Chapter 54: According to Accord
Blake IsleyFriday, February 18, 2011Type: Steel
After dropping Lisa off at the college, I found myself in another abandoned lot to practice Aura Sphere. It formed in my hand, far more stable than before. I rolled it around like a blue tennis ball. Somewhere in the city, the heroes were rounding off the Merchants but right now, my world shrank to just this ball.
It was beautiful, not because I could chuck it at a tree like a grenade, but because of the potential it represented. This was something born of me, my efforts, not Arceus’ roulette. Finally, after months of practice, I was starting to regain my former mastery.
I formed a second Aura Sphere. Balancing them on my palms, I began to go through the familiar motions of a kata. Once upon I time, I used to throw these like candy, or shove them into opponents with sharp, swift palm strikes. The motions came fluidly, as if I’d never stopped practicing. Maybe martial arts kata were a bit like riding a bike.
Luca and I had developed these motions after meeting many masters over the course of our journey. Our martial art had no fancy name, though we sometimes made up silly names for fun, nor had we taken any students. Truthfully, it was barely a martial art, more like a collection of shit that worked for us.
I lunged forward, ducking beneath an imaginary counter. I turned that crouch into a leg sweep before pushing myself to rise. The rise was accompanied by a palm strike, meant to either catch an oncoming blow or end the fight then and there with a strike to the liver.
Then, I felt a stiff, pulling sensation. I ate shit as my legs gave out beneath me. The Aura Spheres fizzled out harmlessly and I clutched the inside of my thighs in pain.
“Ow ow ow, fuck,” I groaned. I’d moved way too fast there. “Noted. ‘Like riding a bike’ doesn’t mean I’m magically as flexible.”
Slowly, I sat up and began to stretch myself out to relieve the tension. My body just wasn’t as toned as my old one. I’d get there eventually, but there were many hours of grueling conditioning in my future.
Sighing, I got to my feet. What future-Lisa said made me think. I was still on board with the Somer’s Rock idea, but I felt like I could do more with it. Sure, buying time so I could deal with the Simurgh was the primary objective, but what did I want to say to the villains? To the city?
Usually, moving my body helped me to center myself. And while that helped, I could practice katas for only so long before I tired myself out. The same thoughts played out in my mind and I grew tired of them, feeling as though there must be something I was missing.
That gave me an idea. Was I not a steel type today? If my one head was insufficient, how about four? I needed an analytical mind, and which pokemon was more so than a metagross?
I found a nearby park and crashed down as Hoenn’s iconic iron spider. I did not go unnoticed, but that was by intention.
Four minds scanned my surroundings independently. The collective reached an unspoken consensus. Each was “Blake.” Each was connected to the others by a thread of consciousness, allowing me to focus on four things at once without overlap.
One kept an eye out, examining every passerby that came into our range. Most were just regular parkgoers. A few students, one plainclothes cop. Many were momentarily stuck in that limbo between curiosity and fear. Apparently, I’d developed a reputation for sudden hijinks, or sudden danger.
A second reviewed every dossier I’d been provided, committing every face and quirk and power to memory. That fork took careful stock of every cape’s biometric data, from their estimated height to the precise contours of their face wherever visible. It then passed the data to the first. If any cape wanted to approach me out of costume, there was a good chance I’d be able to recognize them in this state.
A third considered the same information as the second, if from a different angle. It weighed the merits of each faction in the city and what I might tell them to ensure cooperation. For the most part, I came to the same conclusion as Lisa; She really was quite the intelligent girl, more the pity she relied so heavily on her power.
The fourth fork argued against the third, laying out all the reasons why I could and should handle things on my own. Alliances were well and good, but I’d mostly acted on my own thus far. The Elite, Ambassadors, or even the heroes, whatever else could be said in their favor, they weren’t my team. I’d never put my faith in them in the same way I’d done so for my family.
A dogwalker came by with his charges. Six dogs of various sizes sniffed around me and chased each other beneath my legs. When I permitted it, that emboldened several children to come take selfies on my body. One was even brave enough to ask me to lift him into the air. The first obliged.
