But why call Vickery's bluff when letting him have his fun will result in net positives later on? Taylor didn't think to call the bluff and Annette sees no need to.
For reference: freedom of the press covers the ability to Publish. That is, to Use a Printing Press, something a number of places in Europe at the time had heavily restricted.
It has absolutely nothing to do with granting reporters access to anything, information wise. They're no more or less entitled to Access than anyone else, at least under that concept. Refering to them as "the press" is a far more recent concept, as well, and came about due to the nature of newspaper reporting in the 20th century.
Arguably, there is a case to be made that Copyright is a violation of the first amendment (after all, it is the government making a law thatvrestricts your ability to publish things), if not a very strong one, but being unwilling to grant a reporter access to information? Not even slightly.
Hmmm, I'll be honest here, I don't like the sudden reveal of Annette having had powers for a significant percentage of her life. If you've thought you were intelligent, and built parts of your personality around that basic premise, only to find out one day that no, your ability to plan had nothing to do with you, it was a superpower hiding in the back of your head... that is a guaranteed recipe for an identity crisis. It also feels like it is devaluing Annette as a person and as a character, proclaiming that none of her accomplishments came from her own ability and her only value to the narrative is as a superpowered magic 8-ball.
It also strains credulity. She's had superpowers for at least 13 years and never noticed? That's a very hard sell. How the hell did she manage to never time anything to the second like this in over a decade of daily power use? It makes no sense.
Arguably, there is a case to be made that Copyright is a violation of the first amendment (after all, it is the government making a law thatvrestricts your ability to publish things), if not a very strong one, but being unwilling to grant a reporter access to information? Not even slightly.
Oddly enough, there is a good logical, though perhaps not legal, argument for current copyright law being a violation of the constitution, just not the first amendment. Article I, Section 8, Clause 8 grants the government the power to grant people copyright protection for a limited time. Every time the end of copyright for Mickey Mouse starts approaching, Disney lobbies the hell out of the government until copyright is extended another X number of years. This, by logical definition, means that Disney's copyright claim to Mickey Mouse has a time limit that is always increasing -- the definition of infinity, which is the opposite of limited.
Good post. Some reactions for Annette's showing power may be incorrect anyway. She JUST WENT THROUGH AN ACCIDENT yes? One of those trigger type situations (either the accident or during the coma/sleep while she processed it) and NOW has powers. Trying to justify her past as having access to this Thinker thing may be her trying to make the accident feel like less in her mind --a defense gesture. She didn't remember seeing the lattice before, just that she made good plans...
My position, not the author's --they may be leaning in a different direction and more power to them.
For the Amtrak negotiations all she has to do is mention refit their cars with decorations as needed --things that are not union damaging because she pays her dues from the proceeds for however many of the summoned railyard workers take part.
Thank you to both writers for sharing this story with everyone.
It's nice to see a little bit more humor in a worm story with so many being very dark. I think I can think of a couple others that do the humor track.
As for seeing Annette get worked out more. It's nice to see more of her since no many people seem to do much with her. I can think of one other story on space battles that center on her with a very random power....the author rolled dice to see what shows up and checks wiki pages for the power that shows up. Very funny to say the least. As for her power. Please do not make her annoying like Lisa.
Hmmm, I'll be honest here, I don't like the sudden reveal of Annette having had powers for a significant percentage of her life. If you've thought you were intelligent, and built parts of your personality around that basic premise, only to find out one day that no, your ability to plan had nothing to do with you, it was a superpower hiding in the back of your head... that is a guaranteed recipe for an identity crisis.
I think I am writing her pushing back on the idea. I wouldn't say it is an identity crisis, but certainly as a humanist she is having difficulty squaring the situation. At the same time, it is explaining some things about her past that had never made sense. Oh, and did I mention guilt? She's a recovering Catholic and if there's anything we Catholics do well, it's guilt. And guilt is an Id thing which will make sense as an issue as you keep reading this post.
And I wouldn't say her fully human abilities to date had nothing to do with her achievements. She's a smart girl. But she'll learn that some of the worst things that have happened in her life have resulted in her own humanist rejection of her abilities as a power and therefore overthinking things. I'll be very open to your critique of Ch 3.5 next week.
It also feels like it is devaluing Annette as a person and as a character, proclaiming that none of her accomplishments came from her own ability and her only value to the narrative is as a superpowered magic 8-ball.
As I'll explain below, she is responsible for having built what she has built. She's made her own way, often rejecting her own power's advice, and she has the bumps to show for it.
And it isn't a superpowered 8-ball, per se. That would be Contessa , which Annette most certainly is NOT. She can't consciously access her powers and play 20 questions like Contessa can. As Danny has said in story, her powers are superficially a mixture of Contessa and Accord, but she'll manifest something else next chapter that will make it clear she's her own element and not just some mixture of two canon capes.
It also strains credulity. She's had superpowers for at least 13 years and never noticed? That's a very hard sell. How the hell did she manage to never time anything to the second like this in over a decade of daily power use? It makes no sense.
Her powers leveled up during the accident last week. More will be explained next week in Ch 3.5, but simply put her powers have hidden deeply in her subconscious since they manifested at the age of 10 years old during her own deeply emotional near death experience that will be explained next week. But they were only fully activated by the event where Taylor's life was placed in mortal danger. The "Lattice" is a fully new conscious experience for her, and so will be her newfound penchant for naps and affliction with narcolepsy. Again, read next week's chapter and we can have this conversation more fully.
Thought question: What would happen if a shard connected to a human's Id rather than their Ego? This is a board certified psychiatric professional's effort to explore this scenario. My user name is a description of me - I'm a doctor, a lesbian, and a mother. I'll be engaging all three as we explore Annette to the fullest.
Oddly enough, there is a good logical, though perhaps not legal, argument for current copyright law being a violation of the constitution, just not the first amendment. Article I, Section 8, Clause 8 grants the government the power to grant people copyright protection for a limited time. Every time the end of copyright for Mickey Mouse starts approaching, Disney lobbies the hell out of the government until copyright is extended another X number of years. This, by logical definition, means that Disney's copyright claim to Mickey Mouse has a time limit that is always increasing -- the definition of infinity, which is the opposite of limited.
I totally agree. I remember an old Spider Robinson novel "Melancholy Elephants" that examines the issue of perpetually lengthening copyright. Talk about something in need of reform.....
Her powers leveled up during the accident last week. More will be explained next week in Ch 3.5, but simply put her powers have hidden deeply in her subconscious since they manifested at the age of 10 years old during her own deeply emotional near death experience that will be explained next week. But they were only fully activated by the event where Taylor's life was placed in mortal danger. The "Lattice" is a fully new conscious experience for her, and so will be her newfound penchant for naps and affliction with narcolepsy.
I figured such was the case, but it is still something that simply must be specifically stated in story at some point, preferably soon after revelation of the change, to avoid plot holes and inconsistencies.
Thought question: What would happen if a shard connected to a human's Id rather than their Ego? This is a board certified psychiatric professional's effort to explore this scenario. My user name is a description of me - I'm a doctor, a lesbian, and a mother. I'll be engaging all three as we explore Annette to the fullest.
I can't say I would rightly know, though if I'm recalling what little I know of Freud correctly I imagine the shard would be greatly focused on the host's physical desires...
