Kapitel 2587: 12
Chapter Twelve—Hidden Memories
~~~Memories of Iron~~~
"Colin?"
Colin turned away from his staff. He'd finally gotten that eight percent increase in miniaturization after spending over a week on it. An incredibly difficult week where he'd had to head off more than one attempt to make him step down as the Head of the Brockton Bay Protectorate. Currently, he was hanging on to his leader position by the skin of his teeth.
First, there had Shadow Stalker's escape. She'd disappeared from school and hadn't been seen again. Wanting to dismiss this as a coincidence, Colin had been unable once it was firmly established that she was gone. They'd tried tracing her phone, only to discover the signal had cut off right after she'd left school.
Whatever back up plan Sophia had in place, it had been an effective one. She'd disappeared without a trace. Colin had been warned by a friend on another team that this particular problem didn't reflect well on him and to be on his guard.
Less than twenty-four hours after her disappearance, Colin had received a visit from Aegis, where the young leader of his Wards had politely, but firmly, told him they weren't going to accept any more members like Shadow Stalker. Without going into details, Aegis said that Sophia had alienated the entire Wards team and had been the worst mistake to ever become a member. The threat had been there, veiled, that the current Wards would all step down if there was an attempt to force them into line.
Colin hadn't argued as it was a bridge they'd cross when they got to it. Instead, he'd clenched his jaw and kept his resentment to himself. Wards acting as if they were in charge. Still, he couldn't help remember comments made to Director Piggot during a recent interview.
The girl spoke, "That would be a lot more effective defense if you didn't already know there was something wrong with her. There's no way this comes across as a surprise. I would guess that she was already in trouble when she was offered a place with the Wards. It was probably that or prison. A manslaughter charge? How close am I?"
Director Piggot looked like she'd eaten something rotten as she bluffed, "There's no way you could know that."
"I looked her up on Parahumans dot net. Shadow Stalker was a rogue and a vigilante. Then she suddenly joins the Wards? A lot of people on the web thought there was something fishy about it. There was a lot of speculation on the older postings that she was using real bolts in that crossbow of hers. I bet she doesn't get along at all with the other Wards. There's probably a huge amount of friction there. That's another thing I'm probably right about. But on the prison thing, I didn't know for sure I was right until just now when your expression told me I was. Want to make a bet about whether I'm right about the friction, too?"
Colin cursed himself that he hadn't been more hands on back then, but he just wasn't very good with people. He never had been. It was unlikely any of the Wards would have unburdened themselves to him about Sophia Hess even if he'd asked. Maybe he should have used Ms Militia in that capacity. Resolutely, he dismissed his thoughts on the matter, knowing hindsight was twenty twenty. While it could be a solution for the future, for now he was left with a short-staffed and rebellious Wards team, which didn't make him look like he was in control of his city. It was another strike against him.
Then there had been the investigation into why Shadow Stalker had run. It hadn't taken long to find the sharpened steel hunting bolts and the journal. As bad as the first one was, the second one, once it was decoded, proved worse. Sophia Hess had killed half a dozen people since joining the Wards. She'd written it out in blue ink on a white background. All criminals, but still beyond damaging. Making Colin look even worse and less in control of his team and city.
During the resulting discussions on how to handle things, he'd successfully deflected blame onto the system from himself. In the end, they'd decided to hide the fact that the most infamous former member of the Wards had escaped and was at large. Director Piggot had signed off on it, albeit with a surprising amount of reluctance. Then another problem had arisen in the form of Miss Militia.
Miss Militia had flat out told Colin that he owed it to the public to tell them about a danger like Shadow Stalker. He owed it to Taylor Hebert to tell her that the girl who utterly hated her had escaped prison and was at large. If he wasn't going to do the right thing, he could find a replacement for her as she was unwilling to work with someone who possessed such a lack of morals.
In the end, Colin had had to make a deal with with his second in command to the effect that he would tell the Heberts about Sophia Hess' escape if she hadn't been recaptured within sixty days. Ultimately, he'd decided it was a small price to pay to keep the woman by his side. To not have her resignation on his record. He could ill afford yet another strike.
