SG: Rad #100 (5/5): Left

(continued from part four, preceding...)

***

Rumi Moroboshi slid the glass door open as quietly as she could.
Nothing stirred on the backyard deck of the house of Eivandt and Alice
Seconds. The deck was bathed in soft yellow from the outdoor light on
the wall next to the door, while the lawn was in darkness. The haze
she had seen earlier that night was gone, and the stars were clear and
sharp. The moon was higher in the sky, and she could see one edge of
the Magi Crater in its silvery crescent. She stepped out, and slid
the door shut behind her.
"Esteban?" she asked, her voice low.
"Oh, Rumi," came the reply. "I... what time is it?"
She saw him on the patio swing that was near the stairs that led
to the lawn. He looked as if he had just awoken.
"3... um..." She checked the internal clock on her implant.
"344 am, Pacific Daylight Time. Join you?"
"Sure," he replied, gesturing to the empty two-thirds of the
swing. She had put back on the violet tank top and jean shorts she
had changed into on arriving at the Seconds' residence, and saw that
Esteban still had on his baggy black shorts and blue t-shirt. A black
cloth was on his left thigh. She wondered how long he had been
dozing.
The 'post-party party' at the house of Eivandt and Alice Seconds
had more attendees than Rumi had expected, though it had lasted barely
three hours. In addition to Cendra, Miguel, Esteban, and Coco, who
were there until they worked their new address out, Tom McCavish-
Laffalot had dropped by, along with Templar Maccabee and Ross Hagen
(the ex-villain formerly known as The Producer). Though Shadebeam,
Lemon, and Roog had translocated back to Malaga directly from Dave's
Place, Slithis and Mysanga dropped in, bringing with them boxes of
Bunzai Pizza and bags of Spoonburger burgers.
When the guests left to go to a bar, Miguel went with them.
Eivandt and Alice retired for the night. Cendra and Rumi went to what
was--and was now, until further notice--Cendra's room, and talked
until Rumi fell asleep. Which worked out less well than she had
hoped.
"Couldn't sleep," said Rumi. "At least, not after Cendra woke me
and told me to stop snoring. Which I don't do, but... well, she got
back to sleep, but I didn't. Where's Coco?"
"Downstairs, with Los Pantalones," said Esteban. "He doesn't
sleep inside it, but he likes to be near it."
"He sleeps?" Rumi asked.
"He's not a robot," replied Esteban. "I mean, he's nectarisite,
through and through, but he still sleeps. And dreams. Back in my
room at the apartment, he had a little hammock next to my bed."
Rumi remembered the hammock. But that was not of interest at the
moment.
"You fall asleep out here?" she asked.
"Close to," Esteban admitted. He grinned, and she could not help
but smile as well. "I just can't stop thinking. About everything."
"About yesterday, or today?"
"Everything."
Rumi nodded. "Me too," she admitted. "How can one planet be so
off its hoverchair field and still keep going on?"
"Dr. Gigawatt says it's because Earth, for unknown reasons, has
this high concentration of absurdity," Esteban said. "Absurdity as a
force that could be investigated through science has been talked about
for centuries, even though it took quantum absurdity to really figure
it out and establish it as one of the five forces of the universe."
"I thought there were six," said Rumi. "Gravity,
electromagnetism, weak nuclear, strong nuclear, absurdity, and magic."
"Gigawatt thinks magic can be explained in terms of absurdity,"
Esteban said. "True, he says, the classical 'laws of absurdity' never
got how words or gestures or will could make things happen--though
Tesla's scalar absurdity theories came close--but he thinks either he
or Andy Awesome will come up with a grand unified theory that just
needs the five."
"But the powers of most superguys and other meta-powered humans
have a scientific basis," Rumi replied. "At least, in terms of how
absurdity interacts with the first four forces on a quantum level.
Not even the Xolchipalians exclude the possibility of magic being a
separate force."
Esteban shrugged. "Not my call," he said. "I just jump into my
giant armored pants and go from there."
"Gigawatt must've talked your ear off last night," said Rumi.
"Yeah. He did."
"He give you that?" she asked, gesturing to the black cloth on
Esteban's leg. Esteban looked down at it, then brushed at it until a
corner of a bronze-gold inset rectangle was revealed.
"Your dad did," Esteban replied. "He pulled it off of Erasmus
Fancy in the battle. I think Fancy used it for enhanced vision, and
to keep his identity disguised. I... haven't tried it yet. I'm not
even sure why he gave it to me, instead of Dr. Gigawatt or the
Homeland Security people."
"Maybe he thought you could make better use of it," Rumi
suggested. "Have you decided if you're going to keep your identity as
'El Guerrero' secret? It didn't make the news, so it's still an
option."
"I probably will," said Esteban. He turned the cloth over in his
hand. "Just something else I'm trying to get my head around. 'El
Guerrero de los Pantalones.'"
Esteban leaned back and rested his left arm on the top edge of
the swing as he partially turned to face her. She thought of her ex-
boyfriend Aran--about how a similar move on his part had led to her
first kiss--and wondered where he was now. Esteban's orientation made
unlikely a similar moment, and Rumi found, to her surprise, she did
not mind.
"You took quite a chance tonight," said Rumi.
"What?"
*On the lower level of Dave's Place,* she added, switching to
their artificial and shared Los Pantalones-based psi network.
*Kissing Lemon while your brother was just one floor up. No idea that
someone had come down the stairs and seen it.*
Esteban's face changed. The smile disappeared, and his eyes went
down. Rumi thought of what Cendra said, earlier that evening, and
wondered if Esteban, as implied, would refuse to even discuss the
topic.
*I... I don't know,* he answered. *When we're alone, and he just
looks at me... I forget to be afraid.* He looked up, and Rumi could
tell he was trying to see if she understood. *Have you ever felt that
way about someone? A boy... or a girl?*
*A boy,* Rumi replied. *Girls... I experimented just enough to
figure out I belonged with the control group that got the placebos.
But thanks for asking.*
*Like you said before,* noted Esteban, *you might as well just
ask, else wackiness ensues.*
Rumi smiled. *Yeah,* she agreed. *Anyway, the boy I was
thinking of was Aran, my ex. He was... when I was with him, I forgot
how awkward and ordinary I felt around all the general nubility and
buffness of the average resident of Planet California. Mom said that
living there's enough to give anyone a complex, but...*
"Planet... California?" Esteban asked, aloud.
"Dad said it was talked about in the Schmooze around that time,"
Rumi replied.
"That paper stop publishing in 2006," said Esteban. "On paper,
at least. It's web-only now. Lemon thinks it's vulnerable, though,
and if the economy tanks, it could fold altogether. At which point,
he'd buy the rights and relaunch it his way." Esteban shrugged. "I
always thought that everything in it was made up."
"So did most people, outside the super community. And maybe
eighty percent of it was." Rumi shrugged. "How would Lemon afford
it?"
"He's good at getting cash or whatever online," said Esteban.
"He sticks to the technically-legal stuff, though."
"Less risk?"
"I think he just likes a challenge." His look turned
speculative, and Rumi wondered if he believed that she was another
kind of 'challenge' that Lemon would like. "If he wanted to do it the
easy way, he'd just get the money out of his dad."
"He's rich?"
"He runs the wolfpack," Esteban said. "And he's the one who bit
Miguel and turned him into a werewolf. Which indirectly is how we got
invited out to Burning M00se and I ended up meeting Lemon. Anyway...
the pack has money, yeah. Most of it is committed to their assorted
Green causes, and a bunch of local programs. I don't know how it
keeps from running out. They basically all but paid for the apartment
we had... I'm sure you were wondering how we could afford it."
Rumi nodded. She wondered how the pack's task of guarding Los
Pantalones until the battle pants 'recognized' its true owner--
Esteban--fit in with what Esteban described. She wondered why the
pack had been given that task, and by who.
"In return, Miguel takes on assignments and stuff for 'em. He
says they're not to kill or hurt anyone... but he says that could
happen anyway. Depending on if someone tries to stop him... and how
did we get on this track?"
Rumi thought back. *I was talking about my ex, Aran, on Planet
California, which led to the Schmooze, which led to... well. I was
talking about him, and how I sort of understood how someone could make
you feel... not afraid. Or inadequate.*
*You?* Esteban asked. *Inadequate? No way! You're very
pretty.*
Rumi felt her cheeks grow hot. *Thanks,* she responded, *but I
thought...*
*Doesn't mean I don't have eyes,* Esteban replied. *And as your
new, official gay friend, I say you cannot question my judgement in
this matter.*
*But...*
*Ahh, ahh.* Esteban held up a hand. *I have spoken. Or thought
of speaking. Same diff.*
She laughed, and he did as well. When the moment passed,
however, something drew her attention to the darkened back yard.
*Did you hear that?* she asked.
*Hear what?*
Rumi peered into the darkness. She was sure she had heard
something. And... there. There it was. Still in darkness, though
she could perceive its bioelectric field. It had just climbed over
the fence that separated the backyard from a neighbor's backyard, and
was maybe fifty feet away. Its energy was more than human, and seemed
to writhe within the flesh that contained it.
She had seen something much like it only a day and a half before.
It gave her an idea.
*Esteban,* she said. *Do you trust me?*
Esteban peered at her, wondering, she guessed, what was behind
her question.
*The Green Lady said I could, so yes.*
The Green Lady. Rumi had forgotten that Akane had never
identified herself in her dream visitations to Esteban or Lemon,
instead allowing them to call her the Green Lady, as she tended to
show up in dreams with a greenish tint.
*No,* she replied, leaning close so that her face was close to
his. *Forget whatever she said. Forget we've only known each other
for a day and a half. Do *you*... trust *me*?*
His eyes widened, as if from realization.
"Yes," he breathed.
*Then close your eyes,* she replied, *and pretend I'm Lemon.*
She gave him no time to answer. His lips were lifeless at first,
but then they moved, accepting her kiss and returning it. Her hand
found her side and rested there.
There was no life in it, she realized. No spark. He was
pretending as hard as he could, but something in him knew the
difference. And she could feel the gap that left.
No matter. It just had to look---
The footsteps on the deck stairs were quieter than she expected.
Esteban heard them, though, and broke away to see who was there.
"Er," said Miguel. "Don't let me... um... interrupt." He was
clad solely in a pair of black shorts, and had a sweaty sheen over
most of him. He peered at Esteban, then Rumi, as if someone had
reached into his head and given his expectations a twist.
"Um... hey, bro," said Esteban. He looked at Rumi, who was
working really hard at looking innocent. "We were... I was... how was
the bar?"
"I can see what you were, and what you was," Miguel replied, a
grin breaking over his features. "Bar was a bar. Tom's designated-
driving Templar and Ross to their places, and Slithis and Mysanga are
on a bus heading for New Mexico. I decided a night jog was great for
getting back. Now, I'm gonna shower and go to sleep. 'Night."
They watched as he went inside the house. Once the door slid
shut, Esteban turned to her. Rumi was glad he looked merely puzzled,
instead of angry.
*Bioelectric senses,* she explained. *I saw him climbing over
the fence. I recognized his particular kind of energy from yesterday,
when I was looking at everyone's bioelectric stuff during the pseudo-
zombie attack. And then I got the idea and... what?*
Of all the reactions he might have come up with, the last Rumi
had expected was stifled laughter. It was epic, and sometimes escaped
his ability to keep it in. It took a full minute to pass.
"The girl of my dreams," said Esteban. "I didn't think it would
happen this soon."
"Girl of..." Rumi started. Then she remembered. Akane had
visited Esteban in several dreams. One by-product of her dream-
casting visitations was that the dream environment turn out to be
something of significance, that had happened sometime in the past or
future. She had also said that Rumi had been in one of Esteban's
dream and that it was the kind of dream where Akane had felt she at
least ought to explain who Rumi was. Lemon evidently knew of that
dream, for he had teased Esteban, using the 'girl of your dreams'
phrase, only the day before.
The implications had been broad and suggestive. But the
revelation of Esteban's nature put them in a new light. Even
something as simple as a kiss might need to be explained to a boy not
interested in girls.
Now she started laughing, and had to hold it in. She slid, her
head landing on Esteban's shoulder as she held her belly and tried not
to burst out.
"Come heeere, mah leetle bottercop ahf luuuvvv," Esteban teased,
which did nothing to help her keep from laughing. 'Looney Tunes' was
among the Earth television shows she did know, thanks to her dad, and
Esteban's rendition of Pepe Le Pew was spot on. His arm went over
her, and his hand rested on hers.
Even without the possibility of more, it felt nice.
*So,* Esteban thought at her, *how *is* it the Green Lady knows
who you are? If you only met her in the one dream, I mean.*
She thought about Akane, wondering what she would want her to
say, and what she wanted to stay hidden. Not all who knew she was
alive had been told directly by her, she knew. Rad had told Glum.
Chalandra had told Manny. And the part Akane most wanted to stay
secret, she had kept secret from everyone--save two, and Rumi did not
know who those two were.
What it came down to was... did *she* trust *him?*
She realized the answer as she posed the question, and felt her
eyes slightly widen. Then she relaxed, and answered.
*Her name... isn't the Green Lady,* she thought to him. *It's
Akane.*

