Germination 2.5
Danny
"Drive."
That simple command from John Milton, their new lawyer, was all that was needed as their driver shifted the Suburban into gear, and began driving. The resultant sound of the engine gaining rpms existing as the only sound in the otherwise silent cab of the vehicle.
He took the silence as an opportunity to look at his daughter, who was sitting on the same bench in the back of the vehicle, the only separation between them. Her Focus was back on her head and she was obviously looking through something judging by her intent expression and flicking eyes. It was something he was beginning to notice with her, depending on the seriousness and complexity, that she could either use her hands to present, or in smaller, less complex situations, eye movement seemed to suffice..
The last three hours had been chaotic to say the least. Taylor being taken away for questioning over both Jean and his objections. He had been horrified at what could happen to her considering what had caused the incident in the first place, but also frustrated by how his daughter seemed nonchalant about the severity of the situation.
Even he knew the dangers of messing around with nuclear technology, especially in this day and age. It wasn't like before capes, where the government was slightly more laid back about it. But with the advent of Tinkers and other capes, nuclear technology was treated as a significant national security risk, and was prosecuted as such.
But the fact that his daughter was working on it without a single by your leave only reinforced the fact that she was keeping secrets. Maybe if he had known what she was doing they could have done things differently, but that was a matter of what could have been.
What mattered now as the PRT had his daughter, and he wasn't sure if he would be seeing her again as a free person.
It had only been Jean that had stopped him from doing something further stupid. She had pulled him aside and told him in no uncertain terms that he was not allowed to take any action for the moment. Mister Gabriel was sending a lawyer and this situation would be worked out. Even when he protested, she told him that Taylor would be fine. The lawyer that they were bringing in was one of the best on the east coast. It was this, and the fact that it was readily apparent that Jean was also pissed beyond belief that stayed him from doing something stupid with the stooges that had remained after Taylor had been taken away.
It had only been twenty minutes later that a helicopter had arrived, choosing to land on one of the unoccupied jetties in the dockyard. He had at first thought it was yet another agency deciding to stick its nose in the company's business and bury his daughter even further.
This was not the case, as he quickly found himself introduced to John Milton, Senior Partner of Wulfrahm & Hjardt. It had been a double-shock to Danny, as he had heard of Wulfrahm & Hardt, a law firm that had been cutting its teeth in Boston since before his grandfather's time, they were considered one of the best in the United States. The fact that Gabriel had them on retainer was somewhat terrifying considering the likely retainer fee for something like this, even as it brought him at least some comfort that his daughter was likely in good hands.
The second was the relative youth of Milton himself. For a senior partner, he looked inordinately young to what was expected. He had to only to be in his early to mid thirties,
He looked to be in his early to mid thirties, his hair was stylishly cut but was what you expected in a professional atmosphere. His glasses were a stylish, yet utilitarian design that seemed to only enhance his piercing eyes, as if he knew secrets about you that even you weren't aware of.
He had expected the man to storm after his daughter, or even show a modicum of annoyance at the situation. Instead, he had told the hulking man that had accompanied him to secure a transport. But John had then pulled them into Jean's office and calmly demanded a rundown on the events that had transpired. It had taken a herculean effort not to snap at the lawyer, but he calmed himself in the hope that there was an angle to this man's decisions.
Suffice to say his patience was tested, as Milton had listened to them, and then made a few phone calls. Every minute they stayed in the office talking was another minute that they were not on their way to retrieving Taylor. But after a series of phone calls by Milton, he had taken a seat in a chair. That had been enough for Danny to open his mouth to say something.
"Your daughter will be fine, Mister Hebert," Milton's smoothly accented voice cut him off as he glanced at the watch on his wrist.
"How can you say that? They just took her away."
"Mister Hebert, there is a stark difference between being detained for questioning and being arrested. In the case of your daughter, they are going to question her and little else, because they cannot do anything else."
It was then that he slammed his hands on the desk, incensed at how nonchalant the man was for his daughter, but found his words stilled as Milton's eyes snapped from his watch to him, piercing him in their gaze.
"Losing yourself to your anger will accomplish nothing except complicating the extrication process for your daughter. And I despise complications, Mister Hebert. Now. Sit. Down."
He found himself taking a seat in the chair, as Milton kept looking at him for a moment, before releasing a small sigh as he placed down his phone and adjusted his tie. Jean had remained oddly silent the entire situation, instead choosing to keep off to the side.
"This is your first encounter with cape-based law enforcement, correct, Mister Hebert?"
"It is."
"Then allow me to provide you with a brief education. The best way to describe legally dealing with capes is that there are no laws," he held up his hand, "I understand how that sounds, Mister Hebert. The American legal system has always held itself up as an exemplar of laws and order that guarantees your rights and protections to prevent the government from abuses. It's a pleasant fantasy that, for the most part, works."
"The problem is, for nearly two decades, the PRT and the Protectorate have been busily carving out their own little extralegal fiefdom, creating laws and rules on whim to suit whatever they want or need. Of course they claim to follow the law, and capes have all the same rights that you and I take for granted. But in reality, they can do whatever they want because they've created the veneer that as the foremost expert on capes they know what's best. Take the Bad Canary case, for example. You've heard that one."
"Vaguely," he admitted. It had been something talked about in the office, but it was never something he really cared to follow.
"In any normal situation, there would be such a lawsuit filed in lieu of the violations of Miss Mcabee's rights that the government would be providing a life of luxury for not only her, but her children's children. Instead, the PRT, as the 'foremost expert' on capes, has done everything in its power to ensure that Miss Mcabee is sent to the Birdcage as a message to other capes that have powers similar to hers that it would be in their best interest to be on their side. Of course, there will be those that will try and make the case that this miscarriage of justice is because of the stigma against Masters thanks to Simurgh. However, at the end of the day, it is the PRT that is responsible. All it would take to allow Miss Mcabee the opportunity to exercise her rights as an American citizen is to have her powers tested, something that is in their remit and they have the ability to do so safely."
