Recoil

[Ack]

This is a Worm AU fanfic.

The fight against Behemoth in New Delhi goes horribly wrong. Taylor, almost the only survivor, is sent back into the past by Phir Sē to try to fix matters. But there are complications ...

Disclaimers:
1) This story is set in the Wormverse, which is owned by Wildbow. Thanks for letting me use it.
2) I will follow canon as closely as I can. If I find something that canon does not cover, I will make stuff up. If canon then refutes me, I will revise. Do not bother me with fanon; corrections require citations.
3) I welcome criticism of my works, but if you tell me that something is wrong, I also expect an explanation of what is wrong, and a suggestion of how to fix it. Note that I do not promise to follow any given suggestion.


Index
Part 1-0: Introduction (below)
Part 1-1: Recollections
Part 1-2: Things Change
Part 1-3: Oddities
Part 1-4: Revelations
Part 1-5: Getting Established
Part 1-6: Preparation
Part 1-7: Sunday at the Heberts'
Part 1-8: Back to School
Part 1-9: Ongoing Affairs
Part 2-1: Settling In
Part 2-2: Relationships
Part 2-3: Christmas Special
Part 2-4: The Light at the End of the Tunnel is an Oncoming Train
Part 3-0: Another Brick in the Wall
Part 3-1: Meeting Again for the First Time
Part 3-2: Conversations and Revelations
Part 3-3: Interpersonal Relationships
Part 3-4: Acceptable Losses
Part 4-1: Back to Brockton Bay
Part 4-2: You Can't Go Home Again
Part 4-3: Preparations for Murder
Part 4-4: To Kill a Mockingbird
Part 4-5: After-Action Report
Part 4-6: Careers Day
Part 4-7: Enemies Within and Without
Part 4-8: Developments
Part 4-9: Points of View
Part 4-10: Dinner and a Show
Part 4-11: Shell Game
Part 5-0: Back in the Line of Fire
Part 5-1: The Conflict Inherent in the System
Part 5-2: Out of the Frying Pan
Part 5-3: Combat Rescue
Part 5-4: Debrief
Part 5-5: (Aster's Story, Part One) Escape from Brockton Bay
Part 5-6: (Aster's Story, Part Two) The Long Way Home
Part 5-7: (Aster's Story, Part Three) Behind the Scenes
Part 5-8: (Aster's Story, Part Four) Meeting at Last
Part 5-9: Consequences and Fallout
Part 5-10: One Thing After Another
Part 6-1: Dominoes and Butterflies
Part 6-2: Touching Base
Part 6-3: Two for the Price of One
Part 6-4: Resolving Fallout
Part 7-0: Queen of Escalation

Omake: Blood and Dust GiftOfLove
Omake: Tastes of ... Peanuckle
Omake: Lisa's Hobbies Query
Omake: A Possible Future
Omake: Bone of Contention
Canonised Omake: How Aster Turned Out Sane [ Eevin ]

 

[Ack]

Recoil


Part 1-0: Introduction
​

Blackness surrounded me. I huddled in my rocky grave. I didn't know how long it had been since thunder and lightning had wracked the sky, since the wall had collapsed on top of me.

Saving my life.

The earth had not shaken for a long time now. No more dirt filtered down on me. But it was getting hard to breathe. The air was getting stale. The rocks and earth surrounding me had saved me from Behemoth's fury, but it may yet kill me.

I shifted, turned. Stone ground, something pressed on my ribs. I pushed, tried to dig. There was the faintest sensation of giving, of movement. I shoved harder. Something reluctantly gave way, and I tasted fresh air. Not cool, not sweet; it was hot, baked, filled with dust and smoke, but it was breathable. I greedily sucked it into my lungs anyway.

With that one stone loosened, I scrabbled at the others around me. Some shifted out of the way; others began to grind downward, pressing on my body. I scrambled, shuffled forward. Something trapped my ankle; I kicked frantically, freed myself. And then there was a rush and rumble of tumbling stone, and daylight was suddenly visible.

Dusty, bruised, coughing, bloody, I emerged from the base of a mass of tumbled rubble. Overhead, the sky was a scorched brass colour, stained with smoke from a thousand fires. My costume was torn, almost shredded from me in places.

My mask was damaged; one lens was gone while the other was starred and opaque. I took it off and discarded it; it wasn't going to do me any good now. Likewise, the electronic armband was now dead and dark. It joined my mask on the ground. A pouch held my glasses; astonishingly, they were intact. I put them on. At least now I could see clearly.

I staggered to my feet, favouring the ankle that had been momentarily trapped by the stones. Any bugs I had in my costume had been crushed by the trapping stones, but I reached out now, gathered in my swarms.

What was left of my swarms.

I did not know where Behemoth had gone, but he had rampaged across the landscape, scouring it with fire, lightning and probably radiation as well. And in doing so, he had killed most everything above the ground, and some things below it.

Including most of the insects and other bugs.

But there were some. Cockroaches, long heralded as being the most likely survivors of a nuclear apocalypse, scrambled from niches and cracks. Flies rose here and there. Other bugs, more exotic, native to India, also responded to my call.

