Take care of yourself.
Still prefer this to those authors who just randomly delay or go on break with no warning.
Brockton's Celestial Forge (Worm/Jumpchain)
- Thread starter LordRoustabout
- Start date
Random authors: Time for our 34th unannounced hiatus!
I'll cast a spell for you, something karmic to speed along the writing and help clear away obstacles.
- Location
- Denmark
Honestly I think it time that you drop the schedule and just post the chapters whenever they are ready because if you keep delaying anyway then you are just gonna disappoint and frustrate those waiting for new chapters.
I don't mind waiting for new chapters even if it for a long time.
What I do mind is looking forward for the thursday chapter post and the wake up to find that its been delayed again and again.
BCF is great story and I love reading it but all the constant delays makes for a cycle of expectation and disappointment that makes it harder to enjoy the story.
So either make a schedule you can keep or drop the schedule alltogether because otherwise its just a source of frustation.
I don't mind waiting for new chapters even if it for a long time.
What I do mind is looking forward for the thursday chapter post and the wake up to find that its been delayed again and again.
BCF is great story and I love reading it but all the constant delays makes for a cycle of expectation and disappointment that makes it harder to enjoy the story.
So either make a schedule you can keep or drop the schedule alltogether because otherwise its just a source of frustation.
Not really, just having a set schedule to try to keep to can be quite helpful, even if the goal isn't met, it still provides encouragement, and stability.
- Location
- Denmark
I agree with you that the schedule probably gives encouragement and stability to Rust which I suppose is enough reason to keep it even I think its frustrating.
Honestly, I thought it was supposed to be next week anyway.
Having the updates is definitely better - it's assurance that Roust is still writing and I should check back again soon! That said, it might be better to schedule longer times between chapters but have midpoint updates on the writing process anyway? If only so Roust isn't apologising all the time for only writing a novel every few months 
einargs
Verified Spiller of the Egg Yolk
- Location
- The Egg Yolk, Outer Layer
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Anyone reading fanfiction is already used to the inconsistent schedules caused by life. It's already crazy how regular you are. The updates and delay announcements alone are more than I would ever expect. This story could update randomly three times a year and I would still be happy.
/tinfoil
Has anyone graphed out the flow of time in universe to the delay notices?
It could be as Joe's dimension slips away from ours, Lord Roustabout has a harder and harder time syncing his thinker power and transcribing the activities.
The delays aren't from work, they are so he can recover from the thinker headaches...
Has anyone graphed out the flow of time in universe to the delay notices?
It could be as Joe's dimension slips away from ours, Lord Roustabout has a harder and harder time syncing his thinker power and transcribing the activities.
The delays aren't from work, they are so he can recover from the thinker headaches...
As I've said before, if a schedule of every other week is too much to keep up with, moving to every third week might be less stressful on @LordRoustabout Not to mention, if they get it done within the first two weeks, then they can start on the next chapter early, making it even easier.
But, whatever works better for them.
But, whatever works better for them.
108.2 Interlude Armstrong
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
108.2 Interlude Armstrong
Director Armstrong nodded slowly at the parahumans, parahumans who had appeared directly inside his temporary command center. "Far too long, especially for such a serious matter." He agreed.
It was taking effort for him to adjust to the situation. Normally he would have at least taken a moment to prepare for the arrival of representatives of major cape organizations, much less one as powerful as the Celestial Forge. Normally any meeting would be held in a room dedicated to such a purpose, not one covered in the scattered paperwork for facilitating the transfer of hostages and housing them on short notice.
There were layers of pretense that had been stripped away by Apeiron's decision to just step directly into the heart of Armstrong's operations, but that was likely the point. The PRT's tendency to present a more professional and coordinated image wouldn't do much good against an organization who clearly understood every detail of what he had been scrambling to accomplish over the past twenty-four hours.
After a career in the PRT, the instinct to precisely manage interactions and put up a strong front was hard to dismiss, but this was a highly atypical situation. If anything, Apeiron's decision to arrive directly inside the command center had been a concession to Armstrong's situation, not the kind of power play it would usually have been. If you took the perspective of approaching the situation as a united front rather than two distinct organizations working in loose collaboration, then it was indeed a point in his favor.
And there was another element to consider. He had complete confidence in the agents that had been working alongside him. Each of them was a known factor, someone that he could rely upon for both dedication and discretion. Unfortunately, the rest of the staff didn't hold the same level of confidence. The necessary level was just too high to consistently expect it from more general employees. While he was happy to say his department lacked the glaring and obvious information failures of the PRT East-North-East, they were also a larger division and, like all PRT departments, dealt with matters of extreme importance and confidentiality.
No PRT office was completely secure, but then again, nothing involving Parahumans could be. The best you could usually hope for was to implement measures to discourage leaks and limit the flow of critical information. At the very least you could ensure that if a breech did occur it would be quickly identified and addressed. So that at worst you'd see one-off issues rather than persistent subversion of your department.
Arranging a proper reception and meeting space for the Celestial Forge's representatives would have drawn far too much attention. Frankly, just having them on site might be too much for some people to contain. They had the advantage of only needing a few days of security, but even that might not be possible, given the public response to any appearance by members of Apeiron's team.
Ironically, it wasn't just leaks to the media or villain organizations that he needed to worry about. He had exercised considerable directorial authority to arrange the transfer. While it was within his purview as head of the Boston PRT, he would need to answer for and justify every decision he had made, including keeping the matter of Apeiron's involvement 'in house' rather than referring to the National Office for instruction, as was standing policy.
There were technicalities of the situation that could be cited in his favor, but that wouldn't mean much to factions that might be inclined to come down on him for his actions. And plenty of those factions would be eager to get a jump on things. If they could disrupt an active situation rather than allowing Armstrong to resolve things, so much the better.
It was a grim thought, but such challenges would likely come from Director Piggot's own allies within the wider PRT. In truth, the critical nature of the situation in Brockton Bay had been only half of what had kept that woman in her position. There were other officials that had been supported by her and had lent their support in return. As much as the PRT at large had tried to paint both her and her situation as extreme outliers, there were many who had voiced support for her actions and positions, even throughout the developing crisis.
When the reckoning eventually came for Emily Piggot, there would be blowback to those who had supported her. Not to the same degree, but at the very least there would be considerable embarrassment and loss of influence. Voices that were once highly valued for their insight would be likely to be dismissed out of hand. Individuals in line for higher positions would find their careers stagnating as their actions and positions were reevaluated.
In short, the magnitude of Director Piggot's fall was posed to drag down everyone even loosely connected to her. Given the years of experience the woman had and the strength of her connections in the PRT, that was a very wide net of concerned individuals. Individuals who might be invested in shifting some of the heat away from Brockton Bay, even if it would involve compromising an effort as important as the treatment and rehousing of Bakuda's hostages.
That would have been more of a threat if the treatment work was expected to take longer than an afternoon. Most likely, the situation would be attended to before any significant breach of information security could be made. It would still be preferable to keep matters completely concealed until Bakuda was completely neutralized, but at the very least there was no risk to the hostages' wellbeing.
From Apeiron's expression, it was clear he had an idea of the situation that had been weighing on Armstrong's shoulders. Probably not the exact nature of internal PRT politics that were in play, but at the very least the difficulties involved in transport, housing, and the transfer of authority.
"I understand this is a complex situation, both in terms of practical logistics and the wider implications. I am grateful for the work you have done on this matter." He said.
Armstrong took a breath and briefly wondered what Apeiron's gratitude would be considered worth in the wider PRT, in addition to what exactly it might imply. Most likely it was a surface level statement, but he could easily see a team of thinkers flying off the handle in obsessive analysis of subtext and hidden meanings, the way they seemed to be prone to with every account of the man's actions.
"Thank you, but I feel this is the bare minimum of what should be expected. I understand that the situation in Brockton Bay was not conducive to that, but this many people, in this situation, it is not something that should have been kept in a holding pattern."
Even for Armstrong, it had been easy to overlook the situation of the hostages. In the immediate wake of the Ungodly Hour, with the sky split nearly all the way from the East Coast of the US to North Africa and exotic particles creating a pseudo aurora visible halfway across the country, there had been much bigger things to worry about than the situation of the hostages. Particularly considering those hostages had been part of an actively hostile enemy force in open conflict with Protectorate and PRT forces, right until they weren't.
Armstrong knew that sympathy for people who had been trying to kill you was a tall order. Even without that, there had always been something overshadowing the hostages' situation.
First the stunned response to the aftermath of Apeiron's conflict with Lung, then the desperate work to contain damages and rescue the trapped and injured, then the release of the ABB's records, leading to a second wave of strikes and a new focus on the rescued victims of their human trafficking operations. Then an attempt to understand and contain the aftereffects of Apeiron's technology. To clear the damage and support citizens devastated and displaced by the conflict.
Always something else to draw attention, quite conveniently so, particularly for a department at a loss for options with too much on their plate already. The Brockton Bay PRT had worked to divert attention from the hostage situation, and the state of the city had given them plenty to work with to that effect.
"You'll hear no argument from me on that point." Apeiron replied as both of his teammates nodded. "And this is certainly an improvement from the conditions in the camp."
That was putting it mildly. "Thank you, but even with the hopefully short-term nature of this accommodation…" He paused for a moment. The exact timeline for tracking down Bakuda's hidden dimension wasn't something he wanted to press on, not when he had enough to deal with already. "Even with an abbreviated timeline, there are still aspects that I'm hoping to improve."
In truth, the hostages would likely be content to spend two or three days confined to the training camp, particularly once the extraction was complete. The amenities were limited, but once again, the comparison to their previous conditions was stark. Warm showers, hot food, and a roof over their heads was an exceptionally low bar and one that Armstrong had been able to clear relatively easily. Relatively.
Armstrong noticed the Matrix's helmet tilt up at his words. It was hard to read anything from the armored parahuman, particularly with what the particular arrangement of the armor implied. It could have been the result of some tinker impossibility out of commitment to the aesthetic of that particular animated series, but it was clear that a normally proportioned human would not be able to fit in that suit. Either the Matrix had non-standard anatomy, was small enough to be contained to the chest portion, or, as some analysts suggested, actually was the armor.
There were certainly more extreme variations seen in parahumans, with Proto Aima previously being one of them. At least before she became the cheerful redheaded girl who had joined Apeiron and the Matrix in Armstrong's office.
Despite the lack of expression, there seemed to be some level of communication between the Matrix and Apeiron. The tinker gave a slight nod before turning back to Armstrong.
"I know there have been several parties engaged over this project, but has there been anything in particular that has been causing your difficulties?" Apeiron asked in apparent sincerity.
In truth, there had been a few things about the relocation that didn't count as 'difficulties', but this was hardly the time to vent about such matters. Apeiron seemed entirely genuine in his question. It was a stark reminder of the fact that the man had wanted to accelerate the timeframe even further.
One detail of the Celestial Forge was becoming an open secret in the higher levels of the PRT, but an extremely closely guarded secret outside of those areas. There was little doubt that Garment, the new fashion cape in Brockton Bay, had some level of association with the Celestial Forge. Her apparent desire to stand apart from the rest of the group wasn't something anyone was keen to intrude in, but the scale of her abilities and their progressing nature made the connection fairly obvious.
One of those abilities had become apparent in the analysis of her charity show. Precise coordination across extremely complex systems. A rather poetic power for a cape associated with sewing. Something that could bring people together into a greater whole as easily as cloth and thread being turned into an immaculate dress.
Of course, if such abilities had been at the disposal of the Celestial Forge, it made sense that Apeiron's sense of scale and complexity would be a little skewed in the absence of thinker assisted coordination abilities. Instead of commenting on the larger matters, Armstrong just put on a stiff smile and made a dry attempt at humor.
"You mean besides the language barrier?" He asked. Apeiron just blinked in response.
"Yes, that must be quite a challenge." Apeiron said earnestly. "And your staff…?" He left the question hanging.
"It's easier to find translators for some languages. Others have proven more difficult." He confessed.
"That should be simple enough to address." The Matrix said, speaking for the first time in the meeting.
His voice was less robotic than Armstrong expected, though it had a distinctly inhuman element to it. Almost intentionally so. In fact, it didn't sound particularly masculine or feminine, just a kind of neutral tone with enough inflection to convey a base level of emotion.
"One would hope so, but the need for secrecy and security complicates things considerably." He explained to the golden cape who was managing to not actually loom despite his considerable size and the relatively small space of the office.
There was a slight pause as the Matrix seemed to evaluate Armstrong. "I believe you have misinterpreted my intentions." He explained. Armstrong noticed a slight smile appear on Apeiron's face. "To clarify my statement, that issue should be easy enough for me to address. Personally and directly."
The Matrix lifted a gauntleted hand, or possibly just a hand that happened to look like a gauntlet. Armstrong watched as strands of golden metal began to spread forth, growing out from the Matrix's hand as they fanned out and wove together.
They spun through the air with an artistry that brought Armstrong's mind back to the presumed connection between the Celestial Forge and Garment. Just like with the fashion cape, there was a sense of performance to the man's actions as the strands of gold fused together, forming a gleaming lattice in the air that was quickly filled in as the complex designs layered on top of each other and merged into a mass of solid gold in the shape of a large briefcase.
