PPC: Ambassador Kent Stevens

Just ten years ago, Kent Stevens commanded a destroyer in the South China Sea, with orders to sink any Chinese ship that came near. It was strange, now, to find himself working in the American embassy in Beijing. Diplomatic ties had been frayed, some feared beyond repair, but after several years of trying the Chinese knew they had more to fear from Nikolai Brandon and his so-called peaceful hegemony than they ever had from the United States.

Besides all that, it wasn't like the war hadn't come to an amicable conclusion. Taiwan maintained its independence, and China finally controlled the gigantic swathes of oil-rich land under the South China Sea that they had always claimed were theirs. Old men sent young men to die in war, as they always had. A new found peace between the two giants was built on their corpses, left to rest on the sea floor. And now here he was, awaiting a meeting in the Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs, with the Minister.

Kent's reverie was broken when a secretary entered the waiting room. He stood as she bowed, and then responded in kind. "Minister Yang is ready to see you now," she said. Her English was impeccable. Not surprising, given her position in the Foreign Ministry.

She invited him to follow her, so he did. It didn't take long for them to reach the Minister's office. Two large doors of dark oak, carved in various traditional patterns barred the entrance. She opened one, with such ease as to imply hidden motors in the hinges helped her along, and ushered him in.

Kent strode into the office. There were two chairs and a coffee table to one side of the office, but the thick handwoven carpet and gold-trimmed laquer panels of the room pointed toward the portly man sitting behind the dark wood desk. Very Feng shuei. The Minister, middle aged and much stouter than the average Chinese he'd seen, came to his feet.

The Chinese Minister of Foreign Affairs didn't seem to care for ceremony. "Ambassador Kent," he said, "I assume you have come to return our defective merchandise after all, no?"

A joke, of course. Kent gave a light twist of his lip as he patted his hip, where three shards of shrapnel were still embedded. The rocket hadn't gone off quite right when it hit. "Not today, I intend to keep it as a memento of the pleasant times we've shared."

Foreign Minister Yang gave a chuckle, at least that's what Kent assumed passed for a chuckle from the man. "I do not wish to waste either of our time with a meeting if this matter has been settled. And I trust is has been." They both knew the drone was already in the air, safely tucked away inside a C-130 cargo plane. The United States had worse things to worry about than Chinese spying. And that was why they were here.

So, Kent thought, To business then. It wasn't exactly rare for the crypto boys in Hawaii to hack into and pilot down Chinese drones. "I'm afraid this meeting's about a little more than lost hardware. Tell me, Minister, what's been going around the office about the situation in Africa?"

The Foreign Minister squinted at him. "Our dealings in Africa are none of yours, or your country's concern."

The Minister's stance was amusing. It wasn't as if Kent didn't know. China had long since mined out the majority of its mineral stores. Losing their supply of Rhodium from Sierra Leone would be crippling - and that wasn't the only thing at stake. "I'm not here to browbeat you, Minister. I'm here to work out a deal. You're not the only one who needs those resources, and with the way things are going it's only a matter of time before the Custody moves in."

If there was one thing the socialist Chinese government understood, it was how to improve its hand through making a deal. Had the Custody not appeared on stage, they would likely be top dog by now. Kent knew the Central Committee and the Premier had no interest at all in playing second fiddle to Nikolai Brandon. They'd spent decades chomping at the bit under United States global hegemony. But the Minister remained silent, considering. "There are...players afoot on that continent," Kent continued. "We intend to throw our backing behind one of them. Perhaps we can work something out that is in both of our best interests."

Specific proposals would come later, of course. Kent was pretty sure Minister Yang got the idea of this proposal. They'd carve the continent up like a slice of pie. Chinese colonialism, what an interesting concept. Yet given the chance to get as large a slice of the pie, of course they would. If not, the Custody would swallow it all whole.

((Written with Jon Little Bird))


Edited by Nick Trano, Aug 18 2016, 10:12 PM.

(much work in progress, expect much editing)

Algeria - Legion Aligned, African Union member.