I set them to looking for survivors, while I myself stumbled from rubble pile to rubble pile, calling out names. The names of my friends. All the names I could recall of the heroes, the villains, the capes who had attended the call, the Endbringer Truce.

None answered.

My bugs spread far and wide, finding no evidence of human life. Just blasted devastation. Even where the city had been, there were not even the stumps of buildings.

-ooo-​

I remembered the battle beforehand; the defence of New Delhi falling apart even before it could be properly formed. Falling back, looking for options.

Meeting Phir Sē.

Arranging the distraction, the damage to Behemoth. Holding the monster in place just long enough.

Giving the word to unleash the 'time bomb'.

And then ... disaster.

Behemoth had not been killed by the blast. He had been ... invigorated. His blasts had wiped out Eidolon's force field, sprayed energy across the battlefield. I had tried to organise an orderly retreat, scouting out safe avenues of escape. A stray blast had trashed my flight pack, set it on fire. Only my costume had saved me, but it had been badly damaged. I'd had to abandon the pack.

Running for my life, dodging falling stones, I had been barely grazed by blobs of flying magma, blasts of fire. Once again, my costume had saved me, but at the cost of its own integrity. My armour panels were shredded, and the spider silk underneath as well.

And then I had taken cover under a leaning wall, sought to catch my breath, use my bugs to locate my teammates.

And the wall had fallen in on me. Everything had gone black.

I didn't know how much time passed before I awoke and freed myself, but I suspected it had been a while.

-ooo-​

I sobbed, the dust rasping in my throat.

And then I heard the voice, tiny, distant, through the ears of a scuttling cockroach.

"Taylor ...?"

I followed the sound through my bugs, zeroed in on it.

There was a pile of rubble, up against a flat-sided chunk of rock, remnant of some massive obelisk. Heedless of my already-torn fingernails, I scrabbled away rocks until I uncovered her. She had half a bed on top of her, keeping the rocks off her body. I lifted it away.

It was Lisa.

Tattletale.

She smiled up at me, helped me remove the last few stones. Grinned her familiar vulpine grin. She looked a little the worse for wear; there was a bandage around her throat.

"Hey," she said cheerfully, if a little raspily. "Good to see you. Give me a hand shifting this thing? I can't feel my legs anymore."

I looked at 'this thing', being the chunk of obelisk. The size of two large cars, it lay firmly across her pelvis. I looked at it, dropped to my knees, scraped away dirt. If she was on soft soil, if her legs had just been pressed into it …

She wasn't. They hadn't. The masonry under her was cracked but essentially intact.

Barring the intervention of someone like Panacea, she had basically zero chance of survival.

My heart, which had risen upon the discovery of a living friend, fell once more. I swallowed, turned to her.

She read it in my face, of course. "Fuck," she said quietly. "I thought as much. But I didn't want to look, so I wouldn't have to know."

"Fuck," I agreed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." Tears ran from my eyes.

She grasped my hand. "Sit down," she urged. "There's no need for any urgent rescue attempts, to find help, so sit down. I don't know how much more time I've got, but I'd rather spend it with you."

I sat, my back up against the mass of stone that had killed my best friend.

"What … happened?" I asked. "A wall fell on me. I missed most of it."

She rolled her eyes. "Behemoth took that big blast that came out of nowhere, and he … redirected it. Absorbed it. Survived it. Blasted everything around. Blasted everyone around. And then he just … kept going."

I bumped my head back lightly against the stone behind me. "Fuck. I'd hoped it would at least do more than piss him off."

She squeezed my hand. "Shit happens," she said. It was a mantra, a statememt of belief.

Tears started in my eyes. "Shit happens," I agreed.

"Something funny," she murmured. "I think I had another trigger event. While all that shit was going on."

"Didn't spontaneously give you the ability to get out of this, did it?" I asked, semi-hopefully.

She shook her head. "No. But I'm seeing a lot more. About everyone and everything."

I looked at her. Was she becoming delirious? Hallucinating?

She grinned at me. "Nope," she said. "I'm perfectly lucid. It's actually kind of cool. I know I'll never get out of this, but I get to answer all those questions that always bothered me, that my power wasn't quite able to answer before."

"Yeah?" I said. "Like what?"

"Your parents," she said. "Just for instance. I know when they were born, when and where they met. Everything about their lives." She raised an eyebrow. "Did you know your mother was a follower of Lustrum when she was in college?"

"Yeah," I said. "She used to talk about it sometimes. About how it's dangerous to let others tell you how to think."

She nodded. "That's true. But when Lustrum started inciting them to attack men, she got clear of the movement."

I nodded. "She used to wonder sometimes if Lustrum really meant it to get that bad." I squeezed her hand.

She smiled. "For something closer to home, how about Coil? I'm sure there's questions you have about him."

​

And so, I sat back against warm stone, and held Lisa's hands, as the sun crept down in the sky. She reeled off facts and figures about Coil, as well as Brockton Bay's finest and not so fine, stretching back years, decades. It seemed to make her happy to be able to shock me with her newfound knowledge.