All the while, my remaining forks argued with myself. It was a little uncomfortable. I realized now that having more than one super-genius mind didn’t necessarily make me more decisive. If anything, I simply gave personalities to my internal arguments.
I stopped thinking. One by one, I redirected the forks to the more immediate task of entertaining children. The inevitable truth was that I was always going to have to adapt rather than plan; that was just the nature of my power.
Even after subjective days of arguments, the collective decision remained the same: Simurgh first, everything else later.
The heroes should not be contacted, at least prior to the summit. Odds were too good that at least Uppercrust or Accord would hear about the contact and jump to the wrong conclusions. They weren’t likely to think I was going to ambush them, but I couldn’t be sure what their subordinates would do.
For that matter, there was the real possibility that the Protectorate would act rashly. I feared they might launch an alpha strike against the villains, maybe try to hit a group before they could get settled. They might even succeed since they could afford to bring their full roster to bear without the Empire or ABB.
But whether they succeeded or not wasn’t the point. They’d be weakened, and I knew that at least a few of them were on the endbringer response roster. And of course, I couldn’t warn them of the Simurgh’s arrival. The moment that information entered the world, she’d react.
I wasn’t entirely confident in it as it stood. Future-Lisa mentioned that she didn’t recall previous Future Sight sessions with me, which implied I was reaching out to another branch of the Adamant Stream. Predictions of this magnitude weren’t always accurate. If they were, people like Sabrina and would have long since taken down men like Giovanni long before they could rise to power.
As for what I’d do when the Simurgh came, that depended entirely on whether Victini returned in time. If she didn’t, I’d have to make do, either as a healer or on search and rescue. If she did, then we had a shot at actually killing the endbringer. It sucked, not knowing which aura type I’d have.
Slowly, the bare bones of a plan began to form in my mind. Like Lisa said, I had clout. I was the big, scary salamence. Nothing could be finalized quite yet, but I had a lot of freedom to make demands.
My first mental fork noticed a car stop near me. The sedan stood out even amidst the gathering crowd because it was unusually luxurious and clean. There wasn’t a speck of dust on it, as if it’d just driven off the lot. Lincoln Motor Company, if the hood ornament didn’t lie to me.
It also weighed a little heavier on the tires, depressing them precisely two-point-one micrometers more than other cars of similar size. My psychic senses touched it, confirming what I’d suspected. Heavily armored, but made with exacting finesse so as to not draw attention to this fact.
When that fork raised the alarm, all internal discussions stopped. They’d come, as expected. Making myself publicly available was the right move.
Out stepped a man and a woman, each impeccably dressed. They were both capes; their masks made that obvious. They looked more like they planned to attend a ball than engage in a fight, which was almost certainly the point. This aesthetic flair told me precisely which organization they belonged to.
The man wore a well-fitted, black suit with an elegant waistcoat and an equally black bowtie. His clothes were so perfectly tailored that I thought even Sabah could do no better. The sunset caught his mask, a full, face-covering affair that was cleanly split vertically along the bridge of his nose. One side was black, the other, white. And of course, the outfit was subtly but expertly armored.
His monochrome outfit faded into the background, adding a layer of unobtrusive professionalism even to this random city park. He was a perfect, dashing gentleman, but he paled next to his female companion. Judging by how he followed a half-step behind her, that was probably intentional, like a butler escorting his noble lady.
The woman was stunningly gorgeous. She reminded me of Diantha or Cynthia in their flashiest moments, their aura of grace if not quite command. Where her partner’s costume seemed tailored to allow him to fade with quiet elegance, hers was all about drawing attention.
She wore a dazzling, yellow evening gown that rippled in the sunlight. Rather than show a lot of cleavage, the corset had a high neckline that was complemented by a golden choker around her neck. It screamed class and poise without leaning into the sex appeal that so many preferred.
Her mask belonged in a masquerade ball. Its curve accented the natural contours of her face. Its shimmering gems only seemed to make her eyes pop that much more. And behind the mask were a pair of intelligent, blue eyes that spoke of confidence born of ceaseless preparation.
Othello and Citrine, senior members of the Ambassadors. They were veteran capes who served Accord, though not much was known about them prior to them joining his organization. Citrine was the thinker’s second-in-command, a woman even Lisa described as “hyper-competent.” High praise, coming from her.
