left. I don't expect we will be happy with what we'll have. Strider is currently acting as a message runner to DC, but he's going to need downtime after he returns from New York with the FEMA team from over there. The really bad news is that thanks to what Leviathan did the National Weather Service is now predicting another major thunderstorm with heavy rains arriving within the next forty-eight hours, upwards of three inches of downfall and temperatures dropping below freezing"
It just had to be worse.
"What about the local FEMA branch?"
"Dead or missing," was his terse response, "their building was downtown, along with most of the other organizations disaster relief would be reliant upon. The only good news is we have the USS Kidd out in the bay, and the Colonel from Hanscom Air Force Base has brought a convoy over here with people and aid. He's also trying to jury-rig up a communications relay system that may be able to get around the interference. But other than that, we're right back to square one."
And we can't assume leadership because it is not within our remit, she thought with a hint of irritation. It was a decision that she had made years ago, in order to segregate capes from the government, but also prevent the optics of capes taking control of things like this, creating the wrong message.
Now it was coming to bite them in the ass.
Drawing in a breath, she counted to ten, before releasing it, organizing her thoughts with the new data, trying to figure out just what they could do in lieu of everything. It was one of the perks of having a memory such as hers, it was a literal data repository that she often used to gain an advantage over her opponents.
"Okay. We're going to have to lean on the military."
This drew a blink from her counterpart, as he stared at her as if she had grown a second head. It was obviously something he would never expect her to say.
"What?"
"Without legitimate state leadership, there is not much the federal government can do beyond the basics for rendering aid. We have to be invited to do things, and even with the Endbringer Truce, we are on a timetable. As long as there is no governor, or the local politicians can't get creative, the only way to get around that would be to lean upon the local military leadership to assume control until something can be arranged. We'll need Strider to head to DC after this, see if we can get Durling to issue an order reflecting this."
"You're talking about a Colonel, Alexandria. I'm not sure that is going to fly with the local politicians. They're too busy arguing over who should be in charge."
"Then we'll give them no choice in the matter," she declared, "Who's the Colonel?"
"Herres."
The name didn't ring a bell. Which probably would make it easier for them in the long run. Having a relatively no-name Colonel to blame for the disaster relief would make things easier to take the heat off the Protectorate.
"Okay, we'll push him into-"
"What the fuck?!"
The sudden exclamation made her head snap in the direction of Shadow Stalker, who was busy staring out from the field command center towards a group of military trucks that were coming down the road in the fading light. But it wasn't that that drew the reaction, it was what was moving beside them.
Immediately, she brought herself around, readying herself for a possible fight, even as she took in the machines that were moving in a loose formation beside the convoy. The blue lights coming from the machines were almost blinding for eyes that had adjusted to the encroaching night. It was only the polarized glass on her mask that prevented the glare from blinding her. But it also provided her an ability to count that there were nine machines of four different models. In the front was a man-sized quadrupedal machine, moving with the gait of a large canine. Four of the other machines were human-sized and bipedal; long necks and long tails with a cylindrical body. Their head could best be described as a giant blue flashlight. Sensors maybe? Another two were shorter, but longer machines, and she couldn't help but see some sort of resemblance to a weasel in how they scampered along. Behind those two was a machine with a rhinoceros-like head that towered over them. Comparing it to the military truck that it was pacing next to, it was clear that it was even taller than that, and it certainly backed it up with mass, as the sounds of its footfalls grew in volume as it approached.
But it was the last machine that drew her attention, the one closest to one of the trucks. It was a machine that looked like a facsimile of a horse, but with curled horns like a ram. On its back rode a person. Even in the distance, there was a soft glow on the side of her head, even if she couldn't make out any other features.
It seemed that Shadow Stalker's exclamation had drawn quite a lot of attention, as people were reacting at the sight that was approaching them. Which was perfectly understandable, the Endbringer fight was already over, why would anyone be arriving after it, unless they were here to cause trouble.
Thankfully, no one made a move yet, as the trucks finally came to a stop a short ways away, and the machines did as well. The door to the truck opened, and out stepped a soldier, just as the figure on the back of the horse machine dismounted allowing Alexandria to get a better look at what she know realized was a teenage girl
She was certainly not dressed in what you would expect for a cape. In fact, she looked inordinately mundane outside of the breathing mask around her neck and the glowing circle hovering over a device at her temple…
Immediately, she knew who she was looking at, but before she could do or say something, another man walked past her. She didn't get a good look at the man other than he was dressed in BDUs, but he carried an air of being a man used to being in charge. He came to a stop and the man beside the woman came to attention. She took the time to get closer, just so she could hear what was being exchanged.