She grew weaker as time passed, and I had to lean forward to hear her whispered words.

Eventually, she stopped to catch her breath during an admittedly fascinating description of how the Travellers got to Earth Bet from Earth Aleph, and how a girl named Noelle Meinhardt became the monster called Echidna.

"Lisa," I said softly. "You can stop now. Please."

She smiled up at me. "It's kind of a relief, to be able to say, enough," she breathed. "I've told my tales. Now I can rest."

My tears ran down my face. "Lisa … I…"

"Taylor," she whispered, her eyes huge in the gathering dusk. Her hand rose, wavering, to touch my cheek, to wipe away the tears it found there. "You kissed me once before, to cure the memory plague. Kiss me again, before I go?"

I leaned forward, kissed her. Her lips tasted of dust and blood.

"Huh." Her voice was barely audible. "Nice."

And then she stopped speaking. Stopped breathing. Stopped doing everything a living person does.

​

I cried, then, as I closed her eyes.

Cried as I tore the sleeve from my ruined costume, ripped it down its length to make a spread of cloth to cover her face.

Cried as I carefully stacked stones over her corpse.

Covered her face last.

My last friend.

My best friend.

Dead.

-ooo-​

I determined that I would die there too.

After all, there was no point in getting up. For maybe half a mile all around, the devastation continued unabated. My bugs had found no living people, barely even parts of corpses. In my meanderings before I found Lisa, I had seen no hint of the cityscape, the landscape, that had been there before. It was like a terrible war had raged for years over that area of land, and everything had been smashed, pulverised, buried, excavated, and then beaten flat again.

Behemoth's rage, his power, must have been … incandescent.

I wondered that, even under a dozen yards of rock, I had survived.

Well, not for much longer.

Whoever found me, would find me here.

I regretted that I had crossed her hands over her chest before I piled stones on her, because I would have appreciated holding her hand again.

I watched the sun go down into a purple-red dusk, a huge pall of smoke overhead. The stars did not come out; they could not. The smoke and dust were too thick.

I coughed. A chilly wind was whipping across the devastation, picking up dust, causing me to huddle into myself in my thin, torn costume.

The wind picked up more sharply, sending grit stinging against my exposed skin; I covered my eyes.
What the hell was going on here? It felt like some sort of storm was kicking up, right next to where I was. Even dying, I wasn't to be left in peace.

"Seriously?" I yelled, and coughed again. I covered my mouth with my other hand. "Fucking seriously?"

And then there was a sharp crack,a flash of light, the wind died … and he was standing there.

Phir Sē.

Dishevelled body, opulent clothes and all.

He looked just a little more haggard, a little more drawn, a little more disarranged than before.

My heart had lifted on hearing Lisa's voice. Seeing her face.

It did nothing at all when I saw him.

"What the fuck," I grated, "are you doing here? What happened? Did your one big shot not work as well as advertised?"

"Should have worked," he said dully. "But monster was stronger. Took power, used it. Nearly killed me. Narrow escape."

"So you made him stronger, and more able to kill," I said flatly.

He nodded.

A long silence passed between us.

"Well?" I asked.

"Well, what?" he asked.

"What the fuck are you going to do to fix your fucking mess?" I yelled.

He looked at me and spread his long hands. "Have used much power. Need to recoup. Stepping through time … not easy."

"So you can't just build another fucking time bomb and scorch his ass to small pieces, then?" I asked him.

"Not know how to locate him. Base, my equipment, all gone," he said. "Rocks fell. My friend is dead."

"Fuck," I ground out.

"Can do one thing," he said in his accented English.

"What's that?" I asked incautiously.

He smiled. "Time. Can send someone back. Warn about this, so never happens."

I frowned. "You mean me."

He gestured to the horizon of blasted, scorched rock, barely visible in the shadowed night. "No other volunteers, yes?"

"What makes you think I'm going to fucking volunteer to get sent on a one-way trip back in time?" I growled.

He leaned forward. "Back then …" he said gently. "Your friends all still alive."

And there he had me. I couldn't go forward. I had not the energy.

But if he sent me back …

I could fix things.

Fix it so this shit never happened.

Fix it so we won next time.

Painfully, feeling every creak and crackle, I pushed myself to my feet.

"Right," I said. "Do I need to do anything special?"

He shook his head. "No," he told me. "Just stand there. Effect will take little while to take hold. Might help to breathe deeply."

I started breathing deeply, while shimmers of his power began to build up around me. The wind started kicking up again, the grit once more stinging my skin, the chill making me goosepimple. I wrapped my arms around me, looked down at Lisa's grave.

Bye, Lisa, I told her silently. Thanks for … everything.

While I was thinking about it, I told everyone else goodbye as well. Brian, Alec, Aisha, Rachel. Dennis, Weld, Missy, Lily, Sabah.

-ooo-​

The power nimbus around me was making it quite hard to see what was going on outside. Directly overhead, I could see a spiral swirl in the clouds of smoke. Centred on me. That was more than a little sobering.

"How far back am I going?" I called against the hum of his power effect. "Couple of months, a year?"