"So why aren't you defending her, Mister Milton?"
A quirk of the man's lip was the only tell that what he had said had hit a nerve.
"Because the PRT froze her assets and unofficially told us that it would be in our best interests to not involve ourselves in Miss Mcabee's case."
His fists clenched as he ground his teeth, fighting the urge to storm out. The only thing stopping him was the fact that it would achieve nothing, and obviously Mister Milton was building towards something, but nonetheless…
"You're not doing a good job convincing me that my daughter is going to be fine, Mister Milton."
"Quite," the man replied, damnably calm, "What I'm trying to build at, is that under normal circ*mstances, it would be an uphill battle against the PRT and Protectorate. However, the adage that there is always a bigger fish applies here."
"I don't follow."
"One of the things you will learn, Mister Hebert, as your company grows, is that the government's portrayal that it's one big, happy, family is actually a lie. It is a confederation of agencies and departments that are in competition with one another over funds and power. They zealously guard their jurisdictions and the only thing they agree upon is their mutual disdain for the PRT. Your daughter, either intentionally or otherwise, has happened to create a situation in which the PRT is not the foremost expert and does not have sole jurisdiction."
For a moment, he sat there wondering just what it was that Taylor had done, but then it clicked.
"The Department of Energy."
Milton's response was a nod.
"The PRT is legally required, as is any other department, to inform the Department of Energy if they encounter any cases regarding nuclear materials, which includes both materials and designs. Their charter takes precedence over any PRT considerations. And since they are detaining your daughter, they have no choice but to report the situation. If your daughter were any normal tinker the department would report back that the work is Tinkertech, and with the absence of nuclear materials, their involvement would end there. However, your daughter's unique ability to produce actual technology will shock them into action, making this, at minimum, something the PRT cannot handle in house and thus curtail their usual free reign."
It had only taken an hour after Milton had arrived before they were on their way to the PRT Headquarters. Throughout the entire time, Milton was on and off his phone speaking with several individuals. When he had asked who he was talking to, Milton had just shaken his head and told him it was detail work. It was only after he was satisfied and his bodyguard returned that they were on their way.
And now they were here, after another hour getting Taylor out of the building, including having several forms filled out and getting her Focus returned. But all that mattered to him was that she was safely returned.
"Of all the stupid, reckless, irresponsible decisions-," Jean finally broke the silence, having turned to look back towards Taylor.
"It worked out in the end," his daughter replied, obviously not giving her full attention to the older woman.
"That's not the point," Jean angrily snapped, "we just had a conversation about personal responsibility and what is best for the company. And not two hours later, you decide in your infinite wisdom that it would be a brilliant idea to tug the tiger's tail. Not only that, but you ignored both your father and myself when we told you not to go with the PRT-"
"But. It. Worked. Out," Taylor emphasized, tapping her Focus. Obviously she was done with whatever it was that she was focused upon, as she folded her hands in her lap.
"Be that it may, Miss Hebert. It would be preferable that you leave such actions to the professionals," Milton intoned, turning his head slightly at an angle, as if he were looking back over his shoulder, "as inspired a choice it may have been, you took an unnecessary risk. You're lucky Director Piggot is not like James Tagg, or you would have found yourself treated like a terrorist and shipped to a black site where you would likely never see the light of day as a free woman."
"But she wasn't," was the response, Taylor's jaw setting in a telltale sign of irritation. He had seen it far too many times in Annette and he knew unless he intervened it was going to reach a boiling point. The only issue was how to make it work without having her doubling down on being set in her ways.
He honestly wished Annette was here. She would know exactly what to say to Taylor.
"What's done is done," he finally said, causing Taylor to look toward him, "instead, we need to focus on what we do going forward. That means everyone needs to be on the same page here. Okay, Taylor?"
For a moment, he worried that she was going to argue with him. He wasn't coming down on her side completely, but at the same time, he was being reasonable in that now that Taylor had gained the attention of not only the PRT, but likely the Department of Energy, they all needed to be in lockstep on what needed to be done.
"Okay," she finally said with a nod, and he felt himself relax slightly.
"In that case," it was Milton who spoke first, "while we have the PRT on the back foot, we have Miss Hebert undergo power testing."
"What," he couldn't stop himself from speaking. The idea of setting Taylor back into the den of the beast was just short of insane.
"Right now, the PRT has to reassess what they can do with your daughter, Mister Hebert. All of their actions have been on the basis that she is a Tinker, and provides an avenue of attack through the laws established to prevent Tinkertech from flooding the markets. By having her abilities officially tested, we would be able to get official documentation that unequivocally states that her technology is not Tinkertech, removing several potential issues going forward."
"Makes sense," Taylor chirped, offering a shrug, "I doubt Piggot even entertained the idea that I wasn't a Tinker. Armsmaster certainly did not believe that my technology wasn't Tinkertech, I do wonder why he wasn't here today."
"Unofficially, Armsmaster is no longer in charge of the Brockton Bay Protectorate," was Milton's response, causing everyones' head to turn towards him, "Director Piggot has removed him from the position, interestingly enough after his interview with you, Miss Hebert."
"Was it something that I did," she asked, curiosity lacing her tone, "the interview went well and he did leave satisfied with everything."
"I won't comment on it, because I don't have all of the information, Miss Hebert. Nor does it really matter at the moment. What we need to focus upon is the DOE and the Child Protective Services and how we handle them."
"What about Youth Guard," Jean added herself into the conversation now.
"The Youth Guard, may be a problem, considering the incestuous relationship between them and the CPS, I expect that we will be hearing from them in short order and they will ape whatever the CPS says. School. Less work hours. Socialization. They'll also likely add a push to join the Wards, that way it can be cheaper for them in terms of oversight. But we are going to have to give on something."
"I'm not going back to school."
