“This isn’t necessarily common knowledge.” The blonde woman in scrubs told Taylor in a no-nonsense, professional voice. “It delves into federal and parahuman law. I’m versed in it because I serve as Panacea’s primary contact in this hospital and assure all necessary paperwork is filed and regulations are observed.”
Taylor shook her hand calmly, pushing down any nerves that may or may not be present.
“It’s estimated that there are less than fifty parahuman healers worldwide. I’m not privy to the exact PRT reports. However, statistically, many ‘healers’ are highly specialized or can only handle stabilizing trauma patients—catastrophic bleeding, loss of limb, severe burns, et cetera. Once stabilized, the patients require specialty medical care afterward.”
Taylor nodded; that made sense. Parahuman powers were often very specific—oddly specific, even.
“To the best of my knowledge Panacea is the only parahuman healer who can truly heal anything, up to and including ‘incurable’ diseases, cancer, and genetic issues. While heroes with healing capabilities are tested to ensure everything goes smoothly, you shouldn’t expect to come anywhere close to that level. To be clear, on a scale of one to ten? Panacea is a 12.”
Taylor had to refrain from laughing. It wasn’t a joke, but the woman probably didn’t realize Panacea was considered a Striker 12 by the PRT. Or maybe she did and had a hidden sense of humor.
“With so few healers globally, we’ve found the easiest way to test new healers is to involve Panacea directly. If a tinker causes super-cancer with his ‘healing’, she’s the only one who can fix it. Before she triggered, we had a complex process involving a lot of scans and probationary periods.”
Abruptly, Taylor realized why she was getting the Panacea 101 briefing. The case worker took Taylor’s signed forms and then led her through a room where the girl herself was waiting in her robe, looking tired.
“Nurse Williams.” Panacea greeted.
Taylor had never been in the presence of the healer before and was somewhat underwhelmed by what appeared for all intents and purposes to be an exhausted, mousy brown-haired teenager about her age.
“Do your powers offer you any diagnostic abilities?” Panacea asked, straight to the point.
Taylor startled, standing up straighter.
“Not that I’ve explicitly noticed.” She admitted. “I’ve only used it once in an emergency situation and I’ve refrained from testing it unsupervised.”
Panacea looked surprised.
“That’s sensible.” She said, with a very slightly approving air. “Powers are notoriously weird and pure healing affects are rare. It’s not often new triggers have enough restraint to resist.”
“It’s not my primary power.” Taylor explained. “I’ve got a shield like a forcefield. I only discovered that putting someone inside a shield let me heal them.”
“What type of injury did you heal? If it was an emergency right in front of you, you likely won’t face legal consequences.”
“It was a gunshot wound.” Taylor said. “To the… thigh?”
Panacea snorted.
“Don’t worry about trying to get the terminology right. Did your power appear to fully heal the patient?”
“It appeared to.” Taylor neglected to mention they’d fled the scene just before the ambulance showed up.
“Alright, let’s get started. We’ve reached out to other hospitals and gathered a few sample patients in various categories. Obviously, we don’t have any true emergent situations.”
“Of course.” Taylor hadn’t expected any. What, stop someone who was having a heart attack long enough to get them to her?
“We do, however, have a few serious cases.” Nurse Williams said. “Normally we’d ‘start small’ and work our way up, but many patients with severe but not time sensitive problems agreed to wait for you, for the guaranteed chance to be seen by Panacea afterward.”
“Wow.” Taylor said. “That makes sense. There are far too many people in this city to all get seen by you.”
A haunted look came over the healer briefly. Nurse Williams frowned.
The led her to a room with a man sitting inside in regular clothes. Taylor had been almost expecting a hospital gown.
He looked up, visibly brightening when he saw Panacea.
“Thank you for your participation today,” Nurse Williams handled most of the meet and greet, turning to Taylor.
“The smallest injury to start out with would be lacerations—cuts—or bruises. For obvious reasons, we don’t have anyone with an open wound available on short notice.”
“Mr. Obdula was hit in the face with a table leg. We’ve examined the injury to ensure he doesn’t have spinal damage and was safe to be moved. Panacea will examine him to determine the extent of his injuries and any previously existing conditions he may have; we will not tell you the results of this exam.” Nurse Williams said.
“Hold still, sir. Do I have your permission to examine you?” Panacea stepped forward.
“Yes, please.” She reached out a hand and laid it over his. From what Taylor understood of her power, the girl could literally poke him with one finger and do the same.
“Alright.” Panacea stepped aside in a surprisingly short amount of time. Wow, fast.
Taylor wondered if her powers would heal injuries she didn’t know about. With the previous example, she didn’t know how to heal a gunshot wound, yet it had healed. However, Shun’o and Ayame had explained that she’d simply reversed the woman to how she’d been prior to the gunshot wound; exactly how she’d been a few seconds prior to getting shot.
So if she’d had cancer, Taylor wouldn’t have known.
Did that mean she could only be an effective healer if someone like Panacea was along to give her an entire report of the patient’s condition? In that time, Panacea could have healed the patient; rendering Taylor’s contribution completely unnecessary. Redundant, even.
No, Taylor refused to accept that. Her powers were intent-based. Will based.
“Ayame, Shun’o.” She said, getting things started. The fairies appeared, at once, but Taylor paused. “Wait. Do you want me to see if I can detect anything, or see if my healing is effective even when I don’t diagnose the patient first?”
Amy looked slightly pensive. Almost interested.
“Good question. Let’s try both. Heal this person first without trying to figure out what’s wrong with him, unless your power feeds you that information automatically. We’ll see if it works without that input.” She looked to Nurse Williams who nodded.
“Alright.” Taylor took a breath, allowing power to well up inside her. “Sōten Kisshun. I reject.”
She focused on anything wrong with the man and instantly ran into a wall. The fairies formed the shield easily, making the man shout in surprise, yet this use of her power felt strange to her.
The shield didn’t want to activate. It was incomplete. She needed… something? ‘Fix anything wrong with him’ was making her power upset. What was she rejecting? What would be ‘wrong’ with Mr. Abdula? By whose definition? Taylor’s? The man himself?
Conceptual. Her power was conceptual.
I reject anything Panacea would see as a medical concern, or any doctors, or any scans. I reject anything keeping him from peak physical health.
Her resolve hardened, brows furrowed, and the light flared golden and bright. When it faded, faster than her other healings, Panacea stepped forward to touch him, curious.
His black eye was healed, at least.
His whole face looked less… wonky? Was that the technical term? Probably not.
“I can see better!” The man said at once, as Panacea spent a significantly longer time this time examining him.
“Eyes are tricky because they plug right into the brain. Most senses do, including the skin and nerves, so it’s the most delicate part of any procedure. She healed his broken orbital bone, the tissue damage surrounding it, the damage to the eye itself, the nerve, and headache he had because of it. He had compartment syndrome; proptosis, restriction of eye movement, RAPD, reduced visual acuity, color vision and worsening pain. Healed now. The retrobulbar hemorrhage is healed and there’s no lingering blood, all reabsorbed. No, wait…”
“Yes?” Nurse William stepped forward.
“He’s not showing signs of being healed. No increase in white blood cell counts, no recently forced cell division. The blood wasn’t reabsorbed; it’s like the injury never happened.”
Fascinated, she turned to Taylor.
“Do you know what could cause your powers to do this?” She asked sharply, intently.
“Yes.” Taylor inhaled, feeling like a bug under a microscope. “My power rejects phenomena. It’s intent based. I specifically focused on anything you or another doctor or test would register as abnormal or suboptimal and rejected that. From existence.”
