Chapter 8

A Wizard In Alexandria's Court

Chapter Eight

Outsmarting The Empire

by Skysaber

OoOoO

Story Day Six, April 11th 2011, Monday - Mid-Morning

OoOoO

"Jared-Darling?" Rachel asked.

"Yes, dear?" he replied automatically.

She was in a curious mood, and cocked her head accordingly as she asked the question. "Sunday, after winning your bet with Lisa, you disappeared underwater. Where did you go?"

He smiled, pleased someone noticed. "I have some safehouses underwater that I have been developing for nearly a week. I went there."

"Oh," she replied. Still curious, she then asked, "When will we get to see them?"

Since this conversation had not happened in privacy, they had by now drawn the attention of all present.

He thought about it for a moment. "I'll have to pump the water out of them first."

There was some surprise over this statement.

"How can you visit them if they don't have any air?" Dinah was the first to ask.

"Weeell," he drawled out happily, sprawling himself into a couch, arms spread wide over the back of it. "Have you ever played Freeze Tag?"

Dinah nodded, while Missy asked, "What does that have to do with anything?"

Jared let her question slide, seeing as how it was going to answer itself in a moment. Instead, he stayed focused on Dinah. "And when you played, you picked some 'safe' zone, where the person who was 'it' couldn't go, correct?"

Dinah nodded again.

Jared then answered both their questions. "Having someplace to go where others can't follow is mind bogglingly useful, even outside of childrens' games. The number of capes who can operate underwater is so low that, statistically, it approaches zero. Having a base that you have to be able to breathe water to enter means almost no one can follow. That makes it a lot easier to keep it secret."

Now Missy was really curious. "But I know the Protectorate keeps tabs on the Bay with sonar. And construction is noisy, especially underwater. How did you keep anything a secret from that?"

"That was the easy part." He grinned. "I have a spell called Machine Invisibility, which among other things renders me undetectable to sonar. So all I had to do was swim up to all of the sonar detectors in the Bay, the Protectorate only maintains a couple (its expensive getting things to operate in that mess), and build boxes around them, then pump out all of the water, leaving them in vacuum. Vacuum transmits no noise, so their sensors are completely deafened, and they don't even know it."

"How do you know that they don't know?" Vista asked, slipping into professional mode again. "They fake lots of things."

Jared acknowledged the point. "Because of the boat graveyard, sonar signals in the Bay have a ton of what they call 'noise', false or useless signals that get bounced off and around the old wrecks and sunken hulls, creating echoes that rebound and create more echoes, just like shouting into a cave would. So there are a ton of useless data, and just messy returns that, in the end, everybody just uses computers to filter out. So since you can be certain those sonar returns are going through a computer before anybody listens to them anyway, ask yourself which is more efficient, having a dedicated team of highly trained - and thus highly paid, sonar operators listening to that feed around the clock, when most of the time there will be nothing useful for them to listen for, or do you just program the computer to alert you to anything unusual?"

Jared grinned. "Now recall, the Rig is Protectorate property, and the head of the local Protectorate is an efficiency Tinker."

"... and Tinkers like and trust machines. Got it." Lisa nodded. "Armsmaster would have seen to it that things got done efficiently, even if he did not do anything Tinkertech with it. So it's all computerized."

He nodded. "And those computers have a list of signals they are to alert him to, if they overhear. That's the efficient way. The sonar returns change with the seasons, water temperature, and with each coming in and going out of the tide, so they can't just alert him to any changes because they would be alerting him all of the time. Even the garbage shifting in the water flows creates whole new signals. No, he has his sonar listening for certain types of signal returns that may mean danger, you can be sure of it. That's the only efficient way to run things. But he made a city-boy mistake, one those raised in the woods always know."

"What's that?" Nearly everybody asked all at once.

"It's that silence can be one of the most dangerous things you can hear," he answered.

They all paused, considering that bit of wisdom.

"The best part about this method," Jared reported, "is that his machines won't even tell him there is a problem. All of his sensors are still there. All of the self-diagnostics are running fine. System checks will reveal that everything is fully functional. They're not even completely deaf, they are still hearing a little, a tiny little bit transmitted through the ground, and the cable they are attached to, because that cable still passes through the water. So they won't even report they are hearing nothing. It's just what they're hearing won't be useful. They are not seismic sensors meant to interpret signals that come through the ground. They are sonar. To them, stuff that comes through the ground, or vibrations of their cable, are just noise to be filtered out. So they will report that they are still detecting and filtering out noise. But the chance of that sonar net to actually hear anything useful approaches zero."

Jared grinned. "I even used Mending cantrips on all of his sonar detectors before I boxed them in, to ensure they were all in tip-top condition, to arrange for the longest time before anything needs maintenance again. So, since all of his parts are sending off 'all is well' signals, it should be years before he notices a thing."

They all laughed.

Then Taylor asked the question. "So, you can breathe water?"

"Absolutely!" he agreed. "You each will too, once we reach that point in your augmentations. Like I said, it is a mind-bogglingly useful ability, to be able to go where others cannot easily follow." Here his eyes grew sly. "And it is even more useful when others do not know you can go there safely. One of the Rules is: The Best Place To Hide Is Always In The Mind Of Your Opponent. In other words, if they can't imagine looking for you someplace, that's the best place to be if you don't want to be found. And unless you let it be known that you can breathe water, why would anyone bother looking for you underwater?"

"So you are thinking this should be one of our group's secrets?" Lisa inquired.

"Yes," he replied.

She shrugged, calling, "All in favor?" and looking around, while raising her own hand.