Then the gold retracted, leaving gleaming gray metal of a very real aluminum briefcase that was completely separate from the Matrix. It was held in the massive cape's hand almost daintily. All that artistry to produce something that was painfully normal. Excessively normal, which seemed like it might have been the point.
There were no embellishments or beyond perfect design like you saw from Apeiron's work. That beyond perfect near ethereal quality was absent, leaving something plain and practical. Something that could be interacted with without the reverence that even the least of Apeiron's works seemed to draw out. The Matrix had created an item that distinguished itself through pure utility with the only showmanship being in the process of creation itself.
Armstrong had to wonder at the intention behind that kind of display. There was some specific dynamic there, something as unique to the Matrix as to Apeiron himself. He supposed that in the face of someone of Apeiron's skills, a person would need to stretch themselves in order to find a way not to be overshadowed. At this point it was theorized that Apeiron actually couldn't produce anything without the level of embellishment that his equipment had become known for. If that was the case, it was an odd if interesting dynamic. The Matrix could have been showing off just by working to a simpler approach.
The towering cape set the case down on the table next to Armstrong and deftly opened the lid with a dexterity that was surprising given the man's armored hands. Inside were rows and rows of earbuds carefully packed in foam. Tiny devices, smaller than you'd find from most commercial models for smartphones, and with no visible controls present.
"I'm… sorry?" He said as he looked at the tiny devices, then back to the Matrix and Apeiron.
"Translators." Apeiron replied. "Universal translators. You were having difficulty with the range of languages. This should take care of things."
"Translation technology?" He asked. He carefully reached down and picked up one of the devices. It was light. Impossibly light. Light enough that there didn't even seem to be enough mass for a battery. And specifically unobstructive. He doubted a person would even notice they were wearing it after the first few minutes.
"Is it statement-delayed?" He asked, then regretted the question. It felt a bit insulting to compare something made by the Celestial Forge to conventional technology, but computer aided translation had been attempted before. Working with one statement at a time, often with context stripped away and in-built inaccuracies, as well as the difficulty of recognizing the correct language in the first place.
"No." The Matrix replied. "They provide real-time, two-way communication. Sculpted sound patterns facilitate targeted translation to multiple dialects, though by default verbal offset will not be corrected." There was a pause as the Matrix evaluated Armstrong's expression. "Meaning that an individual's lips will not match with what is being spoken."
"And that's by default?" He asked. Suddenly the tiny earpiece felt a great deal heavier.
"Perception filtered holographic correction is possible, but may be viewed as overly intrusive." The Matrix continued.
Armstrong took a breath and examined the device more closely. And definitely did not see anything indicating the ability to generate holograms that could change apparent mouth movements, but given the reputation of the Celestial Forge, was that really surprising.
Just the implication that the device could sufficiently filter and modify observations to that degree… well, there were uses for that kind of technology that were substantially more serious than smoothing out translation problems. If you could filter perception to that degree then you could make a person see or hear just about anything.
"The holographic elements are disabled?" He asked carefully.
"Only with respect to correcting apparent pronunciation. Low energy holography projected into the user's field of vision is still utilized for the purpose of translation of written language." The Matrix explained, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. And by the standards of the Celestial Forge, it just might be.
Written language. In addition to two-way real-time communication capable of managing multiple languages simultaneously. All apparently produced on the spot in a handful of seconds. In contrast to the hours or work and dozens of favors he'd been calling in to try to secure even a single agent with the background for one of the languages he still needed.
"This is extremely impressive." He said. The Matrix seemed to stand slightly straighter at his words. "Is this the result of a specialization on your part?"
"The principal technology originates from Apeiron." The Matrix replied, but there was no hint of shame or envy. He seemed perfectly content with the use of the other man's work. "I adapted the design to purpose and handled on site assembly."
"Which was appreciated." Apeiron said sincerely. "My own work's a bit beyond something like this."
"Beyond complete real-time universal translation?" Armstrong asked dryly.
Apeiron smiled knowingly. "A bit. It's what you might call 'high-energy linguistics'." It seemed to be alluding to some shared joke between the three capes. It took Armstrong a moment to piece together what they were referring to.
"Yes, Bakuda's signal. I understand that was quite the accomplishment." He said with a nod. There was a slight pause before Apeiron returned the gesture.
"Yes, that. In truth, it's unlikely Bakuda fully understood what she was working with." He said. "It required considerable effort to address that particular problem, but the work had been… illuminating."
"I'm sure." Armstrong said, despite having no idea what could have been illuminating about such a project. He was sure it was a substantial accomplishment for the field of cryptography, but he had more pressing issues to focus on.
He looked down at the tiny device. After a moment of consideration he committed a colossal breach of protocol and placed the translation device into his ear.
There was no great shift. No thrum of power or technical overlay filling his vision. In fact, nothing seemed to have changed at all.
Nothing beyond the small portions of foreign languages that were included on certain documents suddenly being readable in English. The font was distinct, making it clear which portions had been translated, but otherwise there was no obvious sign of the overlay. It was like someone had rewritten the document.
"Is it working?" Proto Aima asked, but she spoke with a distinct accent. She almost sounded…
"I believe so." He said, turning to the girl. "That wasn't English, was it?"
"Mandarin." Apeiron confirmed.
"Accented pronunciation is included as a means of identifying source languages." The Matrix explained. "It is possible to disable this feature, but given the conditions of anticipated use, clear identification of translated dialogue seemed advantageous."
"Yes, it would be." Armstrong said. He took the earbud out and looked down at the papers again. As he watched, the text instantly shifted back to its original form. Or he supposed it was only his perception of the text that shifted.
"It is incredible." He said. "Um, protocols for accepting technology, as well as the logistics of distribution and compensation…" At a quick glance there were more than enough devices for his entire staff. Significantly more. "What I mean is…" He fell silent as the Matrix slowly raised a hand.
"I understand you have been engaging independent enterprises to facilitate the logistical concerns of this operation." The armored man said.
"Uh, yes." Armstrong reached over to one of the piles that had been accumulating through the morning. "We have established suppliers that have been contacted regarding the matter. Agreements are still being finalized, particularly with respect to the precise security concerns we have to take into account."
"I would like to place a competitive bid." The Matrix said.
Armstrong blinked. I took a moment for the words to fully register with him. "Excuse me?" He looked from the Matrix to Apeiron, but the tinker just smiled and looked to his teammate. "A bid for…"
"All material, supply, and construction needs of this operation. As per PRT precedent, I am prepared to offer these one hundred and fifty translation devices as a signing bonus." The Matrix explained.
Armstrong's eyes jumped back to the open briefcase. Rows and rows of earbuds were lined up within. Miracle devices, any one of which would be considered a treasure. And they were being offered effectively freely. Well, on the condition of accepting a supply deal.
The 'precedent' that was being cited typically applied to new tinkers who handed over minor works from early in their career, usually as a demonstration of the nature of their technology. It was not intended to cover something of this scale.
And he mentioned a 'competitive bid.' Frankly, the Matrix could demand ten times what Armstrong was currently paying to supply the camp and it would still be an insane bargain. He had no assurance on how long the device would last, how well they worked in the field, or any evidence beyond that single display, but somehow he doubted that they would fall short.
Oh, and Apeiron had referred to them as Universal Translators. Somehow Armstrong doubted that he was being hyperbolic in that description.
"Of course." He said quickly. "Would this be a formal arrangement with the Celestial Forge?"
"With the Matrix." Apeiron said firmly. Once again, the golden armor stood a little straighter while Proto Aima looked on with a smile. "Which should simplify things to a degree, given my current standing with the PRT."
Armstrong grimaced. The sudden solution to his language problems had brought a wave of elation strong enough to hold back all the stress and exhaustion from the previous day. With Apeiron's reference to Director Piggot's still-active mandate that wave crashed leaving him even more exhausted than before.
"Once again, I would like to apologize on behalf of the wider PRT." He said, nearly through clenched teeth. It wouldn't have been so bad if the mandate had been limited to a single city, but the declaration of a state of emergency changed things. For a situation critical enough to require external support, additional weight was given to the emergency mandates of local directors.
It was based on the assumption that whatever measures they had put in place would be necessary beyond the limits of their city. And often they were. Ideally, such situations involved special measures implemented to address particularly dangerous capes. The requirement that those measures be followed by external departments in the event of a state of emergency had served to prevent disasters and to contain threats that would have left unprepared directors on the back foot.
Of course, that assumed that the initial mandates had been made in good faith and rescinded or updated as needed. It did not account for a director building a house of cards out of their personal directives to the point where the only solution to a situation spiraling out of control was to pile more and more mandates onto the situation.
It was definitely not helped by March effectively negating the thinker safety net that was supposed to head off such situations, but the core of the problem still lay with Director Piggot.
"And to be clear, my current actions, particularly with respect to this case, are not restricted by the policies that have been put in place by the PRT East-North-East." He explained.
It was actually a wonderful little backdoor that he doubted Director Piggot had even been aware of when she approved the transfer. The wide-reaching nature of her authority stemmed from directing a PRT department under a state of emergency. In transferring responsibility for Bakuda's hostages to the Boston PRT Piggot had placed Armstrong in a position of equal authority, at least with respect to the element of the emergency situation he was dealing with.
It wasn't enough to countermand the mess of mandates that had been put in play, but he was able to operate independently of them, drawing from the assumption that he was now close enough to the situation to exercise his own informed judgment.
"I am glad to hear that, but that would be limited to this situation only. I do not believe that would allow for official arrangements to be made." Apeiron replied.
Armstrong blinked, then turned to the Matrix. "You want to become an official PRT contact?" He asked.
The man nodded his armored head. "A formalization of the arrangement would assist in precise definition of parameters and ensure all needs are adequately met. Given the prior oversights, I would prefer to ensure that such matters are conducted properly."
"Properly. In an arrangement for materials and supplies, with an advanced technology signing bonus…" He worked through the logistics in his head. "And I assume the volumes required will not be…" The expressions of Apeiron and Proto Aima said enough. Somehow, even the unchanging metal helmet of the Matrix managed to convey a kind of patronizing amusement. "Right. Right. Just a moment." He said,
He considered his next move and all the implications it would have. The ways this situation could be handled and the consequences of whatever he chose to do next. Then he shook his head and retrieved his cell phone. Pulling up the call feature, which as expected did not register the earlier call from Apeiron, he keyed in a contact and waited for the call to connect.
"Palmer? Please meet me in the central office." He said. There was a brisk acknowledgement on the line and he ended the call.
Quickly looking around, he wondered if there was anything he could do to make the coming encounter less disconcerting. Probably not. Best to just jump in with both feet and deal with things as they developed.
The door opened and a severe faced woman with graying hair stepped in. She gave Armstrong a serious nod as she adjusted her business suit, then paused and slowly shifted her gaze towards the members of the Celestial Forge.
"This is Hellen Palmer. She'll be handling the Matrix's registration as a PRT contact, with vendor and contractor classifications. Palmer, could you please provide the Matrix with an overview of our supply, equipment, and logistic needs? Interest has been expressed in submitting a bid."
"A competitive bid." The Matrix clarified.
"Um, I… Yes, Director." She sputtered. "I'll see right to… Hello?" She paused as Proto Aima suddenly crossed the distance between them.
"Hi. It's nice to meet you. I know the Matrix will really like working with you." She said, shaking the stunned woman's hand.
"Yes." She said, cautiously eyeing the obvious cape. "And you are…?"
"Palmer, this is Proto Aima. I believe you are already familiar with Apeiron and the Matrix" Armstrong explained and watched the woman's eyes widen. Unlike him, most of his staff hadn't been privy to the reports of Dauntless's encounter with Apeiron the previous day, nor the recent changes to Proto Aima.
"I see." She said slowly. "I… like what you've done with your hair?"
"Thanks, it's new." The girl said as the hair in question pulsed with the same energy as her costume. "Well, more of a new arrangement of augmented underlying materials, but given the nature of structural and metaphysical alterations, it probably qualified as new even with a common link, right?"
"Uh, yes. Of course." Palmer said with a nod. Then shot Armstrong a look making it clear she was not enjoying being thrown into things like this. She took a moment to steady herself before turning to the Matrix. "If you'll come with me, I'd be happy to arrange matters."
"Thank you." The golden armor said, ducking under the door frame as he followed Palmer out of the office. Armstrong could hear the rest of his staff fall silent at the man's arrival, with a few craning their necks to look into the office even as Palmer quickly closed the door.
There was no way they would have been able to keep Apeiron's arrival quiet. Now it was just a question of whether he could trust the staff he selected for this mission, or whether this would be leaked to the news networks within the hour.
Proto Aima's suddenly vanished and Armstrong had to stop himself from jumping. Doubly so when he realized she hadn't merely relocated herself to another part of the office.
"Where did she go?" He asked in as neutral a tone as he could manage.
"The Matrix has been looking forward to taking on larger projects for some time. Proto Aima is speaking with the rest of the team about the matter." Apeiron said with a smile.