Of course, Lisa also pointed out past engagements against the Teeth or Blastgerm in Boston when Citrine should have led from the rear. Her power wasn’t always useful, not without a bit of time to prep the field. More than once, she’d become a liability against weaker, but faster-hitting capes.
Despite setbacks, Citrine was not afraid to enter the thick of things. Lisa said she had a bit of an ego and didn’t know when to step back. Either that, or she placed so much of her self-worth in being Accord’s second that being a professional mattered more than her immediate safety.
Three forks immediately focused on them. The last gently shoved the children off me, nudging them out of harm’s way. The chances of a fight breaking out were small, but not completely absent.
The Ambassadors approached me, as I figured they would if I made myself available. I assumed they wanted to talk. Accord saw himself as a “rational” man. Greeting the local power was what a “rational actor” would do. It was either these guys, or a representative from the Elite.
I considered what I knew of their powers. Citrine was a shaker. Over time, she could create territories that altered the laws of physics. It was what made her an excellent commander, and also why she could be taken off guard by a sufficiently swift, unpredictable alpha strike.
Othello was a stranger, and maybe a mover-blaster as well. He could seemingly be in two places at once, teleport short distances, or injure people from afar. Lisa hadn’t been able to tell me much about how his power worked, only that it was very versatile.
I waited patiently as they crossed the green. They came to a stop a respectful distance away, Citrine in front, Othello a half-step behind and to her right. Like this, they really sold the image of a noble lady and her butler.
“Hello, I hope we are not disturbing you, Menagerie,” Citrine said. Her tone held that slight hint of expectation, not quite commanding, but with an air of professional insistence.
I wondered if she practiced it. According to Lisa, her boss was a highly demanding thinker. He was the kind of man who sometimes killed his assistants for incompetence, or because they triggered his OCD.
He apparently made every one of his subordinates’ masks himself because he’d feel compelled to murder them all for some unintentional slight otherwise. That didn’t sound like a “rational actor” to me. How depressing, that he was still better than most from a city-wide perspective.
I almost snorted, but I had no nose. Immaculately dressed, distant, but not altogether unfriendly. Citrine was practically Steven Stone’s ideal woman. She was even named after a rock.
I hovered near a bench so they could sit down. “Of course not. Please, come join me. What can I do for you?”
They followed with the surety born of experience. “I am Citrine and my colleague is Othello. We are part of an organization called the Ambassadors.”
“I’ve heard of you. You’re in Boston, right? What does Boston’s premier villain group want with me?”
“We do not consider ourselves villains.”
I let out a rumbling laugh that sounded like the grinding of steel. “They say we are our own worst critics. This is not necessarily true. Very few people act with the assumption that they are in the wrong.”
“Perhaps. In the eyes of the law, I suppose we Ambassadors might be labeled as villains. Yet, to us, we are in the right.”
“Is that so?” And here it came, their sales pitch. That’s what this was in the end, a way for them to present themselves as the least bad option.
“Indeed. We pursue the greater good of humanity, starting of course, with our home city,” she said with a disarming smile. “Surely you understand. You are an independent hero. There must be a reason you did not join the Protectorate.”
“There is, but my motivation has little to do with the law.”
“The law is necessary, but it can also strangle progress. The law should serve the people. The moment it conflicts with the optimization of human society, it should be cast aside, at least temporarily.”
“Very convincing. And why approach me now? Most would prefer to chat online, or arrange for a more discreet meetingplace.”
“You are a hard man to reach, Menagerie, an unpredictable element at the best of times. The way Accord sees it, there is no better time than now, when you are at your strongest, to show that we mean no harm.”
One of my forks mulled that over. Accord had come to a similar conclusion that I’d reached myself. A human thought almost like a metagross. It probably wasn’t a good thing.
First, it showed that they were willing to trust in my established patterns of behavior. Citrine was Accord’s right hand. Sending her to me was a risk; losing her would cost him dearly. And yet, he knew I would not attack without reason and so her presence here was in itself an extension of trust.