Everyone had a hand in the air.

"So carried," she replied.

"So when do we get to breathe water?" Dinah asked eagerly, as it sounded like a great place to avoid Coil.

"In time," he smiled. "It gives best results if it comes after certain other things. In fact, most of the special abilities I plan to grant you are something like that, so it's best if they all come in a certain order. Don't worry. I won't rush it, but you won't miss out on anything, either."

He glanced around, seeing them all around and needing something else to occupy their attention for the moment, he declared, "You know, there is something you can all do that would hurry along the next step. Anyone interested?"

They all were, and said as much.

He smiled, and stood up. Crossing over to the den's desk, he took out a slip of paper and wrote something on it, then handed the pad off to Lisa. "Alright, I need all of you to go shopping. You need clothes, toiletries, computers, personal electronics, decorations for your rooms, everything."

Cheers and a flurry of activity followed that statement.

OoOoO

On the drive down to town, in another large V8 van, with Jared driving; Lisa, who had been quietly computing on her laptop, suddenly called out, "Well, that's funny."

"What is?" Dinah and Missy both looked up from what they'd been doing, curious.

Eyes still on her screen, and a smile rapidly forming on her face, Lisa answered, "I've just been observing the PRT's weekly meeting, using their own microphones, cameras and security system to do so, and they are demanding that Shadow Stalker turn over all of the money she stole from the ABB."

"But she didn't steal any... oh, that *is* funny." Taylor grinned. It was not a nice or a friendly grin. It was the grin of long-awaited justice received.

A 'finally, bad things were happening to my tormentors', kind of grin.

A summation of events got quickly made for Vista, that just as quickly got her giggling in glee.

"Yeah." Lisa concluded, "and it gets better. The PRT have only an incomplete idea of how much was stolen, but still they are demanding that Stalker turn over hundreds of millions of dollars that she doesn't have. We do. They promised to return 2% to her, after she turned it all over to them for some bureaucratic reasons they'd failed to mention. But they're liars. She'd be lucky to get a quarter of one percent back if she did have the money and did turn it over. And what's even funnier? After Shadow Stalker stormed out of that meeting, and Piggot got hauled off on a medical cart, it got revealed that Armsmaster is getting a higher percentage of that money than Stalker, even if they had planned to keep their word. They've already budgeted for 10% of her plunder to get added to his Tinker budget for this year."

After typing for several more seconds, she smirked. "And he's already spending it. Wow. That's not cheap."

"What isn't?"

Eyes on the screen, the foxy Thinker supplied, "The Protectorate has a resource Tinker in Texas going by Granholme. She produces crystal chips which provide a huge boost to processing - and of course the supply can never match the demand, so her prices are insane, even for those who pass the screening tests for actually needing them, already belong to the Protectorate or Guild, and are important enough to get a place on her waiting list. Dragon buys most of her supply. Now Armsmaster has placed an official order for several complete sets. Wow! It looks like he's planning on upgrading all of the computers in his laboratory with them, as well as building himself a complete new set of field gear; new halberd, armor, motorcycle, the works."

Vista frowned. That seemed wasteful when he already had all of that. She knew Tinker budgets were limited. Kid Win complained about his all of the time. Not to mention that everything they made had to get approved first before anyone could use it in the field. "Why wouldn't he just upgrade the equipment he already has?"

Lisa took a bite out of a sandwich she had prepared for herself, for snacking on while hacking. "Because he is adding more than just those crystal chips. He's placed several orders, covering most of the resource Tinkers the Protectorate has. Looks like all twenty million he was projected to receive is going to get spent today. Right now, even. At that point, adding that many parts he's faced with doing a complete rebuild anyway, and building all new gear is not too different in scope. Besides, if he tears apart the equipment he is using to add the parts to upgrade them, he is out of action until those modifications are complete. Plus, it can be useful to a Tinker to have a complete set of older gear around as a backup, just in case something should happen to the stuff they are currently using. It's a very efficient way to keep yourself active if something should break, or gets battle damaged. It looks like Armsmaster is planning to go that route."

"Cool." Eyes still on the leafy tunnel of a road he was driving down, Jared decided on something. "You know he'll want a tracking number, so he'll know when to expect them. Can you get hold of that, along with the shipping route and method?"

"Sure. Why?" Lisa looked up from her work to ask. "Ten to one it'll be one of Dragon's suits doing the delivery. Those two are close, and she frequently handles orders like this anyway."

Jared's return grin was not nice. "Dragon's suits do not concern me. All they are is machines, and machines are easy to stop in any number of ways. You get me that route. I want to steal those chips, and the other Tinker supplies, if possible."

"Why?" A number of people asked all at once.

Jared snorted. "Mostly to blame it on Coil, of course. Can't give that man too many headaches, after all. And if Armsmaster has a personal grudge against Coil, it can only be good for us. And though he doesn't know it yet, Armsmaster can't pay for any of this, as Shadow Stalker doesn't have the money they plan to take from her to fuel his budget increase. Now, it would tear that Tinker apart to be forced to return twenty million worth of shiny new materials once he learns that he cannot afford them. But it will go even worse for him if they get stolen and he *cannot* return them!"

The wizard's smile was fierce. "That will leave him twenty million in debt with no shiny toys to show for it - the worst of both worlds. Now imagine the grudge he will bear against Coil for causing this upset. In fact just to make sure he learns about it, let's propagate a story, after the fact, saying Coil hired the Dragonslayers to do the actual interception, then sell those chips on the black market in Coil's name. Letting the underworld get involved in a bidding war over this only means more people know about it, and it will harder be to sweep it all under the rug. With good luck, it should break out as a full-blown scandal. Should get all of our enemies mad, hopefully at each other."