Armstrong considered the explanation. It was an earnest and honestly endearing answer. Few people knew anything about the Matrix beyond his open confrontation with Lung when the gang lord was in a state that had stalemated an Endbringer. With access to Dragon's records of the incident, which still hadn't been made public, Armstrong knew about the independent action of the robotic form as well as the way it had repaired itself and manifested a staggering amount of additional armaments in the middle of the fight.
It was a display that had drawn serious concerns from many in both the Protectorate and PRT, but the details were only known to the highest levels of the organizations. To the rest, and to the general public, all they had was an apparent connection to the giant robotic form, an apparent interest in classic Japanese animation, and a rumored preference for gin cocktails.
It was a novel and rather candid look at the dynamics between the members of the Celestial Forge. Not as the monolithic collection of supremely powerful capes they were collectively known or suspected to be, but as a group of people with their own dynamic of interests, supports, passions, and accomplishments. The idea that a cape that most people only knew as a titanic match for Endbringer level threats would be excited about engaging in support work for the PRT, or that the rest of the Celestial Forge would evidently be happy for him, was not something that would have been entertained in Protectorate analysis.
Not for people prone to looking at the situation twenty layers deep and assuming hidden intentions behind every move and gesture. Assuming that every act had some greater meaning as part of a plan that could only be glimpsed by the strongest thinkers.
To say that some of the analysis around Apeiron had run off the rails was a bit of an understatement. Even discounting the completely deranged theories that had grown up thanks to March's disruption, there was something about the man that seemed to drive analysts, both thinker and tinker, into a frenzy. Honestly, the response had caused something of a reevaluation of the role and use of thinkers within the Protectorate, particularly with how completely they had been obfuscated by March.
It was harrowing to think that your safety net might be anything but safe. It was possible that March was a true outlier, the kind of thing you encounter once, but the mere fact of her existence set a precedent that could not be ignored. Previously thinkers had been used to regulate thinkers, relying on multiple forms of analysis to counter any individual predictions or assessments that might have become compromised or misdirected. Now even that seemed insufficient and the PRT was scrambling to find a solution.
The PRT was scrambling to do a lot of things, and he included himself in that category. And despite everything he was scrambling to accomplish, he found himself with the rare opportunity of a direct conversation with Apeiron. Not a phone call, a face-to-face conversation with the man. The man who wielded so much power that most people had a difficult time thinking of him as anything less than a force of nature. A more enigmatic version of Eidolon, or possibly just an S-Class threat that managed to skirt being officially regarded as such.
Situations like this were something that Armstrong regarded as one of his strengths. Direct interactions with beings that people would regard as unfathomably powerful or alien. He had always been more focused on research and understanding than on larger societal issues of integration and social cohesion. The idea that you could take a policy approach to the integration of empowered individuals assumed there was some blanket measure that would apply universally, when the reality was each individual was unique and needed to be treated as such.
That wasn't a popular view with some directors. Directors who sought excessive management of image and perception in order to ensure what they consider a smooth transition to integration. The Protectorate existed to integrate parahumans into society, but there were conflicting opinions over how something like that should be accomplished.
He preferred a more personal and individualized approach. One built on compassion and understanding, at least as much as could be achieved. It wasn't perfect and he wouldn't pretend it was. Over the course of his career he had seen his share of failures, with one of the more notable of them currently wearing a modified Nazi uniform in Brockton Bay. He had tried his best with Ashley Stillons, but it seemed that all he could hope for was to mitigate the situation and hold off disaster for as long as possible.
But he'd also had his successes. He considered Weld chief among them, but that could be paternal pride speaking. From a scared and amnesic metal boy found in a junkyard to the most recognizable Case 53 in the country. Someone on track to take command of the ENE Wards with postings and promotions waiting for him when he advanced to the Protectorate.
That was all up in the air now, but not for any reason that Armstrong would ever hold against the boy. In fact, it could well be an even greater answer than he had dared to hope.
Hope. Funny word, particularly when you consider what it used to mean compared to what it currently represented. Previously 'hope' for Case 53s had involved public acceptance and greater visibility. Understanding of their situation and an easier integration for those who were less personable and photogenic than Weld. It was hope with an asterisk next to it. Hope that the challenges that were faced by dozens of Case 53s every day might be mitigated, if just a little bit.
That was no longer the case. After Weld's encounter with Apeiron, after that impossible treatment and the impact it had had, suddenly there was real hope. From Weld, from Armstrong, from Hunch and from Squib and from every other Case 53 or 'monstrous' cape who never dared dream of something better, just something less bad.
And it was possible. He had seen it with Weld, and he had seen… something with Proto Aima. Something beyond what anyone imagined possible. A shift from whatever was present during Apeiron's fight with Lung to her appearance at Somer's Rock to her meeting with Dauntless, and now this.
Seeing her for himself, Armstrong was certain. Once again, the analysts had run rampant when working through a report of Apeiron's activities. Theorizing distinctions between what Dauntless thought he had seen and what might have actually been happening. Whether Proto Aima had actually undergone a transformation or if it was just an expression of some technology or support effect. As if it would be possible to mistake a humanoid mink for a teenage girl.
He was certain. He had met the girl face to face, shook her hand and spoken to her. There was no illusion or misdirection there. She had a human form when earlier she didn't. And Apeiron was directly credited with that. Of the members of the Celestial Forge, she had been the strongest outlier. Now that position fell to someone else. Armstrong straightened his back as he inquired about the man in question.
"The Matrix?" Armstrong began. "He has an interest in construction? Or technical work?" He asked.
"They." Apeiron said casually.
"Excuse me?" Armstrong asked.
"They are interested in construction. Construction, assembly, and the qualities of production. It's a passion of theirs."
They. Theirs. And from the context, it sounded more significant than typical pronoun choice. It was easy to make assumptions of identity based on the size and body structure of the Matrix, but Armstrong was no stranger to the varied natures of capes, both mentally and physically.
"I see, and my apologies for any offense. If you would forgive my asking, would that be 'they' in the neutral sense, or the plural?" He asked.
His question got a slight smile from Apeiron. "A bit of both, actually, though any other questions of a personal nature would be best directed to the Matrix."
"Of course." He replied. A notice sprang up on his laptop, informing him that Palmer had begun the registration process. And neatly bypassed any questions of gender by registering the Matrix as an organization. Which may have been more accurate than not and also simplified the use of the plural.
"Not to intrude on that 'personal nature', but would I be right to assume that the particulars of the Matrix's situation are distinct from Proto Aima's? Specifically, given her recent… treatment?" He asked.
"All of our situations are distinct. Which I suppose is true for most people, and doubly so for parahumans, but it would be safe to say that is even more the case for us specifically." Apeiron explained.
"I see." He began. "But in respect to Proto Aima, was it…"
"This is about Weld." Apeiron said, cutting to the heart of the matter directly. Honestly, Armstrong was grateful to not have to talk in circles around the topic.
"I'm sorry, and I don't mean to distract you from such a critical task…" Apeiron waved him off. Clearly he had time to speak before he began treating the hostages. "But it is something of significant importance to me. And not exclusively in relation to Weld's situation." He explained.
The treatment Weld had already received was more than either of them could have ever hoped for. Apeiron's clear statement that Weld's contract covered additional treatments, to the limit of his ability, was something that had serious implications. Implications that only grew along with the capacities the man had demonstrated.
"You want to know if I can heal him. Properly." Apeiron tilted his head to the side. "Like with Proto Aima, at least superficially."
"Superficially?" Armstrong asked.
Apeiron smiled. "Her situation is complicated. There are elements that are not apparent to casual observation."
"Indeed? But these elements, they do not impede her?" He asked. And Apeiron seemed amused by the suggestion.
"No. I wasn't trying to imply that what has happened to her was some flawed half measure, just that there are aspects that are significantly more complicated that what would be seen from your average Case 53."
The phrasing was specific. Proto Aima was described as distinct from Case 53s. Personally, as someone familiar with the aspects that defined a 'proper' Case 53, Armstrong did not believe that any members of the Celestial Forge qualified. There were definitely aspects that they held in common, but not the specific set of shared circumstances that defined that classification.
"I suppose I should have the conviction to ask my questions directly." Armstrong said. Apeiron gave a slight nod, which he took as encouragement. "Are you currently able to fully treat a Case 53's condition?"
"Yes." He said, with no regard for the implications of such a response. "To varying degrees and through varying methods."
"But those methods are effective?" He asked.
Apeiron took a breath. "In terms of addressing detrimental aspects of a Case 53s condition, up to and including appearance, yes, they are able to be fully addressed. However, depending on the particulars of the power expression or the severity of the condition, there could be complications."
"Complications?" Armstrong asked, unable to keep concern out of his voice.
Apeiron nodded. "Potential regression of some traits, or a detrimental impact on the individual's powers. With purely biological expressions that would mostly be mandatory for effective treatment, but in order to prevent complications some level of power suppression would be necessary."
The power tinker theory. While he still wasn't convinced that was truly Apeiron's specialization, the talk about modifying or suppressing parahuman abilities made it clear it was well within his abilities. As if the situation with Dauntless's lance had left any doubt.
"Of course, a perfect treatment would require a more fundamental approach." He continued.
Armstrong furrowed his brow. "Fundamental?" He asked. "I'm sorry, but I'm not sure what you mean."
"I'm sure you're familiar with the difficulties encountered with previous attempts at treating the conditions of Case 53s." Apeiron said.
Armstrong nodded. Probably more than most people. Then again, most people didn't understand the distinction between Case 53s and parahumans with power expressions that altered their physiology. The Case 53 phenomena managed to capture public attention through a series of high-profile events. Regrettably, those events achieved such a high profile through the damage and loss of life attributed to them. Either through openly villainous actions, or the damage from uncontrolled abilities, the actions of Case 53s had captured national attention.
That was helped by a disproportionate number of conflicts between Case 53s and established parahumans. Such conflicts had led to numerous Case 53s becoming known quantities, if only through their determined and often one-sided focus on specific heroes. It was theorized that the same effect responsible for memory loss might result in obsessive behavior patterns.
Regardless, it resulted in public familiarity with the idea of the 'Case 53', to the point where the designation was used almost as a blanket term rather than the precise label it was intended to be.
"With Case 53s, you aren't just looking at altered biology or after effects of power use, you're looking at active power expressions. The physical structure of a Case 53 is set by their trigger conditions, and unless those conditions can be revised there will be active opposition to any attempt at significant corrective action." He explained.
The first response that jumped to Armstrong's mind was 'So it's hopeless.'. That seemed to be where the train of logic was leading, and no doubt where anyone else would be working towards with such an explanation. A succinct breakdown of how the condition of a Case 53 individual could not be fully corrected, only mitigated to small degrees within the scope of the original expression. The same kind of shifts that were known from numerous trump effects, alteration of some aspects of a parahuman's abilities at the expense of others.
But that wasn't what was being alluded to. Not here and not by Apeiron. The man had a different definition of what was considered impossible. If he was claiming that a fundamental approach was necessary, and that required an alteration of the initial expression of a parahuman's power, then…
"Case 69." Armstrong said. He could see Apeiron wince at the reference, and frankly he didn't blame him. The unfortunate case number significantly detracted from what the actual case represented.
"Not precisely as it would be regarded by PRT analysts, but drawing from the same principles." He explained.
Armstrong let out a long breath. "Fundamental." He said quietly. It didn't get much more fundamental than that. The two examples of the Case 69 designation had experienced massively altered power expression, generally towards the manifestation of new classifications of abilities, and greatly increased awareness of their powers, to the point of nearly confirming passenger theory outright.
The two examples he had heard about. Given the confidence that was being applied to the Case 68 and Case 69 effects, and it would have been much simpler if those numbers could have been reversed, he was willing to bet there was more to the story. More examples than just the two cleared for release. He hadn't gotten even a hint that anything was being covered up, but after his time in the PRT, he learned to recognize when people were acting on information that wasn't being shared with regional directors, not even the one in the adjacent city.
"That is an effect you can recreate? And control?" Armstrong asked. Of everything, every impossibility that Apeiron had been able to accomplish, that was a step beyond. Alteration of parahuman abilities. At that point whether the man was a power tinker or not was irrelevant. He was close enough that it wouldn't make a difference.
"That sounds like the kind of question that would have implications beyond concern for Weld's treatment." Apeiron said slyly. "And technically, my policy of not discussing my technology stands."
"I'm sorry if I was overly presumptuous." He said quickly. Apeiron waved him off. Frankly, just what had been shared to this point was groundbreaking. Either Apeiron was placing an immense amount of trust in him, or he had grown in power to the point where even a coordinated response from the entire Protectorate wouldn't be a concern.
Not that such a response was likely. Maybe if a less regarded tinker had hinted at such capabilities there would have been a stronger reaction, but at this point it was hard to imagine something Apeiron could reveal that would fall outside the massively inflated models of the man's projected abilities. Once certain thresholds were crossed, things actually became simpler. Probably because once the panic needle was buried there wasn't anywhere else to go. You just stepped lightly and hoped that someone knew what they were doing with respect to Apeiron.
Unfortunately for Director Armstrong, in this case that someone turned out to be him. He was the one who had made contact, had taken initiative, and was now dealing face to face with someone who just casually revealed he possessed the holy grail of parahuman powers.