"Oh my, no," he replied, his very white teeth flashing in the glow of his own power. "Sending you back twenty years."

My mind short-circuited. He did not just say twenty ye-

I went.

-ooo-​

It was a good thing that I had been breathing deeply, because I fell in the ocean.

Water went in my eyes, up my nose, and into my mouth. But I wasn't immediately out of breath, so I was able to gather my wits, tread water, and try to get my bearings.

It was night time, and I was in the ocean, in the tattered remains of my costume, which even now were being worried and torn away by surging waves. Under which was my, well, underwear. Which, while it made reasonable swimwear, was not best suited for holding in body heat. And this water was cold.

But I didn't have an option. Already, the remains of my costume were becoming waterlogged, dragging me down. My armour panels were the worst culprits. I could hardly stay afloat; finding the zipper, I pulled it down, wriggled out of the costume. It sank without a trace. I struggled to keep my head above water.

Out of nowhere, a white hull came slicing past me, heeled far over in the (I realised) howling wind and driving rain. I could have put out my hand and touched it. But in another moment, it was gone.

And a moment later, from the direction it had gone, I heard a terrible splintering crash.

Lightning briefly illuminated the scene, like God's own flash photography. I saw two boats, sailing yachts by the rigging, locked together and slowly sinking.

A wave slapped me in the face, and I choked and went under for a moment, before clawing my way back to the surface again. My glasses were gone, lost to the waves.

I had no idea where I was, no idea which way shore was, and no idea where even the nearest non-sinking boat was.

And then an actinic glare washed over me, pinned me to the surface of the water like a bug to corkboard. I heard a distant shout, and a foghorn. Then the rumble of engines, and a much larger craft shouldered its way through the waves toward me.

I was spending all my time staying afloat, so I had no time to wave. Besides, waving involves lifting one's arms out of the water, when they are much better employed keeping one's head out of the water.

But they'd seen me, and they were coming for me.

I never saw the chunk of wreckage behind me. Just as the rescue boat pulled up alongside me, there was a tremendous smash to the back of my head.

I struggled feebly to swim, to keep my head above water, to reach the boarding net. My fingers tangled in rough fibres, but I had no strength.

A massive splash beside me. Then a strong arm holding me tightly, while another hung on to a rope that was steadily hauled upward. A warm, kindly voice. "I've got you. You'll be fine, now."

A familiar voice.

And then I knew nothing.

-ooo-​

I awoke in a cramped bunk, wrapped in heavy blankets. Despite them, I shivered. The warmth in me had fled with the immersion in the chilly ocean water. But feeling was starting to return.

The bunk rocked back and forth, back and forth. I could feel the thrumming of powerful engines through my spine. I decided that I liked it. I loved boats, especially rescue boats.

There was a constriction about my head, pressure on the side of my face. I wormed my hand up under the blankets, touched –

"Careful, you don't want to loosen the bandage."

The voice was maddeningly familiar. I gave up my attempt to see what had happened to my head, and looked around. My head immediately began to ache strenuously.

The young man who sat there in his ill-fitting storm gear could not have been more than nineteen. He was slender, dark-haired and fresh-faced and wore what my fuzzy eyes interpreted as an anxious expression.

"Hi," I said, faintly.

He smiled. It was like the sun coming out. I frowned. I was looking at him mostly upside down and sideways, not to mention without my glasses, but the face – I knew that face.

"Hi," he replied. "How are you feeling? You took quite a knock to the head."

"I'll tell you once my brain decides to stop rattling," I said. "Are you the one …"

"Who jumped in after you?" he asked, then blushed. "Yeah, that was me."

"Thanks," I told him feelingly. "My name's Taylor," I said. "What's yours?"

"Danny," he said. "Danny Hebert."

End of Part 1-0

Part 1-1​

 

[Evilcat]

Why is this in the index?

 

[Dimensionist]

... Getting real Back To The Future vibes here.

"Marty Taylor, don't seduce your mother father!"

 

[Arythios]

Twenty years?
*low whistle*
Damn.

 

[Peanuckle]

Glad to see this posted here, Ack. It's one of your better stories, I think.

Lisa still gets me right in the feels, every time.

 

[Arythios]

Glad to see this posted here, Ack. It's one of your better stories, I think.

Lisa still gets me right in the feels, every time.

Click to shrink...

This isn't a new story?
Is there a link to the original?

 

[Gundor Gepein]

This isn't a new story?
Is there a link to the original?

Click to shrink...

Here, for one.

 

[Ack]

This isn't a new story?
Is there a link to the original?

Click to shrink...

I'll be posting them all here. Four chapters so far, and working on more.

 

[Fafyrel]

This has a lot of potential. Characterization seems really damn nice thus far, though I haven't seen enough to have any more pressing thoughts on the matter. Looking forward to more when you get it posted here.

 

[Ack]

Recoil

Part 1-1: Recollections​

I stared for a moment. "I'm sorry - what did you say?"

"Danny Hebert," he said, just a little defensively. "It's my name."

"Oh," I said weakly.

Shit, I thought. It's really him. I knew that bewildered look too well, even half upside down and without my glasses. This was too much to deal with, all at once. I closed my eyes for just a second, tried to clear my spinning thoughts.

