"Who is it?"
    "My name is Anthony Taurus, perhaps you've heard of me." He entered the room.
    "Ye-es." No, I realized, this wasn't a joke. That really was him.
    "I heard you were here. I've been following your activities, at least as far as they parallel those of the group I currently find myself shepherding. Can I have a seat?"
    "What are you doing here?" I asked blankly. The mayor of New York was sitting in my hospital room, his presence effortlessly dominating.
    "My daughter goes to school here."
    "Oh." I stared at him. The man is huge, his physique... impressive, to say the least, with a keen glance that instantly absorbs everything it touches, and his voice commands attention. My immediate impression was of a man who is very, very good at getting things done, one well acquainted with the kinds and uses of power. I sat up and tried to gather my scattered wits. "Is there something I can help you with?"
    "I just wanted to find out what was wrong, I heard you were here, and certain elements on my team have a vested interest in what occurs for your team. Also, I'm interested in what's going on in Boston. I try and pay as much attention as possible. You are, as near as I can tell from the reports, the de facto team leader, something that I've been having a certain degree of difficulty gelling. I was wondering how well things have been operating for you. I realize that you might not want to talk shop at the moment," he added politely.
    "This is a little unexpected," I admitted. "Things are... getting better. I'll be happy to answer your questions."
    "I was just curious what the situation was there," he shrugged, settling back in the inadequate chair. "Apparently there was some sort of battle earlier today, I heard—"
    "There was?"
    "Yes, some android in Quincy Market?"
    "Oh, shit."
    "Probably not the best time to give you that news," he admitted by way of apology. "Don't worry, it seems that they handily defeated it, to the point of obliterating it. No body was found."
    "If I had to miss a fight, it should be that one," I shrugged, regaining some balance. "Not like I would have been a whole lot of use." I well recalled facing Scott that first time, the obdurate refusal of his cold substance to respond to my power.
    "I think you're being too hard on yourself. No matter how ineffectual your powers might have been at that time, no organism is truly effective without its head," he pointed out.
    Great. Anthony Taurus is being nice to me. Why do I suspect he doesn't do that without a good reason?
    "This is correct," I admitted. His gaze suddenly sharpened as he looked at me; I raised my brows questioningly.
    "Sorry, you just reminded me of somebody."
    "Yeah, I get that a lot."
    "I—the press hasn't been entirely free with your last name, it's not Burkowski, is it?"
    He can't have missed the fact that I froze for a moment and went a significant shade of pale, but he was kind enough not to say anything. Dear god, was all I could think. Scott was wrong. Everyone is involved. Zachriel had warned me about Taurus, I recalled.
    "No. You... know someone with that name?"
    "She bore a striking resemblance to you. Older, I thought she might be mother, grandmother. Remarkable woman."
    "Yeah. Yeah she was," I whispered, looked down at the crumpled sheets in confusion, then back up with a quick smile. "Sorry. Been a long day."
    "Understandable. If you ever want to talk about anything, discuss team problems, request assistance, we're supposed to have a greater degree of contact between the teams than we have, at least according to the original plan." He handed me a business card. "That's my private line there, and the number for the Manhattan Project."
    I took the card. I'd heard of the team, obviously, but I haven't really been following their goings-on. "Thank you."
    "I realize this is—" he started to say. Another knock sounded and the oddest looking person I have ever seen stepped into the room. The wings were the most ordinary part of her appearance; she also had taloned feet and a feathered crest rising from her otherwise bald head. Circuitry gleamed along her arms.
    "Dad?"
    "Yes? Sorry, I'm..." He glanced at me apologetically.
    "Quite all right," I assured him. "Though, this has been the weirdest day," I confided for no good reason.
    "In your line of work, you have to expect those, don't you?"
    "Getting used to them, slowly."
    "My daughter is actually hoping to enter your profession. Vivian, this is Needle."
    "Hello, Vivian." We shook hands.
    "I hope whatever happened to you isn't too life-threatening."
    "Just disorienting. I think I'll be fine."
    "Come on, Dad, I want you to meet the rest of gang I'll be taking classes with," she tugged verbally.
    He raised his glance heavenward. "Fatherhood."
    "I'll be in touch," I told him.
    "If you feel it necessary. No pressure. And if you ever want to come out to New York, just give a call."
    "I haven't been there in a while. Thanks."
    They left. I stared at the door and wondered what the hell that had been about. The memory jolt had almost been easier to deal with. Anthony Taurus knew Shannon. I think I've stopped believing in coincidences.
    They let me go home a few hours later, there don't seem to be any aftereffects. It was evening by then, and I headed north in the dark. Returned to base and my room without saying a word to anyone and went to bed. The dreams were back, but I didn't wake up this time.
    Like I said, I felt numb, still do. No, that's not really it. It's like waiting. Something got knocked off a high shelf in the back of my head and I'm waiting for it to hit the floor, holding my breath to see if it breaks.

April 30, 1987

We got the headline again this morning with the Quincy Market stuff. Again, the article was neutrally factual. Holly Dearest didn't have a column, but her show is on tonight. Big revelations.
    Winters called early, talked to Hans for a while and got him to go meet her somewhere. When he got back he told us that he might need us as backup at a distance around noon. We should stay at the Wharf, ready to move. He wouldn't tell us where he was going or what was going on, just that if anything went badly he would call us, and we should be prepared for anything.
    "I hope you know what you're doing, not giving us any details," Lucky muttered, but we all went along with it. I still felt a little ragged, to tell the truth, hoped this mysterious errand of Promethean's would turn out to be nothing.
    "So, how you doing, Tink?" Lucky asked me after a while.
    "Don't call me that." It's been a long time since she has.

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