“Rejected from existence.” Panacea registered flatly. “The conceptual injuries? Not just the physical blood vanishing or being ‘removed’ but causality? You turned back time on the wound? No. That wouldn’t explain it.” She reached for the man again, this time cupping his face.
“You also ‘rejected’ his high blood pressure, residual damage from early heart disease, fatty tissue from his liver, signs of acid reflux, every scar on his body, the signs of aging on his telomeres, and some cells that were slowly moving to be bone cancer in maybe fifteen years, and dozens of other very minor imperfections. It can’t be a time-wind because you also healed his asthma and removed a few recessive genetic markers associated with diseases he’d pass onto his children with the right partner. He is quite literally in perfect health.”
“Did you do this with the gunshot victim?” The nurse asked in alarm. “We might need to find them.”
“No.” Taylor said, picking her jaw off the floor. “I just rejected the gunshot wound, returning her body to how it was before she was shot.”
“Did you get any feedback from Mr. Obdula’s injuries to know all that? Everything you healed for him? Or was it literally just ‘whatever Panacea would consider a problem?’” Panacea asked, something… strange in her voice.
“Granted, if you focus on the concept of what I think would be a problem… if I did an in-depth exam enough to look at his telomeres and recessive genetics, which I usually don’t…” She trailed off.
Panacea laughed abruptly. “I don’t even need to be near you, do I? Your power lets you copy mine at my best.”
The nurse stared at Taylor now. Her clipboard abruptly fell to the ground.
“I don’t… have to heal at that level?” Taylor offered. “I just couldn’t use the generic concept of ‘wrong’ because different people might think different things were ‘wrong’; it’s too broad and subjective. I could also use ‘things that I would see as a priority if Panacea were to tell me about them.’ Should I try to see if I can get a diagnostic scan from my powers?”
“I mean, why bother.” Panacea barked out a harsh laugh. “You can skip it entirely as if it had happened. And just get results. The healing process looked slightly slower than mine but you were able to bypass the time for a diagnosis entirely.”
So Taylor’s power was, in some ways, better.
Um. She had not come in here to get added to the 2nd or god forbid first spot on the best healer roster.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Nurse Williams took a short breath, picking up her clipboard. “Mr. Obdula, remember that you signed a stringent non-disclosure agreement to this procedure. You may not repeat anything you heard here or you will be added to Panacea’s no-heal list.”
With wide eyes, he looked to Taylor.
“Isis also will not heal you.” Nurse Williams said sharply. Then, to Taylor, “Speaking of, be sure to ask permission before healing a patient. Also, introduce yourself. This case is strange because everyone has already provided written consent but they can revoke that at any time verbally.”
“I’ll make sure to do so.” Taylor nodded, still feeling faint.
“Let’s not get ahead ahead of ourselves.” The woman repeated, looking rattled. She took a few breaths. “You may find some illnesses or conditions impossible to heal. Panacea, for instance, can’t heal the brain. Everyone has a limit, even her.”
Panacea’s expression was flat once more. She regarded Taylor with curiosity and a few expressions around her eyes that Taylor didn’t know her well enough to decipher.
“… Can Panacea diagnose issues in the brain?” Taylor asked as they walked out into the hall again. “Because if so, my method will…”
Panacea stopped walking. So did Nurse Williams.
Taylor swallowed.
“I can reject anything Panacea considers to be a medically significant problem.” She said it out loud and it seemed big.
“Ethically.” Panacea snapped, before taking a few shaky breaths. “Reject anything Panacea considers or would consider, if she knew about it, to be a medically significant problem that is ethical to remove.”
“… We’ll workshop it.” Nurse Williams muttered under her breath, before shaking herself. “Well, my week just became a lot busier. We’ll probably be here longer than a day, Isis, if you’d be willing to come back to test the extent of your abilities.”
“Okay, I guess.” Taylor said. “Are you required to report this to anyone?”
“Required? No. It’s complicated.” The nurse paused. “I’ll have to note that you’re cleared to handle anything Panacea is cleared to handle. That report would usually go to the PRT, so they’d be aware of your capabilities while working with you. In this case, I believe I’ll reach as far up as I can—the regional director at the very least.”
She looked at Panacea meaningfully.
Panacea sighed.
“I have Chief Director Costa-Brown’s personal number.” She admitted very quietly. “It’s for national emergencies that hospital protocols don’t cover; if Bonesaw showed up and released a plague, I’d call at that level for an uncontrolled parahuman-related epidemic.”
“I’m hesitant to go directly to the Chief Director in this case but you have to understand; knowledge of another healer of Panacea’s capabilities—and we are getting ahead of ourselves here—must be handled at that level to avoid many of the issues we’ve run into with Panacea herself. Mismanagement, kidnapping attempts; her presence changed the landscape of S-class threats and Endbringer battles dramatically.”
Taylor’s head swam. She needed to sit down but didn’t want to appear weak, here.
“I think I need to speak to a lawyer before you make that call.” Taylor said, causing some surprise. “I’m not beholden to the PRT at this moment and want to handle that kind of announcement carefully. I need to know what rights I have to heal—or not heal—at my discretion. Panacea is part of a very visible, very well-known hero team. I don’t want to get disappeared into some kind of government black hole.”
She waited for both of them to say ‘the PRT wouldn’t do that.’
It never came. Both looked somewhat green.
“In that case… I’m not sure if we should continue your power testing here.” Nurse Williams said delicately. “Despite the NDAs, risk of your healing could get out to the gangs. In fact, though we’ve kept it relatively quiet aside from the patients that are here today, news that a healing parahuman was testing her powers today might have already leaked.”
“There are teams that would kill for a healer.” Taylor realized. “Um. I think I need to leave. Do you have a lawyer?”
She asked Panacea, who frowned.
“My adoptive mother, Brandish, is a lawyer. She isn’t an expert on medical law so we retained legal counsel from first a single lawyer and then an entire team. Panacea is huge; the scope of injuries and people I treat is… massive. NAPEA-5 was thrown out specifically because of the outcry over parahuman healing that I brought with my existence.”
“I actually have 24/7 legal counsel on standby from the firm and I’m their only client. Yes, it’s ridiculous. I call them at once if anyone is giving me any trouble, threatens legal action, or tries to detain me. My sister Victoria is on the hospital roof right now and remains there for my extremely limited volunteer hours every week; I have a panic button. Normally we don’t disclose this, for obvious reasons. One press for her to come to me, through the walls or ceiling or people; two presses for her to come the slow way for a potential situation; three presses for Victoria to come to me the fast way, but also alerts the rest of our family for backup.”
She paused.
“If I hold that button down, Legend is deployed to my location. Listen to me, Isis; this button was the alternative to having a constant team of parahuman security—there are volunteers willing to commit to it—and a tinker-tech teleporter on me at all times, a precaution I had to talk them down from.”
“You do not have a button.”
Taylor took out her cell phone with a shaky hand.
“Can I have the number for your legal team? And do you think they’d mind a second client?” She coughed. “I think you should probably call them first, though.”
“I’m going to heal all of your patients.” Panacea said calmly, after programming the number in Taylor’s phone. “Then, I’m going to call Vicky. She’s going to take us both to a secondary location, in case the hospital is being watched. As desperate as they are, no gang is going to attack us when I’m in the air with you. This is because she can’t take you anywhere on your own; leaving me here alone is against our protocol.”
“Okay.” Taylor said.
“I’m going to file a piece of paper saying you declined testing after all.” The nurse said. “It’s a voluntary process. I believe I’ll say you had an emergency phone call for a matter regarding your civilian identity and left before we could test anything. Appointment terminated, pending reschedule.”