Current home to the Legion, who has based its headquarters and training grounds in the ghost-city of Sidi Bel Abbès. Algeria has been in a steady economic decline over the past twenty years, thanks to collapses of the global market. The sale of the dead city of Sidi Bel Abbès to the Legion is hoped to help revitalize the nation's economy.

Angola
After five years of severe drought from 2016-2021, the oil-field fires of 2023, and a suicide bombing that killed most of the elected government during the 2023 Halloween Massacre remembrance ceremonies, Angola ceased to exist as a unified country, degrading to a handful of city-states.

Benin - Legion Aligned, African Union member

The multi-party democratic government system of Benin continues to be one of few functional ruling bodies, and has been running succesfully since the mid '90s. After a bloody coup in Togo, its western neighbor, the Benin military was deployed to bring peace to the region. After a ten year peace-keeping mission, a referendum was held in Togo which saw the region join Benin.
Benin continues to be economically and socially stable, despite a decade of border conflict with Burkina Faso and Nigeria, and a near-devastating fungus outbreak which had threatened to destroy most of the nation's cotton and agricultural industries. Nigeria continues to deny any involvement in this, despite circumstantial evidence that the fungus was intentionally engineered and purposefully released.

Botswana - African Union member.
Advances in modern medicine and medical procedures, coupled with an aggressive campaign of education and awareness has seen Botswana's number of HIV infected citzens drop from 1.5% to less than .02% in twenty years. With the advent of an AIDs vaccine in the mid-30s, and an expensive, if short lived, international funding effort, the spread of the virus was contained.
In 2032, a Poland-born nun, Kalina Żuraw, was declared president with a land-slide victory, despite not running for office, after a hugely sucesful social-media campaign. She won a second election in 2036, and during her eight years in office is attributed to the social and economic reforms which has seen Botswana become one of a handful of stable nations in modern Africa.

Burkina Faso - Open Conflict with the Legion

Severe droughts in the '20s and into the '30s was briefly offset by an ambitious irrigation project, which led to severe depletion to the nation's natural aquifers and only ended up hastening the loss of cropland and jungles.
With the loss of most of the nation's ground water, what had begun as a volunteer animal rights group became an armed extremist eco-terrorist movement, based mostly in the southern reaches of the country, protecting what remains of the nation's reserves and national parks, which government forces are actively trying to burn for crop and grazing land.

Burundi
One of the poorest nations in Africa, Burundi collapsed as a coherent state in the mid-twenties, after the DRZ, Tanzania, and Uganda succeeded at closing their borders to a fresh wave of refugees out of Rwanda. Swamped by the sudden influx of tens of thousands of refugees, the nation buckled and collapsed into a handful of city states and unclaimed land. Much of which was later siezed by the DRC for its uranium deposits.


Edited by Jacques, Nov 7 2017, 07:42 PM.

Aria had plenty of time to sit and do absolutely nothing while she waited on the Regus and Martin Borovsky to come up with their plan. She was sure her only objective would be to lead them into the den of the lion. And to their deaths.

Thankfully she had her wallet with her and she was able to text Nox to stay away from HQ. He was having a busy day. He said they had a lot to talk about but he didn't want to do it over texts. Annoying since she could likely be dead before she saw him again. But whatever...

A book was sitting open on her lap in a comfortable chair in the library. It wasn't like home, and she was truly bored out of her mind. She was avoiding anything that put her around people, the emptiness was grating.

Aria started reading the next page of her book, and rubbed at her temple. The edge of a headache started. Things started to get blurry. The pain intensified at a greater rate. And soon it was completely unbearable. Her mind was overwhelmed with pain. Oh the pain. Nothing but pain...

Aria's heart was racing in her chest, she could feel it pounding against her fingers as she clenched her hands to her head. Overwhelming pain... fear... hate... misery... regret... but it was mostly pain - her own pain but the rest weren't her.

Aria pulled her safety around her but it slipped from her grasp. The bubble was elusive. Aria saught the calm of her center. It was reflex when things went chaotic. To search for the calm center and when she found it nearby Aria's heart dropped. Everything else stopped. The pain, the hate and every other overwhelming emotion that was flooding her brain evaporated on the one swift edge - Dane!