To cap off a perfect week, there had been a riot Sunday night outside of The Aryan Pub, one of several bars patronized by members of Empire 88. Someone had tossed several Molotov cocktails through the front windows, causing three deaths and multiple injuries. When Colin and Velocity had arrived at the scene, they'd ended up in a free for all with Hookwolf and Crusader. When Krieg and Menja had appeared to back up their teammates, he had ended up calling in the rest of the local Protectorate.
In the resulting escalation, he'd nearly had to call in the Wards. Additionally, the bar and several surrounding vehicles and buildings were utterly trashed. It had been all that their team could do to disengage before there were fatalities and even more property damage. The last thing Colin wanted to do was deal with a Class One Property Damage Review at a time like this.
To add insult to injury, now he was getting a call on a secure line. But from the sound of the voice on the line, at least this call was one that Colin didn't mind taking. There was a surprising amount of warmth in his voice as he said, "Dragon. How have you been?"
It was assumed by many that Dragon had lived in Newfoundland before it had sank under the waves. She had been so traumatized that she had ended up a shut in, never leaving her home. Not a fate that Colin thought fair for the world's greatest Tinker. But then again, life was seldom fair, as he knew with utter certainty, Dauntless springing to mind.
"Colin, I'm fine. But I do have a problem."
Colin could feel irritation filling him at another issue cropping up. As a professional, however, he didn't allow his feelings to color his tone as he asked, "What is your problem, Dragon?"
"There was an attempt to hack my servers, both at my main headquarters and also at the Birdcage."
Colin inwardly swore. As bad as the idea of someone getting a hold of Dragon's weapon designs was, it paled in comparison with someone gaining access to the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center. There, six hundred and four of the most dangerous capes that had ever lived were securely confined. If they got loose, the consequences were literally unthinkable.
"What do you need me to do? Have you already reported this to the PRT and the Protectorate?"
"Yes, Colin. I notified both Director Costa-Brown and the Triumvirate. They are currently communicating with Protectorate Thinkers and attempting to come up with more information on the attacker, as well as a strategy to deal with them in the event of another attack."
Colin felt bile rise in his throat as he considered the lack of communication of such a fundamental problem to leaders of Protectorate Teams. Or maybe just to his team. There had never been a worse time to be under a shadow. Especially if it meant he couldn't be on the forefront of crafting a solution which would go a long ways in helping him regain at least a little of his reputation as a problem solver and leader back.
Suppressing a sigh, he asked, "Dragon, did you have a reason to talk to me about this? I'm surprised they didn't ask you not to tell anyone about this."
There was a hesitation before Dragon answered. Finally, she said, "Colin, they did ask me to be discreet with who I communicated this with. However, they did not instruct me not to tell anyone else. Of course, the first person I wanted to talk to about this with was you."
Even as insensitive as he was about personal matters, Colin realized there was more to this matter than Dragon had so far communicated. He also couldn't help the feeling of warmth within him at her words. So it was with an atypical sincerity that he stated, "You know you can tell me anything. I'll always listen."
"I... I'm not sure this is something which you can understand, or forgive me for, Colin."
"I'd forgive you anything, Dragon." Colin was actually shocked by his own words, and even more so by the truth in them. He would forgive her anything. Dragon was one of the few people who he trusted and admired almost without reservation. He didn't even mind acknowledging her a better Tinker than himself. She just was.
"Thank you, Colin." Dragon's voice was filled with relief. "I didn't tell Director Costa-Brown and the others everything. I didn't tell her that the intruder was an AI."
Colin's mind went into overdrive. An AI had invaded two of the most secure databases in the world and made off with who knows what secrets. So many questions went through his mind, from who could have built it to how much of a danger was it right now. Then another question raised its ugly head.
"Dragon, why didn't you tell them about the AI? And why are you telling me?"
"I really like you, Colin. I have a lot in common with you. We're both Tinkers. We're both dedicated to the cause, giving more of ourselves than almost anyone out there has. And I trust you more than anyone I know. I... just don't know how they'd take it."
There seemed to be something missing from those statements, as if Dragon wanted to say more, but hadn't. Just for a moment, Colin wished he had his staff with him. Then he dismissed the idea as unworthy. Besides, he really did trust Dragon. Didn't he?