When I opened them again, the cabin was dark and my only companions were the thrumming of the engines and the smell of sea salt.

I'd had concussions before; the symptoms were not unfamiliar to me. Which helped make the transition, the sense of lost time, a little less jarring. But not much.

Fucking concussions.

It took me a few moments to realise that the blankets had been drawn up to my chin. That must have been Danny – Dad.

I could just see him doing that, I really could. Even twenty years younger, my Dad was still a gentle, caring man. Only ... and here my stomach gave a lurch totally unconnected with the movement of the boat ... only this wasn't a caring gesture to his daughter. He doesn't know me. He's just being nice to the girl whose life he saved.

Which drew attention to the other elephant in the room. This wasn't a joke. Phir Sē really did send me back twenty years.

Fuck.

Okay, how do I deal with this?

I took a deep breath. One step at a time. I'm a time traveller with no way back, and a minor to boot. I have exactly zero documentation here and now. No official existence. This could be a problem.

Gingerly, I reached up, felt the back of my head. There was a bandage that went right around my skull, with a thick pad back there. It was tender, but not overly painful. But the impact had been enough to give me what I hoped was a relatively mild concussion.

Which could give me an out, if I play this right.

However, I did have my other hole card. My powers. Control of insects, which, at this moment, extended to simple marine life.

Cautiously, I extended my powers. I didn't want anyone seeing something strange.

Puzzled, I frowned; I wasn't picking up any bugs on the boat at all. That's weird. Had they disinfected it before they set off? It didn't seem likely.

And then I saw a fly buzzing across the cabin, zig-zagging with the motion of the boat. I focused my attention on it. Nothing. It didn't alter course, and I couldn't sense it.

What the fuck?

And then the realisation hit me.

When Phir Sē sent me back in time, he had also cut me off from my powers. They were gone. I had no access to them.

Fuck.

How the fuck do I deal with this?

I was still trying to figure that one out when I fell asleep again.

This time, however, I didn't simply have a moment of missed time.

This time, I dreamed.

-ooo-​

Lisa and I sat atop the square-sided chunk of rock that had killed her in reality, our legs dangling over the side. Below our feet was a mound of rubble; I did not want to see what it concealed.

We were holding hands, just as we had done ... before. Before she died.

This is a dream, I said. You died. My voice echoed hollowly in my head.

She gave me that irritating vulpine grin of hers. "Well, duh," she agreed readily. "This isn't really happening. It's just your subconscious working things out for itself."

Yeah well ... I said awkwardly. I miss you so goddamn much.

She squeezed my hand. "I know," she said. "And I appreciate it."

There's a logical flaw there somewhere ... I said slowly.

"Silly Taylor," she said fondly. "Logic doesn't belong in dreams." She reached up to her throat with her free hand, and worked the bloodstained bandage off of it.

I looked curiously at her. There wasn’t a mark on her throat, now. What was the bandage for? I asked.

“Oh,” she said off-handedly. “You remember the guy Cody from what I was telling you about the Travellers?”

I nodded. Vaguely, I replied.

“Yeah,” she said. “Well, he fucked up and they basically sold him to Accord. Accord sold him on to the Yàngbǎn. He was pissed about that, so he went and wounded Chevalier pretty badly, and killed Accord. Crushed my windpipe, so I had to give myself a tracheotomy.”

She gave me her fox-like grin. “No fun, let me tell you. For a moment there, I thought he was going to kill me anyway. Then he left. They found me, gave me field surgery, so I could breathe normally. And then Behemoth did his thing and the place fell down anyway.”

Damn, I said. Okay. I have a problem. You're the smartest person in the room. I've lost my powers. How do I go from here? What do I do? How do I fix this?

"Oh, Taylor," she whispered. "Weren't you listening? I already told you how."

I blinked as sand stung my eye. You knew this was going to happen? I asked.

She grinned again. "Didn't I tell you? I know so much more than I did before."

That's not an answer, I replied. The wind was whipping up, sand obscuring the sun.

"I know," she said softly. Her voice was getting very faint.

What's happening? I asked in alarm.

She looked at me, her eyes large and sad. "You're waking up. Kiss before I go?"

I leaned over and kissed her. Her lips tasted of dust and blood.

-ooo-​

I opened my eyes with a gasp, sat half-upright in bed.

A stranger, a woman sat back with a start. She held a stethoscope in one hand.

"Christ," she said. "You gave me a fright. Do you always come awake like that?"

"Who are you?" I asked warily, evading the question. "Where's the boy?"

"The boy - oh, you mean young Hebert.". She smiled. "He's helping out on deck. Oh sorry, my name's Nina. Nina Veder. I'm what passes for the ship's doctor.". A conspiratorial grin. "Just an EMT, but I volunteered, so here I am."

Veder? As in Greg Veder?

I searched her features. As far as I could tell without my glasses, they were good-natured, open, friendly. She looked to be in her early thirties.

She blinked a little at my intense scrutiny. "What?"