Lisa began excitedly typing, "I can't wait to see how that snake-themed bastard tries to escape blame for this."

OoOoO

Story Day Six, April 11th 2011, Monday - Early Afternoon

OoOoO

The V8 van pulled up in a shopping center, one that did not particularly cater to the things his girls were out to buy that day, and Jared got out in his Rick persona, leaving the keys inside, where Rachel slid over into the driver's seat, waved to him, then drove off. Thankfully, they were all in disguise, as most of them now had identities that would cause a stir if they got recognized out in public. But having just spent several very productive hours doing research at government buildings, now they had a different set of errands to run.

The girls had a long day of shopping ahead of them, and he had other things to do. Ironically, part of that was shopping, just for different things than lingerie.

'Rick' had just started towards a particular shop he'd wanted to check out before he got brought up short when someone called out.

"You."

Jared stopped on his way into the Alamo, a combination pawn shop and gun store, to look over at the blonde high school girl hanging out with her friends at the nearby little cafe, who'd addressed him.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Can I help you?"

The sneering girl got up and walked towards him with the sort of confidence you only saw in the popular crowd or hardened delinquents. "You were at the Northeast Beer Hall Friday, delivering casks. You promised to return Saturday with more. Why didn't you?"

Jared snorted. "I take it you've never seen the price they were willing to pay. Here's the slip of paper where the bartender assessed their worth - for the six casks they didn't pay for." He pulled out the little slip and showed it to her. She took it into her hand and read those figures in mild disbelief.

The boy gave a disparaging flick of his fingers towards the receipt. "At those prices it's not worth the wear on my truck hauling it in to town. No more booze where that came from. The supplier has decided to distill it down into fuel for his farm machinery. It's not worth his time or mine to try to sell it as liquor, so we might as well get some use out of it."

She glanced up at his face in some mild horror, then took out her phone. "I've got to call this in, wait a moment."

She dialed and Jared took a moment to look around. It was a decent little outdoor shopping center in a fairly nice neighborhood. It was April, so the trees and everything were just really starting to get green. It was a pretty time. He'd been on his way into a store that Lisa assured him sometimes sold firearms to underage kids much like himself, and he'd been intending to pick up a set so he and his team could go shooting, to help settle in Uber's skill on firearms, once they'd learned it.

But she'd also warned him that this particular store was an Empire front for all kinds of shady and mildly illegal activity. So it paid to be polite to any blond people in that area who showed more confidence than would otherwise be warranted.

"Here," she shoved her phone at him. "Repeat what you just told me."

Jared took her phone and did so. Then the voice told him to hand the phone back to Tammi, who he presumed was the girl, and did so. She read the numbers from that list into the phone again, finished with "Got it, alright," then hung up.

Straightening up, she turned her attention on him. "Okay, what are you here for?"

"Guns," he answered simply. "About a half a dozen of us want to do some deer hunting out in the mountains, plus some target shooting with both pistols and rifles, shotguns as well. No ordinary dealer would touch me until I was twenty-one, but someone told me this place might look the other way, so I was going to look over what they had."

The blonde girl, Tammi, took him by the arm and hauled him inside. "Come on, we'll set you up."

On the other end of the phone line, Victor hung up, then took the pad of paper where he'd written the prices he'd been told, turned and confronted the bartender. "Rune just informed me these are the prices you quoted for what you were willing to pay for that kid's casks. Are these accurate?"

Terrified to contradict one of the Empire's capes, and those prices were accurate, so the faux-viking bartender gave a little nod.

Victor angrily cast the list down at his feet, snarling, "You couldn't buy PISS at those prices! The wooden casks themselves are worth more empty! What made you think that you could get away with cheating a dealer out of top-shelf liquor for that pittance? Now he tells me his supplier is boiling it down into tractor fuel! And who can blame him? Now, here is what's going to happen. I gave Rune orders to keep him around until I get there. He and I are going to broker a nice little agreement, and you are going to treat that kid as the valuable resource he is from now on, you hear me?"

Terrified, the faux-viking nodded.

Snatching up his keys, Victor stormed out of the still-too-early-to-open bar.

OoOoO

Once they were inside of the shop, the girl Tammi went back to playing on her phone, so Jared realized it was all on him to carry things from here, and slipped a little more into his 'Rick' persona.

Approaching the man behind the counter, he asked, "Do you have any Sig Saeur pistols?"

Turning to face him, the clerk, a man in his mid-fifties and wearing a checkered shirt told him, "Nah, they're made in Germany. We're all out. Anything else you want to see?"

The boy scanned the merchandise, and saw a Franchi SPAS-12 shotgun on the display rack spanning the entire wall behind the counter. "The 12 gauge autoloader."

While bringing it down for him to examine, the clerk told him, "That's Italian, and could go pump or auto."

Smiling at the inside joke that the clerk apparently shared, 'Rick' looked down into the glass display case serving as a counter, and to his surprise saw an appropriate pick. "The 45 longslide, with laser sighting."

The clerk brought it out without so much as a twitch of humor. "Those are brand new, we just got that in. That's a good gun. Just touch the trigger, the beam comes on, and you put the red dot where you want the bullet to go. You can't miss." A pause. "Anything else?"

On a fit of whimsy, Rick inquired for something he knew they did not have, "Phased plasma rifle, in the 40 watt range."