~~~Memories of Iron~~~
Trish took one last look at herself in the mirror in the mirror as her pure white mask expressed an eternal smile. The only other expression on her masked face was an ironically raised brow. Underneath the mask, her face furrowed in concentration, as she checked her appearance with more than just her eyes.
Formal clothes. Businesslike. Relaxed. Expresses pragmatic attitude. Demonstrates that this is her usual attire. Demands respect. Boss.
Mask. Wearer is a Parahuman. Smile says unpredictable. Exercise caution. Raised brow indicates inquisitive. Knowledge seeker.
That would be sufficient for the meeting on her part. Trish carefully observed the digital picture of Taylor. She suppressed her power fully, while in her mind, she built up a model of a girl who looked a lot like Taylor. That model dressed exactly the same. And like Taylor, that model didn't wear a mask. Instead, the model's face was apparently open and guileless.
New formal clothing. Stiff. The outfit chafes. The wearer is more comfortable in a lab or relaxing at home. Demonstrating willingness to impress. Respect to whom she meets.
No mask. Wearer does not fear identity being known. Honest and open. What you see is what you get. Follower.
Trish's vulpine smile slowly deepened. She'd created exactly the looks they needed for the meeting. With any luck, anyone seeing them would think Taylor the minion and Trish the boss, an impression only heightened by the fact that Taylor would be carting their gear, while she carried only a briefcase.
Only the attorney, Quinn Calle, would ever know the truth. But he wouldn't be divulging anything. If he seemed likely to, Trish would know and unleash JARVIS on him. And that would be that.
No, things should go as planned. They should have enough money for Taylor to start the next phase of her plan. A plan that still left Trish feeling breathless in it scope and sheer vision.
~~~Memories of Iron~~~
Quinn Calle glanced in the mirror to give his appearance one final check. Rule Number One: Always look good for the client, for the client is the boss.
It wasn't that long ago that his appearance had been one of the deciding factors in a local district attorney choosing not to prosecute. Quinn's client had never even understood the reason he hadn't been indicted. All he'd known was that his slick looking lawyer had gotten him off without serving time. And he would tell others the same thing.
Carefully, Quinn blanked out any amusement on his face. There, that was the perfect look. Rule Number Two: Always keep a calm, unemotional demeanor for the client to cling to.
The same client who he'd gotten off had been one crazy emotional roller coaster. Only Quinn's own demeanor had curbed his worst excesses. It turned out that even border-line crazy capes could be embarrassed if you stared at them long enough with one brow raised.
Which led him to consider Rule Number Three: All clients lie.
It had been less than a month ago that Quinn had spent several sleepless nights reworking an entire case because his client of the moment, a small-time villain named Time Out, had omitted some surprisingly crucial facts pertinent to his case. At least the grand jury seemed to think so. It had just further cemented Rule Number Three in Quinn's mind.
The last rule that Quinn followed was Rule Number Four: Never trust the client.
Not to be confused with the fact that all clients lie, Rule Number Four addressed the fact that no one, not just a client, was trustworthy. All of them were looking out for themselves. And if you ever forgot Rule Number Four, you had no one to blame but yourself when the you were staring through a set of bars from inside the jail cell instead of outside it.
Quinn had a suspicion that he was going to need all four of his rules before this particular case was done. He was being asked to represent another villain, this one almost certainly a teenager. What she had done, he had no idea yet. While supposedly it was regarding a business matter, he had only to access rules three and four to not believe that little factoid.
Still, Quinn would find out one way or another in a matter of minutes. Either way, he would make sure to get paid.
~~~Memories of Iron~~~
Taylor followed Trish into the ornate lobby of the building they were meeting Mr Calle in. She pulled after her the small trolley containing three boxes, each of which would be considered a fantastic invention on this world.
She waited patiently as Trish announced their presence to the receptionist. "Tattletale and company here to see Quinn Calle."
The receptionist, an elegant brunette in her late twenties, merely nodded her acknowledgment before saying, "Of course, ma'am. Reginald here will escort you on up."
Reginald turned out to be a small, dapper man in his early twenties, likely an assistant of some type. He was discretion itself as he led them to an elevator down a different corridor from the main bank. Once inside, he pressed the button for a subbasement rather than a higher floor.
