The Doom that Came To Winslow 11: survivors.

Ems was hiding when Alexandria walked into the Ward’s quarters. I waited to see what she’d do, putting my book down. Ems would know—Ems, within her range knew nearly everything that happened… unless it involved colors or sound.

A few moments later, her door opened, and she walked out, the scent of flowers filling the air.

Not perfume. Ems couldn’t hear, couldn’t see, not like we could, even her sense of touch was deadened. But she could smell, and she collected flowers and in her off time would go to gardens.

I’d been terrified when they’d suggested meeting Emma. The LA Wards were my safe place, but…

Emma had loved good clothes. Ems wore whatever she found and was a continual nightmare for image, given that she sometimes looked like an unmade bed, according to our image rep.

Emma loved being the center of attention. Ems stayed in the periphery, watching.

Emma didn’t go a week without a visit to the stylist. Ems waited until her hair got annoyingly long and then cut it with whatever came to hand, unless image dragged her out.

Ems wore glasses, so that people wouldn’t see her ruined eyesockets. Her power reset those injuries. Even Panacea couldn’t reverse it. The doctors had a bunch of terms for it, but the one thing that always came to my mind was…

Stigmata.

Emma had dreamed of being a super secret cape, all the stylish looks and secret identity. Ems was an open cape, one of the few among the Protectorate.

<Emma> Alexandria signed. <Are you well?>

<Yes. Sorry.>

<Would you like Taylor to stay?>

<Yes. Please.>

I’d always wanted to be Alexandria when I grew up—but I’d never realized how big a job that would be. Emma had an implant, she could, sort of, hear voices, but she didn’t like it. Alexandria could have ordered the Wards to learn ASL, accepting that some would resent it… but she didn’t. She just learned it, probably in an hour, and from that point on, even if she was speaking to other Wards, she’d also talk to Emma in ASL. 

Now all the LA Wards knew ASL to some degree, and it had made Ems a part of the team in a way that a simple order never would have. It had also helped us the last time we’d run into  a sound-deadening criminal. Something I also expect Alexandria had considered. And Alexandria almost never phrased her requests as orders. Ems was better, but feeling that she was being made to do something could still bring on panic attacks. Alexandria made Ems feel comfortable. And I couldn’t imagine any better sign of just what a leader she was.

I saw Ems’ scales start to form, metallic, along her arms and legs, moving up to her neck. Alexandria shook her head.

<Emma? This is a safe space. Remember that.>

Ems nodded, and the scales vanished.

People wondered how I could work with Emma Barnes. The answer was simple. Julia had murdered Emma Barnes. And like me, Ems was just someone who had survived something terrible. Like most. Madison had become a teenage religious preacher, talking about the weakness of the flesh until she’d found Christ, Sophia had been transferred to the Alaska PRT, patrolling the wilderness where the only thing to worry about were biotinkered creatures and fleeing parahumans—and not finding yourself made a slave in the middle of a crowded school.

<Image is unhappy, but first, Pusher is going to survive. >

<Sorry. Didn’t mean to hurt him.>

I raised up, putting my book aside, but Alexandria shook her head.

<No. Pusher’s power let him make people happy to do what he said. You noticed it. You responded. While it might have been better for you to call for help, nobody is holding it against you, except image, and I’ll handle them.  Also, you may have saved Pusher.>

Ems shook her head. <How?>

<The interrogation and analysis showed that Pusher had a secondary component. He could give short orders that couldn’t influence anyone to against their will. But he also became popular. Very popular. He assumed it was his newfound confidence, but in truth it was…>

<Power.>  Ems gesture was short, angry. I could understand why.

<Yes. He didn’t realize it. But given a long enough time on his own, he would have gotten used to it. You may have saved LA from the junior version of Heartbreaker.>

My bugs shivered and I broke in. Speaking and signing at the same time. “What’s going to happen to him?”

“He won’t be in LA. He’s being sent for psychological testing, and may be redeemable. He’ll be strongly supervised.” Alexandria said and signed.

That was fine. The idea that I’d even been in the same city as Pusher made my skin crawl. But I could see why Alexandria was happy. Someone like that would be incredible for hostage negotiations… Just ones far, far away from me.

And he’ll never be trusted. Not even by himself, unless he’s complete scum. Was the person smiling at you, doing it because they liked you, or because your power was telling them to do so. I had a feeling that was the  reason Masters tended to go bad, with their inability to ever believe people around them were behaving naturally as opposed to being pushed by their power.

Whatever. Ems was out of the doghouse for nearly beating a 13-year-old to death, and honestly, who would blame her?

<But in any case, Emma, we’ll have to pretend to be upset for a week. But you can take a break, in between talking to the researchers. Your ability to throw off Master influences is very important—but the fact that you survived everything is even more important.> Ems nodded, downcast, and then Alexandria reached into her pocket and came out with some seed packages.

<I also happened to find these on my last trip in Europe. I believe this was a flower strain you were interested in?>

Emma’s face brightened.

<Thank you!> she signed.

Alexandria nodded. <Forgive me, but I have to be at yet another meeting. Good day.>

I wasn’t upset. She was always busy. I also realized as she vanished through the door that my plan to go over image’s head for my Giant Japanese Hornets had hit a snag in that now I’d have to make an appointment with her instead of just casually asking informally.

Well. Nobody said Alexandria was dumb.

I looked at Ems, who was staring at the seeds, and then back to her room.

<Trip to the Nursery?>

<Yes!>

That was another thing about Ems. Emma had considered planting something you did when Mom made you. Ems?  A garden snob. I’d be spending the next several hours with Ems checking fertilizer, letting me translate and asking me if there were any parasites in the soil.

Still it would be good to get out.

That’s what survivors did.