***

The dawn was a glowing line that barely topped the trees as Rad
descended toward his beach house. The beach itself was in shadows,
even as the ocean was filling with light, turning it to a brilliant
blue. Another dawn. Another day.
The house itself seemed to have recovered from being visited by
Mighty Guy two mornings before. Perhaps the ESI knew that Kent and
Key had returned with young Johnny to Megapolis, and that it was now
worth it to let the embedded self-repair systems do their work. The
Star Yacht that had brought Rad, Glum, and Rumi to Earth was back in
its berth on the north side of the house, where it looked like an
overly-artsy and organically-curved detached garage.
He landed before its lowered ramp, just in time to catch a large
trunk as it sailed out from the ship.
"Like, whmmph," he commented. It felt heavy, and he tried to
remember what had been packed in there. He did not recall owning a
collection of bowling balls.
"Darling!" a familiar voice exclaimed. "I didn't know you
were... oh, nice catch!"
Rad set the trunk down as Glum flew down the ramp and landed
before him. She had exchanged her dress for a plush, tiger-striped
bathrobe, and had scrubbed away what little makeup she had worn, but
to Rad she was as beautiful as ever. Her kiss made his tongue crackle
and his nerves sizzle.
"Like, not sleepy yet?" he asked.
"A little," she admitted. "I think I've finally mostly used up
the spare nectarisitic energy. After I made sure Kaoru got back to
his hotel okay, and then got back from seeing Elizabeth and Kirby off
at the airship port, I came back here, recalled the Yacht from Jupiter
orbit, and dug in. Where've you been?"
He had not returned to the party at Dave's Place, though he and
Glum had exchanged brief updates via their implants. The look on her
face suggested she expected one kind of story, but what he had for her
was entirely different.
"Like, 'Miranda Satori' showed up, like, last night, y'know?"
Glum's eyes widened. "Aka... um... Miranda? Here?"
"Like, just for, like, a while," said Rad. "She's, like,
disappeared now. Like, literally. She had me, like, close my eyes
and, like, think of bacon, y'know? And then, like, when I, like,
opened them, she was, like, poof."
"You couldn't have called me down?"
"Like, she said not to, y'know?" Rad replied. "I think, like,
she only came, like, to see me, like, because she promised, like,
Rumi, that she would."
Now Glum looked confused. "She contacted Rumi?"
As Rad related what Rumi had told him the morning before about
her dream-vision and Akane's interventions in events, he and Glum
wandered to the beach, where the gathering light was turning to gold.
Glum was less than pleased that Akane had intervened at all, and was
only slightly mollified to learn that those interventions had resulted
in the abatement of Rumi's general surliness toward both her parents
and their favorite planet. She was further mollified to learn that
Akane would be a little more attentive to her mail-drop in the future,
and that she might be dropping in on Glum in a dream as well.
He told her what Akane had told him, about coming to Earth to
live the rest of her 'first' lifetime with Ramrod, a bit about what
she had seen in her travels, and a bit about what had happened between
returning to Earth and their disappearance. When Glum noted that
Akane had been wearing a shirt that belonged to a band that had not
been around when she had disappeared with Ramrod, Rad replied that
Akane had told him she had gotten the clothes from China Moroboshi's
closet, and would be returning them and leaving China a note before
heading back home.
"But she would not say where she and Ramrod are now?" she asked.
"Like, nope," Rad replied. He had tossed his formalwear onto the
deck as they passed it, and was now wearing only his black swim
trunks. His heavily-tanned arm was around Glum's waist, with her arm
around his back, and together they looked out at the ocean. "But I
think, like, she's happy, y'know? And, like, wherever she is, it's,
like, not boring."
"That's good," Glum agreed. After watching the ocean a while,
she added, "what's a Pelosiraptor?"
"Like, no idea," Rad replied.
"Hmmm."
They watched the surf coming in.
"This planet never ceases to surprise me," said Glum. "We've
only been back, what, three days now, and... it's almost like we've
never left."
Rad felt he ought to make an equally insightful reply to this.
"Like, yah," he said. After a moment, he added, "totally."
Glum looked over her shoulder at the sun, which was just topping
the treeline. She faced him, coyly smiling.
"Are you tired?" she asked.
"Not, like, really," he answered. He leaned down some to kiss
her. The contact made his eyes light up, even though they were
closed. "You, like, need some help, like, working off the last of
that, like, excess energy?"
"It's like you had a vision of the future," she murmured, before
giving him another kiss. Then she stepped back, and loosened the knot
in the belt of her robe.
"Like, alternate your current, babe?" he asked.
Glum placed a hand on his chest. "Only for you, darling." She
paused, her smile taking on a challenging aspect. "And only if you
can catch me."
She took off into the sky, rising as fast as allowed by the
tactile telekinesis that gave her her flight powers. Her robe
fluttered to the beach, narrowly missing the deck.
Rad was after her a moment later, his psychokinetically-powered
takeoff leaving a crater in the sand behind him.
And the ocean and the sky filled with light.

The End

Many thanks to Messrs. Burns-White, Dickson, Bankert, Brown, Fishbone,
and Van Domelen for the green lights. Many more thanks to the readers
and authors of the Superguy list. It's been, on balance, a great
twenty years.

No questions. Just SUPERGUY.
--
Copyright (c) 2009 by Gary W. Olson. All Rights Reserved.
--
Gary W. Olson
swede at novitious dot com
Superguy LiveJournal: http://community.livejournal.com/superguy_list/
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Superguy Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=47273370926

SG: Rad #100 (4/5): Never

(continued from part three, preceding...)