Though I was under the impression that most of Freud's work had been thrown out over the years? So much of it is based in his own insecurities and mental issues (not everybody who has mental problems has them because they want to have sex with their parents, Sigmund...), and I thought the entire idea of Id, Ego, and Superego was disfavored for being too simplistic. I'm nowhere near being an expert or even qualified on such things, though, so I'm always happy to be corrected.
I totally agree. I remember an old Spider Robinson novel "Melancholy Elephants" that examines the issue of perpetually lengthening copyright. Talk about something in need of reform.....
Oh definitely. Copyright was meant to encourage creativity and innovation (which is specifically stated in the relevant clause) by rewarding creators and innovators enough for the processes to be worth it, without making it permanent and stifling things. The founding fathers came from a society where longstanding dynastic monopolies were common and protections of those monopolies were absolutely ruthless, after all, so they loathed the idea of permanent copyright. Just one of many things, some good and some bad, that they would be absolutely horrified by were they to come back to life today...
Amusing and completely unrelated aside: for some bizarre reason whenever I see the title of this story, I enthusiastically read it in my head in an extremely bad and overdone German accent, like a Jaegermonster. "De Vorld ist Mein Layout!"
...I may or may not be insane. Jury's still out on that one.
I figured such was the case, but it is still something that simply must be specifically stated in story at some point, preferably soon after revelation of the change, to avoid plot holes and inconsistencies.
I can't say I would rightly know, though if I'm recalling what little I know of Freud correctly I imagine the shard would be greatly focused on the host's physical desires...
Not necessarily. Id is often talked about as being about physical desires but that is a severe oversimplification as it has been examined and adapted by authors since Freud. It is more about our desires unfiltered by more mature constructs of Ego and Superego. Protection of one's young is most certainly an Id function. So are those deep emotional connections we make whether based on Eros or Agape. Our (usually) inherent drive toward a greater social community is an Id function. Again, same with our innermost dreams and aspirations unfiltered by reality.
Though I was under the impression that most of Freud's work had been thrown out over the years? So much of it is based in his own insecurities and mental issues (not everybody who has mental problems has them because they want to have sex with their parents, Sigmund...), and I thought the entire idea of Id, Ego, and Superego was disfavored for being too simplistic. I'm nowhere near being an expert or even qualified on such things, though, so I'm always happy to be corrected.
The basis of Freud's original work has been thoroughly discredited. I'm a lesbian, so just try explaining the absence of feminine ego or, heaven forbit, penis envy to me...
Bottom line, I am a Jungian. That said, Jung was well aware of Freud's work when developing his own and the basic elements of Freud's structure can be very useful to simplify complex concepts. I am not writing for the psychoanalytic community here, but rather for a lay audience which skews young and possibly often pre-college. I'm using Freudian concepts because I believe they are more approachable. But for heaven's sake do NOT examine the foundations of it. I am simply using it as a device to explore a complex manifestation of a shard in Annette.
I'm enjoying this morning fluff.
We have our first bit of created rail stock where it belongs, and I'm hoping to see more fluff come from it when Taylor and Emma are able to touch it together in the real world. Sort of a "we did this together" moment. I do believe it may be a good idea to have a protected sleeper/observation car made at some point. Once the Heberts are able to go on extended vacation, I could see them going by rail.
Let's look at our current points of interest.
-Amtrak meeting
-Getting the Safe open/The Reporter
-Sherrel/Not-Squealer is renovating a steam engine and hoping to join the Rail Crew.
-Annette as the voice of reason/future narcolepsy.
My thanks to DrYuriMom and GeneralPatt1000 for once more providing an enjoyable read. Did I miss any plot points that should make the tracker list?
Thinking about it, a wheelchair is similar to an early 2-2-0 locomotive.
2 unpowered leading wheels
2 powered driving wheels
2 arms/pistons moving the drivers
1 boiler/muscular system providing power to the pistons/arms
and a pair of buffers & connector/handles at the end
Basking in the amused faces of the ones she loved most for just a moment, Annette redirected attention back to Taylor. "So, is Emma's caboose ready for prime time? I'd like to see you place something on the layout. It should be far enough away from the Roundhouse to not catch Vicory's attention. The Lattice suggests the classification yard would be safe, maybe with something called a 'car shop' blocking the view and muffling any noise?" It was pretty obvious to Taylor that her mom was trying, but her ignorance of trains in general was complicating her mom's ability to describe what she was seeing in her head, even to herself.
some of those used to be actual steam locos, the Fairbourne Railway in Wales used to have some 15 inch gauge locos that were built for the Dudley Zoo. They were sold off to other railways after a track re-gauge
Thanks to @DrYuriMom for her excellent co-writing!
Author's Note:
Welcome back to The World is My Layout! In this week's chapter, we see a return to the PRT and Protectorate upper crust who are having a meeting. In addition, we have Armsmaster tinkering, a dream sequence and the early morning of September 1st, Labor Day. I hope you enjoy it all.
Sunday, August 31st, 2008
PRT Headquarters
Downtown, Brockton Bay, NH 6:30 pm, Director Piggot's office
Emily Piggot sighed as she enjoyed a nice brandy in her office after a long day's work managing the Dispatcher crisis. Well, not so much a crisis as an explosive news day regarding the new young cape. Most of said work had been done from the Boston PRT building via phone and email. Finally, at about 4 pm she had left Boston after a short meal with her family and had driven back to Brockton Bay. It was a shame that the weekend had been cut short but she'd been needed here in case something else explosive went down in her city.
After Emily had arrived in her office, she had been able to catch Stan Vickery's broadcast on the TV. Stan was like a bloodhound, not likely to let a good story go if he still had its scent. And what a scent this one had. She was glad she had gotten that kidney transplant a few years ago on her family's insistence and could now enjoy the occasional drink after a long day's work.
She had needed this snifter after all the news coverage of the day. She didn't know where she would be without the kidney from her nephew, Gavin. Probably being forced to undergo dialysis every night and forgo this rare guilty pleasure. She shuddered in discomfort. Okay Emily, focus on the meeting in front of you and not what could have been.
Sitting across the desk from her were three people, two of them in costumes but without masks on. Deputy Director Robert Rennick, her right-hand man, was the one person not in costume. A veteran of the Brockton Bay Directorate, there was no better man for his job and everyone knew it. He was honest, hardworking, competent, and generally a pleasant man to be around. Rennick had been here when she had taken this position and he was still here several years later, though in a higher slot now. He was currently looking over some notes he'd made from this meeting so far and ignoring the TV as best he could.
The two capes seated in other chairs were Armsmaster in his armor's undersuit which he wore most of the time when not on duty. and Miss Militia, her American flag-themed scarf wrapped gracefully around her neck instead of her mouth. Armsmaster had one eye on the TV which was quietly playing the WQIE Evening News. He smiled lightly as they repeated his earlier comment about Skidmark being an idiot, though not in those exact words.
It was always difficult to get emotion out of Armsmaster, or rather Colin Wallis, as he usually insisted on being called when not wearing any armor. It was good to see the smile as usually only his tinkering or hobbies brought out any animation. He seemed pleased with himself. The capture of Skidmark and the apparent disappearance of Squealer had him in a good mood.