She waited with Nurse Williams while Panacea went around offering unexpectedly free healing, no guinea-pigging for the new parahuman needed. They probably didn’t ask her too many questions.
Taylor called Alec, using up some of their limited minutes.
“Hey.” She said, to his surprise. He wasn’t asleep, agreeing to be on hand in case anything went crazy wrong—unlikely but not impossible.
“Code red?” he asked at once.
“All gold.” She assured him, their ‘all clear’ signal; the color of her shields.
“What’s up?”
“My healing is as powerful as Panacea’s and we’re suddenly worried I’m a target. Glory Girl is getting us both out of here and I’m going to sign up with Panacea’s army of lawyers so the PRT doesn’t disappear me before anyone knows who I am.”
Alec choked.
“Okay then.” He finally said. “Have fun with that. I’d say text me your new location for backup but if they get past you and Glory Girl, the Triumvirate will probably show up, if only to protect Panacea.”
Literally.
He didn’t know how right he was.
“I’ll text you when I’m all clear.” She said instead, swallowing as Panacea returned to them, her own phone at her ear as she talked to her sister.
“Let’s go. Thank you for being sensible about this.” Panacea said to Taylor. They proceeded up the steps to the hospital roof where Glory Girl waited.
Taylor had never seen her in person before—overhead once or twice, never up close.
‘Gorgeous’ was a bit of an understatement.
Perfectly symmetric face with stunning features, long, blonde hair curving in gentle waves around her face and chest, and an outfit that would make anyone stop and stare: a long-sleeved dress with a short, loose skirt, waving in the wind, all white with gold accents running up and down some of the seams.
Taylor had to pick her jaw up off the ground.
She had the kind of face that was made for smiles and from her reputation, Taylor expected her to crack a joke. Instead, she was unusually serious—matching her sister.
“Alright, no need to be too doom and gloom about this,” Glory Girl said, offering the expected smile. “I’ve carried two passengers before, so don’t worry. Just don’t move too much.”
“I wasn’t worried. Until now.” Taylor said. “Would putting us in a forcefield help?”
“Does the forcefield glow like your healing bubbles?” Amy asked, and at Taylor’s nod frowned. “No, we’d be a glowing gold target. Best to be quick and pretend nothing different to normal is happening.”
“Oh, hey, forcefield buddies!” Glory Girl lifted her fist for a bump that Taylor numbly returned, speaking in a tone like she was trying to reassure a traumatized victim. What kind of face was Taylor making?
“Vicky!” Panacea snapped.
“Normally, that’s classified intel, but I figure we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other. Plus, you’re a hero!” Glory Girl smiled like sunshine. “Don’t tell anyone though. Uh, please.”
“No worries.” Taylor stood awkwardly. “Uh, how are we going to–?”
“How about a piggy back ride? I’m way too used to playing air taxi.” She stepped down, allowing Taylor to climb on her back—feeling the unexpected softness of the costume, her skin, and hair.
Taylor was blushing.
Amy was scowling.
“Let’s go.” She said, and Glory Girl obligingly swiped her up in a princess carry like she’d done it thousands of times before—and probably had.
Suddenly, with no warning or step or leap, they were flying. Floating at first and then accelerating into the sky at speed.
“Where are we going?” Taylor tried asking, to distract from the rapidly plummeting ground.
“Don’t try to talk!” Glory Girl yelled. “We can’t really hear you against the wind!”
Brockton Bay looked different from above. Taylor had never been on a plane so had nothing to compare it to. They weren’t at cloud level, maybe three hundred feet off the ground if she had to guess. Some buildings were still taller downtown.
Abruptly, they jumped up to above the cloud layer, the temperature dropping rapidly, before Glory Girl plunged straight down with the speed of a falling star, faster than a roller coaster.
Taylor muffled a scream into her shoulder.
“Hey, don’t worry, we’re fine.” Glory Girl said. The rooftop was surprisingly enclosed with billboards on all sides, a natural kind of cover. She bent down to let Taylor and Amy go.
“Why the dive?” Taylor demanded breathlessly, wobbling onto her feet.
“A sharp rise and then drop disguises our location from anyone tracking our flight path.” The blonde explained pithily. “If they were tracking our horizontal position, we confused them by vanishing, and then they’d have to be looking at just the right spot to see us reappear—the dive was about two blinks. If anyone was watching, they’re hopefully still watching the clouds.”
“I guess.”
Amy flipped out her phone and made another call.
“Reinier, hello, it’s me. Another healer has triggered with abilities like mine. No, exactly like mine… One person, before we realized what was going on—R.N. Georgette Williams. Yes, some patients who volunteered for a nondescript parahuman healer’s power testing but didn’t get a name, in exchange for me looking them over afterwards—skipping the queue, yes. I healed all of them. We left with Vicky. A safe location.”
“No, not the PRT. A local independent, new to the scene.” She paused. “Are you part of a team?”
It took Taylor a moment to realize she was being addressed, what with the rapid fire answers Panacea was giving.
“Uh, yes. Pantheia, registered with the PRT.”
“Do you want to join New Wave?” Impatient, almost.
Taylor boggled.
“Uh, I have family, so… no? Also, I can’t abandon my team.”
“They can join too.”
“Hard no, then.” Alec would laugh in her face if she suggested he unmask.
“Alright.” She went back to the phone, answering more questions.
“Aww.” Glory Girl said, pouting a bit, which caused Taylor to snort—likely intentionally, as her expression brightened smugly afterward.
“Don’t worry, it’s not for everyone. I don’t know if I’d have joined for sure if I hadn’t triggered publicly. Amy, too—we didn’t have much chance for a secret identity.”
“Amy?”
“Uh, Panacea? Amy Dallon?” Victoria laughed. “You’re very new, huh?”
“That obvious?” Taylor asked.
“Well, look at it this way—at least you didn’t start healing on the streets. The gangs would have been a huge problem.”
Amy didn’t close her phone but looked over at them.
“[Panacea’s law firm] has agreed to take you on as a second client, effective immediately and retroactively for the two counts of healing you’ve already performed. Are you available tomorrow to discuss?”
“I… can be?” Taylor said, bewildered. “Can my teammate come? Eos.”
“Sure.” Amy said flippantly. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but they will be extremely lenient with you. By healing a few millionaires each year, I keep them paid completely. Doubling that would be… enticingly lucrative.”
“Yeah, no, I can see how.” Taylor paused. “Do they help you with branding?”
Amy raised a hand and wiggled it in a so-so motion.
“They coordinate with New Wave, who handles most of that. I made a lot of money which they primarily manage. Most of it is held in a trust until I turn eighteen. I have a generous allowance—Vicky gets a cut for ferrying me around and bodyguard duty. Mom didn’t want to go for it at first but the lawyers were fierce, especially as we’re both minors. None of our time goes unpaid or untracked, so that we’re not taken advantage of—not even by our own family.”
Taylor whistled.
“Wow. I bet that was a conversation.”
Glory Girl scoffed. “Oh, you have no idea.”
“Worth it, though.” Amy said. “It was… rough at first. Very rough when I had just triggered. Now I have strong limits on how much time I spend healing.”
“And a therapist!” Vicky chimed in. “Me too, by the way. It’s great.”
“Is tomorrow at eight okay?” Amy asked. “Let’s have you meet somewhere relatively private. I’d normally suggest the PRT building but—yeah. How about the park near Arcadia? Next to the fountain.”
“Okay? Nobody’ll be there on a Saturday morning.”
“Great.” Amy said as much into the phone, who seemingly did not mind to be kept waiting, made short work of the rest of the conversation, and hung up.
“This is not how I expected today to go.” Taylor said faintly.