Taylor silently counted as they dropped five stories under ground, her approval of their potential new lawyer only increasing. If you were meeting a potentially dangerous new Parahuman, do it underground, not on an upper floor where the damage and fallout of any problems could be much greater. Also, the meeting would be far more private than a meeting aboveground for all to see.
It spoke well of Quinn Calle and his firm that they were smart enough to plan for this eventuality. Of course, a truly dangerous Parahuman could make even this precaution moot. As they could the containment foam sprayers discreetly set into the roof of their elevator. Most people would have missed them. It would take a Thinker or a Tinker to spot them. Or Taylor, who had aspects of both, despite being neither.
More containment foam sprayers lined the walls of both the long corridor they walked down and the luxurious conference room they ended up in. Once inside, Reginald asked them if he could get them any refreshments.
When both Taylor and Trish declined, he said, "Mr Calle will be with you in just a moment."
As soon as he left, Taylor began laying out the items from her trolley onto the conference room table. It was the work of mere seconds to neatly arrange the items from largest to smallest.
Less than a minute later, Reginald's prediction came true, as a man Taylor easily identified as Quinn Calle made his way into the conference room through the main door. Her first impression of him was centered around just how good looking he was, which raised a snort of derision from somewhere deep inside her. Resolutely, she suppressed Tony for now.
Quinn Calle was an exceptionally handsome Latino man, dressed in a well-fitting dark pinstripe suit that Tony's memories told Taylor was handmade and almost certainly incredibly expensive. His pictures hadn't done him justice, although his hair was still the same meticulously styled cut that again spoke of wealth and style. Even his eyebrows had been plucked, while his hands were as perfectly manicured as the rest of him.
A small cleft in his chin saved his appearance from being too feminine as did the puckered scar that ran from the corner of one nostril across one cheekbone. The scar looked like some combination of a cut and a burn, but again, Tony's memories supplied the answer. Acid dripped into an open wound, burning and scarring the victim. A Parahuman wound.
Her second impression of the man was that the flashy outside existed for the purpose of camouflage. In his eyes she could see a certain cold distance, even while he prepared to charm them. Additionally, there was almost a sense of danger from him, as if despite being merely human, he could hold his own against virtually anyone. She allowed those impressions to stand as the meeting started.
Quinn Calle smiled, his teeth exceptionally even and white, as he greeted them. "Ms Tattletale. It's so nice to finally meet you in person. And..." He raised his eyes at Taylor, who studiously stayed focused on the pieces of equipment on the table in front of her, allowing nothing of her impressions of him to cross her face.
Trish, who had been sitting while Taylor stood, ignored the implied question. She stood, then stepped forward to shake Quinn Calle's hand, saying, "It's nice to meet you, Mr Calle. I look forward to doing business with you today. But first, there is a small formality I'd like to get out of the way."
Again that flashing Latin smile. "Certainly, what can I do for you?"
Trish gestured towards Taylor and she walked forward, pulling two crumpled dollar bills from my pocket. She silently handed the first one to Mr Calle, who looked at it in bemusement. Comprehension flooded his eyes a second later and he said, "So you want to invoke attorney client privilege, Ms Tattletale?"
Trish nodded, her smiling mask seeming to mock the surrounding world. "Yes, I do, Mr Calle."
He slowly nodded in agreement. "While I don't usually sell myself this cheaply, I suppose we can make a one time exception. Let me write out a receipt for you for the sum of one dollar US."
Trish replied, "And another for my companion here."
Mr Calle raised his eyebrows as he looked Taylor over speculatively as she handed him another dollar bill, but he nodded. "Certainly."
It was only the work of a moment for him to pick up a pad of stationary and write out two receipts. As he was writing out Taylor's he asked for her name. "To whom should I make this receipt out to?"
"Taylor Hebert."
If he was surprised that Taylor didn't have a cape name as well, he hid it superlatively. Then he handed the two receipts to Taylor, who in turn handed them to Trish. She took a deep breath to quiet her nerves. It was about to start.
Looking eager to begin negotiations, he said, "Now that we have established attorney client privilege, what exactly can I do for you, Ms Tattletale."
