Orb Weaver: Consequences, 8

I got out of the hospital early. Amy had come by, checked me out, and I was able to do the full walk and exercise thing so they weren’t worried I’d fall over.

Even with her limitations, it was amazing how she could turn what might be weeks or longer into a single week.

I wasn’t complaining. That single week had felt like months, especially with my need to control how much I used my bugs. At least people accepted the idea that Orb Weaver was… resting.

Or digesting his meal, as Clockblocker said to any who would listen.

But even so, I’d been able to get some information about the city, both from the Wards, and Armsmaster the few times he’d dropped by, once to apologize for not considering my mental state when he took me to meet Sheila, and once to ask if I would be willing to work with him on setting up an evacuation program partially based on my actions in Texas and a modified version of his predictive program.

I agreed, of course.

But now I was getting my things, standing up, because I wasn’t going to be wheeled out of the building. The Wards were mostly in school, and so it was just Dad, I, and Director Piggot.

“Investigator,” She said. “I hope you will not be returning to this hospital any time soon.”

I nodded. “Despite the level of care, I would prefer to avoid it myself.” I nodded. “And as for the offer of using PRT facilities for my continued physical therapy, I thank you.”

Because that would put me in contact with PRT close combat specialists and I needed to learn more about how to fight without any tools, and that wasn’t a skill you could learn from a book—not fully.

And PRT troopers were famed for fighting dirty.

“That being said, once again, the PRT and Protectorate thank you for your role in dealing with the Empire 88…and I would like to also remind you that calling for assistance is a legitimate strategy.”

“I will remember that.”

And then we were heading up to my house.

“Taylor?” Dad asked.

“Yes?”

“You seem a little nervous.”

“It’s something I have to tell you, when we get home…” And when I’m certain it’s free from any kind of monitoring.

Dad nodded.

Well, it’s not like he hasn’t been getting more involved in this.

****

When we got home, I sent my bugs out, checking around. On the way, I’d checked on the bug reactors in range. Many of my bug reactors were now empty. I’d designed them so that without control, the bugs would gradually leave, rather than risk an uncontrolled catastrophe. Some of them the PRT had dug up, though not all. A city was a big place, and not all of my reactors were big.

I did notice as we drove home by the college, that one of my reactors was being isolated, an actual viewing gallery established around it.

I’d have to come back and tune it up a little bit. Evidently the College was thrilled at the possession of an example of “parahuman ecological engineering.”

I wonder, should I show up as Orb Weaver to conduct tours? No. However amusing the image, Orb Weaver had a very specific M.O. that didn’t encourage that kind of casual interaction.

And I was really trying to distract myself from what might be a very unpleasant conversation.

By the time we got home, I was seriously considering putting it off. Then I had to deal with Dad hovering over me like I was about to trip and kill myself on the walk way.

Maybe if he thinks I’m at death’s door he won’t be… too upset? I shook my head. Meanwhile bugs ran through the house, making certain nothing had been added. We could talk in the kitchen, where none of the windows faced the street and any sensors.

I couldn’t do anything about parahuman powers or Tinkertech, but if our house was targeted by that, my secret was likely out.

“So, what is it, Taylor.”

I paused, then nodded. “Dad, I haven’t… outright lied to you.”

Dad stared. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“It…” I shook his head. “I told you how I got my powers.”

“Yes. We don’t need—“

“That was how I got my powers, but they’re not the powers you think they were.”

“Taylor…what?” Then dad stopped as a spray of butterflies entered the room, spinning around my head, a marching line of ants walked up and—“

“Holy shi—“ he censored himself. “You’re Orb Weaver?”

Well, Dad wasn’t stupid.

“Thinker and Master powers tend to be the most common given my situation…but…” I looked at him. “I was about to go out, and I think I was looking for death. But then…” I shook my head. “Remember Mom’s old collection of pulps? The Shadow?”

“Yeah, I read—“ Dad stared at me. “The Investigator, Orb Weaver. Taylor… Different identities. Just like…”

“The Shadow. I mean, bugs are, well you’ve seen what  could I do with them, and then I learned I also had the ability to multi-task.”

“Orb Weaver never existed. It was you. Taylor. You tore the Empire apart in a week.”

“I lost my temper. That’s why I…”

“Taylor?”

My rage had carried me through, however cold it had burned. But I wasn’t angry now. And I didn’t just see through my bugs. I tasted through them. Different from a human sense of taste but even so, I remembered cutting, biting, swallowing as I reduced 16 men to skeletons and—

“Give me one second,” I said, and ran to the bathroom just in time to vomit.

After I finished, I took a few seconds. I had to think about this. Especially if dad asked.

Did they deserve death?

Yes. Undoubtedly.

Did I have other alternatives?