The moment passed and the world crashed in on Aria again and she realized why. Stupid girl! she chided herself. Her senses had been wide - trying desperately to grasp any and every possible emotion out there and striking at a loss. It was a measured effort, a distinct pulling of her senses back inside after the distance she'd stretched them. She could feel blips of people around her. Fear, Anger, Hate. There was plenty of that to go around. Plenty.

Aria smiled to herself - her powers weren't gone. But now there was a problem. She was told not to leave the mansion, and she had been willing to obey - until now. Until she knew where Dane was. Dane was sitting looking in her bathroom window. When did he get back? Aria smiled to herself - would she risk the ire of the Regus by leaving, even for a moment??

Sierra hadn't been back in Moscow long before the Ascendancy made his announcement. She wasn't sure what to think about magic, but then again who would believe she could talk to wolves either. She could likely walk around without her contacts and not be questioned - someone thinking it's a fashion statement much like Jaxen Marveet had. But she didn't feel comfortable doing so.

Sierra sat in a cafe after the big protest turned demonstration. It was all over the news in the lobby and Sierra had watched as the Ascendancy had created a statue. It was a big monolithic thing but what did it show - that he was a power mad god who displayed his power for the world to see. And the masses loved him for it.

What good was a sculpture going to do? Sierra could smell the fear and the anger. The Ascendancy had changed some of it, but not all of it. It was going to back fire eventually. Sierra wanted to be gone from Moscow by then. But she had to get the photos cleaned out of her camera and off the laptop.

Her camera sat next to her laptop as she scanned through the cards she'd pulled from it on her extended vacation from humanity. Her contacts securing her identity Sierra felt at home sipping her coffee and combing through so many photos. She'd taken so many while she was gone. Her emotions still ran high when she ran across an image of Snow. She missed him greatly. She might need to find another pup and care for it. But the wolves would likely let her - maybe a dog? But that was such a poor imitation of a wolf, but Sierra missed her constant companion. But it was a thought.

The last final task was not something Sage enjoyed doing, but he said he would. Hijacking a completely network for someone else was not a talent Sage wanted to possess. He could, and he did, but he didn't like it. And whenever he was tasked with a job he always sent it to 5ph1nx. He was better at it than he was. And Sphinx enjoyed the work.

But Sage didn't like talking to him either. He was thankful he'd never met the person behind the avatar, his personality was grating on Sage.

Ph453r: Got a job for you?

5ph1nx: AGAIN?

Ph453r: I need you to capture the airwaves of Africa. Anything and everything. Control is to go to Legion Premiere.

5ph1nx: I CAN'T KEEP IT?

Ph453r: No.

5ph1nx: COME ON, JUST ONE?

Ph453r: No

5ph1nx: FINE!

Sage sighed and let it go. He had agreed and now Sage could get back to his normal routine. He had promised and he would deliver. It might be a while, but he would.

The most interesting task on the list was the need to show the world that the men that died in Africa were not monsters. They were real men, with real lives that made a difference and believed in what the Legion stood for and why they fought. Sage wanted to do this himself, but the task was far larger than he was, and he knew he'd tire quickly of the search. But qu1rk would not, he lived to hunt down nameless faces and find every piece of dirt on them. He and 3p107m3 worked well together.

This time however Sage just wanted names of those who had died, he'd do the rest. Once he had names the search for information would be easy and that is what Sage loved - finding all the interesting bits and compiling them in a specific way. This time to present something illuminating - something people would understand and feel sympathy towards - something that they would know these men and women. When Sage was done they would believe they were good people. And if he found that some were not he'd leave them out. Not everyone was going to be a golden boy, or a great person. That was life. Sage knew it first hand.

Sage sent qu1rk his assignment.

Ph435r: qu1rk, I have some names I need you to find.

qu1rk: When don't you?

Ph435r: You saw my announcement for Sierre Leone, Africa restructuring?

qu1rk: yeah. What do you need?