"Taylor-"
"No, Dad, I am not going to go back to school. I'm not going to go back to a f*cking reminder of what happened to me. I am not going to be a circus act for teens who have no idea what it's like to be bereft of sight. And I most certainly am not going to waste my time studying subjects that I could probably teach better myself!"
"If I may, Miss Hebert?"
"No. You may not. This discussion is closed. I am not going to go back to Winslow and that is final."
"Then I will talk and you will listen, Miss Hebert. Legally speaking, we do not have a good leg to stand on with the CPS and Youth Guard. They have every legal right to force you back into school, regardless of your situation and disability if they believe that it is in your best interests. Now, we can fight, but we will more than likely lose. As much as I loathe the Youth Guard, they are in the right, in this case, Miss Hebert. You are fifteen, you do not have a GED, and from an outside perspective looking in, which the Youth Guard will mercilessly cultivate, it looks like your father is taking advantage of you. This is the sort of narrative that will drive the judge and juries to side against you, regardless of what narrative or evidence you may provide to the public."
"He is-"
"Or," Milton cut her off, raising his voice slightly, "We can choose to make concessions, Miss Hebert. We show that we are willing to accept their ruling, but we want to have input in the execution of it. That way we can undercut their narrative and appear reasonable to outside observers. It will certainly be an inconvenience from what you have currently been doing, but it's better than a long, drawn-out legal battle that could end up with you being taken as a ward of the state or declared a gang cape for resisting their authority."
That seemed to be the cold bucket of water that Taylor needed, as her protests died on her lips and she became pensive. He wished he could know what was going through her mind.
"You won't have to go back to Winslow, Taylor," he decided to add his own two cents, "I will fight to my dying breath if it needs be to stop them from sending you back there. But Mister Milton is right, I know you hate the idea, I hate it too, but sometimes you have to take a momentary loss, in order to gain a long-term win."
"Miss Hebert. Taylor. Winslow is all but burning down currently thanks to the ongoing FBI investigation taking place there. I don't have all the details, but I doubt Winslow will be open before the end of the school year. And even if they did, they do not have the facilities for someone with your impediment. Instead, it will likely be Immaculata or Arcadia. But even if you are sent to school, we can start exploring fast-tracking you for a GED. The Youth Guard will grumble, but they legally will be unable to stop you."
"What about work hours? You mentioned that. I can't afford to give up too many hours. I'm already going to lose quite a bit if I return to school. I need to be in the workshop as much as possible to assemble and test out a project."
"I think it is something we can work out. Immaculata and Arcadia both have online correspondence and work-release programs for qualifying students. It would mean that you will only have to do half-days. What is probably going to be up for discussion will be what constitutes work and how many hours of said work you will be allowed to do. I think if we do give in to them on the schooling issue, we can at least argue with them that your job, of which you are the CEO of, requires a certain amount of time per day in order to work. If we emphasize the need for your ability to be exercised, we can probably get to forty hour weeks, fifty at the very most in certain circ*mstances. How many hours have you been working?"
Taylor was silent, and he had to hold back a sigh as Milton looked to him.
"Officially? She's been averaging about fifty hours. Unofficially, once you factor in the time she works at home on her computer? Probably another ten to fifteen on top of that."
"Yeah. There's no way we'll be able to negotiate that, Miss Hebert."
"Taylor," Jean spoke up, "I know you want to push through this project by yourself, but if we can put together a team to support you, do you think that will reduce your work hours on it?"
"No."
It may have been an immediate dismissal, but having been around his wife and daughter long enough, he knew that there was more to the statement. What it was he didn't know, but he was not going to allow his daughter to hurt her even more if he could help it. If the reason for her dismissal was something that was reasonable, then fine. But he wasn't going to let her be stubborn about something like this.
"Taylor…"
"No. You don't understand. It's not that I don't want to, Dad, it's that I can't. The Burrower, the smallest unit, requires several million lines of code in order to function correctly. That is several million lines of code of a programming language that only I know that have to be collated and programmed to ensure that not a single line is out of place. We haven't had the time to train anyone else in the code language because there hasn't been a need to yet. Teaching the basics of this programming language alone will take weeks even with a well-trained programmer. Weeks that I do not have."
"What if we could get someone that could understand the language quickly," Jean interrupted, causing all of them to look at her.
"There's no one-"
"Just humor me, Taylor. What if we were able to hire someone who could understand your code quickly and take over some of your programming duties."
"Let me reiterate-"
"Just answer the question, Taylor. What harm is it going to do?"
Taylor's head snapped towards him, a look of betrayal marring her features, before swiftly disappearing into impassiveness. It took a herculean effort not to withdraw his request, but Jean wouldn't be asking the question unless she didn't know someone who may be able to do what she was suggesting. Who it could be escaped him, but he had a feeling that it may be someone like Taylor.
"If," Taylor finally started, "If," she reiterated "there was someone who could do it to my satisfaction," she added looking between both himself and Jean, "then I am willing to talk. But! I will have final say on hiring them or not, and I will be installing programs that will monitor and ensure he doesn't do anything with the code. Are we understood?"
That was probably the best they were going to get out of her, he realized. Taylor was still going to fight them, but at least they had a foot in the door at maybe trying to help her. He knew it rankled at her, but unless they worked to try and deal with the situation right now, then they were screwed either way.
"I'll make the phone call as soon as I get home. Give me a couple of days and I should have an answer," Jean responded after a moment.
"Okay," Taylor breathed, obviously still unhappy with being forced into the corner, "Now, since I guess all my decisions are by committee right now, what can we expect from the Department of Energy?"
AEH
Rebecca Costa-Brown
If there was one trait that defined everything that she was, it was patience. It was a trait that she had learned the hard way when she had been dying of cancer so many years ago. Patience in treatments. Patience in her body slowly failing. Patience with the empty words and platitudes as people lied about her chances of survival. Patience in being one of the architects of the plan for dealing with the single greatest threat to the human race.