"Sergeant, good to see you," the man greeted.
"Sorry, we're running behind, sir. We ran into some trouble coming in. Corporal Yates nearly lost a truck when the road washed out, and if it wasn't for Miss Hebert here, we would have to leave his truck behind. But sir, I think you need to hear this."
This must be Herres, she realized, even as the Colonel turned his head towards Taylor Hebert.
"Thank you for assisting my men, Miss Hebert. What is it you have for me?"
AEH
Aaron Herres II
Earlier
What an absolute clusterfuck!
That was the thought racing through his head as Lieutenant Colonel Aaron Herres II, United States Air Force, watched as the civilian 'leaders' of the great state of Massachusetts began to argue once again about who was in charge. This was now the fourth such instance he was witness to since he had arrived.
"You don't have the authority to do that! A minimum quorum is required befo…"
"Hang the bloody quorum. We need leadership now, and that passes through seniority..."
"Precedent says that the judicial branch takes control in.."
When the Endbringer Alert had sounded, he had been at Hanscom Air Force Base, inspecting several of the projects ongoing at the base at the behest of the Pentagon.
The damned alert always caused him to pause. The memories of the doomed Operation Autumn Thunder, the combined US military's first, and last, attempt to destroy an Endbringer came to the forefront again. The feeling of helplessness as everything that they threw at Behemoth proved utterly useless as the beast wiped out some of the best and brightest of the Army, Air Force, and Marines.
He had been one of the lucky survivors, though he never felt it. Because instead of a swift death, he lived to bear witness to the slow strangulation of his beloved Air Force. Autumn Thunder had not only been a military disaster, but it heralded a dramatic shift in government priority and funding. It hadn't been the military that drove back Behemoth that day, it had been the nascent Protectorate, spearheaded by its four founders.
To be fair, the blame didn't truly lie solely in the hands of the Protectorate. The emergence of capes, the collapse of the Soviet Union and People's Republic of China, and the erosion of the world economy, had caused some very pointed questions to be asked about the military budget. Too many threats and responsibilities were simply not there anymore to rationalize such massive expenditures. Especially with the domestic issues that were beginning to rear their ugly heads on the criminal and economic fronts.
The failure of Autumn Thunder had been the final nail in the coffin of the argument and the futile expenditure of billions of dollars in hardware and loss of thousands of servicemen and women provided the grave marker. Across the board, every military branch found their budgets reduced by levels not seen since the Great Depression. With the stroke of a pen, the strongest military in the history of the world found itself a shadow of its former self.
The first to go were the overseas bases, abandoning alliances that had lasted for decades. Returning troops came home to stateside posts that were shrinking by the day. Ships and planes were mothballed, army bases closed their doors, recruiting stations were closed. Air-Force bases and runways were sold to the civilian air industry. DARPA, the research arm of the US military, was, after a few tinker integration disasters, slashed to the bone. Servicemen drifted into the various diminished National Guard units, private security companies, or even the newly formed PRT.
To this day, the only reason he wasn't discharged from the Air Force was because of his father, a retired colonel, pulling some strings. But in the face of massive cuts, the Air Force, like the rest of the military, decommissioned their forces en masse in order to meet budget targets. It was a chaotic time, with far too many being served their discharge papers without any warning as air wings and bases were shut down wholesale.
Yet even though he was safe from the butcher's knife of cutbacks, his 33rd Fighter Wing, or rather what was left of it, was not so fortunate. It had been one of the first units decommissioned, ostensibly because they no longer had the budget to reconstitute it back to full strength. But the truth was far harsher: The higher-ups in the Air Force viewed Autumn Thunder, and the component units involved, as a source of shame. It was much easier to decommission 'cursed units' than it was to do it to intact units.
He was never going to fly again. No amount of pull or favors would get jets in the air, and fuel in the tanks. It had almost been enough for him to resign his commission. But it turns out, even when everything was falling apart, there were opportunities to be found. With the near death of DARPA, they struggled to find anyone they could. Most of their staff being poached by private interests, or the rising power of the PRT. So he found himself traveling the country, overseeing several projects the Air Force still had operational. Administration had been a minor interest from his days in flight school, and it had ended up serving him well by keeping him in uniform.