***

Rumi Moroboshi had not been entirely surprised to find the door
of Hal de Macobe's office open. Nor was it a surprise that one of the
larger windows in said office was also open, and that it did not have
a screen. Hardly the safest of designs for an office nearly a
thousand feet above street level, she thought, but she guessed it had
been included for the convenience of certain flight-capable persons of
Hal's acquaintance.
Hal's office itself was barely worth remark--a desk, three
chairs, a computer monitor, and a filing cabinet. Had she not seen
his name on the door, she would never have guessed the office to be
his. She wondered if his apartment--or house, or wherever he went at
night--was as barely past functional as this. If everything in his
life was as rounded off and featureless.
Not her business. Not tonight. She was here to go through the
window.
The air was cooler than it had been the night before. The
crescent moon was low to the south, seemingly rising out of the lights
of Los Angeles and its sprawling suburbs. The stars were blurred by a
thin haze of clouds.
Rumi flew lower, her eyes now on the C Building. Down past where
the rotating exterior of Dave's Place met the uppermost non-rotating
floor. Down just a bit further...
There.
Rumi flew to the ledge, which was lit by a mix of city light and
fluorescence from the office windows. A woman was seated there,
calves dangling over the edge. Black jean shorts and a red
'Nightwish' t-shirt were all she wore. Her arms and legs were well-
defined--not over-muscular, but sinewy and sleek. Her skin was darker
than in the pictures Rumi had seen, a bronze-gold only a few shades
lighter than that of nectarisite, and Rumi wondered if she had been
biding her time in a place that got a lot of sun. The front of her
left calf had a scar that ran four inches down from her knee. Her
long black hair--longer than in the pictures--flew free in the breeze.
Facially, she was the same as her twin, Shadebeam--thin lips,
soft chin, slight nose, and green eyes. But where those features in
Shadebeam had been weathered by the desert and were often stretched by
her cynical, joyful, or sardonic expressions, on Akane Moroboshi, they
seemed serene and untwisted. As she regarded the city she once lived
in, the look on her face was an unaffected nostalgia, and when she
looked up to see Rumi's landing, her carefree smile made Rumi smile as
well.
"Aunt Akane...?" Rumi asked. "You... you're here?"
Akane smiled, then stretched her arms as if she had been waiting
for a while. The move was graceful, almost feline, though it did not
put Rumi in mind of the kind of cat one easily scratches behind the
ears. Her lithe form put Rumi in mind of Earth's larger cats. A
panther, or a lioness.
"Yeah, that's me," said Akane. "Hi, Rumster. Glad you could
make it."
Rumi floated to the ledge and sat next to Akane, an arm's length
away. She looked down at the front entrance to the C Building and the
parking lot beyond. All the cars seemed miniscule at this height.
She regarded Akane's surroundings--a thin ledge bracketed by two
smooth black metal columns, plus a window that was not of the kind
that opened up for incoming or outgoing superguys, or anyone else.
Akane saw her examinations. "This area wasn't being observed.
At least, not by anything that, just by having eyeballs on the scene,
could keep me from actualizing. I mean, it turns out that it doesn't
really count if, say, bacteria observe me, or caterpillars, or most
birds, or a majority of dogs. Computerized systems won't interfere,
either, unless there's an Artificial Intelligence--or Computer
Intelligence, if we're being Heuristically Correct. The observer has
to have some basic degree of sentience."
"Aunt," said Rumi, "what are you talking about?"
Akane blinked, then nodded. "Right. Forgot I never explained
this to you. I don't have my radiation powers anymore--I lost those
when I died for the last time and left a body behind that folks could
bury--but now I can basically go anywhere and anywhen, provided that
no one... no one sentient, that is... is watching at the time.
Humans, aliens, AIs, dolphins, cats, some dogs... squirrels and
lemurs, surprisingly enough... and a few other creatures. They all
qualify as sentient-enough observers. Basically, the unobserved parts
of the universe exist in potentia until they're observed, and I can
actualize myself--observe myself into being, really--as long as no
such observer is around, or at least is not observing, and damn, I
ramble on."
"What about goats and demon monkeys?" Rumi asked, unable to hold
back a smile.
"Never tested on them," Akane replied. "Or hyperintelligent
cows, for that matter. Speaking of which... the Lost Continent of Mu?
Really?"
"That's where they say they came from," Rumi said. "Though it
turns out to be more of an island, per se. A floating island in a
hollow earth dimension."
"Wow," said Akane. She sounded genuinely impressed to Rumi.
"I'd love to see that. Do they have any pictures, or holographs,
or..."
"Dad saw it," Rumi interrupted. "Capella came through with the
ship I saw in my... our... dream-vision, and she showed it to him in a
hologram."
"Hmm," Akane said. "I'll have to ask him about that."
"You're seeing him, too?"
"It's why I'm here," Akane replied. "Remember? You asked me to
visit him in person. And I thought about it, after... and you were
right. Dream casting isn't the same."
"I see," said Rumi, unable to keep a note of disappointment from
her voice. "Why do you stay away? Why haven't you even written?"
Akane had a pensive look, as if she had been expecting these
questions. "When I came back to Earth, Bill and his team--that's Team
Cynical, of course..."
"Who?" asked Rumi.
"Supergroup from Seattle," said Akane. "I can't believe Rad
never... wait."
Rumi was unable to suppress her smirk.
"Got me," Akane said, flashing a grin. "I am *so* out of
practice. Anyway, Team Cynical was enmeshed in a battle against this
way-crazy AI acronymed BIGCHIP, which was in the service of the True
Necronomicon, which, though we didn't realize it right away, was in
Bill's Powerbook. The M.I.B. was also involved, and they had one of
their Special Specials, Jade Muyal, out trying to use the situation as
leverage to get Bill to give up all the proof he had stored up on them
as to some of their many dirty deeds. One thing led to another,
BIGCHIP got blown up real good, the True Necronomicon along with it,
and we returned to Seattle, where we encountered BIGCHIP's final
surprise. It'd corrupted Muyal somehow, and she set this trap. It
backfired on her, killing her and nearly wiping us out. But Bill and
I, we'd been talking about unplugging since even before my trial, and
we realized this was the perfect time to disappear. We took the
Tau... one of the AIF's ships, from when they came to Seattle... and
left."
"The rest of Team Cynical knew?"
"The story wouldn't have held," Akane went on, "if they didn't
put out the idea that Ramrod'd been killed in the warehouse explosion.
I somehow managed to get through it all without anyone outside of TC
twigging to my continued livelihood. Dom, Nora, Dog-Thing... they
understood. They didn't want to see us go... well, him go, anyway...
but they got it. We'd had enough of the world."
"You missed a lot," Rumi noted.
"Yeah," said Radian. "I've been learning that, while looking up
stuff for Esteban on his great-grandfather and Erasmus Fancy and
Richard Cartier and so on." She sharply exhaled. "It's a good thing
for Richard Less that he's well-hidden," she added.
"What's it like, where you are?" asked Rumi.
"No details," Akane said, the sharp look on her face melting back
