Boat Graveyard, Brockton Bay

  Deep underwater, U-511 silently moved about the wreck of the Saint Margaret, a six-hundred-foot Dutch Panamax container ship that blocked the main channel of Brockton Bay. Taylor could feel that the ship's spirit was sleeping, but it was a troubled one as her end came at the hands of her own beloved crew.

  Like most coastal cities, Brockton Bay faced economic hardship due to the attacks from the seaborne Endbringer Levithan. As insurance rates went up, less cargo was being shipped, and fewer ships needed repair, the financial problems worsened. Eventually, with their livelihoods at risk, the citizens took to the streets as many companies either shut their doors or moved away. In the middle of one such riot, a group of sailors scuttled the Saint Margaret in the middle of the Bay's entrance. Blocking the other ships from leaving ensured that their owners were left with nothing. And although smaller channels were still somewhat navigable, that single action of spite managed to end Brockton Bay's two-hundred-year-old maritime industry.

  After finding the wreck upright, in one piece, and in somewhat good condition, plans began to form in Taylor's head. After lovingly pressing a hand on the ship's hull, she began a cursory search for any external damage. The seacocks had obviously been opened to allow water into the ship. However, it appeared that the use of explosives seemed to have sealed the deal. Unfortunately, not much could be seen below the silt level, so she made plans to enter the ship.

  Surfacing, her crew quickly manned the anti-aircraft guns while lookouts scanned both air and sea. Finding herself alone, Taylor swam to the ship's aftercastle, which still stood high above the waterline. Unlike other wrecks in the Bay closer to shore, the Saint Margaret had not been the target of looters, so its hatches were still sealed shut. And one found on the port side was easily opened. Although time and the weather would have made it quite difficult normally, U-511 had powerful engines and made quick work of it.

  But it was not a submarine in the form of a girl who stepped through the hatch, but a tall, Mediterranean-looking, black-haired young woman. Dressed in a dark blue boilersuit, Taylor reached into her hull and placed a baseball cap on her head. Making sure the tool belt that also appeared was firmly in place, she made her way to the heart of the ship, its bridge.

  And it was a mess.

  Instruments were damaged from what looked like hammers, and several small fires had ruined even more. Circling about the room, she placed her hand on one of the bulkheads and whispered, "Come on, sweetheart, lend me your secrets."

  Repair ships like USN Vulcan had their own type of magic, and the Saint Margaret schematics and other related documents appeared as Taylor pulled her hand away. Setting the stack on a table, she began summoning her crew and sorting them into work parties.

  She still didn't quite understand what exactly happened after the riptide grabbed her at summer camp. Unfortunately, she instinctively took a deep breath once under, filling her lungs with water. Surprisingly, upon opening her eyes, Taylor found herself standing on a calm sea surrounded by more water with no land in sight. Was this the afterlife? Strange, no one told her it would be so wet. However, the ocean breeze soothed her soul, and she began sailing toward destinations unknown. But as wonderful as it felt, it still left her unhappy. What would happen to her mother, Sally, and even the city her father had worked so hard to save?

  It was then that Taylor realized that she was no longer alone. Sailing next to her was a cute blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl dressed in a dark grey swimsuit, matching jacket, and a cap with 511 on it. And when their two eyes met, understood that she was being given a choice to continue sailing off to wherever the ocean would lead, Or. But she wanted to go back, to help; reaching out, consequences be damned, the two girls held hands, and Taylor Anne Herbert became more.

  "The damage is not too bad, so what do you think?" she questioned a group of her fairy officers after spending most of the morning crawling over the wreck.

  "Hey, hey, hey!"

  "I agree, the hull damage isn't as bad as the Kearny's," she chuckled, then looked thoughtful. "This might be doable."

  Stepping outside, Taylor stared at the shore but through the eyes of a ship's spirit. There was a dark miasma that covered the city, and not just the Boat Graveyard. It was not as overwhelming as when she first came back from summer camp, true, but it was still there.