And now he was in Boston. Listening to idiots.
"I will have my staff research the amendment! The Law is on my side."
"The only staff you have are interns, who haven't wised up to your ways! You're unfit!"
He turned and stormed out through the flap of the command tent, letting the bickering fools continue to argue. No leadership was going to come with them, it would likely take communications being reestablished with DC that maybe, just maybe, sanity would be allowed to once again prevail and they could work towards actually saving lives.
Glancing towards his watch, a gift from his father, he noted that Sergeant Forsythe was running behind. He should have been back by now with the rest of the gear needed to establish a communications relay chain. It would be a crude solution, but whatever interference Leviathan had created was leaving them on an island when they needed all the help they could get, and it was likely the only way they could get around it for the time being.
Idly, he noted Alexandria and Legend discussing something, but dismissed them just as quickly. Legend may as well have doubled as furniture in that room. As a federal officer, he had just as much weight as he did, and probably even less, because the man would be on his way in a few days anyway.
Just what inspired the insanity that was the Protectorate, he would never understand. As a federal organization, it boggled the mind at just how inefficiently it operated, with so many policies and standards that only served to get in its own way. It was a small miracle that it was capable of operating as it was, only being held together by the personalities of its leader and local commanders.
Reaching towards his pocket, he fought back a grimace as it found it lacking the telltale comfort of his cigarettes. The mad rush down to Boston had not afforded him the opportunity to resupply, and he had foolishly spent what he had left trying to keep his calm in the face of absolute incompetence.
"What a shit show."
His head turned to take in the figure of First Lieutenant Anthony Adams, his assistant. The man might officially be an assistant, but really he was meant to shadow and learn from him. Officer training schools weren't exactly flush with cash, and the Air Force had thus instituted a program that focused more heavily on in the field training. His eyes then caught the offered cigarette held out to him. Grunting in appreciation, he took it from the other man, before reaching into his pocket and retrieving a light. He then flipped it open, and holding the flame to the other man who leaned in with his own cigarette and lit it. The action completed, he then took the time to light his own cigarette, before closing the lighter with an audible clink.
"Agreed," he declared after finishing taking a deep inhalation of the cancer stick and releasing the noxious fumes. The man shared a quiet moment as he considered his options, none of them to his liking.
"Status on the Seahawk," he asked, only to be rewarded with a shake of the other man's head.
"According to Lieutenant Simmons, it's not going to be able to go anywhere. He suspects that it's something in the rotor system, but he won't be sure until they can get it into a maintenance bay and strip it down to the individual screws."
Closing his eyes, he took another deep drag from the cigarette, analyzing the development and how it affected the current situation.
Without the Kidd's Seahawk, their ability to communicate with the outside world for the time being remained a relay system that may work, or Strider, the independent cape. Unfortunately, Strider was currently due to be indisposed thanks to exhaustion from already acting as the main mode of transportation for capes in the initial counterattack on Leviathan and then serving as a runner for hours afterwards. It was made clear that any further usage would be disastrous until he could rest. And no other flight-capable capes were offering their services, preferring to do their own things spread out across the city. Well meaning, but a fragmented response was sometimes worse than no response at all.
It came back to the relay system.
And even if it reestablished a connection with the outside world, it still came back to the fact that there was no local governance that could make the hard decisions necessary in this situation. Any solution to the matter would take too damn long, and they were in a fight against the clock.
There was one possible solution, but it was a dated measure that had never been practiced, only explored as a theoretical contingency in the event of a nuclear attack. The only reason he even knew of its existence was because he had been privy to several deep discussions in the Pentagon on the matter of Endbringers. Contrary to what the Protectorate would want, the military had not forgotten its oath, and it had certainly explored scenarios involving the Endbringers and capes.
No, he had no choice in the matter, and he would be damned once he did it. But he could not sit idly by and allow tens of thousands of people to be sacrificed for the egos of self-important men who couldn't think of anything but their own selfish pursuits, even in the face of catastrophe.
Opening his mouth, he prepared to commit himself, when a sudden shout drew his attention to a teenaged cape decked out in grays and blacks. He then followed her gaze toward the road and found himself blinking at the sight before him.