Miss Militia, or Hannah Washington, was also smiling, though for an entirely different reason. The screen was showing various clips of the camera footage captured from throughout the day while the talking heads were speaking over them. Right now footage of the morning press conference was replaying and the sight of Dispatcher discussing her ideas and plans with the reporters had brought out the heroine's smile.
She was so good around young people, Emily thought. The local Wards regarded her as a sort of den mother and Emily was glad for it. Miss Militia being on point for the Wards had given the cape the experience needed to make the first contact with new young capes, which she had used in the meeting with Dispatcher yesterday.
Emily cleared her throat to get their attention again. "So to reiterate, we have a new cape in town who wants to rebuild the city's economy starting with the rail and port infrastructure. The Merchants took exception to this almost too quickly to comprehend. Have we had any moves from the other two gangs that escaped my notice?"
Armsmaster shook his head minutely, his full focus changing to Emily. "No Director, we've heard nothing, at least from the Protectorate side, except perhaps the Empire and ABB withdrawing their enforcers and drug sellers two to three blocks from any railroad tracks in the city. I don't think they want to risk getting into a confrontation with a cape who can overwhelm them with firepower on Dispatcher's level."
"A reasonable conclusion for them for once," Emilly muttered loud enough for the others to hear. "And what do you make of the secret Dispatcher told you, that she can summon up to 80 projections at once? It was somewhat surprising that she would trust us that much. What do you make of it?"
It's somewhat disturbing too, even though she's friendly. Why does it put me on edge? Is it because of Ellisburg?
"It's just that, Director. She does trust us that much. She knows we have to put that information in our reports, but she believes that our security is good enough to keep it secret." Armsmaster shrugged, "Dispatcher is a young girl with dreams, aspirations, and fantasies of being a hero and working with other heroes to improve life in this city. She looks up to us and hopes to be like us someday. She believes that we are the ultimate do-gooders and wants to do her own part. Frankly, her faith is very humbling." Miss Militia only nodded in agreement, her face pinched as she considered the thought.
Emilly considered that carefully, The faith of children. Yes, very humbling indeed. Where would this world be if the faith of all the world's children could be lived up to? "Hmmm, I hope you're right, Armsmaster. You know I have a hard time putting my faith in capes I don't know and trust thanks to my experiences in Ellisburg. Anytime a new cape pops up, sometimes all I can think about is what they might do to ruin my city and life more than it already is."
She turned to Rennick. "Robert, anything from the civilian side of things? I know Mayor Christner called earlier to complain about the loss of a potential economic recovery if Mr. Vickery causes trouble with Dispatcher. Do you have any thoughts on that?"
Rennick hummed softly in consideration, "Stan Vickery does have a reputation as a hard-nosed, go-getter reporter. He was last spotted by observers going onto the Roundhouse grounds. He's probably still there, trying to get a scoop on all other reporters in town. He'll probably get it too. He's more aggressive and is willing to take risks others won't. If he overplays his hand though he may get himself declared persona-non-grata from any future interviews or press conferences. We'll have to wait and see."
Renick flipped a page of his notes, "Amtrak called in 10 minutes ago. They're planning on coming in early tomorrow morning to assess if it's still safe to run the weekend trains and maybe meet with Dispatcher if possible. They said they would like a meeting by videoconference tonight to discuss a Protectorate and/or PRT escort. Their representative is waiting on the line now."
"Thank you, Robert," Emily said. One last meeting then I go home for the day. Ah, home sweet home, how I pine for thee. Bedtime cannot come too soon. Emily pressed a few buttons on her desk to route the call onto her private secure office videoconference software. A projector mounted on the ceiling projected a screen onto the wall that had Amtrak's logo on it. On the other end, the Amtrak screen would be showing the PRT emblem.
Miss Militia leaned over to flip the television off then adjusted her scarf to disguise her face while Armsmaster put a helmet on. Rennick pressed one last button and the logo disappeared, replaced by Amtrak's representative. The rep would see the two PRT Directors and two Protectorate superheroes looking back at them from a camera below the projected image.
"Good evening, Vice President Pridemore. You're on with Director Emily Piggot as well as myself, Deputy Director Robert Rennick, and the Protectorate heroes Armsmaster and Miss Militia. Thank you for your patience. How can the PRT and Protectorate assist you today?"
"Good evening, Director, Deputy Director, and Protectorate luminaries," opened a stout man with a square jaw and deep voice. "With me on this end are Sam Denton, Amtrak Chief of Police, as well as the members of a team who aren't on screen but are calling in from the Brockton Bay Hampton Inn. John, would you like to call out your team?"
A rich New England baritone resonated from the speakers. "Good evening, everyone. My name is John Fitzgerald, senior investigator for the northeast region for Amtrak Police. I'm here in Brockton Bay with a team of three others. Shelley Giles is the scheduler and operations director for Amtrak's northeast region. With her is Jacqueline Enders and with me is Denise Watson. I'll yield back to my boss, Chief Safety Officer Pridemore."
The original speaker on screen took it from there. "As you all likely know, Amtrak has a limited presence in the far northeast currently due to economic factors. Only with the, shall we say, persuasive support of the senatorial delegations from New Hampshire and Maine does Amtrak provide service through Brockton Bay and to Portland. This service runs north on Saturday morning and south again on Sunday afternoon each weekend." Steve Pridemore paused for a moment to ensure his audience was still with him.
"Well, the events of Saturday night left us uncertain of the safety for the Downeaster train currently held up in Portland after the run north yesterday morning. We delayed the train today out of an abundance of caution, but we've been monitoring the yard and have been pleased to note that it has been peaceful and the mainline tracks have been clear since this new cape of yours did a victory lap riding, I must admit, an absolutely delightfully restored 4-6-2 Heavy Pacific. Word from Stan Vickery, whom we contracted to do an on-the-ground inspection, has been positive thus far. As I am sure you are aware, he remains on the scene."
Steve looked intently at the screen. "Director Piggot, do you have any information that should lead my team to otherwise not trust what we are seeing on the ground? Something that would escape Mr Vickery's notice by right of him not being parahuman? Or due to his occasionally caustic personality? I'm not asking for any secrets as such, just reassurance that we're not missing something. I am prepared to hold the southbound train indefinitely if you're not willing to provide us with written assurance that to the best of your knowledge, things are under control in that trainyard."
Emily raised an eyebrow at that last remark but said nothing. "We have no data that says anything untoward is going on, Mr. Pridemore, though we will be happy to provide the written testimony. In all actuality, the Trainyards may actually be more secure than previously. As you probably heard on the news, the battle ended with 35 unpowered members of the Merchants and their cape leader in custody. That was the majority of their enforcers and dealers. In addition, I'm sure Dispatcher would be willing to provide security services free of charge."
"Would that were true, Director," the Amtrak executive admitted with a raised eyebrow of surprise. "It is not common knowledge, but we had...um...an arrangement with Skidmark. Put bluntly, we paid the bastard protection money. He got a tidy sum each week and he left the trains, passengers, and the entire passenger terminal entirely alone. Ever wonder why it was never vandalized? Or why a train passenger was never harmed or "induced" into a habit? With the elimination of Skidmark, while on the whole an improvement, we're left uncertain about our security arrangement in Brockton Bay.