Second, it could also be seen as a projection of strength. It said, “We know you’re strong, but we don’t fear you.” I could sense many psychic signatures around the park. I could not differentiate a hidden Ambassador from a random Brocktonite, but I didn’t doubt that Accord had assets around here. If things got ugly, he probably had plans to neutralize me. Or, failing that, at least extract Citrine and Othello.
Both were likely valid to some degree. Or, Accord knew that I would not fight around children and saw this as a good chance to make his organization known without inciting conflict. Clever, sometimes counter-cultural, and multi-layered. That sounded like him.
I took their measure in seconds. The world took on a sepia-yellow hue but I saw no sign of aggression from her. Sound muted around us until the hubbub of the city was cast out.
“That’s a convenient power,” I said ambivalently. It didn’t interrupt my forks’ constant scanning so I allowed her to project her field.
“Why, thank you. ‘Useful’ is the highest compliment I strive for,” she replied, giggling softly. I couldn’t help but think that Cherie could learn a thing or two from Citrine’s sense of poise.
“You have my attention. What can I do for you, Citrine of the Ambassadors?”
“Accord is aware that you likely knew of our involvement in Brockton Bay and would like to tell you that we do not want conflict. We are simply here to expand our legitimate operations. In fact, we are willing to enter into a partnership with you and yours.”
“Is that right? Your presence here as capes suggests you want more than real estate.”
“We have reason to believe that our holdings will be targeted in the future. A means of defending ourselves is necessary, unless you are willing to take personal responsibility for our acquisitions?”
“Of course not. I am beholden to no one. A partnership between us will have to be struck on my terms, Citrine.”
“And what if we desire something else? Something more… technical. Please, allow me to be blunt: Berries, hammerspace technology, and teleporters. You can make the seeds and while you lack the manufacturing capabilities, you have blueprints. We would be interested in examining whatever you gave to Dragon.”
I paused. Of course a thinker like Accord would know about them. Dragon mentioned letting the PRT know to skip some of the red tape regarding product testing. “Your boss is well-informed.”
“He is. I dare say he knows more about the minutiae of PRT bureaucracy than you. We have no hope of stealing them from Dragon of course, nor would we even want to, so we are approaching you. For starters, we are willing to purchase seeds, untampered and capable of growth, of course. I assure you, Accord can be quite generous.”
“I’m sure. Unfortunately for you, I have no need for his money. If you know this much, then you should already know that I am not easily tempted by wealth.”
“I suppose not,” she nodded. “How about information? Or perhaps even manpower? That is something Dragon cannot easily provide seeing how she resides in Vancouver. Accord’s plans are highly sought after and we Ambassadors are more than capable of meeting any of your needs.”
“Better,” I admitted. I never did want to be the kind of hero who patrolled his city ‘round the clock. If I could flip the Ambassadors, then that could make the coming Brockton Games much easier for me. “I am admittedly tempted, but I don’t have a concrete use for the Ambassadors at the moment.”
“More is the pity. Even so, that does not close the door on future cooperation. I believe you and Accord want the same thing, the betterment of humanity.”
“I may not be Protectorate, but I am still a hero. There is a long list of crimes your boss is wanted for.”
“None they can prove, I assure you,” she said primly. Then, more gently, “He used to be part of Watchdog, you know, the government branch of thinkers.”
I’d heard that before. Lisa hadn’t been sure why he’d left, but she was certain he’d left behind bodies. “Yet, here he is, a crime lord in Boston. How did that happen?”
“Accord is an organizational thinker. He eliminates waste and disorder, devising plans of perfect harmony and complexity that account for every possible variable.”
“Every variable? I highly doubt that is the case.”
“For instance, one of his working papers was a document which outlined a plan to solve world hunger. Not the United States. The world. Imagine that, Menagerie.”
“I can imagine. What were the casualties like? How much bloodshed was required before he deemed the foundations sufficient? You know, if you kill off enough mouths to feed, that too would solve world hunger.”
“There were losses. Tragic, but unavoidable. He even accounted for catastrophic disruptions to the supply chain as caused by major villain attacks, natural disasters, and endbringers. Though precise calculations were impossible, his plan provided in-built structures and redundancies for adaptation.”