Patience was an old hand in her life.
And right now her patience was running f*cking thin.
When it had been agreed upon within Cauldron to assign Emily Piggot to Brockton Bay as part of Terminus Project, it was with the acknowledgment that of all of the Directors, both current and prospective, she would be the most ideal candidate to simulate the ship-in-the-bottle decline of human civilization that Brockton Bay would represent. She was competent and hard-nosed, but also was blinded by her hatred of parahumans to the point where she treated them as inconvenient allies at best. It was the perfect mix of personality for the simulation of a collapsing world.
It also made it so much easier to deny her aid that she was an unlikeable bitch in her professional opinion.
So Piggot was allowed to languish on her little island city as they collected data for projections. Safe in the knowledge that any sort of outside intervention would largely be natural, and anything artificially inserted would be handled by Contessa.
Only now, it seemed that something had escaped Contessa's gimlet eye. …unless this was intentional.
It was innocuous enough, emails were exchanged between departments in the thousands daily, but it was the subject matter that was causing her blood to boil.
Directly from Secretary of Energy Laffler was an attached report that had been instigated by an alert triggered by the Brockton Bay PRT's detainment of a cape utilizing regulated materials or documents.
The email was obviously couched to be as polite as possible, but at its core were orders to her that the Department of Energy was taking over the investigation.
It didn't take a genius to read between the lines. Just from the documents that they had, they believed that there was something of merit to Taylor Hebert's blueprints and they wanted sole jurisdiction over it.
And there wasn't a legal damn thing she could do to stop it.
Oh, she could dispute it. She may be able to get a concession. But the fact of the matter was that there were limits to the power that the PRT could wield. Even with Contessa's abilities, there was no chance they would be able to take over every facet of the American government, as much as she thought it was a good idea. As a result, they had to resort to playing the political game in order to ensure the continuity of some semblance of the American system. Major legacy departments were allowed to keep their responsibilities for the most part, but found their budgets slashed, while others were absorbed to feed the burgeoning budgets of the PRT and Protectorate. But, regardless, the PRT was never the department that she wished it could have been and had sole jurisdiction over all capes.
Then again, she never would have expected this development in the first place, even if they did have the vested powers. Powers granted by the agents all operated upon a set of rules and guidelines. Despite how they manifest, they were never designed to benefit their host society. That much they had been able to glean over the years, and if there was something perceived beneficial on the surface, it was more than likely a trap that would eventually blowback.
Yet Hebert, supposedly, was different. There had been instances in the past in which the DOE had intervened in the pursuance of a cape, but they had always amounted to nothing and the cape was remanded back to the PRT. This was the first time that the Secretary of Energy had personally sent a missive, so it was obvious that there was something there.
Now looking over the reports from Brockton Bay, reports that she had purposefully ignored outside of the daily briefs of events, it was obvious that the DOE was onto something. But more importantly, and this was the point to where her patience was reaching its breaking point: Emily Piggot had not only f*cked up, she had f*cked up by the numbers!
Somehow, Emily Piggot, in her infinite f*cking bigotry and need to have control, had not only done everything in her power to alienate a prospective cape, someone that they could have possibly utilized. But then she had decided to be a toddler and add to the sh*t sandwich of idiocy by alienating one of the foremost Tinkers on the East Coast. Did the woman not have an ounce of common sense, or was her head so far up her ass she was tickling her tonsils?
If it wasn't for the Terminus Project she would have WEDGDG do a full audit of the branch. Something that had only been done once in the past, with the Minneapolis being gutted and its Director quietly 'retired'. The fact that Piggot had not reached out to her immediately in regards to Hebert, especially considering her ties to the Shadow Stalker situation, only highlighted Piggot's incapability to not let her personal feelings dominate her decisions.
The question now was how to salvage the situation. Hebert, for now, was outside of their scope. There was no way she could intervene without there being significant blowback. The DOE was going to guard their new prospect zealously and she could ill-afford interbranch drama, especially with the Vice President beginning his campaign push.
She ground her teeth at the thought of Vice President Ryan. The man was increasingly becoming a problem. In any other circ*mstance, she would probably admire him for his character as one of the few incorruptible politicians in D.C., but the man's sustained skepticism of the necessity of the PRT and Protectorate was gaining quite a bit of steam within the government and, more importantly, the electorate. In fact, she had a feeling that was going to be one of the pillars of the platform, and the aggravating part of it is, it would be largely embraced by a populace that was becoming displeased with the efficacy of the PRT and Protectorate.
And more frustratingly enough, simply 'dealing' with him was out of the question. The man's history in the intelligence community made him too wily for the usual techniques that she would have preferred. Doctor Mother had already ruled out Contessa as too much of a risk.
Luckily, it was still another year and a half before the general election. Even with President Durling's blessing, Ryan was going to have to primary. There was plenty of time for something to happen that could remove him from the board.
It was something to dwell upon for the future. But right now, she had to deal with Piggot, and she intended to tear several strips from the Director of Brockton Bay. And if she wasn't satisfied with the woman's answers, then she would deal with the bitch, and to hell with the Terminus Project, there were alternatives available to replace the corpulent imbecile.
AEH
Colin Wallis
Tearing his helmet off, he gingerly placed it back on the workbench. The task done, he reached up and rubbed at his brow, fighting the splitting migraine that served only to mock his failure..
It was the second day since he had finished his own version of Taylor Hebert's Focus from the documents that she had provided and his own analysis. Suffice to say, however, the testing was not going how he would have liked.
The system worked, as he had expected. Hebert's documentation was thorough and easy to adapt. The problem developed when he tried to integrate it with the helmet's heads up display. It was there that he found that the system infrastructure of the Focus was incompatible with the helmet. It wasn't that they couldn't mate, it was that the data and how it was conveyed was completely different.