"A cape who can take out Skidmark and his cronies apparently singlehanded is someone we need a measure of before we can risk a train through there. Our plan is to try and meet with Dispatcher tomorrow morning to negotiate a settlement to ensure she's on board with our continued operations there. We're just hoping she's not more greedy than Skidmark because he was taking a sizable portion of the Downeaster operations budget. Truth be told, if it wasn't for his kickback, we'd be running daily trains through there. Maybe more than one. The 'economic reasons' excuse is just that, a publicly acceptable rationale. The financials work out fine for normal service all things being equal, which they most certainly are not in your city."
Emily and others frowned at the Amtrak official's admission. "While I'm not happy to learn you were paying off one of the villainous gangs to leave your trains alone, it admittedly does not surprise me. At least everyone should have less trouble with them in the future. I don't believe Dispatcher would let them take a foothold in the Trainyards again now that she's kicked them out, however unintentional it was."
"Oh, we have no worries about the 'Merchants' anymore. Our concern has moved to the new actor. Dispatcher came out of nowhere. We have no clue to her, assuming her projection accurately represents anything, intentions other than those stated on TV this morning and what we've seen in our observation of the trainyard today. Are you willing to share your own intel? Y'all have a reputation for being pretty close to the chest, if you don't mind me saying."
"We have no indication that she was lying at the press conference this morning, Mr. Pridemore," Miss Militia spoke up. "While she is definitely young for a parahuman, she seemed entirely genuine in the two conversations I've had with her to date. In addition we have spoken with the Thinkers on staff in Washington about her and they told us the same. In fact, their powers tell them that Dispatcher is so eager to get trains working that she would be happy to speak to anyone in any authority to help her do so."
"Well, they say that possession is 9/10ths of the law. And few places hold this more true than Brockton Bay. If Dispatcher is willing to assure Amtrak's protection without a kickback, something we'd need to have in a contract with her or, if she is indeed a minor, her parents or guardian, we should be able to ramp up to once daily service by the end of September. Maybe more by the Holidays." Steve leaned back in his chair to stretch a moment.
"I would like the team in Brockton Bay to meet Dispatcher, insofar as she'll manifest herself. We plan to present ourselves to the passenger terminal after sunrise tomorrow morning. If that doesn't get her attention, we'll follow Mr Vickery's path toward the Roundhouse until we get someone to acknowledge us. Vickery seems to have managed it without harm so far. If he gets out safely, we'll rely on that as a positive sign. That said, we'd respectfully request a hero escort. Mr Vickery was happy to go off with nothing but his press badge as a shield. I'm more protective of my own people, Director."
"Miss Militia and I can be on hand for such a meeting," Armsmaster supplied, though an edge of concern entered his voice. "Are you set on such an early meeting though? All our data indicates that Dispatcher is in the 12-14 age range. Any child that age is unlikely to be up early on a Labor Day."
"I'd thought of that myself," Steve admitted. "That said, school starts the next day and she's gotta be getting used to an early start. In any case, if we don't have the green light by 8am then we can't run the train tomorrow. We have people on standby to work and promised them a yes or no by 0830 so they can enjoy the holiday if they don't need to work. Amtrak takes employee satisfaction very seriously. We'd really like to get that train back to Boston on schedule for connections, and on the holiday rather than people missing work and school on Tuesday." Steve shrugged as he made his point.
"Vickery's recent broadcast from the station rather emphasized that point. We'd like to ensure Sarah makes her high school debut on time. If Mrs Livermore agrees, we could use it for PR for you, us, and Dispatcher. 'Amtrak, Brockton Bay Protectorate, and new Cape work together to ensure the trains run on time' or something like that." Steve grinned sheepishly. "Obviously they don't pay me for public relations."
Emily smiled at that remark, "As Director of this branch of the PRT, I have to be aware of PR shenanigans but they don't exactly pay me for that either. We have a whole department to manage it. That said, I suppose all we can do is make the attempt in the morning. Miss Militia and Armsmaster will meet you at the train platform at sunrise then."
"How about we make it 0630? That gives us a little more light and the extra 23 minutes shouldn't hurt. I'm VP of security. I'm cruel but not heartless, Director," Steve shared with a wink.
"Of course Mr. Pridemore, that will be fine." She returned the wink. "To slightly get off the main topic and back to the 4-6-2 locomotive, how many of your people were drooling over it's test run? I imagine some of them want to ask to borrow it for excursions. I know Dispatcher mentioned wanting to use it for express work."
"We're Amtrak, so yes, we have more than our share of train nerds. I'm not immune, for sure. I grew up with a garage-sized layout. But right now I'm pretty focused on getting the Downeaster home and ensuring we can resume at least minimal service before my boss gets called in to testify by Senator Corbins. She's not happy that a New Hampshire issue is holding up service to Maine. If Dispatcher will agree to let us operate through Brockton Bay for free, we'll let Dispatcher run whatever she wants around Brockton Bay...as long as it's safe and legal of course."
Emily nodded, "Of course." She checked the time. "So we have a 6:30 am meetup planned at the passenger terminal. Was there anything else you wished to speak about? It's been a long day and I have a date with my bed."
"We have nothing else on our end, Director. Although I agree with you we expect no serious issues will manifest, we appreciate the support of your team as we make first contact. If all goes well, the Sunday return Downeaster will run just a day late. I wish you and your team a good night."
"And a good evening to you and yours, Vice President Pridemore. Sleep well. I have a feeling your team will need it. I look forward to hearing a good report of the meeting later in the morning tomorrow." Emily pressed a button on her desk to end the call. The projector image shut off and Emily turned to look at her own team.
"Armsmaster, Miss Militia, I know you have both met Dispatcher and have formed good opinions of her, but do try to be impartial if she should show in the morning. We don't want her and the Feds to get off on the wrong foot tomorrow even if it's only the train authority, so please attempt to be a moderating influence on both parties if either side gets heated."
Armsmaster nodded his understanding and Miss Militia smiled, "I don't think it will, Director," the military-themed gun-toting cape replied. "Dispatcher is a nice girl and wants the trains to run as much as Amtrak does. I don't believe she will cause any trouble."
"Still, it wouldn't hurt to be cautious. Knowing this city, one of the other gangs will try something or another will attempt to move in to fill the Merchant's void," Emily reasoned. "Now, is there anything else before we adjourn for the night? No? Then have a good night everyone. I will go home and get some sleep and hope nothing explodes in the night again."
--------------
Much later that evening, Armsmaster was tinkering in his lab yet again. He was still fixated on the project he had felt compelled to start for Dispatcher. He had only met the girl once and even before that, had been drawn into tinkering an item for her. His power seemed to be doing most of the driving and he was barely catching up with what he had built between fugues. It was during one of these breaks in tinkering that Miss Militia caught up trying to make notes on what he had accomplished.
"Still working on the project for Dispatcher Colin?" He heard a voice from the door. Colin turned to see Hannah leaning in the open door of his PRT building lab, an amused expression on her face.
He answered her face with a confused grimace. "Yes, I am. I don't know how to explain it, but I feel like I need to complete this item for her. My power seems to be doing everything for me though. Every time I feel the urge to work on it, I never know what I'm doing. I have to make notes of what happened afterward. Until I complete this, I won't have any sense of normalcy, or so it feels."
Hannah frowned with worry, "I've never heard of a Tinker power working so hard before. Can you take a break if you need to? Has it let you? Do you think Dispatcher's power is somehow Mastering yours to do this?"