"Ah." Now the clerk broke out into a tired grin. "What you want is the Terminator package. They're all bundled together, there by the front door. We offer the classic Terminator package, that has the shotgun, the Uzi, and the .45, 'cause that's what most people notice. Only as you can see for the .45 we go with the original Colt 1911 longslide instead of the AMT knockoff they used in the movie - and the laser sight was a one-of custom model they don't produce for sale. So ours is a Surefire laser sight. Same company, so as authentic as it gets. We also offer the Full Terminator package, that adds the extra guns obtained at the gun store and seen in use by the Terminator, but not mentioned by name, so you get the nickle-plated Smith & Wesson Model 15 six-shot revolver, and the AR-180, along with the optional conversion kits to the AR and the Uzi, but those are illegal, so we can't tell you about that."

Actually impressed, and a little on the back foot, Rick asked, "That's great, but what about my phased plasma rifle?"

The clerk scratched behind one ear. "We don't stock tinkertech, but what we have got is an overpowered laser sight. Thing actually uses 40 watts, eighty times more powerful than most laser pointers, will pop kids balloons like nobody's business and set paper on fire in a moment, but you've got to hold it awhile for it to hurt anything else, produced by a company called Phased Plasma. Put that on the AR or the Uzi, either way you've got the closest thing to a phased plasma rifle that human tech can make."

Rick paused and thought for a moment. "How many of the full Terminator packages do you carry?"

"Over a dozen. Why?" Now the clerk seemed genuinely interested.

"Do you offer a bulk discount?" Rick was verging into a smug smile.

"What do you mean, kid?" The clerk was now acting a little guarded. Nice customers don't do smug. Idiots about to do something stupid like draw a firearm looked smug. His hand edged closer to his own concealed carry.

Rick shrugged, feeling happy. "Well, I've got a lot of family living up in the hills, and they're all Terminator fans. I tell them you've got the guns, and you'll have to buy a couple hundred more sets. Because they'll be down to buy them."

The clerk glanced at the girl, then pulled out a sheaf of forms. "I'll get to ordering, then."

Tammi turned to face Rick, exasperated. "I thought you were going deer hunting." She was apparently one of those chicks that had a particular dislike of being lied to, and who now suspected him of having done so.

"I can't be a Terminator fan?" He asked, in wide-eyed innocence. "We'll also need some other guns, of course. Those deer won't hunt themselves. More's the pity."

"That much ordering, we'll want a down payment, kid," the clerk spoke up from where he was face down with a pen working on forms.

"Well, what would you consider to be adequate?" Rick returned calmly.

The clerk's voice came up from where he was facing the forms. "Price is $6,500 for the full set including the conversion kits and 40 watt laser sight." He looked up to face Rick directly, pointing with the pen for emphasis. "If you want two hundred sets, I won't take anything less than half up front. I just don't want to be stuck with a massive inventory, in case you disappear."

"I'm am not hearing any discount on that." Rick mentioned politely.

The clerk glanced up and aside towards the girl, "10% off any order of ten or more sets."

Now Rick smiled. "I'll order them ten at a time, then. I'll do the paper boy thing and go run around my relatives, collecting orders, and be back when I have the money. Sound fair?"

"But you are sure you'll be buying ten?" the clerk confirmed, cautious.

"At least. Like I said, I expect a couple of hundred." Rick nodded, speaking earnestly this time.

"Were you going to buy a deer rifle, or weren't you?" Tammi asked, a little annoyed over the endless tangent about trivia from some movie she'd never seen.

"Well, the AR-180 can do that," Rick offered, by way of a totally inadequate apology.

"That's true," the store clerk pointed out. "But most people prefer something bolt action, for the accuracy."

Rick nodded, "Plus there are bears in the woods, and the 5.56 from the AR-180 is just inadequate for that. What have you got in a beefy caliber, such as 30.06? Or 7mm Remington magnum?"

"You know your weapons, pal. Here, let me show you what we've got." The middle-aged clerk abandoned the forms to show his customer a new gun.

"What? No .458 win mag?" Tammi snarked, staring down at her phone.

"No, because we're not hunting elephants," he replied easily.

"What about .375 H&H mag?" she continued.

"No, because we're not hunting moose," Rick calmly replied. "Mostly just deer hunting and home defense. Although moose are a problem, so yes, I'd like to see something in those. Thank you for the good idea. We'll let the nice clerk sort out what he has available to show us."

She turned to face him, doubt filling her features. "You really expect me to believe you're buying a SPAS-12 for home defense?"

"We do live up where the bears are." He told her with a grin. "A 12 gauge solid slug to the hip will at least break its pelvis and slow it down enough so that we can run away. But I'm glad you suggested the .375 H&H mag and .458 win mag. Those will actually be able to kill them."

"So what do you need two pistols for?" she challenged.

"Main use and backup. Strap one to your ankle, the other to your hip."

"Ankle and hip for home defense?" her challenge did not let up.

Rick calmed down and abandoned humor, briefly shrugging. "In that case, one on your nightstand, the other near the front door. So they are more likely to be nearby in the event of an unexpected emergency, and really, aren't all emergencies unexpected? Basically the same reasoning as having multiple fire extinguishers located in different parts of your house. Actually, we are going to need some .22s for plinking with. I won't consider anyone a marksman until they've fired a few thousand rounds down the target range. And say what you like about it, but .22 ammo is cheap. Best to get all of those beginner mistakes worked out on the cheap ammo."

The clerk was bringing down a new rifle. "Used to be cheaper than dirt until the shipping crisis hit and the supply chain fell apart. Here kid, a Remington 742 in 30.06, ideal for deer hunting, and with a little luck, maybe even take down a bear."

