The Girl

It took her a few more minutes to regain consciousness. However, her sense of time was still more than distorted.   Something was beeping gently beside her. It was probably a heart monitor. A slightly more muffled sound came from the television. There were other voices, obviously from people in the room.   There was a smell... she didn't smell anything in particular, the air seemed too clean somehow.    It took a tremendous effort just to open her eyes. Eyelids literally refused to listen to her, as if to ignore the insistent instructions from her brain. But at some point she managed to force herself to partially open one eye. At first light almost blinded her, seeming too bright. It took some time for her vision to adapt before she even could look around.   White. Blue. Gray. .The space around her was disgustingly white, with occasional flecks of light blue and gray. From the ceiling shone a bright even white light from the large squares of ceiling lamps.   ...Electricity. There was electricity in this place. This was... good news. She couldn't say exactly why it was good, but she was used to agreeing with the logic of her own senses.   After coping with her second eyelid, she tried to look around some more. But failed to do so. She could still move her eyes, but nothing about that could be said about moving any other muscles. Besides, her eyesight was far from ideal. Objects were blurred in the distance, but she could interpret their outlines.   It was a hospital room, she supposed. She was lying on a hospital bed, dressed in hospital clothes. A few silhouettes of doctors loomed ahead of her, talking quietly about something.  She assumed they were doctors. At least they wore white lab coats.   And that was it. All of her senses were limited to hearing, seeing, and smelling. And that-the hearing was as if through a dense pillow, like after a concussion, the vision was unfocused, and the sense of smell... she wasn't sure she had ever had a good sense of smell before. Maybe it also somehow became worse.  Lowering her eyes, she was able to see the silicon breathing mask that fit securely over her skin. So, that’s why she didn’t smell anything.   That was where the good news ended, though. It was clear that she was paralysed from the neck down. She didn’t need the doctor to understand it. Complete lack of sense of touch and inability to even feel a single muscle was clear enough indication.   But she had no particular fear of this condition.As if it weren’t her first time. Did it bother Taylor? Yes, it certainly did. She didn't know if she would have access to Panacea or any of the other healers. Without them, treating such wounds would be... difficult.   ...But who the hell was Panacea?   She remembered perfectly well that Panacea was the one she had asked to remove the barrier from her Passenger. From her sketchy recollections, they were more than acquaintances, but she couldn't draw any conclusions from that-it was too vague to remember.  In the meantime, the doctors, having apparently finished their meeting, separated. One of them had left the room through the door at the far end of the room, while the other two turned toward her. The older one, a balding man in his fifties, with soft, slightly flabby features and wrinkles on his broad forehead, approached her to bend down to carefully remove the oxygen mask, holding her head with one hand.   Once she was free of the mask, the doctor pressed the button on the bunk's control panel, raising it a dozen degrees.   “Miss, can you hear me?”  The doctor asked softly. The only conscious reaction Taylor was capable of was blinking her eyes, even if it was more difficult. She slowly closed and opened her eyes as she stared at the doctor.   The doctor got the idea.    “If you are unable to speak, blink twice.”     She strained her eyelids twice.  “In that case, let's say that blinking means "Yes," blinking twice means "No." Answer if you understand.”   Taylor complied with the request.   “All right, then. My name is Morgan Sard and I am your attending physician. Let's get to the more pressing matters at hand. Do you feel anything? Pain?”     Yes. She can feel pain.   “Is it the head?” The doctor got it right.   “The rest of her body?”   No. No sensation.   “No pain or no sensation? Once for the former, twice for the latter.”   The latter.   The doctor frowned a little.   “Okay, so the situation is more serious than we expected. However, before we move on to more routine procedures, can I ask you a few more questions?”     She didn't like the situation very much. From the corner of her eye, Taylor caught a glimpse of the second doctor shifting slightly in their direction, clearly interested in what was going on. It raised doubts as to whether she had guessed the profession of the man present.     Right now, however, talking to the doctor was the only somewhat reliable way to get information, and perhaps to recover.     Consent was given.   The doctor drew a small notebook with a pen attached to it from somewhere in the inner pocket of his robe.   “All right, miss, do you remember your name?”  Taylor closed eyes once . “Do you remember the circumstances that led to the events that brought you to North Springfield?”    Thoughts were too slow and easily cut off. A nasty state of mind. Familiar. Been there more than once.     North Springfield...is that a town? Probably... probably not. I think it's a satellite suburb in D.C. She's in D.C.?   But then…   Taylor remembered that Scion had hit these places. She wasn't sure what Scion actually was, but she knew the destruction inflicted was significant.   It's strange... These people don't look like they survived his strike. She needs... she needs more information. It's hard to think.   She closed her eyes twice. The doctor chewed his lips.  “Partial amnesia...that was to be expected. Well, if this were a standard questionnaire, I'd ask about relatives, but in your case, I'm afraid I'm instructed to ask you about something else. Miss, do you have superpowers?”  Superpowers? It's like... Passenger, right? That's weird. Why don't they ask if she's a cape?   The answer is yes. Dr. Sard turns to his colleague. “Is your curiosity satisfied, Mr. Teller? Because I think my patient has had enough for today.”   