Colin nodded, "Yes, it has. I was able to make the meeting and I'm speaking to you now, aren't I? As for Mastering me, I don't feel like that is the case. It's more like I've been commissioned to complete a project for someone. I will admit that it is weird however. I only have a few more pieces to install though." He motioned to the chassis of a model locomotive that was obviously still missing some parts. The body sat nearby under a light, its paint scheme different from what Miss Militia expected. "Then I'll be done and I can give it to Dispatcher the next time I see her."
Miss Militia came closer to her friend, colleague, and superior, her worry fading away. Bending to examine the model, she asked, "What exactly are you building anyway?"
Colin broke into a grin, "Well, it's going to be a working replica of a famous Pennsylvania Railroad locomotive. I've miniaturized all the parts down so it can give a similar performance to its real-life counterpart. In addition, it has a whole lot of improvements and additions that I can't wait to show off." Armsmaster would continue describing his project for another hour before the fugue took him again. All Miss Militia could do was watch over him as he worked.
----------
Monday, September 1st, 2008
The Canadian Rockies Time, does it really matter?
Grass.
It was the silky, green grass between her bare toes that she noticed first.
But as she enjoyed the moist sensation with her eyes still closed, the grass beneath her left foot stiffened, taking on the dry, parched sensation she'd experienced late in excessively dry summers. Dormant grass desiccated by the relentless sun.
The sudden dryness was mitigated an instant later when she felt a moist freshwater breeze caress her face. Her nostrils filled with…
Her eyes popped open as her nose was assaulted with more smells than she could ever remember experiencing at the same time.
It wasn't just her nose or toes now.
Probabilities.
Depending on which direction the wind blew, she could be smelling a freshwater breeze, lilacs, a wildflower field, fresh cut hay, a neighbor's barbeque...her brain short circuited after listing just a handful of what she experienced all at once and yet not at all.
Possibilities.
The world around her was filled with possibilities.
Her eyes wandered over the lake before her and she watched a sailboat take a lazy tack, and at the same time tack the other way, continue straight, start disintegrating into the water, and even take off into the air like something out of Peter Pan. The crews didn't seem to take notice, well except for the one dealing with their ship coming apart.
She thought perhaps she should be doing something for the soon to be castaways but the boat was far out in the lake. What should someone in her position do?
It was then that Annette Hebert took inventory of herself.
It took her a moment to recognize that, first of all, she wasn't Annette Hebert. The frilly yellow dress bedecked in lace and the hair ribbons she could just make out in her peripheral vision proved that she was Annette Romano, 6 years old.
She remembered this moment. She had visited her grandmother, 'Nana', at the cottage on Lake Champlain for the entire summer just before starting the first grade. Her parents had taken a long overseas vacation, a second honeymoon they called it, and felt a six year old wouldn't get enough from it to be worth the trouble of taking.
They'd certainly been right, Annette knew now from her parental perspective. It felt strange to let an old grievance go, one she hadn't thought on in nearly four decades.
In the distance, beyond dancing dragonflies along the shoreline and the still proliferating sailboat, Annette could make out the taller structures of Fort Ticonderoga on the New York side.
It was currently under attack by Redcoats, it seemed. Cannon ordnance was bursting in colorful patterns over the area and it was most certainly not from mundane fireworks. The old shells didn't seem to bother the helicopters swarming above the fray.
Although she somehow knew the British were currently winning with the assistance of Canadian air superiority, something would soon ground the choppers and the much better armed 140th New York Infantry Regiment would win the day.
Possibilities of past and present mixing together in a manner her thinking mind failed to fit to a pattern
Above her, Annette heard a rumble and she looked up expecting perhaps to see an American jet fighter arriving on the unlikely scene to clear the skies over the fort, but instead the possibility of an afternoon thunderstorm was playing out. It looked to be a really nasty one but it was still more probable than a national guard F-16 out of Otis.
The flying sailboat had hoisted its spinnaker in an effort to ride the downdraft out and away from the violently churning clouds.
A flash of lightning struck to the south and her eyes were drawn to a paddlewheeler hurrying along, apparently hoping to avoid the forming storm but still stopping to pick up the hapless swimmers, their boat now lost to the choppy waters.
The fight for Fort Ticonderoga continued undiminished, of no apparent threat to Annette.
Do I call 9-1-1 for an invasion of British riflemen from 1777?
The storm on the other hand. Possibilities extended into the future and she noted in a few minutes a yellow two-seater aircraft, something in her mind told her it was a 'Texan', would most probably be occupying the spot she stood on. The hapless trainer having been tossed from the sky by an angry Zeus...metaphorically speaking of course.
It appeared Greek Gods were out of bounds for possibilities either past or future. The probability for the appearance of an Olympian, or gods from any mythological pantheon, were zero.
The nominal literature professor, fluent ancient Greek reader, and Tolkien nerd extraordinaire wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.
The wind was really picking up and Annette realized just how slight her current form was. She was having difficulty maintaining her stance against the gale.
Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, Annette turned her six year old body around and started trudging against the wind in the direction of the cottage where all those years ago she stayed with her Nana and her cousin, Diana.
Harnessing the probabilities around her, she formed a plan. She slipped to the side three feet and suddenly the wind was to her back, aiding her on her short journey to the open back door of the old house.
A scream!
Someone shrieked in a youthful soprano from inside the house. Annette shifted to a run and arrived at the door...
Just in time to be confronted by a pig.
Yes, a pig.
It was big and brown, with white spots.
A pig, it should be noted, which outmasssed six year old Annette on the order of at least 10 times over.
She could already see the possibilities that resulted from an impact with the frenzied and fleeing creature. None of them were pretty at all. If she dodged, probabilities demanded the pig to end up going in that direction to counter her threat perceived in its panicked mind.
She couldn't run.
So she screamed, waved her hands, and advanced aggressively toward the surprised animal.
The pig was startled enough at a display that would make a goose proud and chose to redirect course and flee into the thicket just south of the house. She stood quietly and watched it go.
Apparently the paddlewheeler had made good its escape.
A clatter like something metal dropping came from inside the house. The probabilities suggested several possible outcomes. The one most likely both excited and terrified Annette.
Cautiously, the child slipped into the mud room and, as stealthily as she could manage, crept toward the kitchen.
The kitchen was currently unoccupied, although it had seen recent use. The smell of frying eggs, ham...and very alive pig...tickled nostrils which had been overwhelmed outside. An electric clock wasn't moving as if it had lost power. No lights were on, but that wasn't surprising for this time of day.
The sound of someone moving with a metal object could be heard from the dining room followed by the clinking of metal to porcelain. The probabilities were coming to a head. Annette knew who was in the next room.
And by the signs of energy drain, she knew that someone was just as aware of life outside this dream as she was.
Diana.
Annette briefly considered fleeing, but a voice came from the dining room.
"I know someone is there and it isn't the freaking pig. Come in here with your hands where I can see them or I'll blow you into little pieces. This place is f'ed up seven ways from Tuesday and I'm not interested in playing games."
"Di, it's me," Annette declared as she walked into the next room with her hands up. "Don't shoot."
She stopped to stand in the arch that connected the kitchen and dining room. Standing on the other side of the dinner table was a small figure, well larger than Annette but still not adult, in a glowing suit of armor.
