“They’d lose that desire to leave along with the year or so of memories. But she does what she does carefully. Always with witnesses. Always with benefits of a doubt. She combines that with turning ahead the clock, not for people but for things. Speeding up constructions, if they’re outlined well enough, and she’s one of the few parahumans who seem like they can do that without any apparent issues. She’s thriving right now, and she’s in a position where she can cancel a contract or pull strings and tens of thousands of jobs would be affected, or a market sector would change. She has celebrities and people under her thumb who she could tell to say something or start a war on the internet and make life really hard for someone.”

“That’s a little close to our situation,” Sveta commented.

“It’s close but no cigar. Her P.R. attack is a cudgel. With our situation we’re talking… tasteless poison.”

Tasteless poison.

“Big guy is Little Midas. He’s a warmonger and a financial player. If you’ve noticed the uptick in the number of mercenaries around…”

“He’s responsible?”

“Yep. This is the kind of thing the Wardens, Undersiders, and others in my circles are trying to keep under control, while you’re focused on the more visible, surface-level crime. Little Midas tried to take over some corner worlds and as luck would have it, he failed. He went from funding his lieutenants to making it very easy for criminal mercenaries to be criminal mercenaries. Making up work for them to do, ensuring they have resources, ensuring they have a place to go back to. His power helps him make the money to make it possible. See the lieutenants?”

I did. Behind Little Midas were heroes who didn’t look like they were big players or planners. Behind Semiramis were a woman in her mid twenties in a blouse and slacks, and a guy in a suit with a beard oiled to a point. The two ate while looking at the same tablet computer.

“It’s quiet,” Sveta observed.

It was quiet. Aside from the occasional clink of utensil on plate, or the knock of a cup on the wood of a table, most of the conversation in the room was respectfully hushed. Little Midas might have been the loudest person present. Even if he hadn’t said a word in his inappropriately loud voice, he would have been audible, because he wore armor casually, and the gestures he made with every other statement made his armor clack against the table or the bench he sat on.