He swallowed and turned back to the man. "I am glad that you are able to help Weld fully recover. Assuming that your arrangement…"
"As I said, Weld is paid up for future treatment." Apeiron assured him. "He hasn't exactly been accessible, and the timeframe and nature of that treatment is something that will need to be discussed." Just the fact that there were options. Multiple options, and with Weld allowed a choice in how they were approached.
"While I have several options, they still need to be personalized to a specific parahuman." Apeiron explained.
"No blanket cure?" Armstrong asked.
"Treatments, maybe, but not a cure." It was odd hearing Apeiron admit to limitations like that. "At least not yet." He continued, and the reframing was more fitting to what Armstrong had come to understand about the man.
"I understand several Case 53s have been traveling to Brockton Bay." Armstrong said neutrally.
Apeiron nodded. "Not the ideal circumstances, given the city's current situation, but so far things have been stable."
It was impossible to say whether they remained that way once any level of treatments began, either on Weld or other Case 53s.
"The situation in Brockton Bay…" Armstrong began. "I've seen the videos from yesterday, and read the reports from last night, with Fleet?"
Apeiron nodded. "The power balances between the gangs were something of an ongoing policy for Brockton Bay. Frankly, the idea of playing violent organizations against each other leaves a lot to be desired."
"Believe me, I know." He said darkly.
"The Boston Games?" Apeiron asked.
Armstrong gave him a grim nod. "Not my best moment, and not something that I'd ever want to see repeated. Given the situation in Brockton Bay, how it developed, I…"
Armstrong trailed off. He saw an expression from Apeiron. An expression that was simultaneously well known and a complete mystery. All anyone knew was that it was significant. A prelude to serious matters and prone to occurring at any time. Whether it was in fact a strategy trance or an element of the growth of his powers, no one could say.
He wasn't sure what he should say or do. If he should wait it out or interrupt. The man didn't look unaware of the world around him. It was more like he was suddenly processing a great deal more than anyone could imagine.
And then he was back. Or he was focused, which was enough for the moment. The man gave Armstrong a weary smile. "Unfortunately, the current situation in Brockton Bay seems to have overshadowed the Boston Games." Armstrong inclined his head. Not something he would argue about, given the losses that Brockton Bay had suffered leading up to and during the Ungodly Hour.
"It might be more accurate to say that the Boston Games provided the foundation for Brockton Bay's situation, at least in the public consciousness." He replied. "People are used to the idea of a city being devastated by outside forces, Endbringers or the Slaughterhouse Nine." Apeiron gave a slight nod and Armstrong continued. "The idea that similar destruction could build up from internal forces, that the gangs and villains that call a city home could boil over to such a degree…" He shook his head.
"War never changes." Apeiron said. Armstrong looked up at him. "Neanderthal tribes, mobilized armies, or parahuman fighting in the streets. You can change the scale and the set dressing, but War? War never changes."
There was a weariness to his voice. It was something that Armstrong hadn't heard from Apeiron before that contemplative moment.
"That sounds somewhat pessimistic." Armstrong offered.
"Does it?" Apeiron asked. "War never changes because of people. Not because war is inevitable, but because people are consistent. There's a reason that people are still reading treatises on war from thousands of years ago. If anything, that's a point of connection. The same factors have been driving humanity through its entire history. The same greed and quarrels and petty jealousies, but also the same hopes and dreams. Because it's the same humanity, struggling with the same issues. Issues that all too often consist of that same humanity."
"Your saying conflict was inevitable?" Armstrong asked.
"I'm saying that fantastic elements don't change the underlying nature of humanity. Lung was a petty warlord who ruled through fear and oppression. The world has seen what he was responsible for. Cruelties beyond description. Bakuda built upon his example, and the consequence of her work fills this camp. Nobody expected that, and nobody wanted to believe it was happening, even with the evidence right under their nose."
"Because they thought war had changed." Armstrong said, understanding his meaning.
Apeiron nodded. "People fight for stupid reasons. For human reasons. That's what doesn't change. The conflicts in Brockton Bay were driven as much by pride and ego as any concerns over territory and resources. The mistake was probably believing that Lung wouldn't burn down the city over a personal insult." He gave Armstrong a more direct look. "Or that the Butcher would restrain herself against more aggressive opponents."
Armstrong swallowed. The reports of what had happened between the Merchants and the Teeth were second hand. There were no convenient recordings, or if there were they had yet to circulate, but the possibility of an annihilator becoming the Butcher wasn't something to be taken lightly.
In the wake of the Ungodly Hour, the idea that certain things didn't happen or wouldn't happen had been thrown to the wayside. In that regard he was forced to agree with Apeiron. War hadn't changed, especially not where parahuman conflicts were concerned. Scale and spectacle, certainly, but not the essence of the conflict. Not the war itself.
"I take it you are less than pleased with the current arrangements in Brockton Bay?" Armstrong asked.
"It was my understanding that decisive action on the part of me or my team would be ill advised." Apeiron said, putting things incredibly mildly.
In the wake of the Ungodly Hour the entire world had been on edge. Another major display from Apeiron and the S-Class response would have been the least of their concerns. International powers had their eyes on Brockton Bay, quite literally in the case of some thinker powers. Causing global scale weather events would do that. People were standing by to see if Apeiron was going to be the next coming of the Three Blasphemies, or even the next Sleeper.
It was the kind of thing that could result in a massive response to whatever he attempted, or even to the country as a whole. The idea that international relations hinged on the actions of a single cape in a single city was terrifying, but that was the reality of the kind of power that Apeiron had displayed. His decision to stand down, to maintain a position of noninterference, and to leave matters in the hands of other organizations, had done more good that could be put into words.
But at the same time, you had possibly the most powerful cape on the planet watching the ridiculous attempts of other organizations to manage a situation that he was no doubt confident that he could resolve in a matter of hours.
"Your restraint was greatly appreciated. I know it can't have been easy." Armstrong said.
Apeiron let out a breath. "I made an agreement, contingent upon certain conditions. I am prepared to hold to that as long as those conditions are fulfilled." He turned to Armstrong. "And besides, there are other matters that I am dealing with."
He nodded. "And I must say, I'm grateful to have you here." He turned towards the door of his office. "As for the extraction of the bomb, we have limited medical facilities, and the logistics…"
Apeiron smiled. "Actually, I was planning to take care of most of that remotely."
"Remotely?" He asked.
"Similar technology to what was used for transport to this location." Apeiron raised a hand and dozens of glittering flecks appeared around it. They were a mix of colors and shades. Some were as bright as sunlight while others were nearly dark. Focusing on them individually, he realized what he was seeing.
"Portals." He said.
Apeiron nodded. "Precise and concentrated. Sufficient to carry the effects of my healing technology." That electric motor sound started up and blue circuit lines spread across his arm. "Which is more than sufficient to break down the implanted devices without need for surgical extraction. And attend to any other issues that might require treatment."
Remote, targeted healing of hundreds of people, precisely mapped and able to destroy implanted tinker tech with no safety issues. Well, disarmed tinker tech. Armstrong knew there were some people who would have preferred to acquire as many samples of Bakuda's explosives as he could get away with, but the idea that Apeiron would hand them over to the PRT after extraction was laughable. Personally, he would rather see them completely destroyed, he just hadn't anticipated it being handled this efficiently.
Did Apeiron even need to be HERE to accomplish something like this? He would wager that first portal had extended all the way from Brockton Bay. If the smaller ones had similar range without a loss of precision…
And once again, not nearly the most frightening thing that the man was capable of. In comparison to the admission about the Case 69 situation… it was still significant. Just not the number one priority.
"Ah." It was about the best he could manage at the moment. Considering he had made it this far without being rendered speechless was something of a personal accomplishment, but apparently everyone had limits. He steadied himself and turned to the man with hundreds of glittering portals swirling around his hand.
"Are you planning to begin immediately?" He managed to force out.
"Unless you have any objections?" Apeiron asked.
"Not specifically." He said. "Though it would be advisable to ensure that everyone is properly informed before we begin the treatments."
Something that was actually possible with the help of the translators. Providing he could cover for their distribution, which was technically contingent on the state of the Matrix's bid.
"Of course. I'll distribute the consent forms now." Apeiron focused as Armstrong was left at a loss for words. The electric motor sound began to ramp up and suddenly there was a hammering at his door.
"Director? We have a situation." Mitchell's voice came through the door. He swallowed and pulled the door open.
"Yes Mitchell?" He said, addressing the younger agent. The man had a hard time prying his eyes away from Apeiron's light show, but he cleared his throat and turned back to Armstrong.
"There are hologram screen things popping up all over the camp." He held up a tablet showing a composite of security feeds.
From the look of things, every hostage had a small display screen appear in front of them. Some of them were already showing the signs of Apeiron's healing technology, but he watched one individual press something on the screen, followed by the immediate appearance of the blue circuit patterns across their body.
It was a cascade effect, with others following suit as more and more people made their selection. Armstrong saw Mitchell jump and turned back to find Proto Aima standing next to Apeiron, tracing her hand over the mass of portals with interest in her eyes.
"Thank you Mitchell. And the consent forms?" He projected as much of an air of understanding and control as he could manage, with years of public relations work serving him well.
"Provided in English and personalized native language, where applicable. All records have been uploaded to your systems." Apeiron said casually.
"Right. Agent Crawford?" He asked, turning to the woman manning one of the workstations.
"Um, I haven't…" She paused, then clicked something on her screen. "I mean, yes, it's all here. Standard PRT medical release. Video records of individual consent, both for extraction and 'additional treatment'. And… rejections?"
Armstrong turned back to Apeiron. "Remote treatment was optional. Personal treatment is available on request, and conventional extraction for those who do not wish to receive tinker based medical care."
That was considerably more understanding than Armstrong had expected. Still, from a glance at the screen, it seemed like more than eighty percent had taken the immediate option, and frankly he couldn't blame them. Still, he hadn't expected getting through so many people so quickly.
Of course, the last twenty percent was likely to be the most complicated. The Pareto Principle reared its head again and no level of desperation would keep the outliers from causing difficulties.
Armstrong watched as both the blue circuit lines and the mass of tiny portals vanished. A single act had taken a near insurmountable task to merely a frustrating one. One that they could potentially deal with in the space of an hour or two, rather than the nightmare schedule he had been prepared for.
"Crawford, please provide an update to the staff regarding the situation. We'll need to schedule examinations of the treated individual to confirm their condition and update their medical records. Began separating those who requested alternate treatments."
"Yes, sir." She said, and immediately switched to her radio.
"Very good." He turned back to Apeiron. "If you'll give us a moment, we'll see to the arrangement for additional treatments." Much easier now that it was dozens rather than hundreds.
"Not a problem." He said, then turned to the sight of Agent Palmer returning with The Matrix. "Just let us know when you're ready."
He nodded as the Matrix broke off and returned to presumably discuss matters with Apeiron and Proto Aima. It was clear they had a means of nonverbal communication which he was not going to even dream about prying into.
Instead he left the command center to the three of them and took the opportunity to speak with Palmer.
"None of that was actually planned, was it sir?" She asked candidly.
He just smiled. "I don't think plans tend to survive contact with Apeiron." He joked, earning a small snort from the woman. "How are they handling things?"
"Agents were on top of it quickly enough. It was more shocking than anything else, though following the treatment containment might be an issue." She explained.
"Two or three days. Justified for medical observation." Not that he anticipated any problems on that front. "And we might be able to arrange some visitation from family members, providing we can maintain security."
"Meaning they won't be able to leave." Palmer said.
"Three days." He replied. Hopefully three days, providing nothing happened to draw Apeiron's attention. He was committed to leaving things in Brockton Bay to the other groups, but that was a tall order to ask when it was his city. And that reminded him of another concern.
"The ABB members?" He asked.
"Already checked. Only received offers for extraction, not the blanket healing." Palmer replied.
Which was possibly vindictiveness on Apeiron's part, or possibly a concession to avoid needing to deal with peak fitness gang members. He'd heard a story about a grandmother who had received Apeiron's treatment injuring a PRT agent when they tried to take her into custody, but that was probably an exaggeration.
"Good." He said. Not that they would all deserve injuries that had been acquired, but the list of people deserving healing ahead of human traffickers was fairly large. "What about the Matrix? Any more insanity headed our way?"
"It was looking like there might be." She admitted. "They were asking about construction needs, recreation facilities, clothing, food preferences, medical facilities…" She shook her head. "Fortunately, they eased off on the big stuff."
"Really?" He asked.
"Really." She pulled up a printed copy of a standard PRT supply contract. "Rather than direct supply deliveries or construction contracts, the Matrix will be issuing us some kind of matter gen tech." She shook her head. "They said it would be enough for our needs, and that it was a 'domestic model'."
"Meaning a stripped-down version of some terrifying Apeiron tech that would cause emergency meetings across the entire PRT?" Armstrong asked.
"Couldn't say." She replied dryly as she handed over the documentation. "Anyway, it only needs to last for a few days. We still have suppliers on standby and we'll get the translators regardless."
Armstrong checked the document and nodded. "That's the main thing, and more than worth the cost. Next to that, this 'G.E.C.K.' is just a bonus."