Victoria laughed.
“Oh, I know that dance. Don’t worry—you’re good. You handled this exactly right. The PRT would have played hardball to get you into the Wards, at best.”
“It bothers them a lot that I’m on New Wave.” Amy confided. “They don’t ever say it; we can still tell.”
“Thank you for saving me from that.” Taylor said. “Now, um, how are we going to get to the ground?”
“Getting to the ground’s the easy part.” Victoria said. “It’s blending into the crowd without your mask that’s the hard part. Usually easier because the other heroes are unmasked to me and I can just drop them off in civilian guise.”
She put her hands up.
“Not that you have to unmask to me! Seriously, don’t, even if you want to. That’s a ‘sleep on it’ kind of decision.”
In the end they repeated the carrying set up of earlier. Taylor asked to be dropped off in an alley a block away from the gas station, since she didn’t have a change of clothes on her—note to self: look at ways around that—and walked in to Alec blinking up at her from his chair and his handheld game console.
“How’d it go?” He asked casually, going back to his game.
“Good, I think. Terrifying, but good. I’m going to meet up with Panacea’s lawyers tomorrow. You’re invited.”
“Neat.” He clicked his tongue on the ‘t’ sound, dragging the word out.
Now she had to tell Alec he was waking up at seven on a Saturday. Oof. Hopefully the ‘glorious amounts of money’ bit would sway him.
–
The contact we were set to meet wasn’t there when we arrived at the park. Panacea and Glory Girl were there. When they saw the two approaching, Amy punched off a text and pocketed her phone.
A moment later, Alec cursed.
“Fuck! He wasn’t here a second ago.”
Taylor jerked around, words on her lips.
From around the tree, a figure walked out. He was clearly a cape, if an extremely lazy one. A riot of vivid red hair, ruby instead of ginger, reached his cheek bones, which were nominally hidden only by a black domino—the same cheap kind Taylor had bought once she realized they were sold prominently in box stores.
“Guilty.” He said boredly. “Ready?”
Without waiting for an answer, the world went black.
“Thank you, Strider.” A man was saying. “Your normal fee, the short-notice addendum, and the same for the return trip.”
“Were we just kidnapped?” Alec demanded, straightening.
“Ha.” The cape—Strider—snorted. Then vanished again.
“Wow, I think I hate that guy.” Alec mused. “Novel.”
They were in the lobby of a business of some sort—ultra-modern, sleek black and white furniture, like out of a magazine.
“Welcome to Panacea Law.” The man said, fair-skinned with black hair greying at the middle. “I’m Keanu Atkinson, medical law. My colleague is Sheryll Calahan, parahuman employment law.”
He gestured to a woman of Latinx decent, in a prim pantsuit.
“Isis, yes?” She reached forward and shook Taylor’s hand professionally. “If what Panacea has told us is true, we’d be happy to represent you.”
“Let’s talk about what that would entail.” Mr. Atkinson said, leading them into a conference room richly adorned with chairs and snacks.
Alec made a bee-line over to the food. Well, that’s him won over.
“Firstly, I understand you’re part of a team?”
They took down all the details—how long she’d been operating as a parahuman, what she could do, etc.
“Panacea contracts her time out to the PRT and the federal government one day a week for eight hours, with mandatory breaks, and meals and travel accommodated for. She volunteers no more than eight hours a week at local hospitals for no cost. She is on-call for a certain retainer for local parahuman emergencies in the east-northeast region from three to five PM on weekdays.” They explained the broad strokes. “Any emergency healing outside of this window is received on a case-by-case basis with substantial compensation, some of which is allocated to Glory Girl or teleporters like Strider for transportation.”
“Is Strider on retainer for the firm? I can’t imagine how expensive his services would be.” Taylor asked.
“He’s paid for his time and no, he’s not on permanent retainer. Strider allows us absolute priority for his services, on the agreement that he’s paid half his standard rate for regular transportation and extra for any short notice trips like today. In exchange, he has blanket access to Panacea for any healing—within reason.”
“He doesn’t say ‘no’ to me because I don’t say no to him,” Amy Dallon summed up. “We still pay each other half our discounted rates but the access is the real prize—I get a teleporter who will take me anywhere, and he can bring himself or his loved ones to me in an emergency and I’ll heal them no questions asked.”
Alec whistled.
“Sweet deal.”
“Quite.” Atkinsons said. “We could arrange similar for you, Isis, using Panacea’s schedule as a template. If any part becomes intolerable for you, you’re under no obligation to keep to an agreement. In fact, we advise any contract with the PRT or otherwise to be for no more than a month on a trial basis.”
“Panacea has a clause in her contracts that she can leave them at any time with no penalties or repercussions. If she decides not to heal for the PRT for that designated eight hours, the only consequence is that she isn’t paid for her time that day.” Calahan explains. “Usually no one would agree to such a disproportionate agreement, except her position in this world is—was—unique.”
“Frankly they’ll take what they get and be grateful,” Vicky said, chin on her fist and both elbows on the glass conference room table.
“Exactly.” Atkinsons nodded. “Isis, you were fortunate to leave the testing hospital when you did, and likewise you are going to reap the benefit of Panacea’s experience, and our experience with the laws surrounding parahuman healing.”
“We need to complete the testing, though, right? I don’t want to put the cart before the horses.” Taylor said. “Just because I know how my power is meant to work, doesn’t mean we can go without testing it.”
“We’ve arranged for volunteers in a secure location.” Calahan explained smoothly. “This facility is state of the art and the patients are all sourced from actual members of the PRT, department of defense, and the federal government.”
“No friends or family members today—the patients themselves are under strict nondisclosure agreements as part of their various employment contracts.” Atkinsons picked up, leading them through the hallway. “All have current security clearances maintained with constant investigation into any unusual activity—standard for such occupations and useful to our purposes.”
That was a relief—that no leaks were likely.
“They were eager to be volunteers for unknown parahuman healing?” Alec asked skeptically.
Victoria snorted. Even Amy and the lawyers looked amused.
“Panacea’s weekly appointment with the PRT—and through them other governmental departments—handles perhaps a hundred patients a day. There’s a strict triage system to get her to the most grievously injured persons or those who cannot be healed by modern medicine.” Calahan explained. “The ability to ‘jump the queue’ is not something taken lightly. Everyone here today is someone who applied to be seen by her and selected ‘willing to travel’ and ‘under whatever circumstances.’ Even those serious cases who were on the list to be seen this weekend were happy to get seen a day early and, with their afflictions cured, someone else will be ‘bumped up’ to take their place.”
“I’m not sure I want to sign up for that level of pressure.” Tayor said, cautiously. “No offense—it just sounds exhausting.”
“It is.” Amy said. “But—and this is crucial—it’s so much better than it was last year.”
She shuddered.
“I also have a standing request for cases I’ve never seen before. My power likes seeing ‘new’ things so medical mysteries and maladies are often sent my way.” She said thoughtfully. “If your power has any preferences like that, let us know.”
“I’ll ask but I’m pretty sure we don’t.”
Taylor kept walking only to find she was the only one besides Alec.
“Your power talks to you?” Vicky demanded, suddenly in her space. The lawyers looked intrigued.
“Um—yes? Back up, please. My power manifests itself as little fairies only visible to me. They can speak. That’s why I say their names before using the power—invoking them, I guess.”
“Fascinating.” Mrs. Calahan said. “Also, confidential. Nobody needs to know the intimates of how your power works, including the PRT. If they press, you’re to remain silent and ask for legal representation—even if it’s a ‘friendly meeting.”