Ph435r: I need you to find the names of all the men and women who fell from Legion Premiere in Jeddah.

qu1rk: That's all, just the names? That's right you like to do the work yourself, give me the hard part.

Ph435r: you know me so well. Can you do it?

qu1rk: I guess. I like when you let me get dirt on those names though.

Ph354r: I don't need dirk. Just names. Thanks.

qu1rk: no problem.

Sage had received a reply from Danjou he requested three things the collective could help him with. Each of with Sage was perfectly capable of doing himself. But time was probably of the essence and Sage would prefer to hand the tasks off to people who would be more excited to do such things. Chronicle enjoyed history - current events even better. What better place to stick the search for proof that two country's leaders were evil bastards.

This was simply a search, they weren't planting anything, they weren't faking or incriminating - it was purely to find information and pass it along to the right people. In this chase Danjou himself.

Maybe not. Sage would have to clarify where the information once found was supposed to go? To him? To news outlets? What would be the best course of action for the man's agenda. Sage made a mental note to ask this question in his next message to Danjou.

Sage had never physically met chr0n1cl3. They had shared many conversations with one another, but that was the extent of their relationship. It was how Sage preferred things.

Ph435r: chr0n1cl3 I have a job for you.

chr0n1cl3: Sup?

Ph435r: I need you to find proof that Liberia has hired mercenaries to destabilize Sierra Leone, to justify their occupation of the resource-reach south-eastern reaches. Proof that Nigeria is providing weapons and ammunition to General Katlego. Proof, nothing faked, nothing planted - the truth.

chr0n1cl3: I never give you anything but the truth.

Ph435r: I know, it's why I like you. You in?

chr0n1cl3: of course. I'll get on it right away. You want all the info I go through?

Ph435r: of course.

chr0n1cl3: righto - silly question.

And then the conversation ended just as abruptly as it had started. Sage smiled. One task down. Only two more to start.

When Lacey Frieburg, the White House Chief of Staff, told Nicholas she would see him in Washington soon, Nicholas hadn't been expecting to find himself outside the Oval Office less than a week later. Security had been on a constant rise since Nikolai Brandon confirmed the existence of magical powers. The White House looked more like a fortress than a statesman's home.

But the newly risen concrete walls surrounding the perimeter wouldn't be worth a damn, if push came to shove. But then, Nicholas supposed, it was better to look like you were doing something. The wait dragged out for several minutes, and Nicholas could picture Dawson sitting behind those doors thinking he was sending some kind of message.

Blessedly, an aide came and opened the doors, ushering Nicholas inside. "Mr. President,"
Nicholas said as he made eye contact with a man he'd spent a career lambasting.

Dawson had probably spent the whole morning mentally preparing himself to meet a power user face to face. The expression that met Nicholas was neutral and expectant. An obvious front; if there was one thing Republicans feared it was that which they didn't understand. "Thank you for coming today. Let's sit and chat. Lacey said you were open to the position on the Cabinet?"

Nicholas crossed the room, and took a chair. "There's nobody better for the job,"
he said, looking Dawson in the eye.

And with that, Dawson began. "You'll be my primary advisor in matters relating to this newfound power so many seem to be afflicted with. There are laws to write. Policies to design. We must know what this power is capable of inflicting." And there it was. The fear.

Nicholas nodded. "Afflicted with, Mr. President?"


Dawson waved his hand. "Oh you know what I mean. The Sickness."

Nicholas leaned back in his chair, briefly considering siezing the power before deciding against it. Instead, he just smiled. "Fair enough. It's a health crisis. But tell me, what are you planning to do with all these magic users?"


Dawson frowned and shook his head. "Thats why you're here. We have to figure this out." He offered a hand to shake. "Will you formally accept the position?"

That was a new one. Almost the last thing Nicholas expected the president to say, in fact. But, then again, only time would tell whether those words held truth. Nicholas shook the hand. "I accept. We're going to do this better than the Custody is."


After they shook, it wasn't long before the order was signed and the press conference scheduled. Things were about to get interesting.