There was the military convoy that he was expecting from Sergeant Forsythe, but it was what was accompanying it that caused him to stop and take a moment to process what exactly he was witnessing.
As one of the troubleshooters for project management, he was required to be kept abreast of parallel developments. But a large portion of discussions also stemmed from the exploration of reverse engineering Tinkertech into something that could be mass produced. That meant that he was aware of almost every single known Tinker in North America.
What was coming down the road was not of any design or theme that he was aware of.
Recognizing that whatever it was that was coming his way, was likely somehow involved in the delay of his convoy, he flicked the cigarette to the ground, letting nature take its course as the rain-soaked ground extinguished it. The action done, he strode towards where the vehicles were approaching, taking the time to analyze what he could only describe as animal-themed machines, drinking in their details as he attempted to divine their function.
He felt that he had figured out most of them by the time they came to a stop before him, and he watched as Sergeant Forsythe disembarked from the truck, alongside another figure that jumped off a machine that looked like a horse with a ram's horns. Strange choice for personal transportation, but he wasn't sure what to make of any further function.
Four of the machines were obviously a sensor platform of some type. He had already put together that the glowing blue pieces where eyes were on other machines was likely the same, only taken to an extreme level with their cyclopic nature. It also helped that even after stopping, they were acting like prey animals, constantly scanning their surroundings.
There were two smaller machines, but he was unsure of what purpose that they could serve. They scuttled about in a way that reminded him of weasels, and they certainly looked to have sharp 'claws' at the end of their legs. What those were for, however, the jury was still out, though he leaned toward the probability judging by the animal theme, was likely for digging.
Of the machines the canid-themed one looked the most threatening. Even at this distance he could make out the various grinders and blades that made up its 'mouth'. It could easily rip and tear whatever it was put to, but the fact that there was only one reduced the overall threat in his mind. Could it be for another purpose? Maybe digging? But the shape of it was wrong.
His gaze then fell to the largest machine, one that worriedly was larger than the truck that had brought Sergeant Forsythe. The machine's purpose was a question mark. He wanted to say that it was a communications design, judging by the various antennas and spikes. But for something that size it seemed rather inefficient as a design. There was probably more to it, but it escaped him.
And then Sergeant Forsythe was before him, offering a salute in recognition.
"Sergeant, good to see you," he greeted, returning the salute.
"Sorry, we're running behind, sir. We ran into some trouble coming in. Corporal Yates nearly lost a truck when the road washed out, and if it wasn't for Miss Hebert here, we would have to leave his truck behind. But sir, I think you need to hear this."
He nodded, before looking over 'Miss Hebert'.
She was young, painfully so. Though he found himself wondering why the girl was wearing black glasses when night would be falling soon. The glowing triangle on the side of her head was even more noteworthy.
"Thank you for assisting my men, Miss Hebert. What is it that you have for me?"
"As Sergeant Forsythe said, I'm Taylor Hebert, CEO of Zero Dawn Technologies out of Brockton Bay," she declared, holding out her hand to shake, and he took it, taking note of the solid grip that raised his assessment for her, "I have three sixteen-wheelers full of aid supplies on the highway right now about half-an-hour out."
She then retrieved her hand and turned, and he found himself following her as she approached the arranged machines, "I've also got this. A Light Rescue Lance rated for search and rescue in any environment. They operate semi-independently, but work best alongside rescue crews."
He found himself frowning, appreciating the proffered help, but hating the position that it would place him in, "Look Miss Hebert, we appreciate it, but we just can't take…"
"I'm not done yet," she interrupted him. His brow raised slightly as he adjusted his assessment of the girl.
It took quite a bit of confidence that you didn't see in many young people to interrupt a soldier. And from her expression, it was the confidence not borne of cockiness either.
She came to a stop near the largest machine, wrapping her knuckles against its side. The machine huffed in a remarkably lifelike fashion, before bending at the knees dropping its large bulk to the ground in a lying position. She then took a few steps back to the flank of the machine, tapping against it slightly. In response to the motion, a panel opened up, revealing carefully arrayed stacks of hard cases. Dozens of them. Reaching in, she slid one out, before turning towards him and opening it up to reveal dozens of triangle devices slightly smaller than the one affixed to her temple.
"I'm going to hazard a guess, Colonel, that the reason you are all unable to talk with one another is because Leviathan used his hydrokinesis to create something similar to a localized Carrington-style event. Most communications and electronics are knocked out because they are not hardened for such an event, and the residual electrons currently in the local atmosphere are disrupting any abilities to send and receive communications."