into a smile. "It's sunny, and has ways of keeping us from getting
bored. That's all I'll say about it."
"It also gave you one of those," said Rumi, pointing at the scar
below Akane's left knee.
"Oh, that," Akane said, tracing it with a fingertip.
"Pelosiraptor got me. Screechy bastards are quick, gotta give 'em
that." She shook her head. "Can't tell you where, sorry. There are
only two people outside of where we're at who know, and they're not
TC, or anyone up there." She pointed up to the restaurant.
"So did Ramrod's... Bill's... material on the M.I.B. cause their
downfall?" Rumi asked.
"Turns out, yeah," said Akane. "Another thing I caught up on
just of late. 'Course, if Unethical hadn't testified, and if Director
O'Larson hadn't gone off completely unhinged at the Senate committee
hearings, they might've salvaged something. And if the U.L.A. hadn't
come along to recruit Less and start the G-War, they might've re-
established..."
"So Dana Wader wasn't a real M.I.B. agent?"
"I'm sure she believed she was," said Akane. "The same with the
guys she had working for her... no, someone was using her. No idea
who."
"Ah," Rumi replied. "So... um... how did we get on this topic
again?"
"Why I stayed away and didn't write," said Akane. "Where we went
to... it's our world now. And it's a good one. For us, at least. I
guess... I guess I just decided to stay gone. But all the while, I
knew 2007 would be coming up. So... I started casting for you, though
it was Esteban I found first."
"Why him?"
"He was connected to you," Akane replied. "Though you hadn't met
him yet. Has to do with destiny and such. Probably a good thing
you've not yet met Scholarman."
"Who?"
"Sorcerer Superfluous. Or Eric, as I called him. The only one
for whom Destiny not only blinks, it just doesn't look, 'cause its
eyes would water. Anyway. From Esteban, I found you, and engaged in
some light manipulation via time-and-space travel. The message in the
bratwurst. The mail to Manny and Rad, which was really more about
getting them and you going than any real importance The Programmer
had."
"Tell me about it," Rumi said, nearly snorting with amusement at
the thought of The Programmer being important. Akane looked away,
down at the city.
"It wasn't about stopping Capella, or the Programmer, or Fancy,
or anyone," said Akane. "It was about getting you over to where
Esteban lived on that day."
Rumi was silent. She was not sure she wanted to know what she
was about to ask.
But Akane knew it already. "Because that was what you asked of
me."
Rumi found her voice. "When?"
Akane shrugged. "Whenever. Sometime during your lifetime. I'm
always going to be around, and for the next forty years at least, I'll
be somewhere on Earth, just a dream or a letter away."
"And... and if I don't?"
"Then it doesn't happen," Akane answered. "Then it didn't
happen. If you'd never gone to the roof, and your father and uncle
never got the tipoff letter from me... what would have happened
instead?"
They would have stayed at the Seconds's cookout. The pseudo-
ninjas would have come there for Tom, instead of Templar's studio.
The pseudo-zombies would have gone to Esteban's apartment, where they
would have tried to take Miguel away. They might have succeeded, as
they had before, or they might not have. Capella's ship would have
still come up through Dodger Stadium. Demon monkeys would still have
flushed out Dana Wader and Erasmus Fancy from the deep underground
base. Chalandra would still have brought the _Vander Harkness_ into
the battle. The armed goats would still have come in. The assorted
ex-CalForce superguys, plus her parents, would still have fought,
because that was what they did and who they were. Maybe Capella or
the goats would have gotten Fancy. Maybe not. Rumi was hard pressed
to see how the question of where she was at the start of a pseudo-
zombie or pseudo-ninja invasion made a real difference in the end
result.
Except... unless she was somehow among those attacked by the
pseudo-ninjas, she would not have met Esteban--at least, not then.
She would never have been spirited away to Burning M00se. Never met
Lemon, or Coco. Never seen the underground base, or the battle on the
surface. She thought back to her first impressions of Esteban, and
realized that while she might have met him later on, she might never
have seen below his surface. She might never have had cause to ask
why he was as he was. Why this world was as it was.
Why she was as she was.
"What about you?" she asked. "Won't changing time affect you?"
"Nah," said Akane. "Got a get-out-of-causality-free card after I
died and transcended and completed the circuit and all that. I'll be
back with Bill, but I'll still remember having done all this, even if
it unhappens."
"I see," said Rumi. She took a breath.
She thought, though she knew she did not really need to.
"Okay," she said. "This is me, then. Asking. Do this thing.
Set this up. Pass it on to... well, you, I guess."
Akane lifted her eyes and looked at her.
"You're lucky I have an eidetic memory," she said. "I'll have to
remember this for six-thousand-nine-hundred-and-seventy-seven
lifetimes, until I show up to be told. Also, I'll have to wonder why
I thought getting neck tentacles was a good idea. That's a long time
to wonder about that sort of thing." She paused, and smirked. "I'll
probably have to get them just to satisfy my curiosity."
"Yeah," said Rumi, grinning. "But... Aunt, that's it. After
this, no more manipulation or mucking about in my causality. Even if
I ask."
"Deal," said Akane. She held out her hand. Rumi gave it a
shake.
"Now about dream casting," said Rumi. "How does it work? Is it
magic?"
"No," Akane replied. "I'm not sure how far research into quantum
absurdity has gotten, but Dr. Gigawatt might be able to hypothesize...
well, anyway. It's a trick I was taught during my walkabout through
the universe. Some people I met on a far off world in another galaxy
taught me. It's kind of like whistling... once you've done it, you
can keep doing it, only you do it with your brain. Sort of. You..."
Rumi looked up at what Akane was staring at.
Who she was staring at.
Rad was perhaps ten feet above them, his psychokinetics allowing
him to slowly descend. When he saw them, he started to talk... then
stopped.
He wobbled in mid-air, as if what he saw was too much to process.
"Like, sis," said Rad. He looked stunned, then incredulous.
Then a grin broke out across his well-tanned face, catching the
fluorescence from the office behind Akane and Rumi and reflecting it
back at them.
"Hey, bro," Akane replied. "Welcome back to Earth."
"Like, whoah," Rad added. He looked at Rumi. "Like, what...?"
"Surprise to me too, dad," said Rumi. "She got me down here so
we could hash out a few things... and because I think she knew you'd
track me down."
"Whoah."
"My thoughts exactly," Rumi replied. "Um, Aunt, I think I'm
going to go back to the dinner party now." She hesitated. "Is there
anyone else you want me to send down?"
"There's a whole list," said Akane, "but I don't have a lot of
time. I'll be dreamcasting at them, sooner or later. Chal, Glum,
Manny, Shade, Eric... all my... um... 'peeps,' is it? Kids these
days. Anyway. I'll start being more, you know, letter-writerly.
Through the mail drop as 'Miranda Satori,' same as always. Well, once
I pick up some paper. And beer."
"Okay," said Rumi. Somewhat awkwardly, she hugged Akane. Then,
she psychokinetically rose from the ledge, as Rad floated down to take
her place. Less awkwardly, she hugged her father.
Then she floated up and around the lower edge of the restaurant,
around to where the open window to Hal's office waited. She thought
of looking back, but decided the time for that had passed.