“He’s a utilitarian taken to the logical extreme.”
She frowned. “He would not appreciate being distilled to a single philosophy. He cares not for happiness, only tangible, measurable progress and prosperity.”
That made me roll my eyes. I’d heard such plans before. For whatever reason, my old world had a tendency to elevate dreamers into positions of power. Those dreams were often grand, and therefore grandly delusional.
Truthfully, he was little better than Lysandre. I understood the need to better humanity or seek perfection, but the difference between us was simple: Experience. I’d seen the calamities that such promises inevitably wrought.
And that was ignoring the parahuman propensity for conflict. I had a feeling his plans weren’t as benign as Citrine made them seem. Had Accord more influence, more followers, I’d probably have had to kill him.
“You are a marvelous speaker, Citrine, charming and eloquent,” I said, each word rumbling with the surety of steel, “but it’s easy to say something is unavoidable or necessary when they are not your tragedies to bear.”
“Someone has to make those decisions. This world is not an idyllic playground, Menagerie,” she sniffed delicately. “At least this way, the man making hard decisions is neither wasteful nor cruel.”
“I am not convinced that this is so. Each time someone has told me that they have the best interests of humanity in mind, they have proven themselves liars. Perhaps Accord is different. Perhaps he is the man this world needs. You’ll have to forgive me for remaining a skeptic.”
“Fine, and what of you? We’ve spoken of the values shared by the Ambassadors. You are a chaotic element, widely seen as a hero, yet one who refuses attachments like the plague. What is it you seek, Menagerie?”
“Nothing quite so grand as the betterment of mankind,” I said with no hesitation. “Freedom. Choice. Communion. These are the things that matter most to me.”
Her nose curled with dainty disdain. “Anarchy. The word you’re looking for is anarchy.”
“I don’t recall saying we should be free of consequences. The good that we choose to do is precious precisely because we had the choice to do evil.”
She considered my words, only to dismiss them with a shake of her head. “Perhaps our views cannot be reconciled on a global scale, but I don’t see why we cannot work together in Brockton Bay. You want a city of peace. Accord desires the same thing. If nothing else, violence and civil unrest is bad for business.”
“Then act accordingly. Start no conflicts. Avoid civilian casualties and collateral damage. Do not intimidate or coerce in your pursuit of assets. Do these things and you’ll have no problems with me,” I told her honestly.
She rose, smoothing out her dress. Next to her, Othello did the same. She handed me her business card, but realized I had no hand to take it. A brief flash of unsurety crossed her face as she pondered if it’d be rude to place it on my head. Like a dog.
A laugh like grinding gears bubbled up from me. I took the card in a telekinetic grip.
She eyed me with a judging frown. Unfortunately for her, I didn’t have the manners to pretend not to laugh. “I see. I understand. We will give you no reason to fight us. In fact, we would not be opposed to lending our aid against certain elements.”
Teeth, their historical enemies most likely. I nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind. Before hostilities truly begin, perhaps we will meet in Somer’s Rock. I expect your presence there.”
“I understand. The Ambassadors are not your enemy. We will answer.”
“Good evening, Citrine, Othello.”
“Good evening, Menagerie.”
Author’s Note
Blake’s meeting with Citrine was supposed to be pretty brief. Before I knew it, it turned into a philosophical debate. Still, it’s a solid piece so I’m keeping it.
Animal Fact: The biggest pig ever recorded in the Iowa State Fair was a boar named Finnegan. He weighed in at 1,420 lb. For comparison, male polar bears weigh anywhere from 775 - 1,300 lb on average and the largest polar bears can get up to 1,800 lb.
The hilarious thing about this is that Finnegan isn’t the biggest hog ever recorded. According to the Guiness Book of World Records, that title goes to Big Bill, who weighed 2,552 lb. He was unfortunately put down after he broke his leg on the way to the Chicago World’s Fair in 1933 so it’s up to you whether you believe that or not.
There was also a pig in Nanning, China that weighed over 1,000 lb. Apparently, this is fairly common. I’m not sure why this disturbs me, but knowing that porkers regularly can and do grow larger than most polar bears makes me feel some type of way.