Jumpchain abilities this chapter:
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Director Armstrong nodded slowly at the parahumans, parahumans who had appeared directly inside his temporary command center. "Far too long, especially for such a serious matter." He agreed.
It was taking effort for him to adjust to the situation. Normally he would have at least taken a moment to prepare for the arrival of representatives of major cape organizations, much less one as powerful as the Celestial Forge. Normally any meeting would be held in a room dedicated to such a purpose, not one covered in the scattered paperwork for facilitating the transfer of hostages and housing them on short notice.
There were layers of pretense that had been stripped away by Apeiron's decision to just step directly into the heart of Armstrong's operations, but that was likely the point. The PRT's tendency to present a more professional and coordinated image wouldn't do much good against an organization who clearly understood every detail of what he had been scrambling to accomplish over the past twenty-four hours.
After a career in the PRT, the instinct to precisely manage interactions and put up a strong front was hard to dismiss, but this was a highly atypical situation. If anything, Apeiron's decision to arrive directly inside the command center had been a concession to Armstrong's situation, not the kind of power play it would usually have been. If you took the perspective of approaching the situation as a united front rather than two distinct organizations working in loose collaboration, then it was indeed a point in his favor.
And there was another element to consider. He had complete confidence in the agents that had been working alongside him. Each of them was a known factor, someone that he could rely upon for both dedication and discretion. Unfortunately, the rest of the staff didn't hold the same level of confidence. The necessary level was just too high to consistently expect it from more general employees. While he was happy to say his department lacked the glaring and obvious information failures of the PRT East-North-East, they were also a larger division and, like all PRT departments, dealt with matters of extreme importance and confidentiality.
No PRT office was completely secure, but then again, nothing involving Parahumans could be. The best you could usually hope for was to implement measures to discourage leaks and limit the flow of critical information. At the very least you could ensure that if a breech did occur it would be quickly identified and addressed. So that at worst you'd see one-off issues rather than persistent subversion of your department.
Arranging a proper reception and meeting space for the Celestial Forge's representatives would have drawn far too much attention. Frankly, just having them on site might be too much for some people to contain. They had the advantage of only needing a few days of security, but even that might not be possible, given the public response to any appearance by members of Apeiron's team.
Ironically, it wasn't just leaks to the media or villain organizations that he needed to worry about. He had exercised considerable directorial authority to arrange the transfer. While it was within his purview as head of the Boston PRT, he would need to answer for and justify every decision he had made, including keeping the matter of Apeiron's involvement 'in house' rather than referring to the National Office for instruction, as was standing policy.
There were technicalities of the situation that could be cited in his favor, but that wouldn't mean much to factions that might be inclined to come down on him for his actions. And plenty of those factions would be eager to get a jump on things. If they could disrupt an active situation rather than allowing Armstrong to resolve things, so much the better.
It was a grim thought, but such challenges would likely come from Director Piggot's own allies within the wider PRT. In truth, the critical nature of the situation in Brockton Bay had been only half of what had kept that woman in her position. There were other officials that had been supported by her and had lent their support in return. As much as the PRT at large had tried to paint both her and her situation as extreme outliers, there were many who had voiced support for her actions and positions, even throughout the developing crisis.
When the reckoning eventually came for Emily Piggot, there would be blowback to those who had supported her. Not to the same degree, but at the very least there would be considerable embarrassment and loss of influence. Voices that were once highly valued for their insight would be likely to be dismissed out of hand. Individuals in line for higher positions would find their careers stagnating as their actions and positions were reevaluated.
In short, the magnitude of Director Piggot's fall was posed to drag down everyone even loosely connected to her. Given the years of experience the woman had and the strength of her connections in the PRT, that was a very wide net of concerned individuals. Individuals who might be invested in shifting some of the heat away from Brockton Bay, even if it would involve compromising an effort as important as the treatment and rehousing of Bakuda's hostages.
That would have been more of a threat if the treatment work was expected to take longer than an afternoon. Most likely, the situation would be attended to before any significant breach of information security could be made. It would still be preferable to keep matters completely concealed until Bakuda was completely neutralized, but at the very least there was no risk to the hostages' wellbeing.
From Apeiron's expression, it was clear he had an idea of the situation that had been weighing on Armstrong's shoulders. Probably not the exact nature of internal PRT politics that were in play, but at the very least the difficulties involved in transport, housing, and the transfer of authority.
"I understand this is a complex situation, both in terms of practical logistics and the wider implications. I am grateful for the work you have done on this matter." He said.
Armstrong took a breath and briefly wondered what Apeiron's gratitude would be considered worth in the wider PRT, in addition to what exactly it might imply. Most likely it was a surface level statement, but he could easily see a team of thinkers flying off the handle in obsessive analysis of subtext and hidden meanings, the way they seemed to be prone to with every account of the man's actions.
"Thank you, but I feel this is the bare minimum of what should be expected. I understand that the situation in Brockton Bay was not conducive to that, but this many people, in this situation, it is not something that should have been kept in a holding pattern."
Even for Armstrong, it had been easy to overlook the situation of the hostages. In the immediate wake of the Ungodly Hour, with the sky split nearly all the way from the East Coast of the US to North Africa and exotic particles creating a pseudo aurora visible halfway across the country, there had been much bigger things to worry about than the situation of the hostages. Particularly considering those hostages had been part of an actively hostile enemy force in open conflict with Protectorate and PRT forces, right until they weren't.
Armstrong knew that sympathy for people who had been trying to kill you was a tall order. Even without that, there had always been something overshadowing the hostages' situation.
First the stunned response to the aftermath of Apeiron's conflict with Lung, then the desperate work to contain damages and rescue the trapped and injured, then the release of the ABB's records, leading to a second wave of strikes and a new focus on the rescued victims of their human trafficking operations. Then an attempt to understand and contain the aftereffects of Apeiron's technology. To clear the damage and support citizens devastated and displaced by the conflict.
Always something else to draw attention, quite conveniently so, particularly for a department at a loss for options with too much on their plate already. The Brockton Bay PRT had worked to divert attention from the hostage situation, and the state of the city had given them plenty to work with to that effect.
"You'll hear no argument from me on that point." Apeiron replied as both of his teammates nodded. "And this is certainly an improvement from the conditions in the camp."
That was putting it mildly. "Thank you, but even with the hopefully short-term nature of this accommodation…" He paused for a moment. The exact timeline for tracking down Bakuda's hidden dimension wasn't something he wanted to press on, not when he had enough to deal with already. "Even with an abbreviated timeline, there are still aspects that I'm hoping to improve."
In truth, the hostages would likely be content to spend two or three days confined to the training camp, particularly once the extraction was complete. The amenities were limited, but once again, the comparison to their previous conditions was stark. Warm showers, hot food, and a roof over their heads was an exceptionally low bar and one that Armstrong had been able to clear relatively easily. Relatively.
Armstrong noticed the Matrix's helmet tilt up at his words. It was hard to read anything from the armored parahuman, particularly with what the particular arrangement of the armor implied. It could have been the result of some tinker impossibility out of commitment to the aesthetic of that particular animated series, but it was clear that a normally proportioned human would not be able to fit in that suit. Either the Matrix had non-standard anatomy, was small enough to be contained to the chest portion, or, as some analysts suggested, actually was the armor.
There were certainly more extreme variations seen in parahumans, with Proto Aima previously being one of them. At least before she became the cheerful redheaded girl who had joined Apeiron and the Matrix in Armstrong's office.
Despite the lack of expression, there seemed to be some level of communication between the Matrix and Apeiron. The tinker gave a slight nod before turning back to Armstrong.
"I know there have been several parties engaged over this project, but has there been anything in particular that has been causing your difficulties?" Apeiron asked in apparent sincerity.
In truth, there had been a few things about the relocation that didn't count as 'difficulties', but this was hardly the time to vent about such matters. Apeiron seemed entirely genuine in his question. It was a stark reminder of the fact that the man had wanted to accelerate the timeframe even further.
One detail of the Celestial Forge was becoming an open secret in the higher levels of the PRT, but an extremely closely guarded secret outside of those areas. There was little doubt that Garment, the new fashion cape in Brockton Bay, had some level of association with the Celestial Forge. Her apparent desire to stand apart from the rest of the group wasn't something anyone was keen to intrude in, but the scale of her abilities and their progressing nature made the connection fairly obvious.
One of those abilities had become apparent in the analysis of her charity show. Precise coordination across extremely complex systems. A rather poetic power for a cape associated with sewing. Something that could bring people together into a greater whole as easily as cloth and thread being turned into an immaculate dress.
Of course, if such abilities had been at the disposal of the Celestial Forge, it made sense that Apeiron's sense of scale and complexity would be a little skewed in the absence of thinker assisted coordination abilities. Instead of commenting on the larger matters, Armstrong just put on a stiff smile and made a dry attempt at humor.
"You mean besides the language barrier?" He asked. Apeiron just blinked in response.
"Yes, that must be quite a challenge." Apeiron said earnestly. "And your staff…?" He left the question hanging.
"It's easier to find translators for some languages. Others have proven more difficult." He confessed.
"That should be simple enough to address." The Matrix said, speaking for the first time in the meeting.
His voice was less robotic than Armstrong expected, though it had a distinctly inhuman element to it. Almost intentionally so. In fact, it didn't sound particularly masculine or feminine, just a kind of neutral tone with enough inflection to convey a base level of emotion.
"One would hope so, but the need for secrecy and security complicates things considerably." He explained to the golden cape who was managing to not actually loom despite his considerable size and the relatively small space of the office.
There was a slight pause as the Matrix seemed to evaluate Armstrong. "I believe you have misinterpreted my intentions." He explained. Armstrong noticed a slight smile appear on Apeiron's face. "To clarify my statement, that issue should be easy enough for me to address. Personally and directly."
The Matrix lifted a gauntleted hand, or possibly just a hand that happened to look like a gauntlet. Armstrong watched as strands of golden metal began to spread forth, growing out from the Matrix's hand as they fanned out and wove together.
They spun through the air with an artistry that brought Armstrong's mind back to the presumed connection between the Celestial Forge and Garment. Just like with the fashion cape, there was a sense of performance to the man's actions as the strands of gold fused together, forming a gleaming lattice in the air that was quickly filled in as the complex designs layered on top of each other and merged into a mass of solid gold in the shape of a large briefcase.
Then the gold retracted, leaving gleaming gray metal of a very real aluminum briefcase that was completely separate from the Matrix. It was held in the massive cape's hand almost daintily. All that artistry to produce something that was painfully normal. Excessively normal, which seemed like it might have been the point.
There were no embellishments or beyond perfect design like you saw from Apeiron's work. That beyond perfect near ethereal quality was absent, leaving something plain and practical. Something that could be interacted with without the reverence that even the least of Apeiron's works seemed to draw out. The Matrix had created an item that distinguished itself through pure utility with the only showmanship being in the process of creation itself.
Armstrong had to wonder at the intention behind that kind of display. There was some specific dynamic there, something as unique to the Matrix as to Apeiron himself. He supposed that in the face of someone of Apeiron's skills, a person would need to stretch themselves in order to find a way not to be overshadowed. At this point it was theorized that Apeiron actually couldn't produce anything without the level of embellishment that his equipment had become known for. If that was the case, it was an odd if interesting dynamic. The Matrix could have been showing off just by working to a simpler approach.
The towering cape set the case down on the table next to Armstrong and deftly opened the lid with a dexterity that was surprising given the man's armored hands. Inside were rows and rows of earbuds carefully packed in foam. Tiny devices, smaller than you'd find from most commercial models for smartphones, and with no visible controls present.
"I'm… sorry?" He said as he looked at the tiny devices, then back to the Matrix and Apeiron.
"Translators." Apeiron replied. "Universal translators. You were having difficulty with the range of languages. This should take care of things."
"Translation technology?" He asked. He carefully reached down and picked up one of the devices. It was light. Impossibly light. Light enough that there didn't even seem to be enough mass for a battery. And specifically unobstructive. He doubted a person would even notice they were wearing it after the first few minutes.
"Is it statement-delayed?" He asked, then regretted the question. It felt a bit insulting to compare something made by the Celestial Forge to conventional technology, but computer aided translation had been attempted before. Working with one statement at a time, often with context stripped away and in-built inaccuracies, as well as the difficulty of recognizing the correct language in the first place.
"No." The Matrix replied. "They provide real-time, two-way communication. Sculpted sound patterns facilitate targeted translation to multiple dialects, though by default verbal offset will not be corrected." There was a pause as the Matrix evaluated Armstrong's expression. "Meaning that an individual's lips will not match with what is being spoken."
"And that's by default?" He asked. Suddenly the tiny earpiece felt a great deal heavier.
"Perception filtered holographic correction is possible, but may be viewed as overly intrusive." The Matrix continued.
Armstrong took a breath and examined the device more closely. And definitely did not see anything indicating the ability to generate holograms that could change apparent mouth movements, but given the reputation of the Celestial Forge, was that really surprising.
Just the implication that the device could sufficiently filter and modify observations to that degree… well, there were uses for that kind of technology that were substantially more serious than smoothing out translation problems. If you could filter perception to that degree then you could make a person see or hear just about anything.
"The holographic elements are disabled?" He asked carefully.