"I cannot confirm the specifics of what you are suggesting, Miss Hebert. But, you are correct on the continuing difficulty in reestablishing communications."
She nodded, before reaching into the case and retrieving the device and holding it out on the palm of her hands, "I can help with that. This is a Focus. It is a multipurpose sensory interface with point-to-point communications, capable of audio and video recording and transmission. The control interface operates through an augmented reality system that responds to hand gestures and voice commands. It will cut through the interference and make it possible for you to be able to communicate and coordinate."
And thereby speed up the rescue and save lives, he added, finding himself respecting the girl further for not trying to appeal to emotion. He stared at those black glasses, before found his gaze drawn back to the device resting in her hands.
"Tinkertech," he asked, keeping his emotions in check. This was the answer to all of his issues, but he had seen this song and dance before. Especially from a cape. Far too many times had reality failed to meet the actual sales pitch.
She shook her head, her short hair waving back and forth and a few strands dangled in front of her face, but she didn't make an attempt to return it.
"No Tinkertech involved. It's engineered, advanced certainly, but perfectly replicable. I've got a patent for several models of these and a factory that is beginning to churn these out by the hundreds every week. They were due to hit the consumer market in a month's time, but an Endbringer disaster takes priority."
Releasing a sigh, he reached for it. There was probably no one better suited to test it, even if it was a quantifiable risk.
Before he could grab it, however, Adams interceded, taking the shard-like device from the girl's hand.
"Sorry sir, but it'd probably be best if I am the one that tested it. How does this work, Miss Hebert?"
If Adams's intercession had bothered her, it didn't show. Instead, she merely carried on as if it weren't a bother..
"You place it against your temple. You'll then feel a pinch, like a small bug bite. That will let you know that it is beginning the synchronization process."
Hesitating for a brief instant, Adams then placed it as suggested to his temple. There was a small flash of discomfort, but it looked more like it was out of surprise than anything. There was always a stark differential in the translation from knowledge to experience, but the fact that Adams didn't complain hinted at it was a minor consideration.
They then stood there for a minute or so, even as he took the time to look around him. He noted the rapt attention that was being given to them, even as the machine-animals shifted and pawed the ground in a life-like fashion.
Adams then started, a segmented glowing blue circle appearing around and over the device affixed to his skin.
"Uhh, First Lieutenant Anthony Adams? United States Air Force?"
He looked back to Miss Hebert, raising a brow in question.
"It's completing identification set up. Name, affiliation, and other pertinent details. That way when you call someone…"
"Whoa," Herres looked back to Adams, a man who'd been steady under every kind of situation…was now waving his hands in the air.
"Okay," Hebert started, "you've got the basic interface. Most of the settings are currently locked. We'll unlock them as we go. You should have a map, call, and scan function currently. We're not fully set up yet, so I'll need you to hit the scan function, either through voice activation or using your hands. That will start the data compilation process. Fair warning, the scan process is a pretty large data dump, as it actively scans all surrounding objects within a thirty meter radius with limited penetrative capabilities, it will even identify active electronic signatures."
"Activate scan," there was a certain awe and giddiness to Adams' voice that he had never heard from the younger man. Even as he watched Hebert snort in response, her hair blowing against her face. He felt his hair stand up on end, as if something had run through him, but he couldn't put his finger on just what it was.
"You're not talking to a toaster oven, Lieutenant," he noted the omission of Adams' full rank, a decidedly uncivilian-like behavior that spoke of a familiarity with military structure, "It's quite better than that at picking up voice prints. It can understand most languages, and can even pick up accents and dialectical anomalies," she explained.
Adams' head then snapped to her, his expression becoming one of shock, "Wait…you're blind?"
What?!
"What's that, Adams," he demanded, not quite sure that he heard what he just did.
"Uh, sir," Adams' head turned back to him, the blue circle spinning on the side of his head, "The device-"
"Focus," was Hebert's injection.
"Miss Hebert omitted that the Focus can provide basic vitals. Heart rate estimates, injury assessment, and even a notice from her device…"
"Focus."
"Focus," he corrected himself again, "it's giving me an alert that Miss Hebert is blind."
He felt the unconscious urge for another damn cigarette. As much as this girl may solve his problems, she was now giving him more.