***

Richard Cartier, the Director of the M.I.B., gave The Programmer
a nod that was singular in its lack of warmth. The Programmer, given
the revelation of his identity only moments before, asked the only
question he could.
"Um... who?"
"Do you know nothing of history?" asked Erasmus Fancy. The
massive bonobo, arms crossed, glared down at The Programmer, whose
action response was to fidget. "As the Dweller in the Shades, Cartier
fought numerous threats to his city--Gothopolis--and his country.
When Dankar Rukh raised his army of Unmentionables, it was he who
found the counter-curse to put them back down. When President
Cleveland was kidnapped by Loose Lips and taken to the Charnel House,
it was he who rescued him in time! He prevented invasion from
Venus... twice!"
"The first time did not truly count," Cartier said. "They only
wanted to attend the World's Fair." He looked up at Fancy, an eyebrow
raised. "And you are the last person I would ever have expected to
hear extoll my record, particularly seeing as defeating *you* several
times is on it."
"It is a matter of principle," Fancy stiffly replied. "He should
*know.* Everyone should *know* who we were. Remember what happened.
It is not like these events were never reported!"
"Sometimes they were, and sometimes they were not," Cartier
noted. "And these days, those that were are often dismissed as
fabrications. It's a matter of record that 'tall tales' were often
reported, even in so-called 'respectable' papers, as tools for
boosting circulation. Even in 1897 and 1899, when Capella's ship was
going back and forth between Gothopolis and Palenque and many people
spotted it, that only accounted for maybe a fifth of the actual
reported airship sightings." He made a dismissive gesture with his
hands. "And it is not as though we courted publicity, unlike the
heroes and villains of this age. Both sides had good reason to avoid
the spotlight."
"Yes," said Fancy, though he did not seem entirely happy about
it.
"But enough of this tish," said Cartier. "Tell me how you
realized who I was. I cannot believe you simply recognized my face.
I am far too... changed... by my time in the Ravenousity's dimension."
"You forget," said Fancy, "I learned the secret of your occult
abilities as the Dweller in the Shades. I learned from whom they
came, and the price you paid." He looked at the door. "And when she
revealed that she used to be known as the mage Hecate... I
remembered."
"Remembered what?" asked The Programmer.
"'To thee I sing,'" said Fancy, his rich, low voice now filling
the room. "'My soft low song to thee and Hecate, The dweller in the
shades, at whose approach E'en the dogs quake, as on she moves...'"
"'...as on she moves,'" Cartier joined in. "'through blood, And
darkness and the barrows of the slain. All hail, dread Hecate
companion me... Unto the end.'"
They both lapsed into silence. The Programmer wondered if he was
expected to applaud or something.
"_The Sorceress,_ by Theocritus," said Fancy. "From which you
derived your nom de guerre. An honor to the true Hecate, who gave you
power in your hour of desperation and need."
"More like a loan," Cartier replied. "With interest. But surely
such a coincidence..."
"I doubt it is that," Fancy said. "A mage who presumed to use
the name of a dread divine power for her own purposes, who presumably
made no sacrifices, and offered no worship. Was it you who stripped
her magical powers from her, or...?"
"It was not," Cartier stiffly replied. "Nor do I know that my
lady had any direct hand in removing Heather's knowledge and
abilities. I suspect... oh, yes, I *suspect,* when the veil of
reality is being stretched to and from as was reputed to have happened
when CalForce, Radian, and Shadebeam contended with Ian and Chelsa
over the fates of Rad and Dar... but I do not *know.* I did not
encounter her until years later, after I escaped from the
Ravenousity..."
"And how did *that* happen?" Fancy interrupted. "Your last diary
entry indicated you expected the rite you would attempt would mean
permanent entrapment. If you are free, does that not mean the
Ravenousity is free as well?"
The Programmer was not sure what a 'Ravenousity' was, but found
himself hoping he never did. It did not sound pleasant.
"I was drawn back here by another warping of the veil of
reality," said Cartier. "Something to do with the True Necronomicon,
and an insane supercomputer that went by the acronym BIGCHIP. There
was a confrontation, and the object it was bound to... a PowerBook of
some kind, I believe, though I only discovered this much later... was
cast out of this dimension, and into the Ravenousity's. I was pulled
out as it was pulled in. The last I saw, the Ravenousity had
swallowed the True Necronomicon, and was looking quite ill about it.
Not that it was pretty before, mind you. At any rate, it remains
trapped in its own dimension."
"The Ravenousity never consumed you?" Fancy asked. He sounded
astonished.
"Evidently, no," Cartier answered. The Programmer waited for an
elaboration, but the old man did not give one. "I wanted to thank
you," Cartier instead said, "for writing the final entry in my
journal, chronicling my demise."
"I frequently swore I would write your epitaph," said Fancy.
"Though I thought I would have a hand in bringing it about... I could
not resist."
"Hmph," commented Cartier. "And how did *you* make it through
the interregnum?"
"Through my wiles and my cunning," said Fancy. "And... by being
trapped in the stasis lock in the tunnels beneath the central temple
at Palenque. Long story on that."
"No doubt," Cartier replied. His grim smile returned. "But let
us return to the business at hand. You must be wondering why, after
fighting you and Capella at every turn in the late 1890s over very
similar experiments with your nectarisite, I now wish to aid you in
your objectives?"
"The question has occurred to me," Fancy said.
"And to me," The Programmer interjected. Cartier and Fancy both
now gave him sour looks--probably, The Programmer thought, for
reminding them that he was there.
"The short answer is, 'I was wrong,'" Cartier said. "In the
eleven years I have been back, while patiently gathering the pieces of
the Bureau into the pale shadow it is now, while recruiting and
bringing discipline to Dana Wader, Hecate, and others who, in normal
circumstances, would never have been considered to be Bureau
material... I have also made contact with Terra Subterrene. I have
learned how far the corruption has spread through the Aetheric
Dimension, and the danger is poses not only to the people of that
realm, but of ours as well. The danger to America, the land I swore
to defend. And though I hate to say it... yours appears now to be the
only way."
"Wait," said The Programmer. "What is this Aetheric Dimension
corrupted *with?*"
"It is not important that you know, at this stage," Cartier said.
"Only that, if you cooperate, it will mean frequent travels to the
underground civilizations that make up Terra Subterrene... something I
have been informed you greatly desire."
The Programmer stifled the gleeful cackle that had been about to
erupt from his mouth. "Um... yes," he managed to say. As an
afterthought, he crossed his legs.
"And you will have the dominion you have so long sought," Cartier
said to Fancy.
"What will *you* have?" Fancy asked.
"Allies," said Cartier. "The old Mega-Intelligence Bureau is
gone, done in by a combination of damaging records released to the
press by a late superguy known as Ramrod, the damning testimony of a
Dr. Roger Unethical, and the bizarre revelations of Director O'Larson.
O'Larson himself and his wife Connie have vanished. The Special
Special Agents as of the end of his brief tenure have dispersed.
Muyal is dead. Kim and Roth are... well, not unreachable, but near
enough. Less seems to have vanished even more thoroughly than
O'Larson, though if I still had my occult detection abilities, I'd
wager I could find him. And Selanova... her experiment with this
'Homeland Security,' creating a security agency that, on the surface,
is just more of the same, but beneath, is something that may surpass
Director Ross's greatest expectations, albeit in the service of an
agenda whose contents we do not yet know--ironic, considering what she
did to him once he made those expectations plain. Her and Chalandra
Harkness, with whom I once crossed paths... reachable, perhaps, but
unlikely to consider an alliance, even for achieving mutual goals.
"And, finally, Less. Whatever his other faults--and I observed
several in reviewing what files I could find on him--he understood
things about this world that few do, or would wish to. Reminds me of
old John Thomassen, remember him?"
"Indeed," Fancy replied.
"Who he?" The Programmer asked.
"One of the founders of the Military Intelligence Service," Fancy
said. "During your country's Civil War. The real entity that was
fronted by the Northern Army's Bureau of Military Information. He
kept it going after the official dissolution of the BMI at war's end.
The M.I.S. lasted for decades in the shadows, before becoming the
M.I.B. in 1952."
"He was also the meta-powered being known as 'Union John,'"
Cartier added. "Another name this young whippersnapper likely does
not know. At any rate... it appears the M.I.B. has come full circle.
It is a shadow agency, much like the M.I.S. was. It protects America
against threats internal and external, seeking no acknowledgement, and
certainly receiving no thanks, never mind official funding. It is
still needed in this day and age... and it wlll... *continue.*"
"What of other agencies I have heard rumblings about," said
Fancy. "Such as I'm With the Government, and They?"
"They have grown at our expense," said Cartier. The Programmer
thought he heard a bitter tone creep into the old man's voice. "Their
goals... I do not believe they are as... dedicated... to this country.
Perhaps I am wrong... but I do not believe so." He sighed. "Which is
not to say that alliances, should we strike any, will not be
beneficial. To reclaim our former status, and give America an agency
that sees the threats the world bears with starless eyes... I will
forgive much."
"Very well," said Fancy. He tilted his head, and the nectarisite
orb that was his left eye caught the lamplight. "Allies, at last."
"Allies," said Cartier.
They again regarded The Programmer. The Programmer, again,
fidgeted.
"Allies," he agreed. "So... um... what now?"
"Now you will be taken to guest quarters," said Cartier. "The
labs in which you will labor to recover and refine your work are not
yet ready. And you may wish to find where your pets have gotten to."
"What?" asked The Programmer. "They're right... here." He
turned the pet carriers around, and discovered that his cats were no
longer inside them.
"They have teleported away," said Cartier. "Though likely not
far. I have that effect on felines, unfortunately. Hecate is, among
many other things, associated with dogs. Cats are very aware of
this."
"Wait... teleported?" The Programmer asked. "The hell?"
Cartier sighed. "You will learn."
The look Cartier gave The Programmer now was not sour, nor
condescending, nor anything else The Programmer could name. It did,
however, send a shiver through him. He was not a man to be crossed.
"Right," The Programmer said. "I'm all about the learning. Yes,
yes."

(continued in part five, following...)
--
Copyright (c) 2009 by Gary W. Olson. All Rights Reserved.
--
Gary W. Olson
swede at novitious dot com
Superguy LiveJournal: http://community.livejournal.com/superguy_list/
Superguy DreamWidth: http://superguy.dreamwidth.org/
Superguy Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=47273370926

SG: Rad #100 (3/5): We've

(continued from part two, preceding...)