OoOoO

Victor, in his civilian guise, pulled up in a shiny new BMW outside of the Alamo. Meeting the eyes of the local kids on watch duty outside of the cafe, he received a nod, acknowledging that his car would be looked out for. Then, he straightened his suit and walked into the gun store.

Rune was inside, also in civilian dress, nearby the door, both waiting for him and ensuring the kid he wanted to talk to did not get away before Victor had a chance to meet him. He gave her a small nod of approval over this.

Approaching her, he asked very softly, "So, how does it go?"

"He's buying tons of those full Terminator sets." Tammi answered sourly.

"Oh? How many?" the newcomer asked curiously.

"Over two hundred, he said. Claims he's got a lot of relatives, who are all Terminator fans," she sneered.

"And there are bears up there," Jared agreed sagely, having overheard. "They're already eating us. Might be nice to eat them, for a change."

"Indeed," the newcomer smiled, leaving Rune's side to focus on the young man, "Well, perhaps we can come to an arrangement. We rather liked your liquors. What do you say we trade you one full Terminator kit per 30 gallon cask?"

Jared produced an order form, holding it out to him. "First tell me how many casks, of what type you want. I'll tell you if we can fill it. Not all liquors have the same price, after all."

Finding a convenient surface nearby, Victor rather hungrily filled out an ambitious list of wines, ales, scotch, and so on for the bar. Since international trade had begun drying up, made worse by Leviathan destroying so many port cities, it had been hard to get any decent product from Europe. In point of fact, with so many disruptions, and so little competition, it was hard to even get much volume shipped across from California. Too many other buyers competing for what supply there was made even mediocre wines a hot commodity.

You just did not see much top-shelf product available for sale anywhere, at any price. So it was with considerable eagerness that he made out a substantial order.

Jared looked it over. "I can't provide the brand names. But you tasted the product, and if it suits you, we can come to an arrangement. Where do I pull the trucks up to? That's rather a lot to store in the back of one bar."

Victor looked over at the store clerk, and commanded, "Order the guns he wants."

"And I'll buy one more of the full Terminator sets for Tammi, as a commission for rejuvenating the deal, as it was dead until she stepped in." Rick generously offered.

Victor then smiled at Rune. "Indeed. I'll make sure she practices with it."

The girl lost her sneer and blanched. She'd fired a twelve-gauge shotgun once, at her fifteenth birthday party, and it had left her shoulder bruised for weeks!

Now, most of a year later, she was not any more eager to repeat that experience.

"Cool!" Rick enthused, apparently not noticing her reaction, just like the teenage gun-nut he was. "Hey, maybe she'll be able to come shooting with me and my friends sometime?"

"I'll guarantee it," Victor smiled, thinking he'd do more than that for the wines on offer. Tammi had attracted an admirer, had she? Well, if the kid wanted to date her, not even Kaiser would tell him 'no' at this point. And if they got serious, and that drew the boy into the Empire, so much the better.

Victor was even of a mind to encourage exactly that.

"Great!" Rick enthused. "Now, these are only so much scrap metal without ammo. Let's talk ammo."

OoOoO

Rick had called his 'Uncle Jeb', who'd come down with the stake bed truck filled with new casks and been greeted with an enthusiastic handshake by Lex, the name Victor had been using, as they'd been introduced.

They were all walking out of the gun store, Rick and Jeb carrying duffel bags filled with a full Terminator set each, plus firearm accessories like holsters and whatnot they were carrying out to their truck. One duffel each was just full of ammo. Lex and Tammi stood near his BMW, ready to guide them to the warehouse waiting to receive them, as Lex had already called ahead.

Placing his duffels behind the front seats, Rick smiled over at their escort. "Well, that was fun. Thanks to both of you. Hey, would either of you know of a place where I can go to set up odds and take bets?"

Victor gave a superior smile. "I am afraid that gambling is one of those business all tied up by the gangs in this town. No room for independents."

Rick shrugged. "Ok. So where do I go to place bets? I want to get in on the action for which cape is going to defeat Lung next."

Victor looked at him strangely. "Why would you do that? Nobody is taking odds on that, Lung is undefeatable."

Rick gave him a measuring stare. "Undefeatable, huh? That sounds like about... a thousand to one odds, to me."

Victor only had to consider that a moment. "Alright."

Rick nodded sharply. "I'll take those odds. You have authority to negotiate, I don't care who you represent, we've already cut one deal, now accept another. I'm willing to place ten thousand at thousand to one odds that Lung gets defeated by a cape already based out of Brockton Bay in the next two weeks."

Victor was appraising the young man. "Do you have that kind of cash?"

Rick shrugged. "I restore classic cars. It's what I do for a living. One just sold. Yeah, I have that kind of cash." He took out a substantial stack of bills. "I was going to spend this on guns, but we cut another deal. So, you interested?"

Victor folded his arms. "Interesting. So, young man, let's hear this plan of yours. Why is Lung going down so inevitable?"

Rick just shook his head. "Nuh uh. No way, no how. If people think it's impossible, I get long odds. If they think it's easy, I'd be lucky to get my own back."

Jared, under his Rick persona, felt something tickle one of his defensive measures. Aha! Someone was trying to use a power to figure out something about him. He cast a quickened spell to allow him to usurp control over what that effect was telling its originator. Hmm, someone wanted to know what skills he had? Well, Jared sent back information of a teen boy who was far more certain of himself than he had any right to be, with some minor but believable skills, yet nothing special.

The probe cut off moments later.