The augmented reality that was created by the focus clashed with the head's up display, while the head's up display could not adequately integrate the data. As a result, what he did get was a garbled, nearly nonsensical display. The only solution so far was to operate with one or the other deactivated unless needed.
Suffice to say, it was rather frustrating.
The most rational solution would be to reach out to Taylor and ask a few questions as it was her invention. Unfortunately, it was not an option available to him, especially now.
He was not one to engage in schadenfreude, he viewed it as wasteful and unprofessional. However, in this case, he felt he could make an exception. He had tried to warn Piggot several times that she was making a mistake, that Hebert's technology was replicable, and it was more than likely that she was a new type of previously unencountered cape type that focused around a Thinker type with technology focus. Alas, she had ignored him, making a pointed response that he was already compromised in the dealing with Hebert, it would be in his best interest to refrain from offering further input.
So he sat and watched as Director Piggot had dug her hole. All the while he dealt with each injustice she served him with silence.
There had been a part that had wished she would come to her senses and realize her folly. To actually admit that she had made a mistake and worked to try and ameliorate their working relationship. Alas, it was not to be, so he had just stood on the sidelines and watched, taking notes, tinkering, and thinking of what the future could be.
He was not going to delude himself into believing he could come back from this. Even if Piggot rescinded her decisions, the damage would already be done to his record going forward. Because while she could remove the punishments and restore him, there would still remain the record that clearly stated that he had been punished. It would have a chilling effect upon his future endeavors even if he transferred out, or, in another possible option, transferred to the Guild. Narwhal would likely be understanding, but her government would likely not. So even if he transferred to the Protectorate-adjacent organization, the shadow of his demotion here would create inconvenient and uncomfortable questions that Piggot would not answer truthfully as it would jeopardize her career further than it already was.
No, his career in the Protectorate was likely over, even if he were able to perform some sort of miracle in the next Endbringer fight. It may be buy a few moments of fame, but reality would come crashing back once the limelight faded away.
Releasing a sigh, he stared at the helmet, a helmet that symbolized what he had spent almost his entire adult life trying to be. Armsmaster was what he strived to be, to be the very best there could be, to be the man who could offer a sword and shield against the cruel world. To actually not just be Colin Wallis, but an actual symbol to the world.
He had failed. That was the singular daunting fact of it all. He didn't know where it began, but somewhere along the way, he had fallen off of that path. The Armsmaster he wished to be would never have allowed a thug like Sophia Hess to become a part of the Protectorate, and he certainly would not have allowed her to hurt innocents like she had done. Instead, he had compromised, allowing himself to partake in a system that became part of the very problem it was fighting against.
It was strange just what thoughts could be cultivated when you were on the outside, he thought with a hint of melancholy as he ran his finger over the visor of his helmet, his visage reflected upon its surface.
Honestly, he would likely have never had these thoughts if not for Piggot's actions. He would have happily followed his orders and doggedly seek the validation that he had yearned for when he had begun, not recognizing that the validation he sought would be on a foundation of betrayals of his younger self.
Sighing at his maudlin thoughts, he refocused on what he did best, which was his work. He really hated dwelling upon his feeling and thoughts, especially when he had things he could do.
"Test Eighteen confirms failure in data subset integration," he began, after hitting the activation button on his recorder, "incompatibility between system architecture appears to be the core cause of the failure. Options going forward are limited, changing the system framework of Focus without Dragon or Taylor Hebert's assistance is ill-advised as I do not have a background in coding. Changing HUD system architecture is a likely solution, but once again I run back into the previous solution's issue. Only currently existing solution remains to switch between systems and ensure there is no communication between the two systems."
He then rubbed his temple as it felt like a spike had been driven in, causing him to wince.
"Addendum: There is another solution, but will not be accepted by the local command. Integration of brain-computer interface into Focus design similar to the original example would likely solve all dataset integration issues. However, the requirement would be to request assistance from Taylor Hebert in installation and calibration. Note Ends."
Placing the recorder down, he reached over and grabbed a bottle of painkillers. They were sadly not the Tinkertech pills that he previously utilized, he couldn't afford to waste money on them, even if they were world's more effective than the over-the-counter ibuprofen he was tossing back. Taking a swig of the water to finish the ritual off, he placed the bottle back down and considered what he could do with the helmet.
It was frustrating to run into a roadblock like this, but honestly, it was still exhilarating to the engineer within him. It was a challenge to surmount, and while right now he had no solution, there was no saying if he could not figure something out with time.
The sound of his door chime ripped him from his thoughts, alerting him that he was about to receive a visitor. Releasing a sigh, he looked at himself, shaking his head at the various dirt and grime on him from working on his suit and helmet.
"Come," he called out, deciding to hell with it, whoever wanted his attention would have to deal with his appearance. If that was a problem for them, well they should have arranged something beforehand.
So it was to his surprise when Director Piggot stepped through the door, he couldn't help but feel a certain rise of anger that he quickly tamped down by frowning harder. It was the closest he would admit to the other woman how angry he was with her.
"Director," he greeted as neutrally as he could, "is there something I can help you with?"
It was an empty gesture, they both knew that there was nothing that the other woman would want his help with. He was a pariah within his own command, and she was the executioner who could decide to drop the axe whenever she felt the urge to do so.
"I"m actually here to talk with you, Armsmaster," the woman said, but the way she said it caused him to subconsciously perk up. There was something there that he couldn't put his finger on, in the way she said it.
"I am at your service, Director."
"Dispense with the bullsh*t, Armsmaster," Piggot snapped. A snide part of him wanted to comment that she was in fine form today, but it would solve nothing, instead he simply chose to weather the storm, "I know you despise me for what I have done to you. So don't even give me the entire loyal soldier sh*t."
He stared at her for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what to say in regards to her. She was correct, he did not hold her in very high standing anymore. Well, that would be a lie, he never truly held her in high regard ever, if anything, she was just part of the scenery that he had to navigate, nothing more. There was nothing redeeming about her leadership and he hated himself for ignoring the problems that she fomented by her very existence. It was just another betrayal of his younger self being waved in front of his face.