"Is that true, Miss Hebert? Are you blind?"
In response, she pulled up her glasses, big stylish wraparounds that you would expect from an athlete or someone on the beach. Underneath the glasses were her eyes, but they were clearly ruined judging by the milky-white glaze and the discolored skin that framed them and now that he could see that, he could see the tissue running down her face.
"I am. But my Focus fixes that. Think of it as an advanced real-time mapping system. I receive a high-resolution wire-grid beamed directly into my brain."
Clearly the system was excellent, because her head turned towards Adam's shocked expression, "No, yours does not directly interface with the brain. You can stop worrying."
"But it still interfaces with the brain?"
"It's designed to be non-intrusive and link with the optic nerve. However, in order to use the interface and features to maximum effect, it does have to establish a connection to stream the data to the user."
He chewed over the bit for a moment. The idea of anything connecting directly to the brain was the stuff of horrors, even if it was as innocent as Miss Hebert claimed. There had been Tinkers in the past who played with such things, and they were all criminals.
Could he afford to take such a risk with this? Even if it was the answer that he sought to the situation. He could be inviting a trojan horse that could already add devastating damage to an already catastrophic situation. Even worse, it would likely cost even more lives than if he chose to follow protocol.
"Look. Colonel. I know what you are thinking. This is highly irregular and dangerous. But I did not just spend a quarter of my company's startup fund, drive into a disaster area, and risk a violation of the Endbringer Truce, which could end up with me thrown in the Birdcage or worse, just to pull some sort of plan only a saturday morning cartoon villain would cook up. Frankly it would have been easier on my company if I stayed home and spent that money and time on improving its portfolio.. But I am here, putting not just myself, but the future of my company and everyone who depends upon me, at risk, to save lives. So please, let me help."
Now he really wanted that cigarette, both to buy him some time, but allow him a few moments of clarity. On one hand, yes, it didn't make any logical sense for doing all of this just for some sort of long con. There were too many moving points and points of failure for it to work. That didn't mean that it wasn't possible, only that it wasn't rational.
But even ignoring that possibility, was he willing to put all of his eggs into an untested technology with an unknown teenage girl. There were just too many things riding on this to take lightly. And even then…
"You said that you could reestablish communications. Prove it."
"If you could contact anyone at this moment, who would you need it to be?"
He actually found him blinking at the unexpected question. He honestly believed that she would offer something simple or something that she controlled. Not actually putting the power in his hands. That suggested that whatever he was going to ask that she was confident that she could fulfill the request.
"I need to contact the Pentagon."
"The Focus has a transmission and reception range of about seventy-five miles in peer-to-peer communications. With the Titan providing a signal boost, that can reach about two hundred and fifty. If you want a direct line to DC, I can provide it, but I'd be breaking several telecommunications laws in doing so."
What?
"How," he found himself asking before he could stop himself
She brushed her hair back, placing on her glasses again, "While the Focus is supposed to go on the market next month, legally, my devices are still not meant to interface with the cellular network yet. I have not been provided authorized access and would have to spoof as another authorized cellular carrier in order to access the network. Which, as you can guess, is highly illegal."
The fact that she talked about committing a crime as nonchalantly as she did should worry him. But that paled in the face of the thought that she could do something as complicated as what she was describing in the field. He knew quite well how communications worked, and the idea of spoofing something like that, especially in the byzantine hell that was America's telecommunications network, was not a light task in the least.
"But you could do it?"
"You give me three minutes, I could have you able to contact anyone with phone service. The only caveat would be that you have to use the Focus in order to do so."
He didn't even hesitate, holding out his hand, and Miss Hebert placed the Focus in his hand. He then began to place it up to his temple when a voice rang out, causing him to pause.
"Colonel Herres, I apologize for interrupting, but it may be unwise to use an uncertified Tinker device."
He paused, turning to the source of the voice, as Alexandria floated towards them. He had wondered just when the second-in-command of the Protectorate would finally intervene. The woman had always struck him as a stick in the mud from his observations when she wasn't busy being aloof, and she had done nothing to dismiss that perception once he had met her.
"I don't see where you are going with this, Alexandria. Miss Hebert has claimed that this Focus is not Tinkertech. The fact that she has what appears to be a large amount of them lends credence to this claim. Unless you are suggesting that Miss Hebert has some sort of ulterior motive."