Yes. I could have just killed Lebensraum and left his goons for the PRT. I could have considered ways to stop him. Maybe they would have worked, maybe they wouldn't have, but I didn’t really bother to think about them.

I wanted him dead. I wanted the Empire broken.

The first killing is hard, the second is easier and before you know it, killing isn’t hard at all.

One of my books. I had been judge, jury and executioner. But I couldn’t say it was just simply because they deserved death. Kaiser,Victor, Hookwolf… they’d all killed, with no remorse. Hell, Bulwark and Firetruck had killed, if only by the drugs they’d helped move.

No.

The Empire hurt you. The Empire enraged you. And you wanted to hurt them back.

The Empire had to go. “An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind” didn’t work when one group was actively trying to make the world blind. But then, I could turn into a nightmare worse than Empire could ever dream of being. Of everyone in the Bay, I above all couldn’t get used to killing.

I washed my face off and nodded.

I wouldn’t say I would never kill. But I couldn’t ever risk killing, even in part, because I was angry. I needed more control than that. I would have to work on that.

And how was it that thinking about the men I had killed was easier than talking to Dad?

When I got back into the room, Dad was looking a me.

“Taylor?”

“I remembered Lebensraum,” I said. “I was angry. Ms. Cho wasn’t just someone I met through Armsmaster. She was one of my sources—an ally, as Orb Weaver and my stupidity cost her her mind.” I took a deep breath. “She would have been a target, and I didn’t bother to protect her.”

Dad shook his head. “How?”

“What?”

“I’m going to put aside: ‘My daughter dressed up as a biblical plague’ for a moment, and ask: how could you have protected her?”

“I could have warned her to leave the city.”

“So you had warning of the attack.”

“Not as such, but it made—“

“Taylor, any reporter not part of an E88 rag in this town had to live with the idea that the Empire might come for them. You're the Investigator. What would Ms. Cho have said.”

“She would have refused.”

“It was a risk she took. Maybe not this particular risk, but she knew how ugly the Empire was. You can’t put the world on your back.”

I glanced at him. “And you?”

“You mean about Annette?” Dad nodded. “I’ve been working through it… talking with Kurt and Lacy, and some others, maybe a psychologist. I blamed myself—it was easier, I guess, than accepting that sometimes terrible things… happen.”

I nodded.

“It’s easier to see problems in others,” I finally said. “Like Mr. Barnes. He could help you, but when it came to Emma…”

“I’d like to say I’d never do what he did, Taylor, but if you were staring prison in the face, or if I could pretend you… Well, like I did pretend.”

Even now, I felt a little anger. I quashed it. We sat like that for a few minutes, silence between us.

“So you…”

“Control bugs. And Arthropods,” I told Dad. “It really wasn’t a power that I could use with… well, it’s not the biggest power.”

Dad stared at me. “Taylor.”

“Yes?”

“Director Piggot was thirty seconds from hitting the Endbringer sirens.”

“I, ah, worked to make my power look more than it was.”

Dad’s look was deeply skeptical.

“But I can use my power to read, well, a lot of books simultaneously, take in information simultaneously. That’s how I faked a Thinker rating with The Investigator.”

Dad looked at me. “You can’t tell anyone else about this.”

“Why?” I asked. I had a feeling I knew what he was thinking.

“Because right now, everyone thinks that Orb Weaver stands behind The Investigator. If they realize they can kill Orb Weaver by killing you…”

Thank God, he gets it.

“But why did you tell me?” Dad asked.

“In part?” I took a deep breath. “I’m getting a little tired of lying.”

“In part. The other part?” Dad asked.

“Armsmaster told you about how Orb Weaver spoke to him, right?”

“Yes…but…”

“But there is no Orb Weaver, and yet I was unconscious. Trust me, that’s not something Armsmaster would leave to chance. To that means…”

“Someone else?”

“Or my power. Acting independently.” I frowned. “There are a few powers that seem to maintain a personality… Glaistig Uaine, the Butcher, possibly—“

“Taylor.”

“Yeah?”

“I do not want to come home to find either the Fairy Queen or the Butcher tied up in the back yard.”

I opened my mouth. Closed it, and suddenly I found myself a little annoyed, because Dad sounded serious.

“I won’t.” I finally said. “But… I needed to tell you because if my power can speak...”

“It might be able to do other things?” Dad asked.

“Yes. I mean…” I got up and started walking, the strain in my legs not nearly as bad as it had been, and the freedom to pace was wonderful. “It says so many things… unless I really wasn’t unconscious, unless it was just acting on previous orders…” I shook my head. “But you need to know, incase something goes… wrong.”

“I understand.” Dad stared at me. “I’ll put a pin in that for a minute. But Taylor… you puked. And it was right after you started talking about the Empire.”