"Only with respect to correcting apparent pronunciation. Low energy holography projected into the user's field of vision is still utilized for the purpose of translation of written language." The Matrix explained, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. And by the standards of the Celestial Forge, it just might be.
Written language. In addition to two-way real-time communication capable of managing multiple languages simultaneously. All apparently produced on the spot in a handful of seconds. In contrast to the hours or work and dozens of favors he'd been calling in to try to secure even a single agent with the background for one of the languages he still needed.
"This is extremely impressive." He said. The Matrix seemed to stand slightly straighter at his words. "Is this the result of a specialization on your part?"
"The principal technology originates from Apeiron." The Matrix replied, but there was no hint of shame or envy. He seemed perfectly content with the use of the other man's work. "I adapted the design to purpose and handled on site assembly."
"Which was appreciated." Apeiron said sincerely. "My own work's a bit beyond something like this."
"Beyond complete real-time universal translation?" Armstrong asked dryly.
Apeiron smiled knowingly. "A bit. It's what you might call 'high-energy linguistics'." It seemed to be alluding to some shared joke between the three capes. It took Armstrong a moment to piece together what they were referring to.
"Yes, Bakuda's signal. I understand that was quite the accomplishment." He said with a nod. There was a slight pause before Apeiron returned the gesture.
"Yes, that. In truth, it's unlikely Bakuda fully understood what she was working with." He said. "It required considerable effort to address that particular problem, but the work had been… illuminating."
"I'm sure." Armstrong said, despite having no idea what could have been illuminating about such a project. He was sure it was a substantial accomplishment for the field of cryptography, but he had more pressing issues to focus on.
He looked down at the tiny device. After a moment of consideration he committed a colossal breach of protocol and placed the translation device into his ear.
There was no great shift. No thrum of power or technical overlay filling his vision. In fact, nothing seemed to have changed at all.
Nothing beyond the small portions of foreign languages that were included on certain documents suddenly being readable in English. The font was distinct, making it clear which portions had been translated, but otherwise there was no obvious sign of the overlay. It was like someone had rewritten the document.
"Is it working?" Proto Aima asked, but she spoke with a distinct accent. She almost sounded…
"I believe so." He said, turning to the girl. "That wasn't English, was it?"
"Mandarin." Apeiron confirmed.
"Accented pronunciation is included as a means of identifying source languages." The Matrix explained. "It is possible to disable this feature, but given the conditions of anticipated use, clear identification of translated dialogue seemed advantageous."
"Yes, it would be." Armstrong said. He took the earbud out and looked down at the papers again. As he watched, the text instantly shifted back to its original form. Or he supposed it was only his perception of the text that shifted.
"It is incredible." He said. "Um, protocols for accepting technology, as well as the logistics of distribution and compensation…" At a quick glance there were more than enough devices for his entire staff. Significantly more. "What I mean is…" He fell silent as the Matrix slowly raised a hand.
"I understand you have been engaging independent enterprises to facilitate the logistical concerns of this operation." The armored man said.
"Uh, yes." Armstrong reached over to one of the piles that had been accumulating through the morning. "We have established suppliers that have been contacted regarding the matter. Agreements are still being finalized, particularly with respect to the precise security concerns we have to take into account."
"I would like to place a competitive bid." The Matrix said.
Armstrong blinked. I took a moment for the words to fully register with him. "Excuse me?" He looked from the Matrix to Apeiron, but the tinker just smiled and looked to his teammate. "A bid for…"
"All material, supply, and construction needs of this operation. As per PRT precedent, I am prepared to offer these one hundred and fifty translation devices as a signing bonus." The Matrix explained.
Armstrong's eyes jumped back to the open briefcase. Rows and rows of earbuds were lined up within. Miracle devices, any one of which would be considered a treasure. And they were being offered effectively freely. Well, on the condition of accepting a supply deal.
The 'precedent' that was being cited typically applied to new tinkers who handed over minor works from early in their career, usually as a demonstration of the nature of their technology. It was not intended to cover something of this scale.
And he mentioned a 'competitive bid.' Frankly, the Matrix could demand ten times what Armstrong was currently paying to supply the camp and it would still be an insane bargain. He had no assurance on how long the device would last, how well they worked in the field, or any evidence beyond that single display, but somehow he doubted that they would fall short.
Oh, and Apeiron had referred to them as Universal Translators. Somehow Armstrong doubted that he was being hyperbolic in that description.
"Of course." He said quickly. "Would this be a formal arrangement with the Celestial Forge?"
"With the Matrix." Apeiron said firmly. Once again, the golden armor stood a little straighter while Proto Aima looked on with a smile. "Which should simplify things to a degree, given my current standing with the PRT."
Armstrong grimaced. The sudden solution to his language problems had brought a wave of elation strong enough to hold back all the stress and exhaustion from the previous day. With Apeiron's reference to Director Piggot's still-active mandate that wave crashed leaving him even more exhausted than before.
"Once again, I would like to apologize on behalf of the wider PRT." He said, nearly through clenched teeth. It wouldn't have been so bad if the mandate had been limited to a single city, but the declaration of a state of emergency changed things. For a situation critical enough to require external support, additional weight was given to the emergency mandates of local directors.
It was based on the assumption that whatever measures they had put in place would be necessary beyond the limits of their city. And often they were. Ideally, such situations involved special measures implemented to address particularly dangerous capes. The requirement that those measures be followed by external departments in the event of a state of emergency had served to prevent disasters and to contain threats that would have left unprepared directors on the back foot.
Of course, that assumed that the initial mandates had been made in good faith and rescinded or updated as needed. It did not account for a director building a house of cards out of their personal directives to the point where the only solution to a situation spiraling out of control was to pile more and more mandates onto the situation.
It was definitely not helped by March effectively negating the thinker safety net that was supposed to head off such situations, but the core of the problem still lay with Director Piggot.
"And to be clear, my current actions, particularly with respect to this case, are not restricted by the policies that have been put in place by the PRT East-North-East." He explained.
It was actually a wonderful little backdoor that he doubted Director Piggot had even been aware of when she approved the transfer. The wide-reaching nature of her authority stemmed from directing a PRT department under a state of emergency. In transferring responsibility for Bakuda's hostages to the Boston PRT Piggot had placed Armstrong in a position of equal authority, at least with respect to the element of the emergency situation he was dealing with.
It wasn't enough to countermand the mess of mandates that had been put in play, but he was able to operate independently of them, drawing from the assumption that he was now close enough to the situation to exercise his own informed judgment.
"I am glad to hear that, but that would be limited to this situation only. I do not believe that would allow for official arrangements to be made." Apeiron replied.
Armstrong blinked, then turned to the Matrix. "You want to become an official PRT contact?" He asked.
The man nodded his armored head. "A formalization of the arrangement would assist in precise definition of parameters and ensure all needs are adequately met. Given the prior oversights, I would prefer to ensure that such matters are conducted properly."
"Properly. In an arrangement for materials and supplies, with an advanced technology signing bonus…" He worked through the logistics in his head. "And I assume the volumes required will not be…" The expressions of Apeiron and Proto Aima said enough. Somehow, even the unchanging metal helmet of the Matrix managed to convey a kind of patronizing amusement. "Right. Right. Just a moment." He said,
He considered his next move and all the implications it would have. The ways this situation could be handled and the consequences of whatever he chose to do next. Then he shook his head and retrieved his cell phone. Pulling up the call feature, which as expected did not register the earlier call from Apeiron, he keyed in a contact and waited for the call to connect.
"Palmer? Please meet me in the central office." He said. There was a brisk acknowledgement on the line and he ended the call.
Quickly looking around, he wondered if there was anything he could do to make the coming encounter less disconcerting. Probably not. Best to just jump in with both feet and deal with things as they developed.
The door opened and a severe faced woman with graying hair stepped in. She gave Armstrong a serious nod as she adjusted her business suit, then paused and slowly shifted her gaze towards the members of the Celestial Forge.
"This is Hellen Palmer. She'll be handling the Matrix's registration as a PRT contact, with vendor and contractor classifications. Palmer, could you please provide the Matrix with an overview of our supply, equipment, and logistic needs? Interest has been expressed in submitting a bid."
"A competitive bid." The Matrix clarified.
"Um, I… Yes, Director." She sputtered. "I'll see right to… Hello?" She paused as Proto Aima suddenly crossed the distance between them.
"Hi. It's nice to meet you. I know the Matrix will really like working with you." She said, shaking the stunned woman's hand.
"Yes." She said, cautiously eyeing the obvious cape. "And you are…?"
"Palmer, this is Proto Aima. I believe you are already familiar with Apeiron and the Matrix" Armstrong explained and watched the woman's eyes widen. Unlike him, most of his staff hadn't been privy to the reports of Dauntless's encounter with Apeiron the previous day, nor the recent changes to Proto Aima.
"I see." She said slowly. "I… like what you've done with your hair?"
"Thanks, it's new." The girl said as the hair in question pulsed with the same energy as her costume. "Well, more of a new arrangement of augmented underlying materials, but given the nature of structural and metaphysical alterations, it probably qualified as new even with a common link, right?"
"Uh, yes. Of course." Palmer said with a nod. Then shot Armstrong a look making it clear she was not enjoying being thrown into things like this. She took a moment to steady herself before turning to the Matrix. "If you'll come with me, I'd be happy to arrange matters."
"Thank you." The golden armor said, ducking under the door frame as he followed Palmer out of the office. Armstrong could hear the rest of his staff fall silent at the man's arrival, with a few craning their necks to look into the office even as Palmer quickly closed the door.
There was no way they would have been able to keep Apeiron's arrival quiet. Now it was just a question of whether he could trust the staff he selected for this mission, or whether this would be leaked to the news networks within the hour.
Proto Aima's suddenly vanished and Armstrong had to stop himself from jumping. Doubly so when he realized she hadn't merely relocated herself to another part of the office.
"Where did she go?" He asked in as neutral a tone as he could manage.
"The Matrix has been looking forward to taking on larger projects for some time. Proto Aima is speaking with the rest of the team about the matter." Apeiron said with a smile.
Armstrong considered the explanation. It was an earnest and honestly endearing answer. Few people knew anything about the Matrix beyond his open confrontation with Lung when the gang lord was in a state that had stalemated an Endbringer. With access to Dragon's records of the incident, which still hadn't been made public, Armstrong knew about the independent action of the robotic form as well as the way it had repaired itself and manifested a staggering amount of additional armaments in the middle of the fight.
It was a display that had drawn serious concerns from many in both the Protectorate and PRT, but the details were only known to the highest levels of the organizations. To the rest, and to the general public, all they had was an apparent connection to the giant robotic form, an apparent interest in classic Japanese animation, and a rumored preference for gin cocktails.
It was a novel and rather candid look at the dynamics between the members of the Celestial Forge. Not as the monolithic collection of supremely powerful capes they were collectively known or suspected to be, but as a group of people with their own dynamic of interests, supports, passions, and accomplishments. The idea that a cape that most people only knew as a titanic match for Endbringer level threats would be excited about engaging in support work for the PRT, or that the rest of the Celestial Forge would evidently be happy for him, was not something that would have been entertained in Protectorate analysis.
Not for people prone to looking at the situation twenty layers deep and assuming hidden intentions behind every move and gesture. Assuming that every act had some greater meaning as part of a plan that could only be glimpsed by the strongest thinkers.
To say that some of the analysis around Apeiron had run off the rails was a bit of an understatement. Even discounting the completely deranged theories that had grown up thanks to March's disruption, there was something about the man that seemed to drive analysts, both thinker and tinker, into a frenzy. Honestly, the response had caused something of a reevaluation of the role and use of thinkers within the Protectorate, particularly with how completely they had been obfuscated by March.
It was harrowing to think that your safety net might be anything but safe. It was possible that March was a true outlier, the kind of thing you encounter once, but the mere fact of her existence set a precedent that could not be ignored. Previously thinkers had been used to regulate thinkers, relying on multiple forms of analysis to counter any individual predictions or assessments that might have become compromised or misdirected. Now even that seemed insufficient and the PRT was scrambling to find a solution.
The PRT was scrambling to do a lot of things, and he included himself in that category. And despite everything he was scrambling to accomplish, he found himself with the rare opportunity of a direct conversation with Apeiron. Not a phone call, a face-to-face conversation with the man. The man who wielded so much power that most people had a difficult time thinking of him as anything less than a force of nature. A more enigmatic version of Eidolon, or possibly just an S-Class threat that managed to skirt being officially regarded as such.
Situations like this were something that Armstrong regarded as one of his strengths. Direct interactions with beings that people would regard as unfathomably powerful or alien. He had always been more focused on research and understanding than on larger societal issues of integration and social cohesion. The idea that you could take a policy approach to the integration of empowered individuals assumed there was some blanket measure that would apply universally, when the reality was each individual was unique and needed to be treated as such.
That wasn't a popular view with some directors. Directors who sought excessive management of image and perception in order to ensure what they consider a smooth transition to integration. The Protectorate existed to integrate parahumans into society, but there were conflicting opinions over how something like that should be accomplished.