I let my eyes drop away. "I ... thought for a moment that you looked familiar. That I might know you. I don't. Sorry.". Extracting my arm from under the covers, I scrubbed at my eyes with the back of my hand. "I think I need glasses or something. Or is blurry vision a side effect of whatever happened to me?"

She frowned. "You don't remember?"

I shook my head. "I'm sorry. I've been trying really hard, to remember anything at all, and all I've been getting out of it is a headache."

"Stop trying," she said at once. "Don't force it. Danny - the Hebert boy - told me you said your name was Taylor. Do you remember doing that?"

I nodded. I couldn't very well deny it. "That's about all I am sure of."

She nodded in return. "Well, here we have a bit of a puzzle. You undoubtedly came out of the water. But none of the yachts have any 'Taylor' listed as a crew member. Or anyone with Taylor as a surname, for that matter."

She frowned. "What's more, everyone else we pulled from the water was fully dressed. You were in your underwear, and you have bruises and cuts – on you that you didn't get from being in the water."

She gave me a searching look. "Do you remember anything about what happened to you?"

I shook my head. "I'm sorry," I said. I was being sincere; Nina Veder was a nice person, no matter what I might think of her distant relative Greg. She didn't deserve to be lied to.

But in order to secure the survival of the human race, I decided coldly. I would lie and cheat and kill if I had to. Lisa deserved a second chance; so did Brian, Alec, Aisha and Rachel.

Me? I was on my second chance.

Even if I didn't have my powers any more. I'd have to make this work somehow. The world was more or less depending on me.

-ooo-​

Moments later, the cabin became remarkably crowded with the entry of two more people. One was Danny; immediately preceding him was a large, heavy-set man with a salt-and-pepper beard. I squinted; without my glasses, it was hard to tell, but …

“I’m George Hebert, master of the Ocean Road,” announced the bearded man. He had the sort of personality that fills even a large room; in this cramped cabin, his presence was almost overpowering. And I knew him also; not as well as I knew Danny, but I did know him.

“So you’re the little thing Danny-boy pulled from the ocean,” he said directly to me.

Danny’s parents had had him relatively late in life; George, my grandfather, was forty-two when Danny was born, and his wife Dorothy (“call me Dot”) was thirty-eight.

I nodded. “Uh – yes, sir,” I replied meekly.

George Hebert had suffered a stroke and died when I was about ten. His wife had survived him by six months before quietly passing away in her sleep. I had met them a few times, but not often and not for long; George had never approved of Mom, and so relations had been strained.

“So what the fuck,” he said bluntly, “were you doing in the water in your fucking skivvies, not even a fucking life jacket? Were you trying to commit suicide or something?”

Like Dad, he had apparently had a bit of a temper. Unlike Dad, he was not afraid to show it.

I lowered my eyes. “I don’t know,” I said softly. “I can’t remember.”

He grabbed my shoulders and shook me – actually shook me. My teeth rattled in my head.

“Can’t remember? You stupid little idiot! Because of you, my only son jumped overboard in a howling storm to save your sorry ass. Both of you could have fucking drowned, because you couldn’t take basic fucking precautions!”

“Captain!” snapped Nina Veder. “Leave her alone! She’s got some sort of amnesia, and you’re not helping!” She grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands off me, then pushed him by main force back toward the entryway. He seemed taken aback; this was probably the only thing that allowed her to move him at all.

Danny stepped in closer. “Sorry about Dad,” he said quietly. “He’s a bit … high-strung.”

I mustered a grateful smile for him, but mainly I was trying to listen in on the conversation that Nina was having with Danny’s father. She was trying to keep her voice down, but the cabin was not large.

“She’s got unusual injuries,” she was explaining in an undertone. “She can’t remember anything before being pulled on board. I think she may have been abducted, kept on one of the yachts …” Still taking, she pushed him out the door.

Danny smiled back at me. “How are you feeling?” he asked. “Your head all right? You caught it a terrific bump back there.”

I shrugged. “I’m getting better.” Of its own accord, my hand crept from under the covers and grasped his. “I want to thank you for saving my life.”

He gulped and squeezed my hand, his face turning red.

“I’m just glad I was there at the right time,” he mumbled.

“So am I,” I replied fervently. “So am I.”

He sat by my bed, and held my hand as if it were his most precious possession.

“So where are you from?” he asked, at length.

I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I said. “Nina – Ms Veder – seems to think I’ve got some sort of amnesia from that bump on the head. All I know is my name, and that’s about it.”

“Oh Christ,” he said, looking stricken. “I’m so sorry, Taylor.”

I smiled at him. “Don’t worry about it, Danny. I’m sure it will all come good. Actually, you can help me with something there. What’s the date today?”

I had a halfway suspicion that I knew. Danny’s next words confirmed it.

“Nineteenth of October, why?”

I made my face a blank. “I thought it might help me remember something, anything.”

“Did it?” he asked eagerly.

I shook my head; his face fell. “Sorry, Danny. But thanks for trying.” I smiled again. “And at least I know something now that I didn’t before.”

I knew a lot that I hadn’t known earlier. I knew the date, and I knew the year.