***

"...not really sure when the goats skipped out," Guido said,
following a long draw on his Cuban cigar. The middle-aged
anthropomorphic donkey had somehow found a garment that had the look
of a tuxedo coat, yet was clearly--when seen up close--a trenchcoat.
Rumi Moroboshi guessed it was a specialty item. "One minute they were
there, helping us get the wounded to the ambulances and such, the
next... gone."
He passed his cigar to Marta, his wife. Marta was also an
anthropomorphic donkey, and also a former mercenary, and also not
anymore on the slender side, though the similarities ended there. Her
several-shades-of-green camouflage bodice showed off her curves to
great advantage, a fact not lost on many of the men passing by her
table. It certainly had not been lost on Lemon, and only pointed
glares from Guido--and Esteban's insistence that Lemon had to
accompany him to the bar right that second--kept him from remarking on
this. Rumi, who had wanted to hear more about what others had seen of
the battle, had elected to stay.
"They probably ducked out to keep from having to answer
questions," China Moroboshi noted, while Marta smoked. China, if she
had gotten the memo about the party being formal-dress, had
disregarded it. The 'Combichrist' black t-shirt and black leather
pants she wore made it seem to Rumi as if she had only stopped in on
her way to someplace lower to the ground. "I mean, think about it.
They're here on behalf of some weird-ass hollow earth empire from
another dimension that's supposed to be a secret from us. They only
revealed their true capabilities *after* the _Subtler Than Light_
showed up to try to pick up Erasmus Fancy. They probably want to keep
as much as they still can on the QT--like why they like nineteenth-
century-sounding names so much. Right?"
Marta exhaled a cloud of smoke, then passed her cigar to China.
"You're probably right," she said. "But what I want to know about is
those demon monkeys. Are they still hanging around up here on the
surface, or did they find another way down to their underground city
or whatever? You said the elevator shaft down to the base Fancy was
using isn't there anymore..."
"We dug down far enough to determine they deliberately collapsed
the shaft," China said, clapping her hands once for emphasis.
"Could've gone further, but both Chal and Karina think that'd be a
mistake. We need a lot more intel before we go poking around
underground where there're a bunch of civilizations we know next-to-
nothing about."
"Such as why," added Marta, "a civilization that supposedly wants
nothing to do with us would build and maintain a fully functional
elevator to Dodger Stadium's parking lot."
"What about Bhossi and Cla'rabhelle?" Rumi asked. "I thought
they knew a lot about it."
"They know about as much as you might from a travel guide for a
country you've never visited," Guido replied. "They say they were
held on Mu, forced to work for Capella and the Hidden Empire. Mu
apparently being a floating island *above* the main inner world, and
don't ask me how that even works. They escaped, made it through a
gate into one of the underground civs in our dimension, somehow evaded
pursuit and wound up beneath the Great Pyramid at Giza, where Harxxon
found them in some tunnels. That they're here now tells me that their
knowledge isn't quite a revelation to Chal and Karina."
"It ain't," China confirmed. "And more than that, I cannot
tell." She pulled a cell phone from her pants pocket and checked the
time. "I probably shood be off. Pag's in town, and I convinced him
to party with me for old time's sake."
"Pag?" Rumi asked.
"Paginini Noyae," said China, as she stood. "A long time ago
known as 'Paranoia,' though he no longer has the power to generate
such. We were tight for a time, but... well. You know." She paused,
considering. "I wonder if he remembered to bring back my cuffs this
time."
She then shrugged, waved, and left. Rumi wondered where Esteban
and Lemon had got to, and decided now was a good time to find out.
There was an assortment of people at the circular bar, though
none of them were the two she sought. She saw Glum talking with Kent,
Key, Johnny, and a man she remembered, after a few seconds puzzlement,
as Dr. Pethas Scott. She saw Rad heading over to where her Uncle
Kaoru was seated. She saw Karina Selanova and a man she did not
recognize talking with Bhossi, Cla'rabhelle, and Dr. Gigawatt. She
saw Slithis and Mysanga amidst a cluster of people she did not know--
current and former building staff, she guessed--with the tiny panting
hellbeast Roog on a leash by his feet. She spotted Miguel and Cendra
at a table with Eivandt and Alice Seconds, discussing something
requiring vigorous hand gestures over dessert. But she did not see
Esteban or Lemon.
*Hey, Coco,* she thought, *where you at?*
*Downstairs,* came Coco's reply.
The stairwells were barred with red velvet ropes, but no one
seemed to notice or care that Rumi flew over said ropes on her way
down. The lower, enclosed dining level was considerably darker than
the top level, illuminated by the light from this floor's (empty)
version of the bar, and by several standalone wall-size screens
displaying a variety of pictures.
*Over here,* Coco called to her. *To your left.*
She saw a wall screen. Three figures were silhouetted by the
illuminated pictures. One, Coco, floated and waved. The other two
seemed merged, and unaware of her presence.
Rumi landed beside Coco, who hovered down to sit on her
shoulders. She considered Esteban, who was leaning with his back
against the screen and one hand at the back of Lemon's neck. She
considered their ongoing kiss, and wondered how long it might last.
She coughed.
Esteban's eyes shot open, and he somehow ducked out of the kiss,
spun, tripped, staggered against the wall, straightened, and found a
picture to consider, all in the space of four seconds. How he had
managed to do this without falling, or getting tangled up in his own
awkward-looking limbs, Rumi could not guess. She heard Coco giggling
in her mind, while Esteban relaxed upon seeing who they had been
interrupted by. Rumi wondered how often, despite his fears, he risked
discovery with Lemon. And why.
Lemon's response to discovery was a grin and a suggestion.
"Next?"
Rumi made a face. Esteban rolled his eyes. Lemon laughed, then
looked behind him at a tray on a table. Rumi saw there were three
thin glasses on said tray, filled with a bubbling, color-shifting
liquid. He picked up the tray, picked one of the drinks off the tray,
and held it out to them.
"Drink this," he said. "I dare you."
"What is it?" Esteban asked, accepting the glass but regarding it
with suspicion.
"It's the same thing Bhossi and Cla'rabhelle are drinking," Lemon
explained. "After you left to come down here, I told the bartender
I'd take it to their table."
"Why three glasses?" Rumi asked. In answer, Lemon handed one of
them to her.
*Where's mine?* Coco asked.
*It'll peel your paint,* Esteban suggested.
*That's no excuse.*
"We're not old enough yet," Esteban protested, aloud, to Lemon.
"We shouldn't."
"Yeah, yeah," Lemon replied. "I gotta deliver these two. Bee
arr bee."
Rumi watched as he zipped up the stairs, moving fast enough to
cause the drinks to tip. She sniffed at the drink, and immediately
felt light-headed. Esteban took it from her unresisting hand and did
likewise. Twenty seconds passed before either spoke.
"Why is it," he said, "I can hear my stomach curdling?"