The man nods slowly. “Yes, I think that's enough. I think the Director will be satisfied.” “In that case, we're done for the day.” - Sard then turns to Taylor “Miss, there's no need to worry. "Vought is paying for all the costs of your treatment. You will definitely get back on your feet.“   After these words, the two visitors leave the room, leaving Taylor alone with the television and her thoughts.     "Vought"... she hadn't heard that name. She didn't remember it. Perhaps... is it something new? “   She tried to concentrate on the sounds of the TV, because there was no way she could see the image on the screen properly.   "To other news. There was a conference in New York today about Marathon's impending departure from the Seven. The event began with an autograph session that lasted only seventeen seconds! After that, Marathon answered questions from reporters and fans. When our reporter asked if the hero regrets that he is leaving the Seven’s roster, he said:  “Of course I do. Seven is like a second family. And leaving a family is always hard and sad. But you know, every marathon has a finish line after which comes a well-deserved rest. And mine is about to come.”   The hero also commented on the sensational incident a week ago with the unknown super who fell out of the portal in the middle of Washington, DC. “Unfortunately, I don't know the heroine of this video and I've never even heard of her. However, I can only wish her health and successful recovery.”   Next is business News. Vought International's stock price continues to rise. Experts estimate..."      Focusing was hard. Hard enough that the already unpleasant headache became almost unbearable.       Vought... a company? A corporation? It...has something to do with superheroes. Seven... a group of heroes. Marathon... a hero.     She doesn't remember them. Doesn't know them. It's weird. Adding that to the facts that there is no mention of Scion… or others... Maybe... maybe she's not on Earth-Bet?   That...makes sense. She doesn’t remember everything about interdimensional travelling, but somehow is sure that it is very much possible. She even remembers strange hexagonal portals surrounding her, but even a memory of that causes her a serious headache.     If she's not on Bet, then… where is she?   Aleph? Gimel?    She was in a desperate need of information.   However... It's worth resting first. Being awake for so long is tiring.     She let her eyes close. A few minutes later a restless but deep sleep engulfed her.

***

  "The subject regained consciousness. The bullet wound to the head damaged motor functions and caused partial amnesia, but the subject's personality characteristics are relatively normal. The subject has confirmed the presence of superpowers.  Interrogation of the subject is not possible due to almost complete paralysis. A long course of rehabilitation is necessary, but Dr. Sard offers no guarantee of even a partial recovery."     As the secretary finished reading the message, Stillwell collapsed in her chair, pressing her palm to her forehead. The analysts and technicians sitting around the conference room table visibly paled.         “Ab-so-lut-ly Brilliant. We've figured out a whole lot of nothing. We've got a super who's kind of not a super and can't even pronounce a word, and we don't know if she can tell us anything at all.”       The vice president took a deep breath and, correcting herself in her chair, turned her gaze to the head of the technical department.         “So, Reynolds. What have you got? I read the report, but you should fire the man who wrote it," Stillwell was well aware that Robin was the author of the report, but it was a really badly written one. A middle-aged man in strict black glasses rose from his seat and walked over to the projector and opened the presentation.         “Ma'am, I'm afraid we don't have much good news either. We examined the samples we were given, and if I hadn't been present myself during most of the tests, I never would have believed that something like this existed.”         “Get to the point, Robin.”         “I'm on my way, ma'am. First we examined the armor," and at these words several different numbered plates appeared on the screen. - “There was nothing incredible to be found here, military-grade Kevlar, except a little stronger than our standard plates, perhaps a more advanced technology. Nothing extraordinary. The same could be said about the pepper spray and the pistol. All are standard mass-produced models. The gun, according to the inventory number, should now be in the service of a police department somewhere in Delaware, and there has been no report of a loss. That, however, is the moment where the good news ends” Reynolds switched slides sequentially until he reached a picture that showed a black cloth tricot.         “We analyzed the fabric of the suit to which the armor was attached, and frankly, we didn't immediately believe the results of the analysis," the man quickly continued, noticing Stillwell's threatening look: “It's spider silk, ma'am. Natural spider silk. According to our data, belonging to the species Caerostis darwini, which is native to Madagascar and has the strongest web of any spider. The impact strength of this fabric is ten times higher than that of Kevlar. But I can't imagine who would think of making a whole suit out of this material. Totally unprofitable waste of time and money.”         Madeline wasn't too sure of the real price for spider silk, but she had a pretty clear idea of how the market worked. Assuming the approximate amount of trouble involved in harvesting and caring for such a specific item as spiders, she knew that goods made from such silk instantly rose in price to some absolutely exorbitant heights. No, Vought could afford something like this... for someone of the Seven. If absolutely necessary. Perhaps she ought to have looked into it for Homela...         With a mental effort, she interrupted herself, concentrating on the current meeting. Reynolds continued. On the screen you could see an ordinary shaped knife with a strange blade.         “Also among the objects given to us was... we called it "Object-Three." Yes, it looks like an ordinary knife, a standard army ka-bar. In the case of standard testing, the readings are consistent with the table values. However, to call... this a knife is like comparing an Indian Tomahawk with a cruise missile of the same name. There is a control element near the guard, and when you press it, it does... this.”         