He preferred a more personal and individualized approach. One built on compassion and understanding, at least as much as could be achieved. It wasn't perfect and he wouldn't pretend it was. Over the course of his career he had seen his share of failures, with one of the more notable of them currently wearing a modified Nazi uniform in Brockton Bay. He had tried his best with Ashley Stillons, but it seemed that all he could hope for was to mitigate the situation and hold off disaster for as long as possible.
But he'd also had his successes. He considered Weld chief among them, but that could be paternal pride speaking. From a scared and amnesic metal boy found in a junkyard to the most recognizable Case 53 in the country. Someone on track to take command of the ENE Wards with postings and promotions waiting for him when he advanced to the Protectorate.
That was all up in the air now, but not for any reason that Armstrong would ever hold against the boy. In fact, it could well be an even greater answer than he had dared to hope.
Hope. Funny word, particularly when you consider what it used to mean compared to what it currently represented. Previously 'hope' for Case 53s had involved public acceptance and greater visibility. Understanding of their situation and an easier integration for those who were less personable and photogenic than Weld. It was hope with an asterisk next to it. Hope that the challenges that were faced by dozens of Case 53s every day might be mitigated, if just a little bit.
That was no longer the case. After Weld's encounter with Apeiron, after that impossible treatment and the impact it had had, suddenly there was real hope. From Weld, from Armstrong, from Hunch and from Squib and from every other Case 53 or 'monstrous' cape who never dared dream of something better, just something less bad.
And it was possible. He had seen it with Weld, and he had seen… something with Proto Aima. Something beyond what anyone imagined possible. A shift from whatever was present during Apeiron's fight with Lung to her appearance at Somer's Rock to her meeting with Dauntless, and now this.
Seeing her for himself, Armstrong was certain. Once again, the analysts had run rampant when working through a report of Apeiron's activities. Theorizing distinctions between what Dauntless thought he had seen and what might have actually been happening. Whether Proto Aima had actually undergone a transformation or if it was just an expression of some technology or support effect. As if it would be possible to mistake a humanoid mink for a teenage girl.
He was certain. He had met the girl face to face, shook her hand and spoken to her. There was no illusion or misdirection there. She had a human form when earlier she didn't. And Apeiron was directly credited with that. Of the members of the Celestial Forge, she had been the strongest outlier. Now that position fell to someone else. Armstrong straightened his back as he inquired about the man in question.
"The Matrix?" Armstrong began. "He has an interest in construction? Or technical work?" He asked.
"They." Apeiron said casually.
"Excuse me?" Armstrong asked.
"They are interested in construction. Construction, assembly, and the qualities of production. It's a passion of theirs."
They. Theirs. And from the context, it sounded more significant than typical pronoun choice. It was easy to make assumptions of identity based on the size and body structure of the Matrix, but Armstrong was no stranger to the varied natures of capes, both mentally and physically.
"I see, and my apologies for any offense. If you would forgive my asking, would that be 'they' in the neutral sense, or the plural?" He asked.
His question got a slight smile from Apeiron. "A bit of both, actually, though any other questions of a personal nature would be best directed to the Matrix."
"Of course." He replied. A notice sprang up on his laptop, informing him that Palmer had begun the registration process. And neatly bypassed any questions of gender by registering the Matrix as an organization. Which may have been more accurate than not and also simplified the use of the plural.
"Not to intrude on that 'personal nature', but would I be right to assume that the particulars of the Matrix's situation are distinct from Proto Aima's? Specifically, given her recent… treatment?" He asked.
"All of our situations are distinct. Which I suppose is true for most people, and doubly so for parahumans, but it would be safe to say that is even more the case for us specifically." Apeiron explained.
"I see." He began. "But in respect to Proto Aima, was it…"
"This is about Weld." Apeiron said, cutting to the heart of the matter directly. Honestly, Armstrong was grateful to not have to talk in circles around the topic.
"I'm sorry, and I don't mean to distract you from such a critical task…" Apeiron waved him off. Clearly he had time to speak before he began treating the hostages. "But it is something of significant importance to me. And not exclusively in relation to Weld's situation." He explained.
The treatment Weld had already received was more than either of them could have ever hoped for. Apeiron's clear statement that Weld's contract covered additional treatments, to the limit of his ability, was something that had serious implications. Implications that only grew along with the capacities the man had demonstrated.
"You want to know if I can heal him. Properly." Apeiron tilted his head to the side. "Like with Proto Aima, at least superficially."
"Superficially?" Armstrong asked.
Apeiron smiled. "Her situation is complicated. There are elements that are not apparent to casual observation."
"Indeed? But these elements, they do not impede her?" He asked. And Apeiron seemed amused by the suggestion.
"No. I wasn't trying to imply that what has happened to her was some flawed half measure, just that there are aspects that are significantly more complicated that what would be seen from your average Case 53."
The phrasing was specific. Proto Aima was described as distinct from Case 53s. Personally, as someone familiar with the aspects that defined a 'proper' Case 53, Armstrong did not believe that any members of the Celestial Forge qualified. There were definitely aspects that they held in common, but not the specific set of shared circumstances that defined that classification.
"I suppose I should have the conviction to ask my questions directly." Armstrong said. Apeiron gave a slight nod, which he took as encouragement. "Are you currently able to fully treat a Case 53's condition?"
"Yes." He said, with no regard for the implications of such a response. "To varying degrees and through varying methods."
"But those methods are effective?" He asked.
Apeiron took a breath. "In terms of addressing detrimental aspects of a Case 53s condition, up to and including appearance, yes, they are able to be fully addressed. However, depending on the particulars of the power expression or the severity of the condition, there could be complications."
"Complications?" Armstrong asked, unable to keep concern out of his voice.
Apeiron nodded. "Potential regression of some traits, or a detrimental impact on the individual's powers. With purely biological expressions that would mostly be mandatory for effective treatment, but in order to prevent complications some level of power suppression would be necessary."
The power tinker theory. While he still wasn't convinced that was truly Apeiron's specialization, the talk about modifying or suppressing parahuman abilities made it clear it was well within his abilities. As if the situation with Dauntless's lance had left any doubt.
"Of course, a perfect treatment would require a more fundamental approach." He continued.
Armstrong furrowed his brow. "Fundamental?" He asked. "I'm sorry, but I'm not sure what you mean."
"I'm sure you're familiar with the difficulties encountered with previous attempts at treating the conditions of Case 53s." Apeiron said.
Armstrong nodded. Probably more than most people. Then again, most people didn't understand the distinction between Case 53s and parahumans with power expressions that altered their physiology. The Case 53 phenomena managed to capture public attention through a series of high-profile events. Regrettably, those events achieved such a high profile through the damage and loss of life attributed to them. Either through openly villainous actions, or the damage from uncontrolled abilities, the actions of Case 53s had captured national attention.
That was helped by a disproportionate number of conflicts between Case 53s and established parahumans. Such conflicts had led to numerous Case 53s becoming known quantities, if only through their determined and often one-sided focus on specific heroes. It was theorized that the same effect responsible for memory loss might result in obsessive behavior patterns.
Regardless, it resulted in public familiarity with the idea of the 'Case 53', to the point where the designation was used almost as a blanket term rather than the precise label it was intended to be.
"With Case 53s, you aren't just looking at altered biology or after effects of power use, you're looking at active power expressions. The physical structure of a Case 53 is set by their trigger conditions, and unless those conditions can be revised there will be active opposition to any attempt at significant corrective action." He explained.
The first response that jumped to Armstrong's mind was 'So it's hopeless.'. That seemed to be where the train of logic was leading, and no doubt where anyone else would be working towards with such an explanation. A succinct breakdown of how the condition of a Case 53 individual could not be fully corrected, only mitigated to small degrees within the scope of the original expression. The same kind of shifts that were known from numerous trump effects, alteration of some aspects of a parahuman's abilities at the expense of others.
But that wasn't what was being alluded to. Not here and not by Apeiron. The man had a different definition of what was considered impossible. If he was claiming that a fundamental approach was necessary, and that required an alteration of the initial expression of a parahuman's power, then…
"Case 69." Armstrong said. He could see Apeiron wince at the reference, and frankly he didn't blame him. The unfortunate case number significantly detracted from what the actual case represented.
"Not precisely as it would be regarded by PRT analysts, but drawing from the same principles." He explained.
Armstrong let out a long breath. "Fundamental." He said quietly. It didn't get much more fundamental than that. The two examples of the Case 69 designation had experienced massively altered power expression, generally towards the manifestation of new classifications of abilities, and greatly increased awareness of their powers, to the point of nearly confirming passenger theory outright.
The two examples he had heard about. Given the confidence that was being applied to the Case 68 and Case 69 effects, and it would have been much simpler if those numbers could have been reversed, he was willing to bet there was more to the story. More examples than just the two cleared for release. He hadn't gotten even a hint that anything was being covered up, but after his time in the PRT, he learned to recognize when people were acting on information that wasn't being shared with regional directors, not even the one in the adjacent city.
"That is an effect you can recreate? And control?" Armstrong asked. Of everything, every impossibility that Apeiron had been able to accomplish, that was a step beyond. Alteration of parahuman abilities. At that point whether the man was a power tinker or not was irrelevant. He was close enough that it wouldn't make a difference.
"That sounds like the kind of question that would have implications beyond concern for Weld's treatment." Apeiron said slyly. "And technically, my policy of not discussing my technology stands."
"I'm sorry if I was overly presumptuous." He said quickly. Apeiron waved him off. Frankly, just what had been shared to this point was groundbreaking. Either Apeiron was placing an immense amount of trust in him, or he had grown in power to the point where even a coordinated response from the entire Protectorate wouldn't be a concern.
Not that such a response was likely. Maybe if a less regarded tinker had hinted at such capabilities there would have been a stronger reaction, but at this point it was hard to imagine something Apeiron could reveal that would fall outside the massively inflated models of the man's projected abilities. Once certain thresholds were crossed, things actually became simpler. Probably because once the panic needle was buried there wasn't anywhere else to go. You just stepped lightly and hoped that someone knew what they were doing with respect to Apeiron.
Unfortunately for Director Armstrong, in this case that someone turned out to be him. He was the one who had made contact, had taken initiative, and was now dealing face to face with someone who just casually revealed he possessed the holy grail of parahuman powers.
He swallowed and turned back to the man. "I am glad that you are able to help Weld fully recover. Assuming that your arrangement…"
"As I said, Weld is paid up for future treatment." Apeiron assured him. "He hasn't exactly been accessible, and the timeframe and nature of that treatment is something that will need to be discussed." Just the fact that there were options. Multiple options, and with Weld allowed a choice in how they were approached.
"While I have several options, they still need to be personalized to a specific parahuman." Apeiron explained.
"No blanket cure?" Armstrong asked.
"Treatments, maybe, but not a cure." It was odd hearing Apeiron admit to limitations like that. "At least not yet." He continued, and the reframing was more fitting to what Armstrong had come to understand about the man.
"I understand several Case 53s have been traveling to Brockton Bay." Armstrong said neutrally.
Apeiron nodded. "Not the ideal circumstances, given the city's current situation, but so far things have been stable."
It was impossible to say whether they remained that way once any level of treatments began, either on Weld or other Case 53s.
"The situation in Brockton Bay…" Armstrong began. "I've seen the videos from yesterday, and read the reports from last night, with Fleet?"
Apeiron nodded. "The power balances between the gangs were something of an ongoing policy for Brockton Bay. Frankly, the idea of playing violent organizations against each other leaves a lot to be desired."
"Believe me, I know." He said darkly.
"The Boston Games?" Apeiron asked.
Armstrong gave him a grim nod. "Not my best moment, and not something that I'd ever want to see repeated. Given the situation in Brockton Bay, how it developed, I…"
Armstrong trailed off. He saw an expression from Apeiron. An expression that was simultaneously well known and a complete mystery. All anyone knew was that it was significant. A prelude to serious matters and prone to occurring at any time. Whether it was in fact a strategy trance or an element of the growth of his powers, no one could say.
He wasn't sure what he should say or do. If he should wait it out or interrupt. The man didn't look unaware of the world around him. It was more like he was suddenly processing a great deal more than anyone could imagine.
And then he was back. Or he was focused, which was enough for the moment. The man gave Armstrong a weary smile. "Unfortunately, the current situation in Brockton Bay seems to have overshadowed the Boston Games." Armstrong inclined his head. Not something he would argue about, given the losses that Brockton Bay had suffered leading up to and during the Ungodly Hour.
"It might be more accurate to say that the Boston Games provided the foundation for Brockton Bay's situation, at least in the public consciousness." He replied. "People are used to the idea of a city being devastated by outside forces, Endbringers or the Slaughterhouse Nine." Apeiron gave a slight nod and Armstrong continued. "The idea that similar destruction could build up from internal forces, that the gangs and villains that call a city home could boil over to such a degree…" He shook his head.
"War never changes." Apeiron said. Armstrong looked up at him. "Neanderthal tribes, mobilized armies, or parahuman fighting in the streets. You can change the scale and the set dressing, but War? War never changes."
There was a weariness to his voice. It was something that Armstrong hadn't heard from Apeiron before that contemplative moment.
"That sounds somewhat pessimistic." Armstrong offered.