“Especially if it’s ‘just a friendly meeting’.” Mr. Atkinsons said darkly. “For that matter, Miss Dallon always has legal representation with her for planned healing sessions with any government agency, to include the PRT.”
“My—parents—would approve.” Taylor said. “Never talk freely to anyone who has the power to arrest you. And in this case, who would benefit from pressganging me into their service?”
“Very good, there.” Atkinson praised. “Keep that in mind. ‘I’m remaining silent until my legal representation arrives.’ Is a complete sentence. Even if they just want to know one or two things. You’re not an expert in the law, so you could inadvertently admit to a crime very easily—especially as an independent parahuman.”
The first patient of the day was a young man.
“Antonio Rodriguez of the U.S. Marine Corps, ma’am.” He introduced himself, without standing up—on account of the broken leg. It was splinted but not in a cast.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Isis, an independent parahuman healer. Thank you for agreeing to help me with testing my powers in an official capacity.” Taylor said, having rehearsed this privately. “Please don’t worry, as Panacea is here to supervise and ensure that nothing is missed.”
“I’m grateful for the opportunity.” The marine said easily. “There’s a dozen other healers who aren’t Panacea and helping more get out there officially is worth being a Guinea pig. Plus, even if you’re only partially able to fix it, that’s another few weeks shaved off my medical leave.”
“Don’t worry, Lieutenant.” Panacea said wryly. “We’re not going in blind. Your leg will be fully healed in a moment.”
He nodded.
“Do you want me to try a diagnosis?” Taylor asked, as confidently as she could. “Also—just the leg, or…?”
“Let’s test out your ability to sense injury or illness.” Calahan said. “It determines some of the legal matters.”
“Alright. Ayame, Shun’o. Let’s hold off on healing him right away until I get a good idea of what’s wrong. “Sōten Kisshun!”
The shield formed. With concentration, Taylor felt out the ‘edges’ of her ability, the feedback she was receiving from her power.
“The leg is broken. The bone and some of the tissue around the bone. He’s also got halfway healed scrapes around area.”
“From the initial injury.” Calahan nodded. “Panacea, can you scan him before any healing is accomplished?”
“Of course.” She stepped forward, waited, and then stared when Taylor didn’t move. At the other girl’s nod, Amy reached through the shield.
“Alright, I’ve got his baseline.”
“Right.” Taylor said. “My power seems focused on the immediate injury. I’m getting feedback from mostly just that. If I let my attention wander through the rest of his body, I can kind of get a sense that nothing’s really ‘wrong’ or—or out of alignment. My sensing ability is vastly underdeveloped compared to the conceptual ability to base things on Panacea’s perceptions.”
“That’s expected.” Panacea said, before frowning. “Lt. Rodriguez, can I manipulate your respiratory system briefly? I will put it back better than I found it.”
“If it were anyone else I’d be mighty alarmed, ma’am, but your reputation proceeds you. You can do whatever you like as long as I’m fit for active duty afterwards.”
“This may be slightly uncomfortable then. Isis?” As the marine gasped, Taylor focused on her power.
“It really does not like that you just did that.” She announced. “I can see what you did—recent changes are very easy for my power to spot. Even if I don’t register something as ‘wrong’, the body kind of knows how it was five minutes ago.”
“Interesting.” Panacea said. “I’m going to try one more thing. This doesn’t leave the room.”
She didn’t reverse the lung damage before changing something else. It felt like a wrongness in his chest.
“Did you make him sick?” Taylor asked, which would be concerning in literally any other scenario. The implications were staggering.
“He already had a very few samples of flu virus in his system, which hadn’t quite multiplied into anything symptomatic. I encouraged them to multiply a little faster. Think you can do anything about it?”
“It feels foreign to his body so, yes. I can also fix the lung–damage.”
“Go for it.” Panacea said, leaving her hand on the patient this time to witness the power in real time.
“I reject.” Taylor said, having held the spell half-completed all this time. She felt she could have chanted the entire thing and just held the healing portion as slow as she needed, but stopping the spell short of rejecting something allowed for two separate halves of diagnosis and treatment.
Maybe it was just a mental thing. Most of her power was.
It took a few minutes for the glow to finish its work.
“That is so fucking weird.” Amy said wonderingly. “It’s definitely not anything medical that you’re doing. The biology is not being directly manipulated. All the virus-compromised cells have been rendered virus free. Even I just kill the virus when I do this. I tracked individual cells as your power acted on them—they didn’t vanish.”
“The lung damage shows complete reversal. Additionally, the leg and all its tissue are healed. It should be exactly as you remember it being prior to the injury. Worth noting is that while I need biomass to transfer energy and mass from, Isis does not. His fat stores are completely untouched.”
She paused thoughtfully.
“This time, no changes have been made to anything unexpected—don’t worry, lieutenant, I just meant that the last person got more healed than planned, nothing alarming.”
“I focused on the injuries and illnesses I could sense, yes.” Taylor said.
“Excellent.” Calahan said. “Lieutenant, thank you for your service.”
“Thank you.” He said, standing with nary a limp and looking quite surprised as he took the splint off. “Even the bruises from the crash are gone.”
“Isis, right? On behalf of the U.S. Marines—which is not something many of us say, on account of legal issues for trying to ‘represent the opinion of the corps’—welcome to the fight.”
“Thanks.” Taylor said, spine straight. “I appreciate your time today.”
“Absolutely no problem.”
“Fascinating.” Alec said dryly once they were out in the hall. “I know I’m here for moral support and all, but is every one going to be that boring?”
“Got any pressing legal concerns?” Atkinsons asked, genuinely. “Most parahumans could use an overview of the laws their power may or may not break, and what they can legally do with it.”
Alec froze.
Taylor remembered at once that he was so scared of even admitting what his real power was that she hadn’t been told. She’d started to suspect it was either a Master/Stranger power or a Shaker power so horrific he didn’t want to use it.
“How…” He coughed to clear his cracked voice. “How confidential is this? I’m talking witness protection level shit.”
With alarm, Atkinsons turned to him.
“Do you have reason to believe a powerful villain will stop at nothing to do you harm?” He asked, sharply and with the intonation of someone directly quoting something. “Do you have reason to believe that going to the PRT about this person will reveal your location to him and put your life and those around you in danger?”
Mutely, Alec nodded.
“Would the villain recognize you in your civilian guise?”
Again, a nod.
“Is this villain regarded as a class-S or A threat by the PRT, or, if they are unknown to the PRT, do you have reason to believe he or she would earn that classification immediately upon discovery?”
Eyes extremely wide, Alec nodded.
“Panacea, if you would?” Atkinson said tightly.
Instead of moving to the next patient, the group of them walked into a private room.
“You don’t have to take off your mask for this.” Panacea said sharply. “If you have any objections, I can fix them later.”
“What?” Alec said, uncomprehending, but she’d already parked him in front of a large mirror and laid a hand on him.
His features rippled.
All at once, the Alec she knew was gone. His hair was darker, now closer to black than light brown, and the curls were longer—more curly than his previous slight wave. His eyes were a different shape, though still blue. The shade was different; previously a dark sapphire, they were now light like ice in the sun, pale.
The genetic shape of his face had changed, cheekbones angular in a different way, something soft to his jaw where before it’d been pointier. His eyebrows were different.
It was like a fan artist’s rendition of a character—the same features, drawn in a different style. Even his skin tone shifted minutely.
“Taller or shorter?” Panacea said idly and Alec said “Shorter,” without blinking.
Previously Taylor’s size, he shrank a little. Parts of his frame widened or shrank as she adjusted him.
“You’re wearing—what you’re wearing. Do you want a complete flip along that axis?”