Mami died. And then Beto knew. When Papi died, when Nico died, he felt...nothing. But they were not his Mami. They had not been the center of his world. So he could tell himself excuses. Papi wasn't around much anyway. Nico had been an annoying older brother who had perpetuated all the usual older brother cruelties. But he had no excuse when Mami died. There was nothing he could say.

And so at 8 years old, Beto found the truth. He knew he was a monster. Because he felt nothing. Even when she was laid out and painted by the mortician and Abuelita cried and cried, seizing the lifeless shoulders, hugging and kissing that grotesque waxy face, all he wondered was what was wrong with him. He touched her face all he felt was a cold piece of meat. He felt nothing. He should miss her. He tried to miss her. He was supposed to miss her. The smell of her hair when she leaned over and woke him up from sleep; the sight her cooking platanos when he came home from school; the sound of her voice helping him with his homework. He remembered it all. So...why didn't that mean anything to him in here, in his heart?

He didn't know. And he didn't miss her now that she was gone. He did not wake up crying at her memory. The smells that reminded him of her did not cause him to pause and reflect, to feel that aching emptiness everyone else said they felt. He remembered her. But remembering didn't do anything to him.

He was a monster. And that was the only thing that truly scared him, would be the only thing that ever scared him. Scared him somewhere deep inside, beyond words and feelings. The dizzying feeling of looking over the rail of the Brooklyn Bridge, the ground so far below and the magnitude of what could happen if he just climbed the rail, stood on the edge, the wind rifling his hair and the sounds of the street below, the lights of the city a sea of stars that surrounded him, and there is a part of him that feels like the universe isn’t real, it is all in his imagination, that the people, the places, the entire world are merely there for his amusement. Not real. And he feels as if he is leaning forward and will take his place in this world, the center of the world, and it is dizzying and terrifying and freeing and oppressive to him. Just one step, one decision. Just once is all it would take, and he would fall.

And that is what scares him. The realization that he is capable of anything. That he feels no empathy, no remorse, no pity, no nothing. He thought he felt nothing when Mami died. But it’s not true. He felt set free. Untethered. Lost. Adrift. Because he realized there was nothing holding him back now.

And he chooses to be different. He doesn’t know why. He cannot explain it. He is forever on that edge, ready to jump. And he clings to any and everything he can to stop from doing it, the smallest thread.

It is not surprising that Beto (short for Roberto) Josemaria AlvarezTrujillo was drawn to law. When he had been a teenager, it was the priesthood, in the hopes that the holiness and piety and forced contemplation would give him the strength to hold out. But the rituals held nothing for him, the Mysteries ridiculous to him, the Fathers and Reverends as venal as any in other professions. There was no God here. It had been his last hope, to find God, to meet him somewhere. But there was no god, no rules from on high, no higher power to cling to.

But what he sought and failed to find in the church, he found in the law. A messy convoluted system, an imperfect expression of humanity attempting to codify and impose conscience on society. Somehow, here, the contradictions, the abuses, the corruption and foolishness did not bother him the way the church had. Maybe because it acknowledged its imperfection. It never claimed to be anything other than it was.

And he could tie himself about with the strictures and rules, with the rituals and language, and could feel, for weeks or even months at a time, like he was off that bridge, that he wasn’t on the edge, ready to fall.

He enrolled at Fordham on a scholarship and graduated in 2030, at the age of 23 with his Juris Doctor and passed his bar the following year. He found himself working as a public defender, work he threw himself into. It was baptism by fire, as most public defenders worked an astonishing number of cases in such a short period of time. He was noticed very quickly. From there, he went on to private practice for a number of firms, working his way up and then into the Justice Department. He can fake emotion, enthusiasm, empathy, interest. But they are a mask. He is very good at wearing masks.

He had no wife, no children, no pets. Work was his life. So he excelled at it. No one guessed his secret. And he was good at it- excelled at it- because he felt nothing. He was not swayed by emotion. Tears and angry protests did not elicit feelings, nor was he afraid of going after high powered individuals. If they only knew what was in his head. It came down to what was legal and logical and what could be proved. And he used the law like a scalpel to cut away the detritus of emotion and chaos, of lies and deception, until the truth, as proved by law, remained.