"Forget about it being illegal for us to drink," said Rumi. "I'm
not sure some of what I smelled should legally even exist." She
looked around, saw a potted fern, took the drink back from Esteban,
and poured it in. She then considered the wall of pictures before
her.
"They're changing," Esteban noted.
Indeed, as Rumi considered the pictures, most of which appeared
to be of restaurant patrons that had added their signatures and best
wishes, some disappeared and others appeared.
"Hey, there's Foxey Lady!" Esteban exclaimed, pointing to a
picture of a comely brown-furred anthropomorphic fox in a shiny red
dress. She appeared to be blowing a kiss toward the camera. "But
where's Spectrum... oh, right, off camera. Secret identity. Oh, and
that, in the picture next to her, that's Governor Spoonman, and that's
Governor Schwartzenegger, Glenn Beck and Roger Ailes with him..."
"Is this mainly superguys?" Rumi noted.
"Them and movie and tv celebs," said Esteban. "Like... look,
there's Tom Hanks... Mel Brooks... assorted Kardashians... Emma Dunne,
from the 'Narrator' movies... you ever see those? I love the parts
where she's describing huge explosions even as she's outrunning them."
They heard running from the direction of the steps. Lemon
reappeared, sans tray. Rumi thought it best not to ask if the drinks
made it to the Mu'Kaos intact.
"Over here's Dominic White, the artist," Lemon noted, gesturing
to a photo featuring three people. "His ex, Kim Stone, and their son,
Donnie. He's same age as us, I think. A'course, this was taken,
what, three years ago...? Yeah, three."
Rumi examined the photo, which showed a smiling, dark-haired man,
a bemused-looking blond woman, and a twelve-year-old who had the
foresight to use the moment of a picture-taking to record for
posterity an image of his tongue. Rumi remembered something.
"Wasn't he...?"
"Yeah," said Lemon. "The one-and-only High Jinx. After the G-
War ended, he decided to hang it up and moved back east. He
reconciled with her, and soon after he started having success selling
his paintings. They were out here for a gallery showing when this was
taken, I think..."
"Wait, how do *you* know he was High Jinx?" Rumi asked. "My dad
told me--well, after he let it slip when he was telling a story about
an Awesome Force party he and mom went to before leaving Earth--but I
thought High Jinx kept his identity secret to most people, even after
he retired."
"People talk to me," Lemon replied, flashing her another of his
infuriating grins. "I got an honest face."
Esteban snorted with a sudden burst of laughter. Coco did as
well, though she only heard it in her mind.
"I do!" Lemon protested, albeit without much force. "I mean...
hey, look here, look at this pic. Manny Seconds, right here."
Rumi looked.
"Yeah, that's him," she said, nodding at the vaguely Belgian,
thirtysomething former U.S. President. Manny's smile was exuberant to
the point of goofiness. "So?"
"That was taken in 1997," said Lemon. Rumi briefly wondered how
Lemon knew so much about the pictures on the wall, and the people in
them. "About four months after the G-War ended. This place had just
opened back up for business, and he was one of the first ones in. But
he wasn't alone."
"Chalandra was with him," Rumi said. "But that's obvious. She's
just not in the picture because she's one of the kinds of vampires
that doesn't show up in pictures."
"Not so obvious," Lemon replied, "but yes, she was there, too."
"His Secret Service detail?" asked Esteban, who appeared to be
just getting over the 'honest face' remark.
"They didn't push one on him until after nine-eleven," Lemon
replied. "No, the other person not in the picture, besides Chalandra,
but there anyway, is Karina Selanova."
"What?" asked Rumi. She had met Karina only yesterday morning,
following her near-arrest for buzzing a jetliner with an
indestructible five-year-old.
"She wasn't with Homeland Security then," Lemon went on. "She'd
been working for Chalandra at Harxxon when the G-War broke out. Now I
don't know what the circumstances were, but when the allies went into
the shafts that led close to the Earth's core, she and Manny had to
stay behind. They joined the resistance that formed against the
ULA... and sometime between there and war's end, they hooked up."
"It was the dreams," said Esteban. "You told me about those."
"Well, I *speculated* it had something to do with those," said
Lemon. "See, what was going on was they were still in contact with
the allies, but only through their dreams. That way, they could pass
on information without even being conscious of doing so, and without
Psybernet finding out. Only I think maybe he found out something that
Chalandra was doing and it screwed with his head, because he knew it,
yet he wasn't, you know, conscious that he knew it. 'Cause I heard
things about who was down there and... anyway. For whatever reason,
it happened."
Rumi wanted to interrupt, but no words came out. Her parents had
told her none of this. Had they even known?
"So when the allies came out of the tunnels with their
counterattack," Lemon went on, "the truth was learned. Drama
followed. Then, somehow, they reconciled. That pic you saw was of
the night after."
*Why can't his Belgian-ness be more specific?* Coco wondered.
"It's none of our business," Esteban said. Rumi had the
unaccountable feeling it was not the first time he had said it to
Lemon, or the first time he had waited until hearing every last detail
of gossip to say it. "Come on, let's go back up. I want some
dessert."
"I'll catch up," said Rumi, as she contemplated the picture wall.
"'Kay," Lemon replied, winking at her before dashing around the
corner, followed by Esteban and Coco. Rumi sighed, and looked down.
The potted fern that she had poured the drink into earlier caught her
eye.
She was fairly sure it had not been blue. And almost certain it
had not been glowing.
"Yes," she said, to no one in particular. "Definitely something
illegal in that. Or maybe just impossible." She edged away from it a
bit, and returned to contemplating the shifting pictures.
It seemed like everything she heard only made the world she was
on seem stranger, and perversely more fascinating. Only the day
before, when she had known next to nothing about it save what her
parents had told her and what had been reported by Ottsamaddawiduan
anthropologists, she had barely been able to face waiting out the year
she would have to live here until she was a legal adult in the eyes of
the Confederation and could go on her own back to planet California,
or Hottentot, or wherever looked good. But Hottentot seemed distant
now, a childhood home that held no secrets. And California, while fun
and sun-filled, seemed now to be possessed of a sameness. There had
been more mystery and strangeness for her on one day on Earth than
California could hope to provide. Not just during the demon monkey-
filled parts of the day, but in the ordinary moments, when she heard
what people said, and sensed what they left out, and wondered 'why
this?' and 'why not that?'
The pictures on the wall changed again, and one in particular
caught her attention. It was a nearly all-white rectangle, right
before her at eye level. It was a note that had been hand-written and
scanned in to whatever system was powering the picture wall, Rumi
realized. She leaned forward.
The note read 'Step out. Drop in.' The handwriting was
identical to a note she had received the day before.
Rumi had to remind herself to breathe.