“No thank you but please keep the offer open for recreational reasons in the future.” Alec croaked.
Amy snorted, her exposure to his humor unexpected.
“I do not usually ask this—feel the tingle? Do not acknowledge the tingle. Like it is or…?”
“Like it is is fine.” Alec snapped. “I have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“And now the whole room knows what we were talking about, congratulations, Captain Subtlety.”
Alec bared his teeth—which were now pristine and straight. They hadn’t been especially crooked before. His canines were slightly more pointed.
His nose was wider around the bridge. The shape of his mouth more pouty, lips a very slightly different shade of red.
“This is one of the few situations where I do plastic surgery so please speak up if you have something about yourself you hate.”
“Trauma or exposure to a master power has made me emotionally numb.” Alec finally said. “It’s probably a brain thing, though.”
“Can’t do brains.” Amy said, out of habit. Then her hand twitched.
“Amy?” Victoria asked in immediate alarm.
“I can see the damage. I am not going to fix the damage. Fucking with the brain at my level of complete control is a very bad idea, do you understand?”
“Yes.” Alec gasped.
“But Isis can reject the damage. And only the damage. No side effects.”
“Taylor?” Alec said, instantly outing her to a room full of people. Victoria sucked in her breath sharply.
Taylor honestly didn’t even mind, stepping forward and taking his hand without hesitation.
“I can’t help but think… suddenly making you able to feel the full extent of everything after however long of ‘numbness’ is… not the best idea.” Taylor said. “Amy, what do you think of rejecting his inability to heal it on his own, over time?”
“Tricky.” Amy said at once. “It might fuck him up if he’s re-exposed to the stimuli.”
“He?” Vicky said in the background. Amy elbowed her.
“I can reject my own changes, I’m pretty sure. Shun’o?”
“It makes sense to me!”
“Did you just ask your power?” Amy asked. “Ugh. Ridiculous. I can’t with you.”
“You should try it sometime.” Taylor said. “Alright. Alec?”
“Yeah. If it happens slow enough, I might even be able to cope.”
“I’m one hundred percent confident I can at the very least put you back to how you were before we came into this room, damage and all.” Taylor said, squeezing his hand. He squeezed back hard, still on the verge of a panic attack.
“Do it.” He said through gritted teeth. “And don’t let Panacea give me tits, please.”
“Deal.” Taylor laughed.
She cast the spell, golden light spilling out. Panacea kept a hand on him.
“It’s slowly repairing itself. Microscopically slowly. His entire adrenaline system is fucked—emotion goo in the brain isn’t produced at a good level and the pathways are—I’ll spare you the technicality. It seems glacially slow.”
“Good.” Taylor said. “I wanted it to heal on its own.”
“That has certain implications, you realize.” Panacea sighed. “Alright, you didn’t undo any of my changes, so that’s good. You might as well do the entire glow of fixing any minor damage while we’re here.”
“Eos, wanna age like a billionaire?” Taylor asked. “I fixed every genetic defect on a random Brocktonite yesterday.”
“My genetics are the defect.” Alec said bitterly, but allowed it. Then he stared at his own reflection in the mirror.
“This is some uncanny valley shit.” He finally decided. “I almost can’t tell the difference—which is weird, since I definitely don’t look the same.”
“I’m very good at what I do.” Panacea said dryly. “Okay, now, go talk to the nice lawyers about whatever you’re running from.”
He looked up at said lawyers, who were completely stone faced with professionalism.
“How confidential will this be? I mean it. You tell no one.”
“We represent Panacea.” Calahan said slowly. “It gives us a certain pull in the legal system. We also, as you just saw, work closely with the US Marshalls for witness protection. Even before Panacea’s involvement we have a one hundred percent success rate.”
“T—Isis?” Alec asked, voice still wrecked. He squeezed her hand and suddenly Taylor was ready to go to war over this.
“If anyone so much as writes it down, I’ll never heal anyone who isn’t bleeding out in front of me. No volunteer hours, no PRT, nothing.”
Alec choked.
“Holy shit, girl, that’s not what I meant.”
“Agreed.” Atkinson said. “We won’t even record it in our internal systems. We won’t speak of it outside of this room, not even when we’re completely certain we’re alone.”
“At this point I’m afraid it’s either going to be something no where near this dramatic or, worse—that all the drama is underselling it.” Vicky muttered.
“Hang on.” Taylor said. “I can—Baigon, Lily, Hinagiku. Santen Kesshun. I reject.”
A barrier snapped out, covering them all.
“Taylor.” Alec said, using her first name again—he was really awful at that. “Your eyes are glowing. What are you rejecting?”
“Everything.”
“Um!” Vicky said loudly. “Okay, what? Tell me she didn’t just destroy the universe outside of this bubble.”
“This shield doesn’t change anything.” Taylor said, feeling a bit of strain. “It stops anything outside the shield from getting in—I use it to deflect attacks. It will not be broken. Currently I’m considering anything outside the shield to be the ‘attack’—nothing can get in. Not light, not air, not radio waves or sound. A camera outside the bubble can’t see us.” She paused. “Not powers, either, so if anyone is listening in or spying with—thinker powers or whatever–”
“Delightful. Also, terrifying.” Amy sighed. “We probably only have about an hour’s worth of air.”
“It’s a secret but not a long story.” Alec said, looking around the gold bubble—outside of which was the void, as light couldn’t get in—with wide, shocked eyes.
“Well now I’ve got to know if it’s really all that.” Vicky said with nervous laughter. “Um, should me and Amy be outside the bubble? Keep it confidential with your lawyers?”
“Oh. You don’t have to tell me, either.” Taylor said, belatedly. “I can recast the bubble with some noise cancelling headphones.”
“It’s… fine.” Alec said, struggling with it. “Fuck it. Fine. Fuck it.”
He took a deep breath.
“My dad’s Heartbreaker.”
–
Dead silence in the bubble cut off from the world.
“He—when I—I triggered when I was around ten.” Alec’s hands were shaking, even the one in Taylor’s. She squeezed gently. “Don’t know my birthday, exactly. Anyway. I. He had me… I went by ‘Hijack’. Master 8 according to the PRT.” The last sentence was bitter.
Silence in the impossible bubble.
“Well, fuck.” Vicky of all people said.
Alec was barely breathing.
“So your power… I see why you’d worry about getting classified as a villain.” Taylor exhaled slowly. “I don’t think you should be held accountable for crimes you committed as a minor with a Master 10 supervillain parent. You got out as soon as you could?”
A pause.
“As soon as you could without anything worse happening?” Amy said, unusually serious. “It doesn’t matter if you physically could leave—as soon as you had a reasonable chance, you left and didn’t look back.”
Tightly, Alec jerked a nod.
“I’m not a lawyer but that sounds pretty reasonable.” Vicky exhaled slowly. “Plus, you’re not going to be—Hijack anymore, or whatever the civilian name was. So, that person can’t be tried for those crimes. Yes?”
“Jean-Paul Vasil.” Alec whispered, visibly forcing himself to get it all out while the bubble was up. “Alec, now.”
“Alec Hebert, if he wants.” Taylor said firmly, making the boy shoot up his head in surprise.
“Huh. I was thinking Merceau.”
“Probably best to avoid anything in French, if that’s your native language.” Atkinson said, sounding calm. “Avoid any hint of your old life.”
“Fuck, okay, I’m ready to get out of here. My power. I—take control of someone’s nervous system through proximity.” Alec rushed. “With limited exposure, I can grab hold and make it do small things. Like a hammer to the nerves—make your leg jerk, arm spasm, that kind of thing. Make you throw up. Shit yourself. I don’t know.”