Annette snorted, trying to hold back laughter, and then failed resulting in a fit of giggles.
The view was hilarious. A figure that couldn't be more than 5 feet tall on heels and sporting a pink and gold suit of armor made of light glowered at her. Red ribbons flared back from the helmet, matching the glowing eyes peeking from behind a visor.
"I didn't see that coming," Annette managed between fits of laughter made more raucous by the fact she hadn't seen it coming. But it made perfect sense. Di was obviously still a child and, just as Annette's dress was appropriate for a six year old, Di's suit was what the girl would probably have selected when she was a pre-teen, if she'd had one back then.
"You can stop laughing now," the girl growled as the suit dissipated and Annette was able to see hazel eyes she had not beheld in 14 years.
"The alternative is for me to break down into a fit of panic," Annette admitted, although the giggles had tapered off. Annette wiped the tears from her eyes and glanced around the room.
It was as she remembered it, especially now that Diana was back wearing the overalls and t-shirt she had worn that first day they had met. The table surprised her, though.
"You got surprised by the possibility explosion, didn't you?" she noted at the scene.
"The what?"
"You were making an omelette," Annette gestured to the rather full table. "When you slipped the one omelette you were preparing onto a plate, the possibilities both past and future exploded. A plate of uncracked eggs and an uncut slice of ham. Several omelettes in various states of success. A rotting mess. The never slaughtered pig…"
"You saw it? That wasn't just me hallucinating?"
"Oh, I saw it," Annette admitted, wrapping her arms around herself protectively. "It almost bowled me over as I came in the back door."
The older girl looked Annette up and down. "You didn't come out too bad in a fight with something 10 times your size. You were always feisty, Annie."
"Not always, Di. Everything I know I learned from you."
The brown-haired girl grimaced. "Not everything," she glowered. "You ran. You didn't learn that from me."
"I could make a strong case of that not being true," Annette countered, her arms still wrapped around herself. "But it makes no sense to argue with myself."
The two looked at each other silently for long moments.
"If anyone is crazy here, it's me," Diana filled the silence. "I've never had such a weird yet real dream. What the heck was that with my hard suit?"
"It's just a possibility, Di. Imagine if you'd gotten your powers when you were younger. Maybe when your Dad died or when your mom was committed. I've never known a bigger Sailor Moon fan in my life. You can't tell me that wouldn't have been your suit if it hadn't been Father J…"
"Don't say that name!" Di shouted, her entire body tensing.
"Sorry, Di. It's been so long…"
"And whose fault is that?" the other girl demanded, her eyes narrowed and the seeming impossibility of the situation no longer providing an artificial calm.
"You dare to talk about blame?" Annette retorted, allowing her voice to rise in response. It sounded petulant no matter how much she sought for an adult tone. "I barely got out with my life and you damn well know it. I didn't even have the time to say goodbye. Even if you'd accepted my resignation, I would have been dead within a day. I was right, dammit!"
"Perhaps," the other girl admitted grudgingly, looking away. "Perhaps not. I was on the fence then."
"Bullshit. Whatever you might have wanted, the genie was out of the bottle by then. Nothing short of you completely repudiating the movement would have cut it by that point. And you didn't have the balls for that."
Annette smirked as the older girl stared at her, then broke down into giggles herself. "Balls? Annie, really?"
Annette shrugged. "I'm just saying it like it was."
"Do you realize how ridiculous you look trying to be righteously indignant as a six year old?"
"Go ahead, laugh it up," Annette pouted, taking full advantage of the adorable facade she currently exhibited. "Doesn't change the fact I'm right."
Diana's laughter ended as a chuckle. "You were always right," she admitted, sighing.
Annette couldn't meet her best friend's eyes, so instead she sat at the table and started picking at one of the more successful omelettes.
The pre-teen frowned and cocked her head in silence. "Are you saying you weren't?"
"Di, sit down and eat a little. You must have been hungry if you felt the need to make an omelette."
"Especially lacking cheese," Diana remarked as she complied and started nibbling at her original effort, the best looking of the bunch she thought smugly to herself.
"Nana was Jewish and ran a dairy free kitchen. You lived with her more than I did."
"Doesn't mean I ever liked it. The Catholic boarding school may have been the world's worst cluster, especially for someone with no relatives to cry to, but at least they had cheeseburgers."
"She was worth it, though, wasn't she?" Annette challenged. "Before she passed? Nana loved you more than anyone after your parents were gone."
"More than you, Annie?"
Annette closed her eyes rather than meet her friend's gaze. She let her fork drop from nerveless fingers "It's my fault it all went wrong, Di. I only realize it now, but I set you up...set us up…" Her six year old body betrayed her and she felt tears running down her cheeks. She sniffed in a vain effort to keep her nose from running. "It's all my fault…" she repeated in a whisper.
Her eyes shot open as she felt herself encircled by the protective arms of her best friend.
Her sister in all but name.
"Did you mean for it to happen that way?"
Annette allowed herself to lean into the embrace.
"No," she answered, feeling very, very small. "I wanted to make you happy. You wanted to control the levers of power. To change the national discourse. To remove the impunity of the men who hurt you and so many others. I did everything I could to make that happen. It was all I wanted in life."
"What's wrong with that?" the girl asked, never letting her embrace loosen.
"I lost sight of what would happen when we succeeded. How others would react within the movement. I was so focused on outside threats and opportunities. I was blind to what was happening literally around me. When I realized where we were going, I tried to stop it. To redirect the train. But…"
"But no one would listen to you? Not even me?"
"Yeah," she whimpered.
"I know."
"What?"
"Fourteen years in the Birdcage gives you a lot of time to think. Not as much as you might think, mind you. The place is a viper's nest and things are always happening. But still, I thought long and hard about what happened. You tried to warn us. I thought you were just getting cold feet, but I should have realized you were never wrong about such things."
"So I'm beating myself over nothing?" Annette sniffed.
"Oh, no. Not quite. I'm still pretty sore over it. But I don't blame you for it. I made my own decisions. And it's not like you would have ended up in the Birdcage with me anyway. We would have been separated regardless because you don't have any powers."
"That not...quite...true." Annette avoided meeting the older girl's eyes.
"What?"
"Um…"
"You have a power?" Di demanded, her voice incredulous. The sound of the storm outside adding to the tension of the moment.
"Um...kinda…"
"Since when?"
"Since you beat me within an inch of death that time you almost went full on villain. You were sixteen and hated the world and wanted to raze every church in the world and I wouldn't let you. You took some exception to me standing in your way, if I remember correctly after the coma."
"Oh, so this is ultimately my fault, then?"
"Can we call it even? I'm getting dizzy trying to keep score here."
Annette opened her eyes and turned to gaze into the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen until the birth of her daughter. A gentle smile met hers. For the first time in over 15 years she felt safe in her cousin's arms and it felt like home.
"Come on," Di coaxed the little girl. "Let's go cuddle in the bean bag like we always used to do. It's been over 30 years since you fit in my lap like this. I miss it."
"Okay," Annette chirped, falling into the role of the little kid maybe a bit too easily.
As the two settled into the old ball, snuggled like old times, Di took the initiative. "So, you mean to tell me that your instincts and perfect planning were more than they appeared? Why didn't you tell me? I thought we shared everything! I certainly did."