  As the repair ship Vulcan, with a crew of over a thousand and the knowledge behind it, she was more than capable of repairing the Saint Margaret, raising her, and towing her out to sea. But then what? What would happen if suddenly everyone woke one morning to find the ship had disappeared?

  The PRT would automatically assume it was the action of a parahuman, some new tinker, obviously. The various gangs would start searching for this person, making the docks even more dangerous. If she did it by herself, would it actually change anything? But Taylor wanted to help her father's city, and opening Lords Port would be good not just for Brockton Bay but the state as well. And the ship’s spirit sleeping beneath her in fevered dreams begged for it as if the sins of her crew were her own.

  "Guten Tag Onkel, how are you today?"

  In a small flash of light, U-511 now stood on the bridge, with a phone in hand, giggling at the light chuckle on the other end.

  Kurt and his wife, Lacey, were family friends from way back. After her dad’s death, Kurt had taken his place at the DWA, making him the perfect person to contact to perhaps accomplish her goal another way.

  "I take it that you're done for the day and looking for me to take you to a certain restaurant for lunch?"

  "Of course, Onkel, and I know you like their Currywurst." Yuu's voice then became less playful. "Can you also see if my mom and Lacey can join us? I have a proposition that I want to run past the three of you."

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  Dock Workers Association Compound, Brockton Bay

  Warehouse 18 was packed a week later, filled with twenty or so dockworkers and two members from a local salvage company. They were all there for a presentation that would be given by the familiar young woman who stood off to the front of the room looking over her notes.

  The girl Vulcan had been in and out of docks for most of the summer, helping with an odd job if needed. But mainly, she had been repairing the warehouse's interior and building a pool filled with strange chemicals. And if anyone guessed her real name, they kept it to themselves. Even after Danny Herbert's death, the dockworkers were fiercely loyal to him. It also didn't hurt that Kurt, who had almost been left paralyzed from the wreck, was walking again, although with a cane.

  Rumors had it that she made faces anytime they interacted, annoyed that she or someone she knew wouldn't be allowed to heal him further. But everyone agreed that any hint of miraculous healing would cause the PRT to take a closer look at what was happening at the docks.

  "So, you're still annoyed at our little Taylor's trip?" Lacy leaned over and whispered to Annette. "You do know that even with people volunteering their time, this endeavor is not going to be without cost."

  "Yes, and no. I mean, all her arguments are sound. It would be a bad idea, even if she were positive that she could do all of the work herself. The PRT is too quick to jump at anything that smells like a Parahuman. And I'm already uncomfortable with her going out to the sound."

  "At least she doesn't sneak out of the house and punch gang members."

  Annette nodded. "There is that, but what I didn't expect her to do was disappear for most of a week and then reappear with a hoard of Spanish gold. And how she knew where to find it is beyond me."

  Lacey tilted her head. "She said it was a gift."

  "No doubt," she noted. "But this affinity she has with the sea. It's difficult to understand. And I worry. Her eyes look so old sometimes."

  Nodding, the other woman slipped her arm around Annette. "So, is Taylor looking forward to school."

  That caused a snort. "Another thing that's going to be tough for my daughter. Did you know she has memories of attending at least three different Naval Academies? But she needs to go and socialize with people her own age. Except for phone calls with her friend from summer camp, she's isolated herself, although perhaps for a good reason. Still, I'm proud of her, especially how she handled the whole Emma thing—poor girl. It's amazing that instead of lashing out or something equally destructive, Taylor came to me with her concerns."

  “From what Zoe said the other night, her husband is also going to therapy.”

  “Yes, but Alan is still in the doghouse. He made a mess of it. Going to be tough for all of them, though; Emma has always been a fragile little thing.”

  “And that daughter of yours has a backbone made of steel,” Lacy added as the young girl stepped forward and began her presentation.

  Special Slices Pizzeria, Brockton Bay

  Even with the work being done on the Saint Margaret, Taylors' various patrols, and getting ready to start a new school, the two made sure to spend time with one another. Often, Annette would take her daughter to work, and while she sat through various Departmental meetings, Taylor would wander around the school’s library. With the cafeteria still closed for the summer, the two would then head downtown and pick out various restaurants to try for lunch.