"Permission to speak freely, Director."
"Granted."
He took a calming, measured breath, knowing exactly what he wanted to say, but taking that extra moment to ensure he did not go too far. There was still a chance she could just fire him right here and now, but the fact that she was coming down here without any escort hinted that it was not in the cards.
"You're right, Director. But you were hand-picked by the Chief Director to command ENE. So despite my personal feelings on the matter, especially when it comes to your attitudes towards capes, I chose to work with you. The fact is that I have worked with you for years now, and I would have liked to believe that it would foment at least a modicum of professional understanding and respect. However, you have proven that I was mistaken in that belief with your recent actions. Personally, I believed back then that you were unfit for your position after reading your dossier, and those beliefs have been repeatedly confirmed over the years. I don't hate you, Director, I just always considered you part of the terrain to be navigated."
It was probably the closest he would get to a scathing rebuke to the woman across from him, but he wanted to get this off his chest for some time now. He knew he was just as guilty as her, and he would have to bear that burden going forward, but he would not allow the Director to believe she was squeaky clean either. The woman was unfit, both physically and leadership wise, for the position of Director, and he had a suspicion that she had been placed in Brockton Bay to keep the Ellisburg Incident quiet.
The way that her expression darkened and her jaw clenched, he knew that he had hit a sore spot with the woman, but surprisingly, she kept herself from lashing out.
"Noted," she ground out, "Since the feeling is mutual, Armsmaster, I will simply cut to the chase on why I am here. I have been in contact with the Chief Director, and she has taken a personal interest in the situation here in Brockton Bay. Therefore, effective immediately, you are being restored to Commander of the Protectorate ENE. Along with this, your budget will be restored back to its previous levels fitting that of a commander. Finally, it is the decision of the Chief Director, along with approval of Legend, that your request to reassign responsibility of the Wards to Miss Militia is approved."
He blinked, suddenly feeling like he was suffering whiplash. To go from basically getting his frustration and disdain for Piggot off his chest to the woman basically being forced at figurative gunpoint to restore him to his position. The request for Ward reassignment however, was something he had put in over a year ago, only to never hear a response to it. To have it suddenly be accepted…
It dawned on him why this was happening. It was glaringly obvious that the Chief Director was trying to carry out damage control on the situation. But it didn't take an idiot to realize that all of this wasn't because of what Piggot had done, it was for what Piggot had done in the pursuit of failure. The fact that Piggot was down here, telling him this, instead of calling him up to her office, was obviously at the Chief Director's direction, because Piggot never left her office for others.
It was frankly insulting, there was no apology, there was no admittance of wrongdoing. This entire time of stressing out over his position and what he could do going forward, it was going to be ignored and written off as something minor. They were going to ignore that what Piggot had done was wrong, that she had not only tried to ruin the life of a minor in her hamfisted attempt at dominion, but she had abused her position in the pursuit of it.
Taking a deep breath, he then released it, releasing the fury that had been reaching a boiling point. What it was replaced by was utter calm and clarity that he had come to value in recent days like a long-lost friend. Instead of responding to the Director, he turned in his chair and opened up a drawer and retrieved an envelope.
It was something he had labored over in the last few days, conflicted over whether it was right or not. That if he did this, he was abandoning the dream that had driven him to join the Protectorate in the first place. But the dream was dead, maybe it never truly existed in the first place, maybe he wanted to delude himself into thinking that being a hero could magically remove all the faults that existed with him.
But what he knew was that in this place, he would never be sure because the dream had been strangled by the various administrators, bureaucrats, and petty tyrants who believed they knew what was best for those that they had no experience living the life of.
He chose to say nothing, instead holding out the envelope to the Director, who looked at it like a coiled viper. But after a moment, she took it.
"What is this," she asked, beginning to open the envelope.
"It is a notice of my resignation, Director," he breathed, suddenly feeling as if a weight was lifting off his shoulders, and maybe he could hear chains hitting the ground, "effective immediately after the next Endbringer battle."
He stared at the woman as she looked up from the letter, her expression poleaxed.
"I will no longer be Armsmaster," he reaffirmed his declaration, only feeling better in admitting it.
AEH
Max Anders
"Mister Anders."
"Miss Hebert," he greeted, taking the offered hand and shaking it. He then took the opportunity to look over the teenager. She was certainly presentable enough as she was dressed in an affordable business ensemble with a knee-length skirt. Her eyes, interestingly enough, were concealed by a pair of black circular glasses, more than likely done out of consideration to others' sensibilities than her own, though it did not nothing to conceal the chemical burn scarring on her face. It was apparent by the myriad of microexpressions that she leaked, a product of her inexperience, that she was uncomfortable with her attire.
It was certainly understandable, considering her background. There just wasn't enough time in her transition to what she was now to throw off the lower middle-class influences that had dominated her life until now. Nonetheless, it said something about the fact that even as a fifteen year old she seemed to have the poise of a businesswoman even if the mold wasn't complete yet.
"Please, take a seat."
Taking an offered seat, he watched as Hebert took her own seat across from him. The fact that she did so flawlessly drew his gaze to the triangular object attached to the right side of her head, a light of circle hovering over the device. It was significantly different from that original device that Hebert had reportedly worn and patented. He wondered just what was different and at the same time impressed by the obvious advancement. It appeared that Hebert was not one to be satisfied with her own work and sought to improve. It would likely do her well considering why he was here.
The fact that she had chosen a room with two rather comfortable chairs was a bit jarring, he would have expected a more professionally formal setting with her behind a desk. It was a traditional method and one that would likely fit for someone who was new to the scene.
The fact that Hebert eschewed that for a more informal setting either suggested a supreme confidence in herself, or the act was meant as an unconventional play at power by creating the illusion of accessibility. It was something to be wary of.