Victor had been seriously considering the boy being some sort of confidence trickster. So he'd used his power, and was only disappointed in what he'd found. Just another cocky kid with money burning a hole in his pockets, determined to make it rich quick taking chances anyone with experience avoided like the plague.

In other words, a prime sucker.

The phrase, 'taking candy from a baby', was coined for ignorant young kids like this.

Victor plastered a very good fake smile over his face while reaching for the money. "Why sure, I'd take that bet."

Rick held up a finger while taking a step back, putting the money out of reach. "One second." He pulled out a smartphone and dialed a number that Lisa had given him.

"Numberman," came the almost toneless answer after the first ring.

"Hi, Rick Belmont. I don't have an account with you yet. But I wish to establish one and register a bet of ten thousand dollars at a thousand to one odds, that Lung gets defeated by a Brockton Bay cape sometime within the next two weeks."

"Against?" Numberman's voice stayed toneless, businesslike in the extreme.

Rick simply handed the phone over to Victor, who took it, and demanded "Who is this?" only to find himself a bit startled at the answer. Not that he had not done business with the Numberman himself before, both on his own behalf, as well as that of the Empire. But who was this kid to have access to Numberman's service?

Having quickly confirmed this was the actual Numberman, a surge of caution filled the Empire cape, and he held his hand over the phone's mic to call out to Rick, "Hey! I can't give you a thousand to one odds for just any Brockton Bay cape. Pick one."

Rick smiled, filled with confidence. "Rune."

Tammi jerked as if slapped. "You're betting on Rune?"

Rick nodded. "It's in the bag."

"You know she's faced him before, right?" she asked. "For two nights in a row he's been attacking Empire turf! If it was easy to defeat him, don't you think they would have by now?"

Rick slipped an arm around Tammi's shoulders and led her a few steps away from where Victor was talking on the phone with the Numberman, taking her to the other side of the truck, where they could still be seen, sort of, but it was very hard to hear over the rumble of the engine running. "I tell you, she can't lose!" he exulted quietly. "How much do you know about her?"

Tammi looked him over suspiciously. "Not much," she lied.

Rick only nodded more eagerly. "Ok, Rune is a telekinetic. Now powers don't get more useful than that. What's more, she can lift objects that weigh several tons each. One of her established tricks is to ride around on a flying chunk of concrete that she obviously ripped out of the ground with her power. For that to be the case, she's got a lot more power than just the ability to lift a multi-ton block. Ripping it clear of the concrete connected to it takes at least as much force again as simply lifting the weight, as does moving it around at a useful speed with any kind of maneuverability. So we are talking some serious applied force here."

"But how does that help her? Lung just regenerates any damage she causes!" Tammi demanded.

Rick scoffed. "No one ever defeated Lung by hitting him. Big chunks of rock aren't going to help, here. No, what she's got to do... now you promise you won't spoil my bet here? I'm trusting you. 'Cause if this gets out, everyone will know that Rune can take Lung on, and the odds will plummet."

"I promise. Now tell me!" Tammi demanded, fists clenched down by her sides as she bounced a little on the balls of her feet.

He smiled. "It's so simple, I am surprised she hasn't figured it out yet. Lung has already been defeated twice in the last few days. How did Vista and Alexandria do it? By dunking him in the water. So picture Rune flying along. One of the things she's animated is a great big hunk of anchor chain, something wrist-thick that Lung even at his strongest isn't going to tear through easily. Now she flies up, outside of his reach and with a great multi-ton block of stone to shield her from any fire that he tries to throw her way, wraps that anchor chain around his ankle, yanks him up in the air by it, and while he is upside-down hissing like a scalded cat she just calmly flies him out over the bay, then has her chain haul him all of the way down to the bottom, and secures it there. She then flies away, looking like a boss and as cool as you please."

Tammi looked dumbstruck. A rare smile began to creep its way across her features as she pictured it.

Rick continued, "Have the chain connect on the bottom to something nice and oversize, say sixteen tons. He *might* be able to lift that at his strongest, but he'll never swim with it. For extra style points, have Kaiser make and sink a big anchor that has embossed on the side 'SS Lung, sunk on' then have it give today's date, just so Lung reading that while drowning on the bottom can know how owned he was."

The smile creeping across Tammi's face grew bigger, and excitement began to fill her eyes.

Rick continued talking. "Lung may get tall, but he stays thin, which makes sense as he eventually grows wings, and weight is your enemy when flying. So even at his biggest, Rune has enough force to haul him around. Of course, the tricky part is connecting the chain, first to him, then to the anchor, because she doesn't want to stick around. Continual use of a power gives him a continuing conflict, and that just makes him bigger," Rick allowed. "No, something like a handcuff would be ideal, where you just slap it on him and it secures itself automatically. Then Lung can discover that burning his own pants off means he has no pockets for storing lockpicks in, and even though a baby could pick a handcuff normally, he can't just using fingers or claws. You need tools for that job. But while I have no doubts that Kaiser could make a set of Lung-cuffs out of several inches thick of steel, enough to do the job and then some, it would almost be classier if Rune just used a rusted bit of old anchor chain scrounged from a wreck somewhere. She could also TK a big nut and bolt to stick through the chain links and screw it closed around Lung's ankle to fasten it, then scrape the threads on the bolt so he can't just twist it off again, doing the whole thing with scrap just to prove that she needed no one's help to take down the big lizard."

Tammi's grin had grown electric, and she was bouncing in place in her excitement.

Rick shrugged. "Now I have to find her email address, to notify her of my plan. Because the sooner she learns how, the sooner she can conscript a few low level Empire thugs and spend a day chasing their legs around an empty warehouse with lengths of chain. I don't imagine she needs it, but a little practice will make it look that much more effortless when she does it to Lung."