"I didn't know! I swear!"
"Okay, okay. Chill, kiddo. So you didn't know you had a power? How can you not know you have a power? Is that even a thing?"
"It is with me, I guess," Annette shrugged and snuggled closer to her cousin. "I think it's attached to my subconscious. My conscious mind can't make sense of it."
"Well, seeing a pig jump from an omelette, I guess I can see that," admitted reluctantly. "Even with all I've seen in the Birdcage, the stuff I'm seeing here would likely trip me over the edge if I were awake. This must be what LSD is like."
"It really is Through the Looking Glass on steroids, isn't it?"
"So how does it work?"
"Well, until a week ago it was all instincts and ideas that came to me after I slept. It's been only the past few days that things changed."
"What changed?"
"My daughter."
There was a long pause. "Daughter?" Di twisted the child in her arms like a doll to look in her face. "You have a kid!"
"Um," Annette felt betrayed by her blushing face, "Danny and I got together."
"Seriously! Danny, huh? Well, I guess he wasn't that bad...for a guy I mean."
"Gee, thanks"
"Hey, this is me you're talking to. If anything, the Birdcage has just hardened my view of men. But I won't hold it against you. I always suspected you swung that way even if you were actively bi enough to satisfy the hardliners. You could have done a lot worse. And it sounds like you got a girl out of it. That's cool." She hesitated a moment as she settled back more comfortably with her cousin. "So does she look like you or Danny."
"Me."
"Okay, then you have my blessing." Annette could feel the grin against the nape of her neck where Di had snuggled her nose against Annette's head.
"Oh you!" Annette chided and tried to shy away from her cousin's intimacy, but the strong arms holding her may as well have been a straightjacket. It surprised her that she wasn't really complaining.
Unlike out in the cold world outside, she felt safe here. Annette railed in her mind against the injustice that had taken her best friend and cousin, her sister in all but name, away from her.
"So, your powers have leveled up for your daughter," Di interrupted Annette's thoughts. "Why?"
"Taylor and I were in a traffic collision. A misguided cape you never met ran into us at an intersection. Crushed my door into me. I'm still a mess in the waking world, but I'll recover," she assured her friend. Di's worry was clear from the sharp intake of breath and a frown she could now feel on her neck. "I woke up that morning with a sense of dread and insisted that Taylor come with me on errands that day after she was done with school orientation.
"She complained something fierce since she wanted to do something else. She insisted she'd keep in touch by phone. But I couldn't get it out of my head that she just had to be with me. When the collision happened, I just knew what I had to do with the wheel to protect Taylor and give myself a chance to live. My last thought before the concussion took me was to protect Taylor. I've never felt something so powerful in my life."
"The power of a mother's love. Didn't I read that somewhere?"
"Oh, shut up you. If you must, then at least make references to real literature."
Diana laughed at her cousin's childish annoyance.
"So why are we here? It must be your power because mine is a lot more direct."
"Even here, I'm really not sure what my power does. I know it has an element of precognition, but ultimately its focus is on planning. I guess contacting you is something I need for planning."
"Oh, you gonna spring me outta the joint?"
Annette looked guilty and was glad Di couldn't see her face. "Right now I wouldn't have the first idea how to do it. I think it's more likely you may be able to help Taylor. She got a power in the accident, too.."
"It doesn't rain but it pours with you now, doesn't it? I'm not sure if I should feel pleased about that. If that's the case, the only way I can imagine helping her is if she ends up here. I'll admit before I knew you had a kid I was starting to think of ways to trick you into landing here for the company since your hands are about as clean as Lady MacBeth's. I keep a lot of women around who need my help, but I wouldn't call any of them close friends. Loneliness is the worst. Still, I'd never want to do anything like that to a girl and her mother."
Annette chose to ignore the pain she felt in Diana's voice. For now she couldn't see a probability that would allow her to do anything about it, at least without her and probably Taylor ending up trapped themselves. She answered the only way she knew how. With avoidance.
"The Birdcage doesn't currently play prominently in her probabilities, thank God."
"Well, if something goes wrong I promise you I'll keep her safe. Let her know to go to Cell Block E if the worst happens. Same for you. But yeah, if somehow you figure out some other way I can help her, let me know. She's the closest thing I have to a legacy, too, you know. We were both only children. She's my blood. I'm glad to hear something good came out of all the shit that went down. Hopefully she'll lead a boring life even if she is a cape. I guess with your power, you can see to that, right?"
"Well, you see…"
----------
Monday, September 1st, 2008
Hebert Household 5:00 am
BEEP BEEP
The bedside alarm brought Annette to full wakefulness and she blinked several times to permit her real sight and her inner sight to align. She was relieved when the annoying chirp of the alarm was cut off by her husband's quick movement reaching past her to the infernal device. She was warmed when Danny took a moment to gently kiss her parched lips before settling back on his side of the bed, looking curiously at her.
"So, did you find what you were looking for?" he asked, his face a mixture of love and concern.
"I...I think so," she replied hesitantly, her voice horse. "There are several books that try to explain humans experiencing sensations that aren't natural for our species. I can now state confidently that they are all inadequate but I haven't a clue how to describe it any better than they did. Something is going on with my subconscious mind and I know I'm seeing just a shadow of it. And even that shadow...I think I'll go mad if I try to examine it too closely."
Danny thought about that for a moment, "That sounds about right. From what I've learned from speaking with various parahumans over the years, they don't really know much about the source of their powers nor entirely how it works, just that it does. I would not question that too much. Yardmaster is an exception of course but we can't expect your power to be so forthcoming."
"Well, the Lattice is still there, and I think I have a better handle on it. I've actually been up for a while and have followed it forward and, interestingly enough, backwards. I have a lot to talk about with you and Taylor, but it can wait for now. We've got to make sure Taylor is ready for her visit with the Amtrak officials in 90 minutes. Miss Militia and Armsmaster will both be there, which I'm sure will thrill her." Danny and Annette both smiled as they mused over Taylor's hero worship.
"I see a lot of positive outcomes as long as no one gains Vickery's attention or I don't change her actions by revealing too much. As long as Taylor continues to play coy with her identity for a little longer, she just has to be herself. It's later today and tomorrow that things become exciting. Things are going to happen fast. For better or for worse, Taylor won't have to wait long to start on her dream."
"Then we had best go get her going, shouldn't we?" Danny rolled out of bed, clad in his pajamas. He walked around to Annette's side of the bed to help her dress and get out of bed.
"I don't suppose we have the makings for ham and cheese omelettes? I'm craving one for whatever reason, but no cheese on mine. I'm kinda volunteering you, I know, since I can't do it myself right now." She looks up at her husband with puppy dog eyes. "I'll make it up to you in a month or so!"
"I did the shopping on Friday, as per usual, so we have the makings," Danny confirmed. "Let's get you presentable first though okay? I'm sure the girls don't want to see you in your skivvies."
"Ah yes, parent cooties. The horrors!" Annette gesticulated with her good arm wildly. "Sadly, it'll be a few more weeks before we can make more cooties, but you had better be prepared for when I get these casts off, mister!" Annette grinned as she looked her husband up and down and enjoyed her husband's blush.
