21

Monday, January 24th, 2011

Brockton Bay, New Hampshire, Earth Bet

Arcadia High School​

On the way to school I found myself monitoring people on the bus for suspicious behavior and thinking about where snipers would have angles on me when I was outside. The security charges were...illuminating, if a bit paranoid. Still, I would feel much better when I was able to produce some things just in case I was attacked again.

At school I was called in to meet with Arcadia's principal and several department heads before classes. There was a great deal of congratulations on how well I'd done on the placement exams, and they offered me a full slate of honors courses.

With some effort I managed to talk them into letting me do quite a bit of independent study time. I didn't come out and say that their honors courses didn't have anything to offer me, but I managed to make it clear through asking some questions about how far each syllabus went and talking about some (imagined) project ideas 'I'd been working on' that were well beyond it. That performance combined with what had to be perfect scores on my assessment tests let me sell it.

I could whip up some sufficiently impressive projects for the teenage genius I was posing as in very little time, and only having classes half the day would give me a lot of time to do actually useful things while also getting socialization and a reasonably normal-seeming civilian cover.

Vicky dragged me off during lunch to the bathroom for some private 'girl talk'.

"I'm so mad at my mom," she said, after we made sure we were alone. "I tried to talk her around but she's all freaked out. I don't know what you told her, but she won't talk about anything. I really wanted you to be able to join us."

I sighed, leaning against a wall. "It's okay. I half expected it anyway. I had to bring a whole lot of difficult stuff out in the open because it was all festering, so it was really painful for your mom. It means things are likely going to change, and people can be scared of that. Even if the change is for the better."

"Still, you just want to help. She shouldn't be holding that against you," Vicky insisted, throwing up her arms. "Why does she make everything so difficult?"

"Some pretty awful stuff has happened to her in her life. She's carrying deep scars, and honestly doing really well despite them. They would have broken a lot of people. But they're still hard things to wrestle with," I said. "Give her time?"

"But you need help! You said yourself you needed a lab and protection and stuff," she said, concern clear on her face. "If you can't do what you need to do are you going to be okay?"

This was Vicky at her best, always looking out for people. "It's okay. I found another option for getting a lab set up without anyone noticing, so that's not an issue," I reassured her, and nudged her with my elbow. "As for protection, you came when I needed help, remember?"

Vicky tapped her chin. "That's true, I did. That was fun, by the way. I can't usually go all out like that." She glanced down before looking up at me again. "I've been trying to work on that whole impulse to hit things that you told me my power is doing. I noticed I'm definitely less angry after I get to fight someone. I can kind of see how it's messing with me, making me antsy when I don't go patrolling."

"It'll be hard to work on, but worth it," I assured her. "It sounds like you've made a lot of progress already."

"Ehhh," Vicky said, wincing. "Being aware of it, yeah, trying to get it to stop, not so much."

"You'll get there eventually," I said, willing my confidence to come across in my tone.

She smiled. "So," she said, changing the subject, "how are you building a lab without anyone knowing?"

I couldn't help but laugh at being reminded of Mouse Protector. "Turns out I can actually get away with just putting everything in my basement if I get someone to teleport things in."

"A teleporter? But who...oh, that's why she was there in the van! You're friends with Mouse Protector!" Vicky squealed.

I winced, and Vicky lowered her voice. "Sorry. But that's awesome! I've heard so many ridiculous stories about her through the cape grapevine. Capevine?"

"Capevine works," I said lightly, and left my spot to look outside the bathroom to ensure we weren't overheard before returning. "She can be pretty funny, especially if you like terrible, terrible puns in life or death situations."

"That sounds like her, all right," Vicky said with an amused smirk. "So how did you manage to get her to help you?"

"The Slaughterhouse Nine were going to ambush her. I gave her a heads up so it wouldn't happen."

Vicky paled and gave me a long look. "Really?" she asked.

I nodded once.

"Eff," she swore.