"Does it?" Apeiron asked. "War never changes because of people. Not because war is inevitable, but because people are consistent. There's a reason that people are still reading treatises on war from thousands of years ago. If anything, that's a point of connection. The same factors have been driving humanity through its entire history. The same greed and quarrels and petty jealousies, but also the same hopes and dreams. Because it's the same humanity, struggling with the same issues. Issues that all too often consist of that same humanity."
"Your saying conflict was inevitable?" Armstrong asked.
"I'm saying that fantastic elements don't change the underlying nature of humanity. Lung was a petty warlord who ruled through fear and oppression. The world has seen what he was responsible for. Cruelties beyond description. Bakuda built upon his example, and the consequence of her work fills this camp. Nobody expected that, and nobody wanted to believe it was happening, even with the evidence right under their nose."
"Because they thought war had changed." Armstrong said, understanding his meaning.
Apeiron nodded. "People fight for stupid reasons. For human reasons. That's what doesn't change. The conflicts in Brockton Bay were driven as much by pride and ego as any concerns over territory and resources. The mistake was probably believing that Lung wouldn't burn down the city over a personal insult." He gave Armstrong a more direct look. "Or that the Butcher would restrain herself against more aggressive opponents."
Armstrong swallowed. The reports of what had happened between the Merchants and the Teeth were second hand. There were no convenient recordings, or if there were they had yet to circulate, but the possibility of an annihilator becoming the Butcher wasn't something to be taken lightly.
In the wake of the Ungodly Hour, the idea that certain things didn't happen or wouldn't happen had been thrown to the wayside. In that regard he was forced to agree with Apeiron. War hadn't changed, especially not where parahuman conflicts were concerned. Scale and spectacle, certainly, but not the essence of the conflict. Not the war itself.
"I take it you are less than pleased with the current arrangements in Brockton Bay?" Armstrong asked.
"It was my understanding that decisive action on the part of me or my team would be ill advised." Apeiron said, putting things incredibly mildly.
In the wake of the Ungodly Hour the entire world had been on edge. Another major display from Apeiron and the S-Class response would have been the least of their concerns. International powers had their eyes on Brockton Bay, quite literally in the case of some thinker powers. Causing global scale weather events would do that. People were standing by to see if Apeiron was going to be the next coming of the Three Blasphemies, or even the next Sleeper.
It was the kind of thing that could result in a massive response to whatever he attempted, or even to the country as a whole. The idea that international relations hinged on the actions of a single cape in a single city was terrifying, but that was the reality of the kind of power that Apeiron had displayed. His decision to stand down, to maintain a position of noninterference, and to leave matters in the hands of other organizations, had done more good that could be put into words.
But at the same time, you had possibly the most powerful cape on the planet watching the ridiculous attempts of other organizations to manage a situation that he was no doubt confident that he could resolve in a matter of hours.
"Your restraint was greatly appreciated. I know it can't have been easy." Armstrong said.
Apeiron let out a breath. "I made an agreement, contingent upon certain conditions. I am prepared to hold to that as long as those conditions are fulfilled." He turned to Armstrong. "And besides, there are other matters that I am dealing with."
He nodded. "And I must say, I'm grateful to have you here." He turned towards the door of his office. "As for the extraction of the bomb, we have limited medical facilities, and the logistics…"
Apeiron smiled. "Actually, I was planning to take care of most of that remotely."
"Remotely?" He asked.
"Similar technology to what was used for transport to this location." Apeiron raised a hand and dozens of glittering flecks appeared around it. They were a mix of colors and shades. Some were as bright as sunlight while others were nearly dark. Focusing on them individually, he realized what he was seeing.
"Portals." He said.
Apeiron nodded. "Precise and concentrated. Sufficient to carry the effects of my healing technology." That electric motor sound started up and blue circuit lines spread across his arm. "Which is more than sufficient to break down the implanted devices without need for surgical extraction. And attend to any other issues that might require treatment."
Remote, targeted healing of hundreds of people, precisely mapped and able to destroy implanted tinker tech with no safety issues. Well, disarmed tinker tech. Armstrong knew there were some people who would have preferred to acquire as many samples of Bakuda's explosives as he could get away with, but the idea that Apeiron would hand them over to the PRT after extraction was laughable. Personally, he would rather see them completely destroyed, he just hadn't anticipated it being handled this efficiently.
Did Apeiron even need to be HERE to accomplish something like this? He would wager that first portal had extended all the way from Brockton Bay. If the smaller ones had similar range without a loss of precision…
And once again, not nearly the most frightening thing that the man was capable of. In comparison to the admission about the Case 69 situation… it was still significant. Just not the number one priority.
"Ah." It was about the best he could manage at the moment. Considering he had made it this far without being rendered speechless was something of a personal accomplishment, but apparently everyone had limits. He steadied himself and turned to the man with hundreds of glittering portals swirling around his hand.
"Are you planning to begin immediately?" He managed to force out.
"Unless you have any objections?" Apeiron asked.
"Not specifically." He said. "Though it would be advisable to ensure that everyone is properly informed before we begin the treatments."
Something that was actually possible with the help of the translators. Providing he could cover for their distribution, which was technically contingent on the state of the Matrix's bid.
"Of course. I'll distribute the consent forms now." Apeiron focused as Armstrong was left at a loss for words. The electric motor sound began to ramp up and suddenly there was a hammering at his door.
"Director? We have a situation." Mitchell's voice came through the door. He swallowed and pulled the door open.
"Yes Mitchell?" He said, addressing the younger agent. The man had a hard time prying his eyes away from Apeiron's light show, but he cleared his throat and turned back to Armstrong.
"There are hologram screen things popping up all over the camp." He held up a tablet showing a composite of security feeds.
From the look of things, every hostage had a small display screen appear in front of them. Some of them were already showing the signs of Apeiron's healing technology, but he watched one individual press something on the screen, followed by the immediate appearance of the blue circuit patterns across their body.
It was a cascade effect, with others following suit as more and more people made their selection. Armstrong saw Mitchell jump and turned back to find Proto Aima standing next to Apeiron, tracing her hand over the mass of portals with interest in her eyes.
"Thank you Mitchell. And the consent forms?" He projected as much of an air of understanding and control as he could manage, with years of public relations work serving him well.
"Provided in English and personalized native language, where applicable. All records have been uploaded to your systems." Apeiron said casually.
"Right. Agent Crawford?" He asked, turning to the woman manning one of the workstations.
"Um, I haven't…" She paused, then clicked something on her screen. "I mean, yes, it's all here. Standard PRT medical release. Video records of individual consent, both for extraction and 'additional treatment'. And… rejections?"
Armstrong turned back to Apeiron. "Remote treatment was optional. Personal treatment is available on request, and conventional extraction for those who do not wish to receive tinker based medical care."
That was considerably more understanding than Armstrong had expected. Still, from a glance at the screen, it seemed like more than eighty percent had taken the immediate option, and frankly he couldn't blame them. Still, he hadn't expected getting through so many people so quickly.
Of course, the last twenty percent was likely to be the most complicated. The Pareto Principle reared its head again and no level of desperation would keep the outliers from causing difficulties.
Armstrong watched as both the blue circuit lines and the mass of tiny portals vanished. A single act had taken a near insurmountable task to merely a frustrating one. One that they could potentially deal with in the space of an hour or two, rather than the nightmare schedule he had been prepared for.
"Crawford, please provide an update to the staff regarding the situation. We'll need to schedule examinations of the treated individual to confirm their condition and update their medical records. Began separating those who requested alternate treatments."
"Yes, sir." She said, and immediately switched to her radio.
"Very good." He turned back to Apeiron. "If you'll give us a moment, we'll see to the arrangement for additional treatments." Much easier now that it was dozens rather than hundreds.
"Not a problem." He said, then turned to the sight of Agent Palmer returning with The Matrix. "Just let us know when you're ready."
He nodded as the Matrix broke off and returned to presumably discuss matters with Apeiron and Proto Aima. It was clear they had a means of nonverbal communication which he was not going to even dream about prying into.
Instead he left the command center to the three of them and took the opportunity to speak with Palmer.
"None of that was actually planned, was it sir?" She asked candidly.
He just smiled. "I don't think plans tend to survive contact with Apeiron." He joked, earning a small snort from the woman. "How are they handling things?"
"Agents were on top of it quickly enough. It was more shocking than anything else, though following the treatment containment might be an issue." She explained.
"Two or three days. Justified for medical observation." Not that he anticipated any problems on that front. "And we might be able to arrange some visitation from family members, providing we can maintain security."
"Meaning they won't be able to leave." Palmer said.
"Three days." He replied. Hopefully three days, providing nothing happened to draw Apeiron's attention. He was committed to leaving things in Brockton Bay to the other groups, but that was a tall order to ask when it was his city. And that reminded him of another concern.
"The ABB members?" He asked.
"Already checked. Only received offers for extraction, not the blanket healing." Palmer replied.
Which was possibly vindictiveness on Apeiron's part, or possibly a concession to avoid needing to deal with peak fitness gang members. He'd heard a story about a grandmother who had received Apeiron's treatment injuring a PRT agent when they tried to take her into custody, but that was probably an exaggeration.
"Good." He said. Not that they would all deserve injuries that had been acquired, but the list of people deserving healing ahead of human traffickers was fairly large. "What about the Matrix? Any more insanity headed our way?"
"It was looking like there might be." She admitted. "They were asking about construction needs, recreation facilities, clothing, food preferences, medical facilities…" She shook her head. "Fortunately, they eased off on the big stuff."
"Really?" He asked.
"Really." She pulled up a printed copy of a standard PRT supply contract. "Rather than direct supply deliveries or construction contracts, the Matrix will be issuing us some kind of matter gen tech." She shook her head. "They said it would be enough for our needs, and that it was a 'domestic model'."
"Meaning a stripped-down version of some terrifying Apeiron tech that would cause emergency meetings across the entire PRT?" Armstrong asked.
"Couldn't say." She replied dryly as she handed over the documentation. "Anyway, it only needs to last for a few days. We still have suppliers on standby and we'll get the translators regardless."
Armstrong checked the document and nodded. "That's the main thing, and more than worth the cost. Next to that, this 'G.E.C.K.' is just a bonus."
Jumpchain abilities this chapter:
Certified Tech (Fallout) 600:
You are one of the brightest minds of the 23rd Century! You now understand Pre-War science, and can even reverse-engineer existing technology to learn how it works, and how to recreate it. Plus, if you can learn the basics of truly alien science, this perk helps you master it the same way.
Skill Tag (Fallout) Free:
Just three skills to Tag, and you'll get an immediate boost to your competence in them. Not enough to be an expert, mind. Just enough to go from novice to decent, or decent to downright competent. You'll also learn that skill faster too, so with enough practice, you really will get perfect. Most also come with tools of the trade, just to make your life easier.
Medicine: Putting people back together – includes first aid and surgery, as well as treating diseases, radiation poisoning, and other conditions. Start with a first aid kit.
Repair: Practical use of science – building things, fixing them when they break. Start with a toolkit.
Science: Various high technical skills, including computers, biology, physics, and geology. Start with a nifty lab coat and gloves.
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Rem Freeman
Clouded Personality
- Location
- Ocean Bound
I really like these PRT outside perspective chapters as they provide nice context to how the outside world sees Joe. Now all I need is an addendum where Accord learns Apeiron was near Boston and he didn't know
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- Location
- The Void Beyond
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Yay! New chapter! Thanks for the words!
Woohoo, we have a new chapter!
I really hope Apeiron showing off his teleportation tech gets rid of some of the more stupid "Well the Celestial Forge couldn't have reached a location unnoticed in the intervening space by teleporting between the space, so they must be using stranger effects" we saw in Chubster's interludes.
Matrix becoming a PRT affiliate is interesting. The "Yes, here is a small device that can alter what you see and hear, don't panic." is absolutely hilarious.
I imagine a lot of people muttered a "Thank God" with Apeiron in mind at the end there, so that religions vision talk is probably imminent.
I really hope Apeiron showing off his teleportation tech gets rid of some of the more stupid "Well the Celestial Forge couldn't have reached a location unnoticed in the intervening space by teleporting between the space, so they must be using stranger effects" we saw in Chubster's interludes.
Matrix becoming a PRT affiliate is interesting. The "Yes, here is a small device that can alter what you see and hear, don't panic." is absolutely hilarious.
I imagine a lot of people muttered a "Thank God" with Apeiron in mind at the end there, so that religions vision talk is probably imminent.
Thank you for the chapter!
SiegfriedisOP
Calamity Demon King of Time
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Looks like it's time for Joe to have some face to face time with his Worshipers. It's always best to address the adoring faithful in person, leaves less chance for his commandments to be misinterpreted.
- Location
- Canada
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Competence! Professionalism!
Poorly concealed bamboozlement!
Highly enjoyable.
Poorly concealed bamboozlement!
Highly enjoyable.
treatments."
- Location
- Miami
Thankfully a Matrix crafted G.E.C.K is unlikely to fail like a Fallout unit. I really liked the description of them crafting the briefcase as well.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Well worth the wait loved the chapter
- Location
- <CLASSIFIED>
I think that should be an "if" there.
Right...
Someone is in for a rude awakening when they find out just what exactly a "Garden of Eden Creation Kit" is and what it can do.
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