"I am not, Colonel Herres. However, I would like to note that Watchdog has flagged Miss Hebert's, codename Alloy, 'Focus' device for further review. There is concern that the revisions that she has submitted for the existing patent are a possible means to obfuscate Tinkertech applications. As far as I am aware, Miss Hebert has been informed of this review."
His hand moved away from the device, looking back to Taylor, who was giving the member of the Triumvirate a flinty gaze, "Is this true, Miss Hebert?"
"I honestly do not know what she is talking about, Colonel Herres. I have not been contacted by the Protectorate in any capacity in nearly a month since I submitted myself to their power testing after they illegally raided my company. What Alexandria is omitting is that I am not a Tinker by their classification, but a Thinker."
"Obviously there has been a breakdown somewhere in notifying you, Alloy. However, I would like to note that you have submitted no less than twelve revisions to the design at last report."
"Of course I have! It is because I am an engineer and revisions are the bread and butter of the process. We don't just rest upon our laurels after we have created something, especially if we know damn well that we can make improvements to it. If it wasn't for those improvements you are currently voicing Watchdog's concern about, I would not have this device here and ready to use it in its current iteration in the first place!"
"That does not take away from the fact that you have made revisions that have not been certified, Alloy."
"My name is Taylor Hebert!"
"But the cape name you chose was Alloy."
He found himself drawn back to the device in his hand, even as the two women continued trading arguments. He only provided a modicum of attention towards them, idly noting that while Alexandria was right in the stance of the Protectorate, and didn't that stick in his craw, he also noted that Miss Hebert also offered her own valid arguments in opposition.
But what drew the majority of his attention was the Focus resting in his hand. The cool white metal drinking almost all of the light to make it faintly glow in the fading light. It was strange that something so light and small could have as much power contained within it without being Tinkertech. Yet, nothing about it felt like Tinkertech, instead, it felt almost like a logical expression of technology despite looking like something out of science fiction.
His gaze shifted towards the machines, looking increasingly anxious at their creator as she continued her argument with Alexandria. It would have been quite what you'd expect from animals looking at their owner if they weren't multi-ton machines.
Yet it was the material over them that he focused upon. The same white metallic sheen and material, just like the Focus in his hand. It told him far more than one would expect. Too many Tinker's had a singular theme to them, a motif, if you will. Something that differentiated them amongst their peers, but it was all the same thematically.
Looking between the Focus and then the machines. There was no common theme, in fact, there was nothing that would suggest outside of the materials that they were even connected. Yet, they did have a common denominator in that they were both created by Taylor Hebert.
Realistically, the Protectorate might be able to call a Master-Strange quarantine on him and anyone else who used the Focus device. And they certainly had the forces gathered here to enforce it. But doing so would directly impede the rescue efforts of millions of Americans. And if he could get in contact with the Pentagon… there were options to sideline the Protectorate.
And that was enough for him.
Taking a deep breath, he brought the Focus to the skin over his temple, and felt the twinge as it 'bit' him.
And here we...go!
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Alexandria burns bridges like she is army in th retreat
- Location
- The Lair
Not necessarily in her defense, but Lexy has always struck me as the type of person that has to be in control. Shes not a fan of Taylor because she sees what Taylor represents if it gets traction and thats a threat to her own plans.
Its not necessarily petty, but if Taylor hains momentum, then people will start asking pointed questions about the Protectorate and PRT.
This doesnt mean that Lexy will be in perpetual losing status, but right here Taylor has the advantage because shes a spanner in the works and is unpredictable.
Dr. Thunder
Philosopher-King of Florida
- Location
- USA
- Pronouns
- He/They
Gods forbid anyone does anything not dancing to Costa-Brown/Cauldron's strings (or Contessa's machinations) and dares to try and save the world independently of their doomed efforts
If Taylor saves the state line of succession and/or VP she will gain a lot of political clout to survive not-contessa level of pressure from PRT, especially since it fucked up big time;
-sidenote, but I assume that either way, state governments are going to do the last designated survivor-like the presidency after boston downsizing
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Well the reason for many of Cauldrons failures are thinking they know what's best. Ultimately blowing up in their face.
They never think how when they make their plans and somehow think it'll work.