“I remembered… Lebensraum.” I shook my head. “He deserved to die, but it feels different, now that I’m calm. I wonder if I had to kill him—“

“You're right. He deserved to die.”

I blinked. I’d reasoned that out, but I didn’t expect Dad…

“Remember my joke about blood on fenders?”

“Yes?”

“It wasn’t a joke.”  Dad leaned back. “Give me a second.” He got up, walked into the kitchen, and then came back, a can of beer in his hand. “This is something from Annette.”

“Oh?”

“She told me to keep one can in the refrigerator when you were born. It was for the ‘Dad I’m pregnant moment.’” He looked at me. “I think the fact that my daughter is the parahuman who obliterated the E88, and has some crooks building shrines to keep her away is also a good time to drink this beer.”

I shook my head. It was probably the only time he was going to get to drink it. I wasn’t exactly prime material… well, except for very strange people who sent very disgusting letters.

Dad settled back and nodded.  “You…I know this is gonna make me sound old, but you and everyone else in your generation don’t remember a time without Parahumans. You talk about the golden age, but…”  he shook his head. “It was really the age where everything went nuts. Parahumans…that was what you saw in comics, what you watched during bad Saturday Morning Marathons…” He shook his head. “I remember playing Superhero 2044…”

I waited. Dad seemed to be lost in his thoughts. Then he looked up at me. “Anyway, there was no PRT, no Protectorate. There were heroes, and villains but… sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. And when we got the Protectorate it was still new. But a lot of people took advantage of the worry. That’s how Lustrum got her start, as a protective organization.”

I leaned back. I’d read some, but this was eyewitness—and Dad was telling me something about his life—and Mom’s.

“See, back then…” He sighed. “Well, things were different. And if a girl came out as Lesbian, or just acted too… different, there were groups promising to “cure them of the satanic parahuman influence.” Cults really.” He met my gaze. “Say  cure by gang rape.”

I didn’t lean back or look shocked. I’d been dealing with the Empire, with the Merchants, with all the little crimes I’d run into. I was well past the point that those words would do more than make me consider how to deal with the person.

“So, Annette and I, we were part of Lustrum’s  group—A cell and our job was to drive girls who called in across the border to New York where the laws were better and we had friendly judges.”

Barely out of his teens, early twenties, at best, I thought.

“But this time… The girl… I think she was about a year younger than you, came running out into the street, not a stitch of clothing on her, and she looked like she’d been to an E88 initiation.” Dad paused, remembering something, then shook his head. “I was in the truck bed—we had a little sleeping bag set up under some other stuff that looked like cargo, so if there were cops they wouldn’t see our passengers. So Annette gunned the truck, and I leaned down and scooped the girl up and slung her into the bed, and then there was this one asshole with a gun screaming about giving the girl back, and he had a couple of guys with him. Annette just gunned the truck and ran them right over, didn’t even pause, and we were heading out of that town like a bat out of hell. Got the girl to the safe house, and then started back home…” He shook his head. “And that’s when we realized we should probably stop at a 24-hour wash to get all the blood, bones, and flesh out of the grill.”

“Smart,” I murmured. “They probably wouldn’t call the police—even if they did, it’d take time to get their story straight…”

“Yeah, we never heard anything else. But a couple of years after that, the whole thing with Lustrum blew up, but… Yeah, I’m babbling, but I remember what Annette said about those men.”

“Oh?”

“If they wanted to live, all they had to do was not rape a kid.” He looked at me. “I watched the videos about Lebensraum. All he had to do was not be a murdering sociopath…and besides, you gave him a chance to surrender.”

I nodded. On the one hand, Dad was thinking what I was thinking…

On the other hand… It meant… A lot that he approved.

“I won’t do it casually,” I finally said. “I’ve thought about it. He deserved it, but I was also angry, and I need to make certain that if I ever kill someone else…It’s because there really is no alternative, not because I’m angry. I can’t let myself lose control.”

“I know, and also… now I know you were the one who sent Maria to Kurt and Lacy. Not just that. Some people talked about how their kids got scared, but not hurt, and it kept ‘em out of the Empire. Or Firetruck and Bulwark.”  He looked at me. “Looks to me like your control is just fine—along with your charity.”

I didn’t reply. Dad nodded, and we sat in companionable silence for a bit. It was strange, but I felt more comfortable here than I had in a while. Still, I wondered if Dad had some other thoughts, but then he shook his head.

“So, unless you’re too tired, I was thinking of celebrating by trying David’s Steak house, unless you’re unwilling to give up the taste of hospital—“

“Let’s go!” I said, getting up quickly. We’d go and talk about things and act like a normal family and right now, that’s what I wanted.

And the steak. That as well.