He is now 38. He still stands on the edge of the bridge. He will stand there until he dies. But he has gotten practiced at staring into that maw of death and suffering that has been inside him since he was a child. He never relaxes. But he is content with the balance he has struck.

And now there is something new. Magic is real. It is irrefutable, now. He has seen the videos. He is intrigued at the challenge the world faces. An entire of body of law will have to be crafted all at once. The next few years will set precedents that will impact the country in a very real way, the way Marbury v. Madison did in shaping the country 250 years ago.

More than that, though, above that…something is here. For the first time, he senses a divine presence. He does not know what it means. But he wants to find out. He does not feel excitement. He tells himself that. Not excitement. Never excitement. But he is intrigued.

Katchina had been well advised to keep her hands and legs well inside the canoe as they made the seven-hour trip upriver from Palacios, a tiny village in Honduras that she had been assured was so remote you could see the end of the world from it. It wasn't long before she saw a coral snake drop from a decaying tree branch into the water in a flash of red, yellow and black. A charming little creature unlikely to bite unless threatened, but it was enough to convince her to listen to her guides. The powered canoes chugged their old diesel engines against the current. She'd been told that the guides often took people to Las Marias, home of the Pech People and only accessible by river. But it didn't look like it. This place was bristling with life but none of it human.

“Be sure to watch out for the mosquitos,” the guide said. Kat had long since taken care of that problem. She'd become quite adept at weaving out nets that let through air and light but kept out even the smallest insects. It was a useful skill to have in a third-world nation, especially one where people could get eaten by ants.

“Gracias,”
she replied. She'd been told these people weren't exactly cut off from the modern world. Some of their sons and daughters were quite well educated, having been sent out to study and then return and aid the village. They only chose to live in a place that was, and kept very much to themselves. Communities like this were ones Kat had been looking for. This was the third such study expedition she had undertaken in her two years of research under the Centers for Disease Control and their attempts to understand the Sickness. Incidence of the sickness was truly worldwide, and Kat had gone to interview and study cultures in Mexico, Peru, and now Honduras. Other researchers for the CDC, and likely other agencies, were doing much the same thing across the Americas.

Kat had quickly learned upon reaching Atlanta and taking a job with the CDC as a researcher that they really didn't have much of a way of a plan to deal with the Sickness. Maybe another government branch did. In any event, Kat hadn't found out yet, and no one knew what was being made of the data they had gathered. The CDC had gone through the tests and research with new patients but came up without solutions. Noah had predicted as much. So for those who survived, they were cut loose with their name put in a registry. Those were turning up dead more often than not, from one accident or another.

Kat had chosen to focus on indigenous peoples, particularly those who were isolated. The Pechs, for example, had lived in remote mountain communities for the past four hundred years with little contact with the outside world. Today there were less than 3,000 remaining. The Native American tribes in the United States had been exhibiting a greater incidence of the Sickness by about four times the current average, and it seemed to be clear indication of a recessive genetic mutation causing the Sickness and magnified among small populations with less dilution of genetic material. The data she gathered appeared to support this conclusion thus far.

“They will see you before you see them,” the guide rattled off in Spanish. “They tend to watch from the shore.”

Highly unlikely, Kat thought to herself. She'd been holding the Great Power for some time, as she was now calling it. She could pick out individual insects on the shoreline. Soon she could pick out flickers of movement from behind the trees.

The canoes made landfall and Kat jumped out with her backpack. Soon a collection of people began to form, wearing relatively modern clothing, darker – skinned than most of the Honduras city dwellers. They chattered among themselves in a language Kat didn't recognize. She'd been told it was a Chibchan dialect that was only spoken in this place. Fortunately her guides could translate. The villagers started to show her pots and carved masks. Kat politely waved them off but pulled out some candy from her backpack for the children, giving each of them a sweet. “Please tell them I'm not here for trade. I am a physician and I've come to give aid to the villagers.”