He leaned forward and dropped his head on Taylor’s shoulder, looking absolutely drained.
In a dead voice he said, “With continuous exposure I get a better ‘nerve-sense’. Recognize the system. I can hijack them completely. Even without jumping in, they light up like a spotlight to me. Always available for the taking. I can control every aspect—breathing, speaking, fighting, parahuman powers. Total control. Total slavery.”
Fuck it. Taylor wrapped an arm around him, glaring at the others.
Vicky was struggling to get her horror under control. The lawyers were unperturbed. Amy had the stone cold poker face of someone who had run the medical tent at Endbringer battles.
A laugh hacked out of him, sounding exhausted and halfway hysterical.
“Once my power knows somebody, I can take them over as soon as they enter my range again. Instantaneously. No sign whatsoever. Full control again. Nothing they can do to resist.”
Taylor slowly let her power shatter, three fairies returning to their stand-by form. Light rushed back into the world, the air no longer stagnant. The sound of electronics faintly humming.
Alec sucked in air like he was dying.
“Are you sure it’s gradual? It doesn’t feel gradual.” He managed. “Feels… fucking too much. Too much feeling. Hate this.”
“You’re having a panic attack.” Amy said clinically. “Do I have your permission to heal you?”
“How?” A gasp, into Taylor’s shoulder.
“Put you to sleep, mostly.” Amy said. Alec was already shaking his head—as was Taylor.
“I have to finish my tests and I’m not leaving you.” She said.
“I got it.” Vicky was white as a sheet but recovering. “Amy—you have your panic button? I’ll stay with you.” She said to Alec directly. “Nobody’s getting through me.”
“Barely fuckin’ know you.” Alec said with utter exhaustion.
“Shut up and go to sleep.” Amy said, in what was probably meant to be a soothing voice. Alec appreciated the briskness.
“Fuck. Fine. If I wake up in a cell somewhere, I’ll mcfuckin lose it.”
“Hey.” Taylor said, waiting until she had his attention. “No cell is strong enough to keep me out. It’d be a waiting game.”
“Hey fun question does your power work on inanimate objects? Because it sounds like your power works on inanimate objects.” Vicky laughed, a touch hysterical herself. “I just bet you can reject inanimate things from existing. Can you do that with people?”
The entire room turned to look at her.
“… I wouldn’t try.” Taylor said, mind blank with horror.
“See?” Amy said. “Taylor here is scarier than both of us, and I’m fully biokinetic. I can do brains if I lost all my morals—could make everyone I touch love me. I could also make them soup. Or make Bonesaw look like a fucking amateur. So.”
“Amy I’ve already put down the bubble.” Taylor hissed.
“Vicky already knows. The lawyers—a few of them—already know. If we’re judging powers by villainous potential, Biokinetic 12 and Miss Whatever The Fuck Taylor Is have you beat. Master 8. Pah. Chump change.”
“Alright, fine. Knock me out. I can’t with you.” Alec sagged even before she touched him. Taylor let him lean over onto the bed.
Looked at Victoria.
“I have one friend.” She said, eyes locked. “One.”
A direct point at Alec.
“If anyone tries something, we might see what happens when you reject the existence of a person.”
“And suddenly my sister isn’t the most terrifying person in the room. I don’t like that one bit.” Vicky said. She girded her loins. “Sheesh, Taylor, I do this for a living. Alexandria package, bodyguard of champions, protector of little siblings everywhere.”
“The name thing.” Taylor said, turning to the lawyers. “Is that gonna be a problem?”
“What name thing?” Calahan said in the blandest voice possible. “Glory Girl, are you capable of respecting a cape’s secret identity?”
“Isis. Right. Isis only. I won’t fuck up.” She laughed nervously.
“That’s also something we won’t be writing down.” Atkinsons said, straightening up with a sharp clap. “Even with her identity public, all of Miss Dallon’s contracts, banking agreements and correspondence are done under the official aegis of Panacea.”
“We’ll work with our contacts in witness protection and get a new identity created for your friend.” Calahan said firmly. “They don’t need to know the details of where he’s coming from or why, so long as the new identity doesn’t cause any legal issues. If Alec Hebert robs a bank, he won’t be connected to—his past name—but he will be persecuted as if Alec Hebert is a real person. Understand?”
“And does Alec Hebert have as much legal right to have a secret identity?” Taylor demanded. “Will you be telling the government that he’s also Eos?”
“No.” Atkinson said smoothly. “And since Panacea’s involvement has changed his features, he’s safer than most in the program. The law is clear about revealing a parahuman’s identity.”
“Good.” Taylor was abruptly tired. “The rest of the patients?”
“Right this way.”
Taylor healed nerve damage, a fever, a case of HIV—and a case of advanced metastatic breast cancer. Like Amy, she was now the miracle cure for the uncurable.
Mostly she felt tired.
“How many do we have left?” She asked curiously.
“A few, why? Tired? If you have an upper limit on healing energy, it’s important to note.”
“Emotionally tied from earlier.” Taylor waved a hand. “No, I’m asking because I want to try something.”
She paused at their expectant looks.
Amy in particular looked a touch wary.
“So, I’m not a Striker. Why am I healing people one by one?”
Slowly, loudly, Amy’s palm came to hit her forehead.
“Oh, my. You’re a Shaker. Area of effect.” Despite himself, Atkinson let out a little giggle. “Oh my.”
“It would require agreement on the patients’ part to be treated together. I don’t anticipate an issue. Excuse me.” Calahan left them, presumably to gather the patients.
Of the five remaining, all five agreed. They stood in front of the group of two healers, two lawyers, or in one case reclined in a hospital bed. One was in a wheelchair.
“So, I don’t think I can do this and diagnose with any real speed.” Taylor said thoughtfully. “I’m sure I can do more than one person at once, though. With injuries it would be absurdly easy—rejecting it as if it never happened.”
“Go with ‘Panacea, medically significant, ethically able to heal without asking.’” The other girl said thoughtfully, hands twitching. “Do you mind if I–?”
She gestured at the patients, brown curls bouncing on her shoulders.
“Your power really likes watching mine work.” Taylor realized. “Yeah, go ahead.”
Amy stationed herself in the middle of two patients, taking the hand of both.
“Let’s see if it’s any slower or less complete this way.” She nodded to Taylor.
“Healer.” Taylor murmured to herself, feeling the edges of her resolve. “Heal the wounded.”
Intent based.
Taylor intended to heal everyone here, to reject what made them unwell, and get back to Alec.
“Ayame! Shun’ō! Sōten Kisshun! I reject!”
The shield sprung up over all of them, Amy included.
Nobody had anything catastrophically wrong with them, as far as Taylor’s power was concerned. In mere minutes they were all healed, perhaps five minutes elapsing.
“Definitely takes longer than me.” Amy said thoughtfully. “I can only really concentrate on one patient at a time, however. We need to find out the upper limit of this.”
“Another time. And we certainly will, with Isis’s agreement.” Calahan said faintly.
Belatedly, Taylor realized something. She waited to bring it up until they were in private, the lawyers playing with their paperwork and Amy looking thoughtful.
“Um. So. You know you were in there too, right?”
They all stared. Amy looked at her hands.
“I can’t check my own biology.” Amy hissed, irritated. “Why can’t I check my own biology, ugh, this is the worst. I want to know so bad.”
“I could… reject your inability to see your own biology?”
Atkinson dropped his cup of water, the glass shattering. At Taylor’s quit urging, Ayame and Shun’o fixed it quickly, saving anyone the irritation and pain of a tiny glass splinter imbedding it into their foot.