"My apologies for the lack of suitable furnishings and refreshments, Mister Anders. Space is somewhat at a premium and some old union habits die hard," he glanced at the pitchers of ice water and glasses that has been placed by their chairs, "I doubt this meeting would be any more comfortable for either of us if it was in my office."
"And why is that?"
A wry smile crossed her features, "The only office I have is my workshop."
Oh.
"Oh," he acknowledged. Perhaps it would be better to reconsider that maybe unconventional should be the foundation of his read upon the teen. Because frankly, there was nothing conventional about the teenager, from her rise to how she was utilizing her powers. All of it was uncharted waters, and yet here she was, sure of herself and cracking humor with a fellow CEO who was double her age, "that is understandable."
"Indeed," she responded, taking a sip from her water, before placing it down on the small table " so what brings you down here, Mister Anders. I find myself somewhat perplexed as to why you would take an interest in me after you had so bluntly dismissed me previously."
What?!
Fighting back a grimace, he decided to take a sip of his own water to cover his racing thoughts. Hebert had contacted Medhall in the past?! When?! And why hadn't he been made aware after he had made it clear internally that any contact with the teen would be reported to him?!
"I'm sorry, but perhaps you could explain," he asked, keeping his tone smooth and friendly, more like a friend than a possible future rival, "I was unaware that you had attempted to contact Medhall."
"It was before I was able to get an investment from Zenith," was her offered response, "I had reached out to Medhall hoping to make a sales pitch on the Focus. Unfortunately, Miss Harcourt, I believe her name was, had made it explicitly clear that Medhall was uninterested in radical, untested technology cobbled together by a blind Tinker. "
While he kept his expression placid for the teenager, internally he was thinking of inventive ways to 'correct' the mistake that was Valerie Harcourt, each one more gratuitous than the next. It was unfortunate that he was limited to pledging that the woman would no longer be a Medhall employee by the end of the day. But after that…depending on his mood, he may just make sure that her termination was also from the realm of the living.
"I see," he trailed off, before catching himself from delving too far into excessive violence, "then let me be the first to apologize to you for the actions of my employee. Medhall has always been open to new technologies and medicine, even if they may be more esoteric. The fact that Miss Harcourt ignored the spirit of Medhall reflects poorly upon me and it will be dealt with. Hopefully this meeting will allow the beginning of healing any possible rift between Medhall and yourself."
"Of course," was her own smooth response, and he recognized her silence was the continued acknowledgement that he hadn't yet answered her question.
Clearing his throat, at least to give the proper distance from his own admission and Hebert's possible qualms with Medhall, "The reason I requested this meeting, Miss Hebert, was to offer the services of Medhall in producing and distributing this Focus you have designed."
Hebert's stare at him was certainly not what he expected from his declaration. The fact that her expression remained firm and unyielding provided him with nothing to work with. Just what was running through her mind, he had to wonder, even as he awaited her response.
Of course, his offer was genuine, it didn't take an idiot to recognize just what Hebert's Focus represented to the medical community. A machine that could provide vision to the sightless, where previously the only solution was to provide a stick or some other aid, and tell them to live their life the best they could? That was the sort of thing that would sell quickly, especially to the desperate.
But Hebert's lack of response was certainly not what he was expecting. He expected some sort of response, maybe excitement at the prospect, or at least some sort of blowback for Harcourt's failure. But not this.
"Hrm," she murmured, her first reaction after a few more moments, letting him know, thankfully that there was some thought being spent on the offer, just where it fell, however, was yet to be seen.
"May I inquire as to what has caused Medhall's sudden interest in the Horus," she finally asked.
Horus? He thought, logging the name away. It was obvious that it was some sort of codename for the Focus, but what it meant and why it was named such escaped him.
"Because it is a revolutionary device, Miss Hebert. It is the type of thing that causes positive upheaval in society. With a Focus, previously disenfranchised individuals would have the opportunity to reach parity with their peers and have access to things that previously were denied to them. What this device would be doing is restoring, or even improving, the quality of life of individuals who were previously discarded because of their disability."
It was a calculated response, from what he could discern of the girl, her inability to see was a serious point of contention for her. After all, the first device she ever designed was made to restore her vision. Was he buttering her up, certainly, but he had a feeling he wasn't wrong about her. The fact that she was iterating a newer model already only added further evidence.
But, regardless of the persona he used, it was the universal truth of any modern society. There may be an investment to at least provide some ease in their existence, but as far as society was concerned, they were quietly shuffled aside and treated as an afterthought. Less said for the primitives.
But it seemed to hit the right spot, as he caught a slight furrowing of her eyes behind those glasses. But just getting a reaction was not enough, as loathe as he was to admit it, he wanted to get Hebert on his side. He wasn't lying in that it was a revolutionary device, but it was also a financial opportunity that could not be ignored. The Focus is the first of its kind, and as the first of its kind, it would put Medhall at the forefront, and allow them to quickly become rich.
Hebert may be able to produce it, but she did not have the logistical network and infrastructure to produce and sell it, at least not yet.
But that aside, it also hinted at something deeper. The fact that there appeared to be no attempt to currently produce it, but yet her company was able to get investment. What this suggested was still uncertain, but his gut feeling is that there was more to Hebert than simply the Focus. There was also the location she had chosen in the first place, the Dockyards were certainly spacious, but they did not have the fine tools and equipment necessary for medical technology, nor did they have the sterilized facilities necessary for production either.
No, if he had to put his money somewhere, the Focus had been something to gain attention, bait on the hook so to speak. Something to get funding for her true goal, a goal that had obviously been shared with Zenith.
But that didn't mean there wasn't an opportunity for Medhall and himself to profit.
"If I was interested in forging a deal with you, Mister Anders, what are you expecting from me," was her question, "what type of deal are you looking for with Zero Dawn and the Focus."