Taylor waited as Trish stood up and moved to a position behind her. She straightened fully from the slight slump in which she'd had been assuming, rolling her shoulders slightly to loosen them, as she allowed Tony's memories full reign inside her head. Lightly shaking the lapels of the business jacket she wore as part of her outfit, Taylor looked fully into Quinn Calle's eyes for the first time.
"Mr Calle, it's not what you can do for us, it's what we can do for you. You see, I have invented some items that are going to make the three of us filthy rich."
There was the merest flicker of surprise in those cool dark eyes at having the tables so neatly turned around on him. His smile was calm and practiced as he asked, "And how do you plan to do that, Ms Hebert?"
If her young age affected him one way or another, it was well hidden. Mr Calle seemed genuinely curious as he asked. So Taylor told him. "I have three items with me. Personal inventions, if you will. They are cutting edge, ahead of anything else currently available."
"I see," he said, the faintest frown appearing upon his countenance. "But I have seen Tinker-tech before, Ms Hebert. I have represented a number of Tinkers who have chosen not to ally themselves with either the Protectorate or any of the myriad villains out there. If you've done your homework, then you're aware that I have ties with Toybox. So the question becomes: Just what is so special about these particular items?"
Taylor slowly assumed what Tony's memories told her was his showman's smile. Time to set the hook. "What is special is that each of these items are completely reproducible in any ordinary factory. All have life expectancies of anywhere from ten to twenty years. And none of them need any maintenance beyond what an ordinary person can perform with the most basic of educational backgrounds. In a word, Mr Calle, I am showing you the end of dependence upon Tinker-tech and the future of technology in America and the World."
Some strong emotion showed momentarily in his eyes, although Mr Calle's actual expression never wavered, his facial muscles seemingly frozen. He took great care in asking, "Exactly what does each of these items do?" As he waited for an answer, his eyes burned into Taylor's with an intensity that would have been unsettling without her unique back up. Thanks, Tony, Taylor thought.
Taylor strolled back over to the three inventions she'd set upon the table. Grandly gesturing to the smallest of the three, she said, "This is a Solar Powered Water Purifier. Using only sunlight for energy, it can purify enough water for a family of five each day. Additionally, it can even produce water from the moisture in the air, providing enough to keep someone alive, if not in comfort. The life expectancy of this unit is approximately fourteen years, but with careful maintenance, that could be extended to over twenty. However, knowing people, I suspect the lower number is a more accurate assessment."
Taylor fingered the smooth plastic of the solar cell contemplatively before she continued, "The solar cell is set into soft, flexible plastic, and is three times as efficient as the best one currently being sold on the market, while also being reproducible at one tenth the cost. That alone make this item valuable, even if there wasn't a market for clean water globally. Tattletale believes that we could sell hundreds of millions of Water Purifiers world-wide over the next five to ten years. Of course that doesn't include the solar cells, a separate technology that could net tens of billions in sales over the same time period.
"The production cost of the entire unit to produce is approximately twenty-eight dollars. The production cost of the solar panel alone is sixty-four cents per square foot. Just as an aside, covering a quarter of the roof of the average home in these solar panels would be enough to supply the its energy needs. Did you have any questions?"
Quinn Calle nodded. His voice was surprising placid as he said, "I have a myriad, but I'll hold them until you're done."
Taylor shrugged, then continued, "The next item we have is a one fiftieth scale model Plastic Synthesizer. It can make industrial-grade plastic from any number of plants, including, but not limited to, corn, beans, sawgrass, legumes, and olives.
"The synthesizer uses very little energy to accomplish this feat, chemical catalysts doing most of the work. It is eighty-four percent efficient in turning plant matter to plastic. The resulting plant waste can still be used as a food source to feed any number of domestic herbivorous animals as it retains most of its nutrients and the process does not contaminate it in any way. With how hazardous ocean travel is nowadays, having a domestic source for industrial-grade plastic is even more important. We cannot depend upon shipments of foreign oil. The Plastic Synthesizer can supply those needs for the foreseeable future.
"The production cost of a Plastic Synthesizer that can produce approximately twenty-five tons of industrial-grade plastic per hour is approximately two hundred and eight-five thousand dollars. Both larger and smaller units are possible. Operating costs are mainly for electricity, and are three cents per pound of industrial-grade plastic produced. The costs of the plant matter is based upon the spot market and fluctuates daily.