"Here!" she blurted, writing an address down quickly on a scrap of paper. "She and I are penpals. Bye!"

Tammi bolted, racing over to where Victor had just finished up on the phone to Numberman, concluding their business, and snatching it from him, spoke quickly, "Numberman? Yeah, Tammi Herren. You have my account information. Same bet as Rick Belmont, same odds, Rune to defeat Lung before two weeks are out. Yes, ten thousand at thousand to one odds. I've got enough if you take all of my savings and checking, then throw in some of the college fund. Yes, I know I'll forfeit this year's interest to date, throw it in anyway!"

She rather rudely tossed the phone back to Victor, who caught it effortlessly despite his confusion, and without saying another word ran out towards a car in the parking lot, where some of her friends were still waiting.

Victor looked to Rick, who just shrugged in confusion.

Victor handed back the phone. Rick listened to a moment of instructions, agreed, then handed his cash over to Victor, who took it and counted it rapidly but surely, then gave an acknowledgment into the phone, whereupon Numberman transferred ten thousand from the Empire accounts to a new one for Rick Belmont, then placed it in escrow until the bet was resolved.

Business done, the call ended without even a goodbye.

Rick and his uncle let Victor guide them to the warehouse they'd be making deliveries at soon after, but not before Tammi's ride had roared out of the lot, carrying teenagers in a hurry.

OoOoO

Jared remained in the truck with his first flesh golem, 'Uncle Jeb', just long enough to learn where the warehouse was that this guy wanted the liquor delivered, so he could find it again. Then he excused himself while the warehouse crew were unloading the truck, slipped away and teleported.

He appeared underwater, out in the bay.

This was far from an unusual set of circumstances. Every day he'd been in Brockton Bay so far, he'd found opportunity to slip away several times a day, for a handful of minutes each time, in order to check on ongoing projects.

That very first day he'd arrived, the very first thing he'd done, other than find a suitable underwater location to set up as his first safehouse, had been to build a Dedicated Wright, a type of humonculus that serves its creator by spending its time creating magic items for him, using its creator's own skills and abilities.

After creating the first one, the very next thing he had done was for himself and his first Dedicated Wright to each build an extra Dedicated Wright. So before he had emerged from the water on the beach on that morning he'd first met Taylor, there had been three Dedicated Wrights at work underwater behind him.

Then, since you can only make one magic item per day, per the normal rules, the first Dedicated Wright had exhausted its ability to make any more magic on that day, so had gone to work doing purely mundane crafting to expand and improve that underwater safehouse.

However, the second and third Dedicated Wrights, being newly created themselves, had not exhausted their magic item crafting ability, so had immediately set to work creating the fourth and fifth Dedicated Wrights. Upon their completion, the second and third went and joined the first at its labor, while the newly created two went on to create another two.

By the end of that day, there had been seven Dedicated Wrights at work underwater, and, at the stroke of midnight, each of them had instantly set aside any other work they had been doing to start work upon another Dedicated Wright apiece, which made more Dedicated Wrights when they were completed, and so on.

At each stage, Jared had to teleport in to give the necessary instructions and sandshape some gemstones. But Sunday, after the end of five days of continuous self-multiplication, he had five hundred and sixty Dedicated Wright homunculi, which was just beginning to feel like enough. At the stroke of midnight last night, he had switched their tasks from self-replication to other useful pursuits.

Since homunculi were constructs, and constructs are basically magic robots without biological needs, like, oh, say, the need to breathe, it mattered not in the least to these creatures that they were underwater. In fact, Jared had not been able to resist the temptation, and his default homunculi were far from standard, having many upgrades over the usual, and by consequence they functioned rather well underwater.

This was a good thing.

Of course, normally having this many homunculi at once, especially all in one place, was a suicide pact, since their creator took some rather significant damage should any of his homunculi be destroyed. But of course there was a feat that took away that disadvantage, and of course he had it.

He had already diverted a large portion of their efforts away from underwater base construction the previous evening, and had them help him prepare the tissue samples he'd brought down into bodies, raw materials to make more flesh golems out of. Then, since a golem body was just like a masterwork sword in that the base item before magic got added could be prepared by ordinary craft skills (it was adding the magic that required a spellcaster) he'd had them go ahead and fully prepare the golem blanks to be ready for enchantment.

Then he'd realized that all of the tissue samples he'd brought down were male, which would not fit the story he'd been planning on telling of there being entire clans of people living up in those hills above Brockton. So on Monday's use of that same ability he'd managed to include an equal number of female samples.

Now things stood ready for their next step, down there in the dark waters at the bottom of the bay.

Jared swam through the interior of his main underwater base in total darkness. While light was useful and prettier, neither he nor his constructs needed it. Besides, humans grew curious when they saw big shining lights underwater. He'd have to order the base entrances sealed over with something impervious to light before bringing the girls down here, as they would rightfully expect both air and light when they visited.

It was almost a pity to add those things, as the underwater base was so much better a stronghold without them. Anybody could invade when they could see and breathe inside, but it took special equipment for humans to assault a place where they could do neither.

Ah, who was he kidding? If the PRT learned he had a base down here they'd drop depth charges on it, or use torpedoes. They would not bother trying to invade it. So he might as well add seals over all of the entrances, pump out the water, and string up lights, because it was not as useful to him as it could be if none of his teammates could visit it.

