Port and Refill Ch. 08-09

"Wait!" I cried, disregarding that I'd just cut off the person ruling on my future. He frowned at me. "Ms. Port, please control yourself. Now, as I was saying-"

"No! Look, she's here! Listen!" I pointed wildly at the door.

He started to speak again, then frowned. The sound was louder now, a murmur of voices and odd clicking noises, and I saw others in the room turn toward it. My heart was thumping in my chest, my euphoria temporarily overriding my panic, and I stared expectantly, waiting. I heard him talking to someone behind me. "Go see what that disturbance is. This is highly irregular-"

We didn't get to hear the rest of his order. The doors slammed open, cutting him off, and she strode in. The murmurs and clicks resolved into the reporters and superazzi that follow her around, shouting questions and taking constant pictures, until they were cut off as the doors shut behind her and she stood before us.

For a second - just a second - I saw those ruby lips, the resemblance was so strong. But no. She had a happy smile on her face, and a white outfit. The most powerful superhero in the world, and a megacelebrity. The slayer of her sister, Mayhem, in a public battle that even other Heros still talked about in awe.

Mischief.

She saw me, and her smile grew and her eyes sparkled. "Julia!" She swept toward me, and I moved too fast to meet her. The ground rushed up - I was getting seriously tired of falling over at this point - the Boss and Jean-Pierre too far away and too slow. But then I stopped, inches from another bruise, and slowly floated back upright. I landed on my feet in front of her, and smiled tiredly up at her concerned face.

"Thanks for the save, Angela."

And then, to the consternation of pretty much everyone else in the room, she gave me a hug.

* * *

Judge Schwartz drummed his fingers on his desk. We'd moved to his office - Mischief, the Boss, Jean-Pierre, me, and - for some reason - Hughes. I was beginning to suspect he wasn't actually an agent. The judge was having a staring contest with Mischief, and I was impressed. He was holding his own.

Finally, he spoke. "Ms. Mischief-"

She cut him off with a smile. "Just Mischief, please."

He glared, trying to find offense and failing, then relented. "Mischief. I don't deny your credentials as a sponsor. Far from it. But I am unclear as to how exactly you are acquainted with Ms. Port." He held up a hand to stop her protest. "I am well aware that you are not required," he stressed the last word, "to disclose that information. But not doing so is highly irregular. Clarifying that relationship could help smooth things out going forward."

I wanted to frown at the judge. I also wanted to ask him if "highly irregular" was his favorite phrase, but I restrained himself. I met Mischief's eyes. Did I want this getting out? No. But if it would get me out of the suppressor faster... I took a deep breath, then nodded once.

She turned to the judge. "Did you see the Mayhem Report?"

He went stiff. "I wasn't one of the ruling judges, but I was consulted. Why is that relevant?" There was an edge to his tone that made me wonder if this was wise.

She nodded toward me. "You've seen how she reacts to the collar. Why do you think?"

I saw when he got it. I've never seen someone go that pale before. The Boss was number two - I heard an oath and a crunch, and was pretty sure something had just been destroyed. Jean-Pierre stared at me, and his face blossoming into a parody of horror, but one I still appreciated. His voice was an anguished whisper. "Gods, P. Why didn't you tell me?"

Hughes was staring at me with no expression on his face. I wasn't sure if he was surprised and hiding it, or if he'd already known, but I was too busy trying to keep it together to care. Sympathy or horror or disregard, it was too much, overwhelming from all of them at once. I stared at the floor, shaking, and tried to find something to hold onto. Lips flashed across my vision, and I felt myself mouth her name again.

Mischief moved next to me, but she was too similar and I cried out and jerked away from her. And then the Boss was there, holding me, and I clung to him as he rocked me back and forth.

I'm not sure how long I was out of it, battling for control. I came back to an argument. Mischief was berating the judge. "Obviously she needs help. Let me get her out of here, into a safe environment." Hughes was standing off to the side, cowed. Obviously I'd missed something there.

"No." He snapped it, and I wondered at the raw fury in his voice. Why was he mad at Mischief? "Just... hold on." He was digging through his desk, rushing. "No... no... there."

He pulled out a form of some kind and scanned it once before nodding sharply. "Right." He groped at a pen, missing it twice before setting it on the form. He closed his eyes, visibly calming himself, then wrote out two short sentences and signed it. He looked it over once again, then turned to Mischief.

"I've revoked the order to have her suppressed. If you can remove it, please do so immediately at the request of this court." For a moment we all stared at him. I felt too shocked to hope. And dimly, I wondered what exactly had been in that report to have affected him so badly.

Mischief recovered first. She whirled toward us, nodding at the Boss. "Put her down, please." He sat me down gently, and I stumbled, still disbelieving. She gave me her brilliant smile, then with a snap of her fingers her wand appeared. And I felt the magic wash over me as she waved it across my body.

It begun at my feet, working up, and dimly I wondered why it was starting there to turn off a collar around my neck. But then it reached, and I felt the suppressor turn off. And... how to describe that feeling?

I don't know. It's happened to me twice, and I still have no words, no analogy. Imagine all your senses but taste are taken away, and then everything is restored at once. That's a pale echo of what it feels like.

I was dimly aware of talking in the room, but I had no attention to spare. I could feel. I threw my arms out, sobbing in joy, and felt my power expand. One mile, then two. Then, because I could, I pressed it further. Trembling, out close to three, and I held it there for a moment until I felt it start to strain me. Slowly, reluctantly, I let it retract. I knew I was in downtown Sacramento. I could feel the people moving around me, the conversations, everything. I could feel...

Like a bonfire in my mind, she blazed brightly. So close. It would be wrong to say that I chose to port. I'm sure that's one of the things the judge was telling me not to do. But there was no thought process involved, no conscious decision. I felt her, and then I was there. I trembled. I wanted to sweep her up, to take her away, to return to our island before all of this. And I was terrified, so afraid of what might happen next.

She looked up at me and I held my breath. I lifted one shaking hand toward her face, and my voice was a whispered prayer. "Refill."