"The last item on the agenda for today is the Catalytic Water Cell. It is a type of hydrogen fuel cell capable of producing sufficient electricity to power the average five person household with a fifty percent buffer. Its energy source is hydrogen burned along with oxygen to produce water vapor as a waste substance. Its fuel is simple H2O. Water in the popular vernacular. Catalysts inside the unit crack the water molecule, producing H2 and O2 as byproducts, which are then in turn converted into energy."
Quinn Calle's eyes had become more and more distant as his brain seemed to be working in overdrive. "How much larger is the production model for household use?"
Taylor smiled. "This is the production model. It produces approximately seventy-five kilowatt hours per day of usable electricity. This amount of energy production takes perhaps half a cup of water beyond its own efficient waste recovery system. Other than cleaning out the intake chamber every few months, it requires basically zero maintenance. Life expectancy is twenty years under normal usage. With great care, a unit could last thirty plus years. Couple it with one of these Water Purifiers on the intake side, and you can extend the cleaning cycles by one hundred percent and the life expectancy by thirty."
Taylor slowly walked over to where Quinn Calle sat and took a seat across from him. Resting a hand flat on the table in front of her, she asked, "Well, Mr Calle, what do you think?"
The stare of the man in front of her slowly traveled from the Taylor's inventions back over to meet her gaze. "What I think is that I need to know what exactly you need, Ms Hebert."
"Please, call me Taylor."
He nodded. "And I'm Quinn to those people who I represent. Now, let's be completely honest with one another. You clearly need something above and beyond the ordinary payday. Through my contacts and resources, I can likely facilitate this need. But I can't unless you tell me exactly what it is."
"What I need, Quinn, is a quarter of a trillion dollars, give or take ten billion either way. Eventually."
If Quinn was phased by Taylor's extravagant request, he didn't show it. "Not with just these items. Are there more ideas like this in your repertoire?"
Taylor smiled and nodded. "As many items as you can possibly imagine and another thousand that you never have."
He pressed harder. "Every item able to be reproduced and maintained by our current tech? No need for constant hands on maintenance?"
In a voice to inspire the imagination, Taylor promised, "Imagine fusion reactors for limitless energy with minimal environmental impact. Orbital satellites for beamed energy to make up the difference. Colonies on the moon, in orbit, and on Mars. Floating cities that can house millions. Flying cars to make crowded roadways a thing of the past. Three dimensional holographic entertainment units that provide a completely immersive experience. I can make this world a paradise, fix every problem we are currently facing with overpopulation, food and clean water shortages, and lack of cheap energy."
Quinn finally raised an objection. "It all sounds well and good, Taylor. But there are any number of threats out there that would put a great many roadblocks in your path. Endbringers, various Parahuman organizations, and other Class S threats to name a few. How exactly do you plan to get around them?" Even as he spoke, asking the question, there was a cautious interest in his eyes that no poker face could conceal.
Taylor glanced back at Trish, who nodded briskly. Quinn Calle was tentatively theirs, even his cynicism overcome by what she'd told him, bought and sold for a dream. Now that the hook was set, it was time to reel him in, she decided.
"That is what the money is for, Quinn. As to exactly what I plan to do about the Endbringers and the rest of the Class S threats, well, without going into too many details, I plan to eliminate them. To not put too bald a face upon it, by eliminate I mean kill them. To kill them all. To scour the Earth of every last one of them, until the human race is once again completely safe from everything but ourselves."
For the first time, Quinn's poker face fully cracked as the urbane man in front of her almost gaped. Then with a visible effort, he managed to gather himself together. Taylor found it quite an impressive sight. Raising an eyebrow, he deflected his loss of composure with a joke, "Then I imagine you're going to need a great deal of legal representation, aren't you?"
~~~Memories of Iron~~~
Trish joked, "Well, I'd call that a successful meeting, wouldn't you?" She flopped down on the couch in the den of what was coming to truly feel like home. Trish allowed her head to rest against the arm of the couch while her feet stayed on the ground, a compromise with her exhaustion.
She saw Taylor nod in agreement as she neatly sat down next to her. "The money is certainly going to come in handy. Do you think he can get us the initial payment of twenty million dollars in the time frame he said he could?"