"That about sums it up," I agreed, and glanced at my phone. "We should probably get back. One thing, do you think you could get Amy to talk to me after school? It's not urgent, but it's very important, for Amy's sake."

Vicky nodded solemnly. "Yeah. Yeah, I can. Is Ames going to be okay?"

I patted Vicky on the shoulder to reassure her. "The two of us are going to make sure she's going to be okay. She deserves to be."

"She sure does," Vicky said, and I led the way back to the cafeteria.

Lunch went as expected until the end, when Dean caught my eye as we all left. I let him pull me aside into the vestibule of a side entrance to the school, away from any other ears.

"Vista and Agent Johnson made it. Vista wanted me to pass on her thanks," he reported, voice low.

"Thank you," I answered, grateful and relieved. A dead agent was something I didn't want weighing on my conscience, even if realistically there was nothing I would have been allowed to do to save him. "Is Missy holding up alright?"

He winced at my use of her name, although he suppressed it quickly. "Yeah. Less traumatized than most anyone else would be. I think she idolizes you a bit."

Huh.

I suppose an older girl without powers who saves her life by taking on Hookwolf alone like a badass would be exactly the sort of thing Missy would idolize, wouldn't it?

I knew I should probably feel worried that there was something wrong with the girl, but I couldn't help but want to cheer her on somehow. If Missy wanted to be an action hero when she grew up, more power to her.

"I'll keep that in mind. Perhaps I can offer her a spar at some point. She has a lot of promise," I mused.

"She's just a kid," Dean objected, disapproval clear in his tone.

I nodded. "She is. But she's going to be a fighter when she grows up. Better she learns all she can now."

He looked at me intently, gauging my expression.

I sighed. "She's twelve, I'm not going to do anything nefarious," I told him.

"Fine, I'll pass it along," he conceded.

It was good that he was protective of her, but that reminded me of something else. "Have you thought about talking to her, by the way?"

He squinted, looking confused. "What?"

"Her crush. Ignoring it isn't really going to make it go away. I know sitting down and talking about it will be awkward for you and painful for her, but it might be better than letting the elephant in the room get fat laying around eating all your peanuts."

I frowned, and Dean's expression shifted from confused to incredulous.

"That metaphor sounded better in my head," I explained. "But my point is that while it could backfire, communicating usually has better odds of maintaining good interpersonal relationships over the long run than not communicating. Even when it's hard. Maybe especially then."

Dean sighed heavily, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

"It's your call, Dean. It's your life, and you're the empath. I just hate to see people get hurt."

He opened his eyes again to look at me, and I shrugged. "Really," I said.

"Sure," he replied, sounding distinctly unconvinced. "But maybe you're not wrong. I'll think about it."

I nodded. "We'd best get going, or we'll be late."

Vicky arranged for me to meet Amy alone after school. After a few words Amy led me to an empty classroom and stepped inside. I followed, closing the door behind us.

She turned to face me. "So, what's this about? Vicky was pretty insistent. You don't need to thank me or anything."

I raised an eyebrow at that, then shook my head. "No, nothing like that. Although I am grateful. Are you familiar with The Christmas Carol?"

Amy gave me a confused look. "The one with Scrooge and the ghosts?"

I smiled. "Yes. Today, I am here to be your three ghosts, Amelia Lavere."

She tensed. "My name is Amy Dallon."

"It is," I agreed cautiously. I had to be careful here. "But it is not the name you were born with. I offer you secrets of your past, your present, and your future. And I can offer advice on how to change that future if you wish."

"You're a precog? That's not possible, you don't have coronas," Amy sputtered, taking a step back. "...That thing in your brain, what is it?" she asked, sudden trepidation in her voice.

This was a chance to confirm my theory. "Does it look like a molecular lattice woven between neurons? Mostly made of carbon?" I queried in return.

"Yes," she muttered. "Connected to a weird inorganic nodule that I can't see inside."

I quirked my head. "Not sure what that part is. I'll have to figure it out. The rest is called a neural lace. It's a sort of computer that grows in the brain and interfaces with it."