This really highlights the difference between Taylor and Cauldron as a whole. All of Cauldron's so called experiments and paths focus on the goal of finding a "silver bullet" to kill Scion. There is no methodical research or planning and little to no scientific method. In many ways, all they have been doing is throwing their shit at the wall (because, god forbid they bringing in outside knowledge or a different point of view), hoping that one of the stains will miraculously hand them the answer to all their problems. Fecal Augury, if you will.
- Location
- Somewhere, Maybe
Given that both of their 'brains' (Doctor Mother and Contessa) are from worlds where the scientific method hadn't been discovered yet, not really surprised there. Contessa especially comes from a world where the idea of "how to fight a monster" consists mostly of "find a Hero to fight it". Not really surprising that she'd stick to tried-and-true methods familiar to her when framing her Path request.
TikiTau
Commander Pangolinski
- Location
- Texas
This makes it even more darkly hilarious that (at least in this fic; I never really read the OG Worm so I can't comment if it's completely canon or not) that she assumes she's in control of things but Dr. Mother and Contessa are both going 'yeah, sure, uh huh, you're the boss, yessir' and she follows Contessa's paths regardless.
Also, yeeesh, Leviathan really tap-danced on Boston, huh? Sucks for Armstrong. He's generally portrayed as one of the better PRT Directors who is a nice mix of competent and caring about his subordinates.
...I bet a few shiny doubloons that Weld's possibly alive if he's assumed to be one of the dead Wards, just very uncomfortably slapped to some metal debris with a destroyed communications unit and/or buried under stuff.
Also schadenfreude at Becky's own control-tendencies and the like biting them in the ass in regards to FEMA.
Plus, heh.
Alexandria: Don't you dare use that thing that could allow you to communicate with the Pentagon and help your troops coordinate S&R before mass die off. It's untested Tinkertech!
Taylor: By your own classifications, it's not.
Alexandria: The previous iteration wasn't! You can't say that about the newest one!
Taylor: I'm an -Engineer-, who just uses -one design- when there are -iterative improvements-?
Colonel Herres: Soooo, do you have a -solution- to the communication blackout problem?
Alexandria: No, that's not our department and one doesn't exist that we approve of.
Colonel Herres: ...Screw it, they can try and M/S Quarantine us later. FOCI ON BOYS AND GIRLS!
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- Location
- Queensland, Australia
Yeah, even if Wildbow didn't plan that (and I'm not sure Doctor Mother isn't from a more advanced world as I feel like she is), he accidentally gave himself a very good reason for why Cauldron's such a mess. Doctor Mother has a very strong ego, isn't from a world too advanced (aka no digital information networks thus higher levels of baseline knowledge) or is from an underdeveloped part of such a world and the rest?
Contessa is a tribal girl, so massive biases there. The rest of Cauldron's leadership are either emerged from sick teenagers, sick adults or disabled (and severely depressed) adults. They also came in 'knowing' that Cauldron had a near omnipotent Precognitive helping plan things out. The only one who might have realized all that and started pushing Cauldron down a path to fix many of those flaws is suspected to be Hero and he...
Well, he ran into a complication around when he might have started pushing down that path and his death seems to have ripped any interest in that aspect of things from the rest of the Triumvirate. Other leadership elements can in much later and are outsiders, even if important, restricted in certain ways (Custodian) and have concerns about how they'd possibly plan things.
In short, Cauldron was perfectly set up to cripple their ability to put together a solid initiative to stop Scion and we can only blame some of it on Shard or Spacewhale influence.
Contessa is a tribal girl, so massive biases there. The rest of Cauldron's leadership are either emerged from sick teenagers, sick adults or disabled (and severely depressed) adults. They also came in 'knowing' that Cauldron had a near omnipotent Precognitive helping plan things out. The only one who might have realized all that and started pushing Cauldron down a path to fix many of those flaws is suspected to be Hero and he...
Well, he ran into a complication around when he might have started pushing down that path and his death seems to have ripped any interest in that aspect of things from the rest of the Triumvirate. Other leadership elements can in much later and are outsiders, even if important, restricted in certain ways (Custodian) and have concerns about how they'd possibly plan things.
In short, Cauldron was perfectly set up to cripple their ability to put together a solid initiative to stop Scion and we can only blame some of it on Shard or Spacewhale influence.
TikiTau
Commander Pangolinski
- Location
- Texas
Eden: *dying kek* Keikaku means plan.
Contessa: I don't know what those words mean but I'm going to stab you more!