The next slide turned out to be a video. The frame showed a human hand holding a knife. After playback began, the man pressed the button. Nothing happened for a few seconds, but then a whitish haze surrounding the cutting edge became clearly visible. The man made several slow movements, but the haze was statically bound to the blade, moving with it. The effect was independent of the speed of the sweeps.         After that, the picture changed. The laboratory employee was filmed already full-length, in front of him stood a mannequin, dressed in a standard class one bulletproof vest. The lab technician activated the knife, waited for the "charging", and then made a test strike. The knife entered the dummy's chest without any effort on the part of the lab technician.   Change of scene again. Second experience. Instead of the usual bulletproof vest, a second-class bulletproof vest. The result does not change. Third experiment - third class vest. The same happened with the fourth class body armor - the knife still passed through obstacles without noticing any resistance.         In the fifth take, instead of a dummy, there was  a steel sheet several centimeters thick. The whitish haze passed through it like through butter.   The experiments continue, and instead of steel other metals and alloys are used, up to exotic materials like tungsten carbide and boron nitride. The result did not change.         There is a stunned silence in the hall before Reynolds continues.         “Experiments have established that our human civilization does not currently possess a material resistant to Object-Three. Our attempts to understand the structure of the device have come to nothing. The Object-Three is an extremely high-tech device, operating at the subatomic level, gaining supernatural acuity by breaking molecular bonds with the help of nanorobots. We could find out nothing else: neither the power source, nor the way of nanorobot generation - all this is beyond our comprehension at the moment. I would even say... the weapons in our hands are superior to the current technology, if not by hundreds, then by several decades for sure.”         “Am I correct in assuming that this Object Three is capable of killing our supers?”  Stillwell asked grimly, knowing the answer very well. The prospects that opened up were very, very far from bright and cheerful.         The very fact that in America... even in the world, there might be an organization rich enough to finance such projects, and yet completely anonymous... It frightened Madeline. A real scarecrow.         “Unfortunately, yes, ma'am. Our models assume that Object-Three ignores durability. However, I would like to point out that nanorobots generate a substantial amount of heat when they operate, and they also fail quickly when they are heated.”       This somewhat reassured the vice president. John was fast and strong enough that something like this would not be dangerous for him. Besides, his heat vision could easily neutralize such device.         “Is this all?”         “No, ma'am. We still have the Object Four, which was attached to the back of the object," the screen showed an image of something looking like a backpack.         “And what is that, Robin?”   Her head of Engineering grimaced, visibly disturbed.         “That's the problem, ma'am. We don't know. The object came to us in a non-operational state, and all our attempts to rehabilitate the equipment, at least in part, have yielded no results whatsoever. Some parts of the O-Four are unfolding into something resembling dragonfly wings. Our only guess: this device is designed for levitation. Except that the exact principle is unclear. I took the liberty of showing part of the schematics that we managed to interpret to our friends from NASA, but they almost ridiculed us, saying that this scheme looks absolutely moronic.”         “And what is your overall verdict?   The man sighed.         “Ma'am, this may sound delusional, but it's not our level of technology. Literally everything, with the rare exception of a gun and a pepper spray, screams that we've encountered something beyond our expertise. I don't know if it's dimensional hopping or time travel, everything’s possible in modern days, but I'm willing to bet my doctorate that there is no technology on Earth at this time to produce such equipment. That's all I have to say.”   Madeline took another heavy breath and nodded to Reynolds.         “Thank you, Robin. Mr. Peters, I assume you've come to similar conclusions?   The head of the analytics department wasn't slow to respond:     “Yes, ma'am. The story certainly looks fantastic, but I'm afraid we have to take it as a working theory. None of the databases available to us contain such a person as our guest, at least we never got the necessary percentage of a match. Mr. Reynolds has already told us about the equipment.Unfortunately our department agrees with his opinion. We doubt that it is possible to hide such technologies  and its corresponding infrastructure from the public eye”         "But Vought succeeded," Stillwell muttered to herself.         “Certainly we'll run  additional checks on the tech department's findings, but I doubt it will do us any good. As I wrote in my report, my recommendation is to interrogate our guest. However, in connection with Dr. Sard's conclusion, I recommend that we consider the necessity of applying the serum to the subject. It's our only chance to really get her to talk.”       The vice president pressed her lips together. The suggestion actually sounded reasonable. Sard was one of the best, and if it didn't offer any guarantees, then "V" really was probably the best option available. Short-term regeneration might help. As well as harm.       But it was not a decision she could make alone. As much as she disliked talking to Edgar, it was a decision that had to be made with him.       After a brief report on other news, the meeting was over quickly, and soon Madeline found herself sitting in her chair in front of the dialer with Edgar's CEO's corporate number dialed in.       With a sigh, she pressed the call button. This whole situation needed a quick solution. The voice on the other end answered almost instantly.