"A tinker experimented on you?" Amy gasped, looking horrified.

I shook my head. "No, I'm pretty sure nothing to do with me is tinkertech at all. I know you're good at keeping secrets, so I'll share one with you I haven't shared with anyone else. The lace is future technology. I'm a time traveler."

She took a deep breath, and looked away. "Bullshit."

"Is it? Your biological father was Marquis. Your power of absolute control over biology is an unlocked branch off of his power to control bone. He took you in after your mother died of illness. The Brockton Bay Brigade captured him because they raided his home and he couldn't fight them all while also protecting you. He made them promise not to give you up for foster care. That's why Carol adopted you, and why nothing you do can ever make her happy. She hated and loathed your birth father, and some of that dislike has transferred in her head unfairly to you," I recited, letting each sentence fall like a hammer blow.

Amy paled, which meant it was time to take the biggest risk of this conversation.

I let my tone shift to be quietly compassionate. "Carol should never have taken you in. She was not psychologically prepared for it. But that is not your fault, Amy. Just like your feelings for your sister are not your fault."

Her expression shifted to panic. "No, you can't-"

She stepped toward me, arm reaching out.

From an upset and desperate Panacea, a touch was an existential threat. I had to keep my distance, so I reacted.

I deliberately tumbled backwards so her arm missed, and brought myself up smoothly in a backpedal to maneuver the teacher's desk between us.

"Don't panic," I continued, hands up, showing my palms. "I'm not going to tell anyone, Amy. I am here to help you. Your sister's aura spends most of its time telling everyone around her to love her and pay attention to her. You went through puberty with that voice in your head all the time, and it left a scar. It is not your fault. Or your sister's, really. She was just a teenager, and didn't know what she was doing. She would never, ever hurt you intentionally."

I wasn't actually sure Vicky's aura was the root cause of Amy's problem. It was a fair bet it at least worsened it, because her level of obsessiveness with her sister practically screamed 'master effect', but it might not actually matter what the truth was. If I gave Amy a way to not blame herself for what was going on that would be a massive psychological relief for her, something she desperately needed. Whether it was the aura exaggerating the issue or Amy just developed inappropriate feelings on her own, I would sort it out later. Either way, believing that it had an outside cause would make it easier for her to go about dealing with it instead of blaming herself.

Amy's voice was thick. "It's not me?"

I shook my head. "It's the aura. Not you. You love your sister, but not that way."

Amy took a breath, and it came out a keening cry. She slumped forward, her arms supporting her against the desk.

"I thought," she started, but it choked off into proper sobbing.

The teacher's desk had a box of tissues, so I pushed them closer to her and waited at a safe distance.

That much catharsis took a while.

Eventually she grabbed a wad of tissues and started to clean herself up.

"I don't know if I can just stop, though. Even knowing. It's hopeless."

I smiled sadly at her. "Your sister already knows that her aura is hurting you, although I didn't tell her how. She's going to work on her control. But you can also talk to a professional and work through things with time and perspective. And if that isn't enough, I'm willing to help."

Amy shook her head. "I don't want to talk to anyone."

"It's your decision. Let's talk about the future that happened where I wasn't here and we never had this conversation," I said.

Amy gave me a hard look. "You don't know anything about the future."

"In the future I came here to prevent, your stressors - your secret feelings for Vicky, your lack of positive parental attention, your fear of what you could do with your power, and your guilt over not being able to heal everyone - only grew with time. Other things happened that were extremely stressful on top of all of that. You have a will of iron, Amy, but if something pounds on it hard enough for long enough, even iron will crack."

"No," Amy said in horror. "No, I wouldn't."

"In that timeline, under all that stress, it was only a matter of time until you had a moment of weakness. Afterwards you volunteered to go to the Birdcage because you were so terrified that you'd do something even worse that it was the only way you could feel safe."

"What do I do?" she whispered.

"You wanted your sister to love you back," I said quietly.