  Unfortunately, at one particular intersection, a truck shot through a red light, plowing into several cars just as the two were stepping out of a pizzeria. Taylor turned toward her mother, who stood in shock, memories of her husband's death flashing before her eyes.

  But Annette would not allow someone else to suffer what she had gone through. Grabbing her daughter's hand, who was a half-step away from helping, said, “Go!”

  Now dressed in the blue and white uniform of a British Navy nurse, Taylor strode into the street reaching the closest vehicle, which, after smashing into two cars, had spun off and slammed into a parked car.

  “Make way, please,” she commanded as she approached the truck. Her crisp London accent could be heard by everyone.

  However, there was little she could do for the driver or actually try.

  “Get away, or I'll sue,” the middle-aged man screamed, then started banging on the steering wheel with both hands.

  “No need for obscenities; a no thank you would suffice,” she said politely, turning away.

  “Oh, a nurse,” someone called out, seeing the red cross on her uniform, letting her by.

  “Thank you.” Taylor smiled, then leaned down, taking a good look at the second driver's injuries. “Shh, don’t move, luv. Let me check.”

  Grabbing her head with one hand, the woman kept reaching for her seatbelt with the other while trying to turn around at the same time.

  “Katie, are you OK?” She called out franticly.

  The nurse smiled at the young girl in the back of the car, safe in her car seat, who stared at her wide-eyed. Taylor already knew the toddler suffered no injuries.

  “She is doing just fine, Mum. What’s your name?”

  “Shannon and my head hurts.”

  “Well, let's take a look, shall we.”

  The head wound looked worse than it actually was, most likely from hitting the top of the car. The small contusion was quickly healed, and the soft skin damage, which would have left her miserable the next day, was taken care of as well.

  “All right, Shannon,” Taylor said, the smile not leaving her face. Reaching over, she unbuckled the woman’s car seat. “Looks like just a wee bump on the head.”

  “Do you think I should see a doctor?”

  “A second opinion never hurts.”

  The woman gave her a grateful smile. “I’ll see how I feel in the morning.”

  “Jolly good. Well, take care of your daughter. I need to check the other cars.”

  The thankful woman grabbed her hand, which Taylor squeezed, then began to walk toward the last vehicle in the accident. But the two occupants looked fine. They were currently speaking to a police officer while another passed behind her to speak to Shannon, who now stood outside her car with Katie in hand.

  Another member of Brockton Bay’s finest approached her then. “Excuse me, can I ask you a few questions?”

  “Of course; how many I be of assistance?”

  “I was told that you did some first aid on the driver of the green car?”

  “Indeed, although she has relatively minor injuries, I do recommend that she see a doctor to make sure there are no other issues.”

  “Did you happen to see what caused the accident?”

  Taylor nodded. “I did. The red truck over there went through the intersection and struck the two cars behind me. It then spun around and impacted that small blue car. Although truthfully, I am not positive what color the light was at the time.”

  The Policeman wrote down a few notes, then asked, “Can I have your name, please?”

  “Of course, good sir, it's Newfoundland.”

  “Just Newfoundland?”

  “Yes, that’s my name,” Taylor insisted.

  “Are you a Parahuman?” The policeman wondered.

  “Oh, heavens no,” she responded, sounding amused.

  “All right, I see that you’re a nurse. Do you work at Brockton Bay General?”

  Taylor had to smile, as she was well aware that her uniform was some eighty years out of date and from the wrong country. “No, I am not stationed here in this lovely city. I was simply passing through and decided to render some assistance.”

  “Not stationed here. OK, thank you for your help.”

  Knowing she was dismissed and not wanting to be dragged into anything else, Taylor disappeared into the crowds only to reappear minutes later across the street beside her mother.

  “Everyone’s fine, only bumps and bruises,” Taylor whispered, trying to reassure her mother.

  “Good.” Annette took a deep breath and then smiled. “Good. All right then, enough fun for one day.”