-ooo-​

Wednesday, October eighteen, nineteen eighty-nine. A large regatta of ocean-going racing yachts had been hit by an unseasonal storm ranging in off the Atlantic. Within minutes, most were damaged and foundering. Rescue boats had put out from Brockton Bay and other communities along the coast; due to the short notice, they had been woefully undercrewed, taking any volunteers who could perform essential duties.

George Hebert had captained one of these boats, the one I was on now. I had not known, though, that Danny had volunteered to go out with his boat on this specific occasion.

Most of the yachts had sunk without a trace; quite a few of the crews had gone down with them. The survivors had told of utter chaos on the water, of collisions and near misses as they tried to keep way on so as not to broach and go under.

I could well believe it, now. It was into that hell that Phir Sē had dropped me. And I would have died there, had it not been for the Ocean Road, and the heroism of Danny Hebert.

I had a great deal to think about. But at least now I knew where I was starting from.

I have a lot of planning to do.

-ooo-​

By the time the Ocean Road neared the coast, I felt well enough to get out on deck. Danny was the only person on board who was anywhere near my size, so I wore a pair of his trousers with the belt pulled in to the last notch, and a pullover that would have made me a good-sized tent.

The rest of the survivors that had been pulled on board the Ocean Road were men and women of mature age, and they eyed me with puzzlement, obviously having no idea where I came into the situation. I preferred not to let the matter come up, sticking as close to Danny as I could, to discourage questions.

“Why are you squinting?” he asked, as we peered toward the coast.

“My eyes are all blurry,” I replied truthfully. “I think I need glasses or something.”

“Wait here,” he said, and disappeared below. I did as he said; it was nice, to be out in the sunlight, to taste the sea air.

A line from the Bible passed through my mind. Those that go down to the sea in ships …

In a very short time, he reappeared, with something in his hand. “Here,” he said. “Try these.”

I took them; they were glasses.

“I can’t take your glasses,” I said. “You need them.”

“Spare pair,” he told me. “See if they help.”

Such was his eagerness to be of assistance, I agreed. When I fitted them over my face, my vision cleared. They weren’t perfect, but they were close enough to my prescription that it helped a lot.

I looked at his face, seeing it clearly for the first time. The anxious expression, eager to please.

Paradoxically, now that I could see him more clearly, the less he looked like how I remembered my father; the general lines of resemblance were subsumed in the finer detail, the flushed cheeks, the full head of hair, the puppy-dog look.

“Well?” he asked, after I had not spoken for several moments.

“They’re perfect,” I said quietly. “Thank you.”

Stretching up – I was tall for my age, but then, so was he – I kissed him on the cheek. He blushed crimson.

We looked at each other clearly for the first time. I forgot that he was supposed to grow up to become my father; right at that moment, he was the gawky teenage boy who had risked his life to pull me from the water, who had gifted me with sight once more.

A wordless moment hung between us, stretched.

And then, whoever was in the wheelhouse had obviously spotted us, because a moment later, the foghorn cut loose. We both jumped and laughed. The moment passed, and we turned to look forward over the bow once more.

-ooo-​

The storm had blown over, leaving skies clear and blue. Under our feet, the boat moved forward at a fast clip, hitting the waves and cleaving through them in a barrage of spray. Breathing deep of the moisture-laden air, I stood up toward the bow with Danny as he told me about Brockton Bay.

Even allowing for a hometown boy's pride, he painted a glorious picture. Business was booming, there were no gangs to speak of – even Lung was no doubt an intractable child in Japan at the moment – and things were looking up.

I was going over the gradually growing 'to-do' list in my head – adding 'make sure my parents meet at the right time' – when I gradually became aware that there was something missing from the harbour as the Ocean Road made its way into Brockton Bay proper. Something off to the right, to the north, wasn't right.

I had already realised that the Protectorate base in the Bay wouldn't be there - the Protectorate didn't even exist yet - but this was something else.

It took me a moment or two to figure it out, from this angle. I could see merchant ships, container ships, tied up at dockside, loading or unloading cargoes. Doing business. Steaming out to sea, or coming in to port. And then, like one of those puzzles where you have to hold your eyes just right, it clicked into perspective.

The Boat Graveyard wasn’t there. Lord's Port was still in full operation.

All my life, the Graveyard had been a blight, an eyesore, on the city. All those ships, unable to sail away, gradually taking on water, sinking at their moorings. Gradually releasing pollution into the Bay.

And now – it had never been. There was the possibility that it never would be.

Something to think about.

-ooo-​

As the Ocean Road neared its berth, I was startled to see a brightly coloured craft chugging its way across the Bay, heading from right to left. It seemed so different from the rest of the water traffic, neither inbound nor outbound.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing.

“Oh,” said Danny cheerfully. “That’s the ferry. We can go on it later, if you want. It’s a fun ride. It’s been in continuous operation for …”

I tuned him out. This was the ferry, upon which my father would strive against bureaucratic indifference and stonewalling, year after year, trying to get reinstated. Here, it was in its heyday.

Here was Brockton Bay itself, in its heyday.

The ferry was just a symbol of that, minor but important.