Trish pushed her power harder than she had in weeks, careful to avoid any thoughts of Taylor as she did so. Possibilities filled her mind, while she filled in blanks using known facts as a template.
Quinn Calle. Almost expressionless face. Holds emotions completely in check while working. Cynical. Does not believe there is a future for the human race. Out to get what he can, while he can.
Clothing and demeanor. Successful. Driven. Ruthless. Amoral.
His standing. Completely dedicated to his clients in order to build reputation. Contacts in every sector of business and the government. Contacts within rogue Tinker community aka Toybox.
Honors all agreements made. Can and will move mountains to accomplish his part. Does not trust anyone.
Affected by the meeting. Wants to be part of the future described. For the first time, has hope. Is willing to wait and see if Taylor is worthy of his loyalty.
Trish massaged her neck as the beginnings of a migraine pressed against her. She told Taylor, "He'll do anything and everything he can to make it happen. I'd say the odds of his success are very high. You managed to get through the chink I told you about in his armor. No person is as dedicated to a cause as the cynic who has been inspired. In time, Quinn Calle will be your man in every way that matters."
Taylor looked momentarily nauseous, as if the idea that she could be the inspiration for such dedication terrified her. It was the same look she'd born when Trish had told her that she needed to do the presentation. That Trish, no matter how skilled in the use of her intuitive power, would never earn the loyalty of a man like Quinn Calle. It had taken time and a certain relentlessness, but Taylor had eventually caved.
It hadn't hurt that somewhere deep inside of Taylor, the memories of a man for whom this would have been child's play were urging her to do the same. Still, not even the great Tony Stark could have done what Taylor had through her grand vision, humble outlook, and simple sincerity. Quinn Calle had looked into Taylor's eyes, his cynicism melting under the flame of her belief, as hope replaced it.
It was a lesson that Trish, herself, had learned not that long ago. A lesson taught her by the young woman sitting next to her. The power of hope upon the human psyche. It wasn't a lesson she'd ever forget.
Trish reigned in her power even as a spike of pain slammed into her head. Turning her eyes away from her friend and partner, she cleared her mind as much as she could. Slowly the pain receded until just a dull throb seemed to echo behind her eyes.
"Migraine again?"
Trish nodded, not speaking. It was her own fault. She knew better, but sometimes the other girl sneaked up on her causing her power to backfire. If Trish was careful, she would be okay within a day or so.
A few minutes passed as Trish relaxed, breathing deeply, trying to engage her endorphins. Sadly, she wasn't succeeding. Then she felt Taylor press something into her hand, pills of some kind. The girl commanded, "Take them. Here's some water."
Trish swallowed the pills without argument, gulping down half the water in the glass before handing it back. It was only after several more minutes passed that she realized it wasn't an over the counter pain relief medication that Taylor had given her as her headache receded completely, vanished without a trace.
Opening her eyes, Trish stared at Taylor who was patiently watching her, the glare off her glasses hiding her eyes. "What the hell was that?"
"You think I've watched you suffer that damn migraine in silence now a half dozen times, and haven't thought about a solution? To hell with that. It's called QT. It's something Tony knew about, a medication from the Kree. A beta blocker that works on nerve tissue, preventing pain signals from impacting the brain. Speeds healing as well, having some short-term regenerative properties on the brain."
Taylor held up a finger in warning as Trish began to speak. "Don't."
"You're not cured. Not yet. You need to sleep. If you use your power like this, you could give yourself an aneurysm because there's no pain signals to tell you when to back off. So don't. Sleep for four or five hours, and you should be pretty much fine, the synapses in your brain back to normal."
Trish sagged back against the couch, closing her eyes and relaxing as she felt Taylor lift her feet and rest them on her lap, allowing her to lay supine. "Don't worry, I made a big enough batch to last for a few weeks. I just couldn't stand the thought of you being in such pain and it being my fault."
Trish wanted to protest Taylor's words, but her thoughts seemed to be wrapped in cotton candy. The medication must contain a soporific as well, she thought fuzzily. Then darkness beckoned, and Trish knew no more.
~~~Memories of Iron~~~
AN: Next time: Plans are finalized for Taylor's company and things don't go completely the way she wants. Plus more Dragon. And Cauldron.
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein