The Web of the Weaver: Chapter One

I didn’t go to bed until late that night. It was as if a switch had been thrown, and I wanted to hit myself. I wasn’t strong—well, I was stronger than I had been, but I wasn’t bulletproof either, and all the armor in the world wouldn’t stop a big enough gun. And I had been planning to…what? Go out and do Emma’s job for her?  

But I didn’t need to be near people to have an impact. I had a range of about a tenth of a mile. And I’d practiced speaking with my bugs, more as a way to get control than anything useful. It was hard to see and impossible to really hear using my bugs…

Or is it that I just didn’t try hard enough?

There were insects with better vision, but they were mostly seasonal and not around during the colder months. Which for the Bay, was an issue. Still…

I reached out, and a swarm of flies appeared in my room, streaming through the vents. Dad was asleep, so I would be able to try… Again.

I closed my eyes and tried to see through their eyes but…

There was no unity, a thousand tiny images, all jittering around. Maybe I would get better—with practice, but it would take a lot of practice, and I didn’t have the time.

Just like I couldn’t hear with them…

But you can speak through your bugs.

And I didn’t need bugsto hear. Just a walkie-talkie glued to the wall. There were some tinkertech models small enough for a bug to carry, but I wouldn’t be able to afford those.

And if my bugs were talking, most people would assume they could also hear.

And why would you look for a walkie-talkie then?

I would need to equip myself, but that got back to money, and right now I had… twenty dollars.

Dad didn’t have very much more. It had been years since his position had been anything but a part-time position with a fancy title.

And I needed money. If I was going to go with my new plan, I’d need ways to record voices, to get records…

As well as some new choices for my costume. I looked over to where my original suit was and shook my head. Now that I wasn’t thinking of going out, it looked…

Both too villainous and not villainous enough. I needed something that made people decide they didn’t have a chance to fight me, because the minute they did, they’d be fighting a fifteen year old girl, and that meant I had to keep them off balance.

But all that depended on money. And I had an idea…  

****

Saturday morning dawned, bright and crisp. Dad had been working late, and was sleeping in. That avoided any awkward questions as I left on my mission.

I got off the bus far from my destination. I had work to do. I had picked out several businesses, and now I was going to…

Start making money. Hopefully. I had done my research and knew what buildings were safe, and what places wouldn’t risk getting the PRT involved.

As I passed the first building, a hotel, my power went to work. Bedbugs swarmed out of the beds, and down into the basement where they were devoured by ants. Flies flew away as Roaches moved in, chewing and devouring the waste that might attract other insects. In the basement, rats thrashed and died as black widows, ants, wasps all attacked them, other insects waiting to strip the corpses to the bone.

Five minutes later and the hotel was clear of insects.

They would start coming back, of course, but now, presuming the owner spent some money on pesticides, the hotel would be clean.

Well, clean of insects, at least.

By the time I’d gotten to the library, I’d cleared fifteen buildings. No more. Most of my research on our little home computer had been about the NPEA5 laws. I’d never really worried about them before, and on the day of the lecture on NPEA5 in economics I had gone home early because I’d been “clumsy” and gotten Emma’s juice all over me.

It turned out that the law didn’t forbid parahuman businesses, butdid forbid parahuman businesses that would drive their competitors out of the market. A single person like Parian just had to note that she was using a parahuman power, but so long as she didn’t drive every other weaver out of business, she wasn’t covered under NPEA5.

Nor would I be. Fifteen buildings weren’t about to destroy the fumigation sector in the Bay, and since it cost between 1,000 and 8,000 for just a residential building, I’d saved them a pretty penny.

Now to see if they were going to be grateful.

Oh, and get ready to accept payment.

I needed two things, and I wasn’t going to do either one of them at home.

First a Numberman Card.  

I’d never tried to get one, because I never had enough money to qualify. One hundred fifty dollars, and a card would be sent to you.

That was what Emma had said, before she’d turned on me. Nobody knew where the cards had appeared from, just that after Teacher’s Pets had tried to crash the banking system in revenge for his birdcaging a new service had become available. According to my economics teacher, it had probably saved the banking system, story after story appearing of how they were invulnerable to any kind of powers or tinkertech. According to PHO, nobody had ever lost money they held in a Numberman Card, unless they violated the terms of service.

Nobody knew who Numberman was. Rumors ranged from a black market magnate to an Endbringer. Greg claimed it was part of a secret conspiracy’s attempt to stabilize Earth Bet, but well, Greg.

I got on a computer in the library, far from the other patrons on this quiet Saturday morning. Logging in, I went to the page.

It was… drab. No animations, no graphics, just a prompt to create my identity, and a note that I didn’t have to be clever. Nobody but myself would see it. Confidentiality was assured.

I bet police really hate this… then the TOS screen came up.

It was mostly what I’d heard. There were instructions on how to transfer money into the account, from bank accounts and even ATM’s, although how that worked, nobody was really certain. Once more than 150 dollars was in the account, you would be issued a card, sent to an address of your choice. The cards were tinkertech, and losing one would result in a fifty-dollar replacement fee. The total size of any account was no more than four thousand dollars, but I could set up a bank account to receive any overflow, although the transfer might not be confidential.

Then the restrictions appeared, and they were in red, the words somehow pulling my eyes to them.

THIS ACCOUNT MAY NOT BE USED FOR THE FOLLOWING ACTIVITIES:

ORGANIZED DRUG TRAFFICKING. (PURCHASES FOR PERSONAL USAGE ARE NOT COVERED)

PURCHASE OF WMDS.

ORGANIZED CRIME ACTIVITIES.

ATTEMPTS TO UTILIZE THE CARD ON BEHALF OF A BANNED MEMBER.

ANY SUCH USAGE WILL RESULT IN THE ACCOUNT BEING REDUCED TO ZERO, ALTHOUGH SUBSEQUENT USAGE WILL NOT BE IMPACTED.

ATTEMPTS TO INTERFERE WITH THE NETWORK OR REVEAL ITS EMPLOYEES WILL RESULT IN A SUBSTANTIAL NON-MONETARY PENALTY.

There was more information and definitions, and after I read them,  I leaned back. It didn’t make sense—criminals were the ones who would get the most out of the card, so why keep organized crime from using it? And if they didn’t want criminals using it, why were so few items listed? By the TOS I could use the card to pay for a murder! And if you did use it, all they did was pull the money you had in your account…

And then I paused. Anyone working for the ABB or E88 would never know if they were going to trip the organized crime rule. So they were either going to risk losing their money, or keep it in other sources, and those would be vulnerable to the law. And yet, ordinary people could keep at least a small nest egg in their cards and be safe.

I would have to think about this. But at least I knew that they weren’t about to risk their reputation over a vigilante in Brockton Bay. I signed up for the card and then sighed as I stared at my balance.

Zero.

Time to get to work. I called up the word processor and started typing my message.

“I bet Protectorate Heroes never have to do this,” I muttered.

***

“Hey Mike,” Thomas called. “Notice anything?”

Mike sighed, looking down at his desk and the invoices on it. “No Tom, I don’t notice anything except you’re not working.”

“No bugs.”

“What?” Mike asked.

“No bugs,” Thomas repeated. “No rats. Look around!”

Mike stared and noticed that Thomas was right. The spider webs were gone and he hadn’t heard a single rat since he’d gotten in at ten. “Huh.” He got up and wandered around. “That’s… strange.”

Bugs were a fact of life at his business, especially since the diner that he would never eat in, even if he was starving, was next to them. The guy paid his dues to the E88 and that made little things like health inspections go away.

But…

Now that he was looking, there wasn’t a single damned bug. You wouldn’t think people would notice, but you really did.

“Got a letter about it.”

“What?”

“Here.” Thomas handed him a plain sheet of paper. “Someone stuck it in the mail box with the mail.”

Technically a felony, but then, who in the Bay would care? Mike took the letter and stared at the printed words.

Hello Sir,

I am the Exterminator, and as you may have noticed, your establishment is pest free. While the insects and rats will return, at this point you should be able to keep them out without much difficulty. While I cannot promise my regular assistance, I may drop by now and then.

There is no charge for this. I merely ask that you tell others about my services, and if you feel they are worth some remuneration, I can accept contributions at the following Numberman Account.”

Thank you,

Exterminator.

There was the same long line of numbers and letters that Mike used for his account. The only reason he didn’t use it for everything was that he couldn’t keep all his money in it, and the bank paid interest.

So they ain’t E88 or ABB. Which didn’t mean they weren’t crooks. You could do a lot without being organized, but…

“Tom.”

“Yeah, Boss?”

“How much we got in the till right now?”

“’Bout fifty.”

“Go down and send it to this account.”

They didn’t say how much and since a fumigator is about two grand, I’m coming out ahead…

TBC...