The lead guide translated for her to the man who appeared to be in charge. He gave a big grin, and motioned for Kat to follow. Kat did, expecting to be led to a room where she could conduct examinations.

Instead he brought her to a field with small mounds and markers. At least three of them were freshly dug no more than a few months at most. He chattered away in Chibchan. “The elder says that they have lost three of their youth this year.”

Three...out of perhaps 600 villagers. “I mourn your loss with you,”
she said to the elder, taking his hand. “I'd like to see their parents. And any other youth between 16 and 30. And anyone who needs to see a doctor.”


A few minutes later the guides hauled out her equipment into an empty hut. Her Wallet had lost even satellite signal before arriving, but she had a receiving dish with her that she could use to link up to the CDC database in Atlanta. She quickly organized bloodkits and her other equipment. She'd be able to transmit blood and DNA information straight from the site into the mainframe for analysis. It was her hope that they would be able to develop a genetic profile and test to determine whether someone was afflicted before they began to develop symptoms. She wondered who else was doing this sort of research. Probably both the CCD and China, but everyone had been very tight-lipped when it came to sharing medical research about the Sickness. Others, somewhere, had to know that it was connected to supernatural abilities, but yet by failing to share information they were letting people die who didn't need to.

Over the next few hours, Kat got typing done for the parents of the deceased, as well as all youths from 16 to 30 and the parents of two young men who had reported the same symptoms of the sickness. She also saw an ingrown toenail, pneumonia in an infant, two broken bones, and a gentleman who had a tumor growing in his pancreas. All were easily detected by a scan with the Great Power, and just as easily treated. At least she thought the cancer wouldn't return. She'd become quite proficient with both scanning for, and healing of, most minor incidences, as well as making use of natural medicines that would be beneficial without the healing. It made for less explanation. Aloe for instance was a good ointment that covered up the chill that some people tended to experience when she used the power to divine their illness. Sometimes however it couldn't be avoided, but in a remote area like this it was unlikely she'd get reported. Her biggest worry was inflaming a mob against her for witchcraft and that was unlikely.

And then there was that girl. She was about Kat's age, and had been watching her the entire afternoon. When Kat asked her to come and have herself evaluated, she just scrunched her face and shook her head with a smile. That was fine, she wouldn't compel anyone. But there was a … familiarity … that she couldn't place. All afternoon and evening the girl watched her.

Kat accepted an invitation to stay the evening, and was treated to dinner, song and dance. Some of the women invited her to take part in Miskitu Kuka Nani, called the “Dance of the Grandmothers.” Her guide explained that normally only elders could participate so it was an honor to be selected. She could honestly say she tried her hand at it. Later, as she laid her head down, her spirit was content.

The next morning as she prepared to leave, Kat checked to make sure the CDC database was done transmitting, and noticed she had an urgent message from her supervisor Rodger Kimpbell. “CALL ME NOW”
it said.

She checked to make sure the dish was aligned properly and connected the satellite link. Rodger came to the other side of the screen, looking frantic and buried behind a pile of paperwork. “Kat, where have you been? Did you fall off the edge of the world?”


“Not quite,”
she replied. “But I'm a little remote right now. What's the urgency?”


Rodger sighed. “You need to get back to Atlanta. The teams are getting recalled, everyone is being pulled out of the field. Every field resource on the Sickness and every research project is on hold. The whole department is getting reorganized. And it needs to happen, like yesterday.”


Kat blinked. Everyone was getting pulled? “What happened? A funding scandal or something? Top level resignation?”


The harried bureaucrat on the other end chuckled nervously. “Heh. I wish it was that simple. Haven't you seen the clog app-- no, of course you haven't. You're in Bumfuck Honduras. Kat, the Ascendancy from the CCD has announced that...the cause of the Sickness...is...Magical. Powers. The CCD has people who have Magical. Powers. Kat, we're behind the 8 ball here.”


Oh.....
so that happened while she was upriver. “I'm packing my canoe now, OK?”
She terminated the news feed.

Okay, then. So that cat was out of the bag. Five years she'd been hiding her ability, but now what? Kat hauled her cargo to the river as she considered her next move.