Amy wrapped her arms around herself, eyes closed, shaking. "No. No no no. Not to Vicky. Never, ever to Vicky. You're making it up."

"That future does not have to come to pass, Amy. You are a good person. Noble. Strong. You deserve a bright future. But you are under an incredible strain that no one can bear alone forever. To get the bright future you deserve all of this needed to be confronted and headed off before it was too late. This conversation is the first step."

Her eyes snapped open. "You're lying!"

"You've had the passing thought of how easy it would be, haven't you?" I asked, guessing. "To change her."

Amy said nothing.

"Do you really think it's impossible that you would do something you regret in a moment of desperate loneliness on your worst day, if you keep getting beaten down until you crack?"

Amy closed her eyes again, and gripped herself tighter.

"You can get to a better place, Amy. You can build a better future for yourself. But it's going to take courage. I can't take the step for you."

I waited, and watched a series of agonized expressions cross Amy's face.

"I don't want to hurt Vicky," she said at last.

Sometimes it was easier for someone in a bad place to do something for someone else's sake than their own.

That would be something for Amy to work on, but for now I would take the win.

"I know. You're a good person, Amy. I wouldn't be here to save you if you weren't."

She took a long breath, and let it out slowly.

"I'm still not sure I believe you, but maybe there's a chance you could be right. What do I do?" she asked.

"I imagine at this point the hospital would probably hide bodies for you if you asked, yeah?"

Amy rolled her eyes, but she didn't refute it.

"I'll take that as a yes," I quipped. "You know the people there. If you ask for them to quietly arrange for you to have regular time with a really, really good therapist, do you think the administration could make that happen?"

"...Yeah, probably," she admitted, grudgingly.

"If you want you can tell them you're feeling really stressed out by all the stuff you see when you're healing and need to talk to someone about it. They won't think any less of you. I'm sure the doctors have all been there at some point in their careers. Hell, they'll probably respect you for having the maturity to see a problem and take care of it. There are plenty of adults who aren't that mature," I said. "And then anything you tell the therapist would stay between you and them. Even things about Vicky."

Amy let out a long breath.

"There's something else that might help," I added, knowing that sometimes the best help for fighting out of depression was a real hope that things could, in fact, get better. "What if I told you that you could save millions of lives without having to spend all your time healing?"

Her eyes squinted. "I'm not really a hero or anything. I can't save people like Vicky can."

I gave her a look. "That's not the only way to help people. You can do something even better. Do you know how insulin is made?"

Amy gave me a confused look at the transition.

"A long time ago some brilliant scientists put the gene that codes for insulin production in some bacteria. They put the bacteria in a vat, kept them fed, and showed that the bacteria would happily reproduce and pump out tons of insulin that can be used to save people's lives. That's where all the insulin made today comes from."

Her eyes widened. I continued.

"You can make things like that, Amy. Bacteria or plants that produce medicines, or new vaccines. I'm not totally sure about the limits of your power, but you might be able to make it so that infectious diseases are things people just don't get anymore. You can probably come up with things that heal people from chronic disease and cancer and everything else short of trauma almost as well as you can, even if they're slower. You wouldn't have to do it all yourself, or feel guilty about all the people you don't save, because you would be saving them even when you weren't there.

"Beyond medicine there's all sorts of stuff you can do, like make bacteria that create plastic without any need for fossil fuels, or that desalinate water, or that repair concrete, or help with manufacturing, or do any of a million useful things."

"I can't-that's biotinkering!" she shouted, hands up defensively.

I shook my head firmly. "It's not tinkering if everything you do is understandable and reproducible, right? It's just biology. Stuff that scientists could do eventually, with many years of time and lots of funding, you can do in minutes thanks to your power and the insight into biology it gives you. There are a whole lot of lives to be saved, a crumbling world to be rebuilt and improved. I'm sure there are ways to work through the public relations issues. Given what you can offer, I don't think many people would be in a hurry to despise you. Especially with all the time you've spent building up goodwill already by healing. Or you could do it through a proxy of some sort, so nobody knew it was you."