The wizard swam into his animation chamber. It surprised him that none of the girls had asked him what happened to the machinery he'd used to create his first flesh golem: Jeb. But it had all been moved down here, sparks and all. Immunity to electricity was easy enough to get, and even easier to build into constructs. So neither he nor the homunculi cared about the electricity danger underwater, in fact it made things even easier.

They did not have to wait for a storm.

The tables were all set up and ready. He'd expected nothing less, his Dedicated Wrights were, well, dedicated. And since they used his own skill, the standards they built to were every bit as exacting as his own. So though what he was about to do was complex and demanded exacting standards, he could be confident that everything was ready.

Of course, paranoia was a survival trait as an adventurer. So he cast an Augury anyway.

Then he frowned when it came up 'No Result'.

Though troublesome, that happened sometimes with that spell. Results were not certain, you had to roll for success. Sometimes it came up that way and told you nothing. Normally on a project this size he'd abort and wait for another day, since casting two Auguries on the same subject returned the same result automatically, unless you waited a day in between.

Still, the Augury was just for final reassurances, that there was no sabotage set up by a sneaky thief from an opposing faction or the like. There really should not be any who was even aware he was here...

Cauldron.

His blood ran chill. While he should not have come up on any of their radars yet, still, they were exactly the sort of people who could, would, had, and did interfere absolutely anywhere and with everyone it suited them.

So he cast another Augury, this time not asking about the success of the spell he was going to cast, but if Cauldron had, aside from that one bet with Numberman, acted to interfere with his life.

This time the result came back as a reassuring 'No', and he breathed the underwater equivalent of a sigh of relief. The worst thing was, he knew at some point, possibly soon, that same question would start to return a 'Yes' answer. He'd have to start making preparations.

But in the meantime, he raised his staff and, drawing upon its energy, released the spell to Create Flesh Golems, suitably metamagiced, of course.

He would start teleporting these new golems, a couple at a time, up to the Belmont estate where they had the tinkertech chair for training skills. He'd give these guys driving and the English language at the very least, then see what he could do about getting some trucks for them to drive so they could make deliveries for him.

After all, he had a LOT of booze to deliver if he was going to achieve his firearm ambitions. He'd set Dedicated Wrights to making more casks as soon as possible for the booze he was going to make to fill them. He'd have to hurry, too, as his plans required him to be at the gun store over the next several hours, 'helping' out with the paperwork, after having cast Charm Person on the store owner.

Hmm, better also plan to teleport some golems near to the factories they'd be ordering from, and arrange some trucks on those ends, so they could pick up the product as soon as the orders were confirmed.

While Jared did not plan to cheat anybody, he wanted to personally massage the supply chain to get those guns, in quantity, before the Empire knew what happened. Because he rather doubted they'd approve of exactly how many he intended to buy.

OoOoO

Director Piggot of the PRT ENE lay on a medical bed inside of the in-house clinic maintained as part of the PRT headquarters building. It saw plenty of use, although frequent calls to Panacea of New Wave prevented medical expenses of this branch from taking in much of the budget, as aside from Piggot's ongoing care, they rarely had a patient more than a few hours.

That made Piggot's private medical problems their primary concern, which was just the way she liked it.

She had her own room in that clinic, set aside for her and not violated even in the direst emergency. This was in addition to the VIP quarters she had assumed as her own, and turned into her primary residence, and totally aside from that tiny apartment she maintained only because it was required of all PRT officials that they maintain an off-base residence.

Not that she ever visited the pig sty. Power and water had even been turned off in that apartment years ago and she had not realized it until the police invaded the place this morning, and it was on their report.

A report that she'd had to beg to receive, and then gotten second-hand and redacted. Redacted! Of all things! Her own apartment, and the police were telling each other things about it they did not deem suitable for her ears!

Her doctors were currently observing her, concerned over the spike in blood pressure and anger, that... stuff, had caused, to say nothing of the fact that she'd inhaled some of it, and they were checking her lungs for any infections, as well as giving her some state-of-the-art antibiotics as a preventative.

Yes, these drugs were usually reserved for more serious cases, not as a just-in-case treatment. But she was important, so she got it.

Besides, with Panacea on call, cutting all of their medical costs down to virtually nothing, they could afford it...

Piggot was just inhaling to shout at whatever nameless subordinate was lurking around this time, ready to receive and relay her orders, when a stream of filthy, brown liquid shot out of the air above her, and caught her right in the face, splashing for a considerable distance and continuing full force over several seconds before it abated.

Piggot's shrieks and howls were almost as loud as the alarms on the medical equipment as she spat and tried to get that stuff out of her mouth.

OoOoO

Assault groaned as he got up off the toilet, flushing without looking at the disgusting mess no doubt inside.

Stress always gave him diarrhea, and this time he'd had it bad. Both the stress, and the... well, the rest. But the stress? He'd been spending his time in forced confinement going over the numbers, and what he saw shocked him.

How could a man tell his wife he'd actually bring home more money if he quit his job and lived on welfare?

There was no use trying to transfer to the police. Heck, even a minimum wage job flipping burgers would pay more. But those were both off the table. As had been explained to him, at length, on several different occasions, only Federal agencies could legally employ any parahumans, and of those the PRT got the lion's share.

He did not have a Thinker power, so most other slots were impossible.

That left only the PRT, but the PRT was impossible! He was literally losing money faster than he was making it! Piggot gave him another ten day fine only two days ago! He was literally paying for the privilege of working here! At this rate the last of his savings would disappear in... two months!

Ow! And there went his gut again. Assault grabbed a magazine and went back to deal with the problem.

Moments later, Piggot was getting squirted in the face again, to the alarm of the medical professions who had to deal with it.

OoOoO

Several Hours Later