"In any case, I will cooperate with you for now at least. Let's get dressed and make sure the girls are up. You can make breakfast while Taylor and I plan a bit while things are prepared."
A few minutes later, Taylor's parents walked and rolled out of their bedroom, down the hall, and into the living area. Taylor and Emma were already up. At some point in the last 30 minutes or so, Taylor must have opened the portal to grab the train box. She had the box set next to the coffee table while she and Emma, still in their PJs, were taking an inventory of all of Danny's other childhood trains. A number of locomotives and pieces of rolling stock, all in Boston and Maine livery, were laid out in rows and columns on the table. At the sound of the wheelchair, the girls looked up.
"Good morning!" They called in unison. Each girl appeared chipper despite the early morning hour. Emma was sitting on the floor with her legs crossed and had a notebook open that had several groups of numbers and designations on it. Taylor meanwhile was pulling trains out of the box and keeping them organized on the table.
"Wow, you're busy early," Annette marveled with a return smile. "What inspired you, if I may ask? Did you find more of your dad's stuff downstairs or is this more from the original box that you hadn't dug down to yet?"
"Same box, Mom," Taylor said. "I hadn't gone through all the stuff Dad had yet. I had only really noted the one E7A, its baggage car and coaches, and the gondolas I took out. We woke up half an hour ago and I decided to take inventory. I hope that's alright?" Annette would note that the portal was not active at the moment so Taylor must have just gone in and out.
"It's your power, honey," Annette assured as she reached out and ruffled Taylor's hair. "You know best how to explore it. Danny's going to make omelettes, but I'd just get in the way if I went into the kitchen. Mind if I hang around while you girls work?"
Taylor smiled, but squirmed a little under Annette's ministrations, "We were just finishing up actually. Do you want to see what we found?"
"Absolutely!"
"I'll let you three get acquainted with my old trains. I'll get started on breakfast," Danny said and left the three to their talking.
Taylor pointed at the three locomotives that sat on the table in turn. "Dad had three other locomotives besides the E7A I first picked out Saturday. There is a second E7A which is numbered 3801. It is followed by an 0-8-0 steam switcher locomotive numbered 651 and a GP-18 numbered 1755. The two E7As pulled the heavyweight passenger cars, the GP-18 pulled freight cars and the 0-8-0 managed the yard."
Taylor then pointed at the rolling stock collection. "Dad actually had a lot of track so he had room for large trains. There are no less than 8 passenger cars, including three coaches, a baggage car, a Railroad Post Office, two sleepers, and a parlor car. Add the 3 cars sitting in the car shop, a parlor car, a diner, and an observation car and we will be able to run an 11 car passenger train."
"A Railroad Post Office? That was a thing?" Annette asked somewhat incredulously.
"Yep! Usually abbreviated as RPO, it was designed to take advantage of the speed of trains to get mail to cities much quicker than horse or wagon. It was able to pick up mail in towns a train didn't stop in, sort it, then drop it in another town all without stopping. For a long time, the train companies made a lot of money transporting the mail, sometimes in special trains or with passenger cars in tow on express routes. Once the car and interstate highways came along though, the trains lost the mail contracts to them."
Taylor's nose wrinkled. "It would be nice if the government let us take a mail contract, at least to see how it works. Are we allowed to compete with the Post Office though? It's a government department, not a company so we might have a loophole there."
"I really have no idea right now, little owl. I think the Post Office is run like a private company that's owned by the government, something like Amtrak curiously enough. We'll have to research that or I'll need to take it to sleep with me next time," Annette answered thoughtfully. "So what are the rest of the cars?"
Taylor motioned at the small fleet of freight cars, "In addition to the 7 gondolas I have out on the layout, we have another 5, plus 7 boxcars, 8 reefers, 8 grain hoppers, and 10 open-topped hoppers. I wish there were more cars and of different varieties, but I can't blame dad for not having the money growing up to buy more." She sighed, "But it is what we have to work with."
There was a shout of, "Hey, I heard that!" from the kitchen as Danny got out cooking implements and supplies and the three females laughed.
"It gives you something to start with at least," Annette offered what she hoped were helpful words. "I know you want to do everything all at once, but it doesn't take precognitive powers to predict that there are trips to hobby shops from Portland to Boston and across to Manchester in your future." She added with just slightly more volume. "Right, Danny?"
"Yep. There's even one down on the Boardwalk that's been there since I was a lad. I bought all my equipment there. If we have time later today, we could visit for a little bit and see if there is anything you are interested in, kiddo."
Taylor nodded in response, "Miss Militia said that Armsmaster pops in there sometimes to marvel at how normal people can make really small things without powers. That's kinda silly if you think about it, considering miniaturization and efficiency are his specialties."
"Maybe you can ask him", Annette offered with a cocked head and a shrug. "You're going to see him in about an hour, you know."
"That's true, though we'll have other things to talk about. Anyway, that's all the locomotives and rolling stock that was in the box," Taylor said, wrapping up the inventory.
"Exciting, isn't it? Two days ago this stuff was all shoved in a corner in the basement, forgotten. Now it's the beginning of changing the upper half of New England for the better for the first time in years. And all because you were bored on a lazy Saturday afternoon."
Taylor's eyes began to shine brightly, "It sure is! I can't wait until I can get things running properly. Going on a mainline passenger run with Roger in the lead will be really fun with my head out the cab window and my hair flying in the breeze."
Annette couldn't help but laugh in pure happiness at her daughter's wide-eyed enthusiasm. "It won't be long, little owl. Not long at all. Now why don't you and Emma go and get dressed and washed up for breakfast. We've got things happening and not much time to prepare."
"Yes Mom, Aunt Annette!" Both girls leapt to their feet as fast as they could. Taylor was hampered by her leg and crutch so Emma beat her to the bathroom sink.
Of course I am now wondering about fictional Trains.... Such as the Armoured Train from the Bond Film "Golden Eye", or one of the Trains from things like Thunderbirds and Captain Scarlet.
Then there is the Sheer Weirdness if Taylor used a Model from "Ivor the Engine" or "Thomas the Tank Engine"....
Also I'm curious what a collaboration of Armsmaster and Squealer could do with a Model of "Dora Gustav" to use against Endbringers.....
@GeneralPatt1000 and @DrYuriMom - You have given us another good chapter. Keep up the good work. I am looking forward to reading the next chapter. I am mildly interested in see what will come of the Train Post Office.
I have anticipatory leg jitters waiting for the big stuff that's coming, but the stage is set. Armsmaster's gift is ready, This Emily Piggott is optimistic, and Miss Militia is coming along for the Amtrak Visit. Excellent chapter, will read again. So the questions are Amtrak first, or Not-squealer chapter next? And will Armsmaster get a hug when his gift train goes full size?
That would be be a hell of a PR move and make a good poster. Armsmaster being hugged by a happily smiling Dispatcher, with Miss Militia and the Amtrak delegation in the background. Next snapshot is Dispatch shaking hands with the Amtrak group, with AM and Miss Militia behind her on either side. A new Era dawns folks, and we have front row seats.
With some limitations and some associated capabilities which are still setting in, that's a fair representation of what has been described in the past few chapters.
You know I have a hard time putting my faith in capes I don't know and trust thanks to my experiences in Ellisburg. Anytime a new cape pops up, sometimes all I can think about is what they might do to ruin my city and life more than it already is."