She hugged herself. "No, I can't."

Perceiving that I'd pushed a bit too hard, I nodded. "Okay."

"Just like that?" she asked, eyes narrowing.

I shrugged. "I just want you to know you have the option. That you have other ways to help, if healing or the stress of not healing gets to be too much. I can work through a lot of the same problems myself anyway, it will just take longer."

"...I heard some of the doctors talking about some crazy papers someone published online. Was that you?" she asked, giving me a look that seemed suspicious.

I smiled. "Could be," I said, and took several steps towards the door. "Take care of yourself, okay? Things will get better. Don't hesitate to call if you need help. You're a good person, and you deserve help."

"Thanks," she replied, uncertain. "Actually, what's your number?"

"I'm sure it'll be in your phone right about now," I said.

Her phone dinged as Prometheus added me to her contacts, and likely left a fork.

Amy took it out and looked at it, incredulous. "How did you just do that?"

I gave her my best enigmatic smile and left.

That evening I put two charges each in electrical and mechanical engineering and one in physics. While I mulled over the useful ideas that came along with the new charges I worked on things.

Mouse Protector brought the x-ray band lenses and other parts I needed for the x-ray laser. Assembling that took several hours, but once it was done I got it cranking out the nanites I needed, and added them to my nanoassembler once I got it finished calibrating.

Late that evening I finally got far enough that the nanoassembler was useable. If there had been champagne in the house I might have cracked a bottle.

Finally, finally, I could get things done.

My first creation was a good test. It was a pendant that looked like a round moonstone cabochon set in silver.

That was a disguise, of course. In reality it was a battery and a very, very bright light optimized for short duration flashes of maximum intensity. It could temporarily blind everyone in a general direction who had their eyes open when it went off, and permanently blind someone unfortunate enough to take a full power flash at close range.

I could wear it everywhere and all I would need to do is close my eyes and give it a good slap and I should be able to non-lethally disable a group of attackers for a several minutes.

My second creation was a box that took raw reagents and did complex chemical synthesis, controlled by bluetooth. I got it started on several organic compounds I wanted for a build I'd do the next day.

And finally I got started on some of the parts I needed for a small fusion reactor, starting with the gamma ray laser. They would be long prints, so doing it before I went to bed made sense. After the reactor would come the compact particle accelerator that I could use to manufacture the exotic matter needed for an FTL drive, among other uses, and positrons for use as drive fuel and as a munition.

I had plans that would require both.

With the evening's parts modeled and entered into the assembler I went to work out and prepare for bed.

It had been a productive day. Hopefully Amy would be alright. I'd been about as subtle as a hammer to the skull, but all the subtle approaches would have required spending a considerable amount of time around her, something that would have been hard to arrange. And there would have been the risk of her losing it because of some unexpected traumatic event happening before my therapeutic efforts came to fruition.

The fast method also had risks, but so far it seemed like I'd gotten away with it. Time would tell.

Thanks to @Corvus Black for proofreading and input, and @Criminalpidgeon for the consult. I imagine those don't often happen for fictional patients, so that's one for the memoirs, Doc.

On a personal note, I've sorted out school matters. I successfully negotiated a big scholarship offer at a school that wasn't the school I expected to attend, but that I'm actually pretty enthusiastic about. It's been an absolutely mad admissions cycle - applications were apparently up more than 30% because of the pandemic, everyone got waitlisted at their safety schools, and one school even stopped accepting deposits from admitted applicants, which has never happened before - but I'm glad I can say it's over for me and I actually made out pretty well, with a solid plan on how to move forward.

Thank you all for your tremendous support, for your understanding, and for caring about this story of mine. It's been a tremendously positive experience, and I'm deeply grateful for that gift.

Next time on Scientia Weaponizes the Future, Scientia borrows the entire Brockton Bay PRT without asking and returns it to Piggot only slightly dented.Last edit