I can see it all, I realised. I can see the way it was, the way it might become.

I can change things.

It was a sobering thought.

But can I change them for the better, or will I change them for the worse?

And what can I actually accomplish without powers?

It was an even more sobering thought.

End of Part 1-1

Part 1-2​

 

[TerraBull]

So a chance to meet the Major Villains of Brockton Bay before they became the threats they were?

The Major threats before they became threats?

Save Sphere before he joined the S9?

Change Jack Slash?

If all else failed, kill him?

 

[enderverse]

So a chance to meet the Major Villains of Brockton Bay before they became the threats they were?

The Major threats before they became threats?

Save Sphere before he joined the S9?

Change Jack Slash?

If all else failed, kill him?

Click to shrink...

Just kill King, without King starting the S9 Jack is a great hero. Taylor won't know that specifically but its an relatively easy thing that would drail a lot of bad things.

 

[TerraBull]

Just kill King, without King starting the S9 Jack is a great hero. Taylor won't know that specifically but its an relatively easy thing that would drail a lot of bad things.

Click to shrink...

So Taylor decides to influence Jack instead?

 

[Ack]

So Taylor decides to influence Jack instead?

Click to shrink...

One problem with your plan.

Jack and Harbinger killed King in 1987, two years ago. Jack Slash has been leading the Nine for two years already.

Oh, and Jack was apparently an evil bastard even before he triggered. By all impressions, he's fully in line with his shard's tendency toward violence and conflict.

 

[Evilcat]

One problem with your plan.

Jack and Harbinger killed King in 1987, two years ago. Jack Slash has been leading the Nine for two years already.

Oh, and Jack was apparently an evil bastard even before he triggered. By all impressions, he's fully in line with his shard's tendency toward violence and conflict.

Click to shrink...

Opposite in fact, Broadcast was a passive shard...relatively. King just messed him up good and proper. Recall that in Edens path he was a member of the Super friends.

 

[SwiftRosenthal]

Just kill King, without King starting the S9 Jack is a great hero. Taylor won't know that specifically but its an relatively easy thing that would drail a lot of bad things.

Click to shrink...

King was killed in '87, so she's at least two years too late for that. The only thing she can do to stop Jack is kill him.

Edit: Imped by author

 

[sun tzu]

Well... At this point in her personal timeline, Taylor already knows about Contessa's path to victory and the Triumvirate's involvement with Cauldron. Her optimal path to changing things probably involves a long talk with Legend.

 

[Ack]

Opposite in fact, Broadcast was a passive shard...relatively. King just messed him up good and proper. Recall that in Edens path he was a member of the Super friends.

Click to shrink...

What are you referring to?

 

[sun tzu]

What are you referring to?

Click to shrink...

The first part refers to Scion's interlude, where he wonders how Jack Slash got to be such an aggressive jackass despite having a fairly passive shard. The second part refers to Contessa's interlude, where we see how Eden intended things to go; Jack was the superhero "Black King".
Still, Number Man's interlude does suggest that the reason Jack's so dangerous is that he is very much in tune with his passenger, due to his fondness of conflict.

 

[enderverse]

What are you referring to?

Click to shrink...

In an nonexistent alternate timeline Jack Slash is known as the Black Knight. Member of that version of the Triumvirate equivalent.

 

[Evilcat]

The first part refers to Scion's interlude, where he wonders how Jack Slash got to be such an aggressive jackass despite having a fairly passive shard. The second part refers to Contessa's interlude, where we see how Eden intended things to go; Jack was the superhero "Black King".
Still, Number Man's interlude does suggest that the reason Jack's so dangerous is that he is very much in tune with his passenger, due to his fondness of conflict.

Click to shrink...

In an nonexistent alternate timeline Jack Slash is known as the Black Knight. Member of that version of the Triumvirate equivalent.

Click to shrink...

^^^
This, the implication is that King is the reason hes an evil prick.

 

[Ack]

^^^
This, the implication is that King is the reason hes an evil prick.

Click to shrink...

Hm. Going to have to read up on that.

 

[Ack]

^^^
This, the implication is that King is the reason hes an evil prick.

Click to shrink...

Reading that, I get the impression that humanity was supposed to separate into nation-states defended by parahumans, not do the whole heroes vs villains thing. Thus, in such a world, parahumans would not prey on normals, but instead combat one another and the pseudo-Endbringers.

In short, humanity took the 'gift' of powers and, in the entities' eyes, squandered it.

 

[enderverse]

Reading that, I get the impression that humanity was supposed to separate into nation-states defended by parahumans, not do the whole heroes vs villains thing. Thus, in such a world, parahumans would not prey on normals, but instead combat one another and the pseudo-Endbringers.

In short, humanity took the 'gift' of powers and, in the entities' eyes, squandered it.

Click to shrink...

Mostly the Endbringers thing, there are 20 of them in that timeline. And the entire point of loaning out powers to intelligent planets is that we are better at improving them.

And them they blow up the planet so I don't know what you mean by squandering, they planned on killing all of the humans on every version of earth in all the alternate realities no matter what we did with the powers.