“Please don’t imply you’re a powerful trump before I’ve had time to figure out your current ratings.” The man finally said, faintly yet professional.
Taylor tilted her head and Amy sighed.
“Trumps affect powers. Eidolon is the trump. Glastag Uaine is a trump. Hatchet-face of the Slaughterhouse 9 is a power-nullifying trump.” She put her face in her hands. “If you can edit powers, you’re up there. In full disclosure, since today is ‘reveal horrifying secrets to strangers’ day, if I lost all my rules about playing with brains, I could manipulate the corona polenta and gemma—the organs responsible for parahuman powers—and change powers, too.”
“We don’t write that part down.” Calahan said blandly. “Don’t worry.”
“For now,” Atkinson cleared his throat. “Ahem. For now, Isis, heres’ your panic button. It does not call Glory Girl, New Wave, or any of the Triumvirate. It currently calls Strider. I won’t tell you what it costs to summon him in this way, since you might balk at the pricepoint. Suffice to say, do not hesitate. You are tied for strongest healer in the world as far as I’m concerned. The billions of dollars you could generate, to say nothing of saving the entire world through your contributions to cape recovery and survival at Endbringer battles, is worth summoning him a thousand times. Call him for a hundred false alarms before you even consider failing to summon him when it matters. He will get you—and whoever is with you, so don’t concern yourself—to a safe room.”
“I’m thinking…” Taylor started. “If it comes to that, I should put myself– and anybody else in danger, if that’s the case—in my most powerful shield bubble. Block out everything except whatever Strider’s power is. Then he can teleport directly into the shield.”
“Beautiful.” Atkinson said, sounding pleased. “A huge downside of his capability as a rescue hero is that he’s teleporting directly into danger. If you can make it a written agreement to only summon him inside a shield if at all possible—maybe two presses for a shielded summons, one press for if you’re too injured or unable to make a shield, for instance—then he might be willing to significantly reduce the cost of his services where you’re concerned.”
“Please let him know I’m amenable to the same type of agreement he has with Panacea.” Taylor said. “Additionally, I think the shield argument is valid. You can put it in the written agreement.”
“Wonderful.” The lawyer said. “We’ll get started on the paperwork. The same deal with the government agencies that Panacea has, eight hours a week, no penalty for reneging, for one month to start with?”
“Yes, that’s fine. I’ll need to review it before signing, of course.”
“Of course.” The lawyer actually smiled. “Now, one more thing.”
He sat down and looked at Taylor directly.
“What do you need?” Atkinson asked.
“What?” Taylor started.
“You’re a newly triggered parahuman. I don’t know your family situation. You have, by your own admission, one friend to rely on. You are going to single-handedly at least double the revenue and profit of this firm. You are the second coming of Panacea. What would make your life easier? Money is barely an object.”
“I haven’t even gotten paid yet, though?”
“Isis. If I may be blunt? We would not even count this towards your pay. I’m authorized to give you anything short of a luxury home—and even that could be negotiated. If it’s less than five hundred thousand dollars, I can write you a cheque for it.”
Taylor stared at him.
“We do not expect this to be paid back in any way, and I can give you that in writing. This is an investment. To begin with, I’d like you to think about custom armor for yourself and your teammate, Eos. We need you alive to continue your career.”
“That would be… good. Eos was looking at a member of the Guild.”
“Rhizome does New Wave’s suits.” Panacea volunteered, looking unsurprised at the outright bribery. “Before I triggered, we used someone local, but now—with all this—we could afford the best.”
“I don’t consider this part of the offer.” Atkinson said bluntly. “Panacea has a costume and defense budget. Think of something you want or need.”
“We’re camped out in a gas station.” Taylor blurted. “An abandoned one. Al—Eos doesn’t have a bed there. If we could buy it outright, that’d be great. We don’t need the gas pumps. Maybe a security system.”
“We’ll find the owner and make the purchase.” Atkinson said, whipping out a notebook “Address?”
Taylor hesitantly rattled it off.
“We’re currently on a prepaid burner phone with about ten minutes left of… minutes.”
“Unacceptable. You need to be able to reach us at all times—including Eos, if you’re incapacitated or separated. This will also be a business expense.”
“Okay… food, then? We have a bit of cash, but not much. Aside from a costume, that’s what our money would go to.”
“We’re going to rush through creation of your team bank account, with two checking accounts. As with Panacea, as you’re a minor, most of your profits will go into a trust available when you’re eighteen. That will be in a high-yield savings account. The two checking accounts will be for yourself and Eos. We can create more if you have membership go up.”
“Membership?”
“Of your team. Cards for you and Eos will be delivered. Try not to lose them. In the meantime, here is a card tied into a temporary expense account. Use it for whatever you like. The account has fifteen thousand dollars in it. Please call if your immediate needs exceed that amount—it’s likely we’d prefer to make big purchases from another source and leave this one for incidentals—food and clothes. Do you have a driver’s license?”
Taylor took the thick, heavy card numbly. She shook her head.
“So no need to purchase a vehicle just yet.”
She turned to look at Panacea.
Amy shrugged at her.
“I told you. NAPEA-5 was overhauled for me specifically. You would not believe the amount of money Brockton Bay makes from medical tourism. One weekend a month, I go to a random city around the country and heal the terminally ill, the uncurable, the people modern medicine can’t help.”
“For a very steep fee, she also heals the ultra wealthy. The elite. Panacea never charges her patients directly when she volunteers her healing. She charges the government a very reasonable rate to go where they like and choose her cases for eight hours a week, but not the patients. No one gets prioritized over another in her volunteer time.”
“Fuck billionaires though.” Amy said casually. “I charge a million to go to them. Strider charges, too. If it’s outside of my normal hours, double that. For ‘emergencies’, ten million.”
Taylor choked.
“Ten million dollars.” She repeated. “How—how many billionaires are there that can request that?”
“In 2008 there were over a thousand billionaires in the world.” Atkinson said blandly. “Very lucrative clientele. Less so are the slightly less absurdly rich—she operates on a sliding scale relative to net worth.”
“In fairness, I also donate a lot of it to charity.” Amy said. “It’s like the taxes they should be paying, to begin with. I have a Walmart charity fund that I feed into every time one of that family calls me—about a hundred of their employees get a [donation] for every call.”
“As you can see.” Atkinson said. “We are very much not worried about the financial aspect of things at this level. As one of our two clients, our priority is your comfort, happiness and continued success as a healer.”
“I see.” Taylor said. “Eos is going to faint.”
“Eos already fainted.” Amy retorted. “I barely got to touch them earlier.”
Today was a rough day for him. Taylor asked the shiny new lawyers if they could have a 72-inch plasma screen TV and game system delivered to the gas station covertly.
Turns out Strider wasn’t reverse Manton limited, which explained why their clothes didn’t fall off during transport. He also planned to drop Taylor and Alec off separately from Amy and Vicky—and didn’t have to return to the park.
Strider seemed to take great joy in depositing Alec onto his sleeping bag before vanishing without so much as a ‘by your leave.’
–
“Taylor? I had the strangest dream.” Alec groggily came to. “Why am I still in this wig?”
“Look.”
In the dark, a square of light opened up. Taylor pointed the remote at the TV.
The Xbox logo swam into view.
Alec stared.
“Oh. I see I’m still asleep.” He eased back down, resting his arms on bent knees pulled up to his chin.
“Nah. It was real. They gave me so much money. Let’s go shopping tomorrow and let you buy all the clothes you want.”
She didn’t even register him standing up before being bowled over in a hug.
A loud, smacking kiss to the temple.
“Worth the trauma dumping!” He shouted, grabbing a controller. “Best team ever, oh my fucking god.”