That was the question, wasn't it? It was unlikely that Medhall could take over the entire product. No, he sincerely doubted that, considering the picture he was starting to put together about the girl. This was a girl who likely hadn't had control in the past suddenly finding herself in control. Buying the rights patent and design would likely not be in the cards either. Especially considering it appeared that she was iterating, that would be a stupid decision anyways. Buying an inferior product just for her to turn around and sell the newer version to another company would make him look foolish.
There was only one option available in this case.
"License production," he declared, even as he watched for her reaction, "I won't go into figures, Miss Hebert, I think that would be insulting to both of us to discuss that which is the realm of lawyers. However, my initial idea imagines that Medhall will produce the design, while you will receive a portion of the profits for each unit sold. This would be for a set number of years with a likely buyout clause. Medhall, would of course, get a larger portion of the profits since we would be taking the risk and cost of production. "
"Of course," was the dry response, providing him with nothing to work with. He had to resist the urge of saying something a bit more…visceral. Here he was offering Hebert an opportunity that provided her limited risk with maximum gain and she was not chomping at the bit.
Relax Max, he chided himself. It was a business opportunity, certainly, but he had to recall that this meeting was also fact-finding for the Empire. Was Hebert worth investing in that it would cause the Empire to change its overall tactics, as Citrine suggested. Frankly, that was the most frustrating part of all of this, and he was allowing it to affect his business sense. The fact of the matter was that even now, when he was good at getting a read on people and a room, that he was getting nothing. Sure, there were little tells, but he prided himself on this, and he was abjectly failing.
Then she surprised him, when she reached up and tapped the object on the side of her head, the circle's glow slightly intensifying. He found himself taken aback as a series of digital windows appeared in front of Hebert, the glow off her glasses providing a small glimpse at her eyes as they darted over the windows.
"I think we can work something out, Mister Anders. It has always been my intention to reach out to Medhall, despite our initial rocky interactions. I honestly wasn't expecting that for another few months due to other projects if I were to be honest with you. But your offer is honestly what I was wanting in the first place and it would help towards achieving the one thing I've been working for since I built my first Focus."
"And what is that, Miss Hebert," he asked, his curiosity piqued. Hebert had literally flipped the script on her body language and expressions. Where there was a cool, detached feel to her, now there was an energy to her that was previously absent. As if a switch had been flipped and she was a different person.
"I want to revitalize Brockton Bay, Mister Anders. I want to bring back the city that my parents grew up in. One that was flush with good jobs and little crime. You've already probably put it together, but the Focus isn't the only project I have on the burner. The question I guess I should be asking you is, just how far do you want this to go?"
What?
"I beg your pardon, but I'm unsure of what you mean."
"I'm asking about a possible partnership, Mister Anders. One where license-production of the Focus would just be the beginning. A partnership where I give the right of first refusal to Medhall on any medical product that Zero Dawn develops."
He blinked, his carefully crafted facade cracking as he found himself taken aback. The way that Hebert was talking was NOT how businessmen talked. Everything was done through lawyers and representatives, not like this. You just didn't do it like this.
And honestly, it was somewhat refreshing, even if it was unorthodox and it made sense for someone that did not grow up in the business field. It was something that was ground out of them or was learned to be a weakness by those who came into the field.
Yet Hebert…he had a feeling that this was just how she was. Nothing about her screamed tragic fifteen year old. This was the bearing and energy of an old hand at the business. Flush with confidence and the drive to make their goals reality.
And he had suspicion that the hook she had laid out had the type of bait that would leave him no chance to resist. It fit with everything else so far.
"It would be irresponsible of me to say yes, Miss Hebert," he offered, deciding that it'd only be fair that he set his own bait, "unless you provide me an idea of what you're offering."
The small bemused smile that graced her face sent chills down his spine. Just what had he uncaged?
AEH
Coming to a seat in the comfortable leather of the back seat of his car, he allowed himself to slump. His mind was in a daze.
When he had decided to meet with Taylor Hebert, it had been to see if she was worth the effort. To see if there was an opportunity for him to exploit.
He hadn't really believed that there would be much there. Hebert was a Tinker, sure her technology did not appear to be blackboxed, but he had believed that at best she was a one and done. Not worth the investment of time and effort as both Max Anders and Kaiser.
Even now he couldn't quite believe what he had seen in there. Hebert had been more than ready, she might as well have tailor-made her entire pitch to him.
How do you think the world would react to a drug that could cure almost every cancer without having to poison or irradiate the patient?
But Hebert hadn't stopped there. Cybernetic prosthetics that might as well be an actual flesh-and-blood armor in functionality. Gene therapy. The list went on, each backed up by blueprints, designs, chemical compositions, things that went over his head, yet didn't, at the same time.
He had come to the dawning horror as she went on, his stunned robotic answers only serving to feed her energy, that this was the worst type of Tinker. This was a Tinker that had been deliberately sandbagging just what she was capable of. Each and every document she provided was crafted in such a way that there left no doubt in his mind that there was no way that this had anything to do with power. This was all pure science.
He hadn't provided her an immediate answer after her presentation. But there was no doubt in his mind what he had to do. This was the chance of a lifetime that he would be a fool to ignore.
The only problem was what it meant for the future. The Empire had always been a means to accrue and wield power that Medhall could never realistically achieve. Medhall would forever be a regional power at best, he had understood. That was why he had invested time and energy into the Empire when previously it would have just been easier to leave after Allfather's death.
Now it was coming back to bite him, because of what Taylor Hebert was offering. It would give him all the power and wealth he could ever want. Hell, it may just give him too much to know what to do with. It would make Medhall a household name overnight, his name would be on the mouths of millions.
It was everything he wanted, yet right now it would only be denied to him unless he made a choice.
And the choice was childishly easy.
Let me be absolutely, perfectly clear: No, this is NOT a Nazi Redemption story. This will never be one. Max and the E88 are loathesome and evil characters, and it will be a extraordinarily cold day in hell before I ever entertain such a notion.