***

"...so then, the contestant swims through Dr. Phlegm's Lake of
Bile, past the rotating squirrel guts, to the dancing circus carney
zone, where they have to eat a plateload of lutefisk topped with
haggis and weasel brains and... are you listening, brother?"
Rad wanted to answer, but felt it safer not to remove his hand
from his mouth, lest he lose his dinner. He nodded at Kaoru
Moroboshi, who grinned and pressed his fingertips together.
"Now, at this point, the contestants have to race up the armpit-
hair rope to where the syphilitic chickens await," said Kaoru,
gesturing with increasing enthusiasm as he described his new game
show's scenario. The violent-green-and-corn-yellow sleeves of his
alarming sport jacket--his typical attire while on 'Look Out! Flaming
Game Show Fish of Desire!,'--did not help Rad's increasing queasiness
in the slightest. "Or maybe it should be monkeys... I wish I'd been
able to make it here yesterday, like I'd planned! I would have loved
to see those devil monkeys or whatever they were."
"Like, demon monkeys, brother dude," Rad managed to say.
Kaoru grinned at this. Though Rad had seen his Japanese brother
in many different phases--as a spy for the then-invasion-minded
Dalans, as a cut-rate cyborg, and as a superguy who used the code name
'Spatial K' during his relatively brief tenure with CalForce--his Game
Show Host phase was, to Rad, his most frightening yet. Granted, it
had brought him fame and fortune throughout southeast Asia, and it
probably beat being a southern-California-based detective with weird
and rather silly powers. It was still hard on the eyes--and the part
of his brain that resolutely tried to envision what he was talking
about.
"My wife was wondering the same thing, too," said Kaoru. The
ife he referred to, famous Japanese singer Lynt Minutemaid, was a
producer on Kaoru's game show. "But we heard they only eat
nectarisite, and we don't have any. You think they'd take cash?"
"Dude," said Rad. "I was told, like, they were, like,
mercenaries, y'know? So, like, if you find them around, y'know, just,
like, make an offer."
Kaoru grinned, and Rad could tell he was about to launch into
further descriptions of the disgusting challenges--all based, he had
said, on some of the milder recommendations made by the Ill Dudes,
official consultants to the show. Then his arm was jostled.
"Whoops," said Manny Seconds. "Sorry about that, Rad..."
"Dude!" Rad exclaimed, loudly enough to make heads turn. "Like,
it has been, like, ages since I, like, saw you!"
"It certainly has!" declared his former sidekick, who was
impeccably attired in a traditional black tuxedo. "Come, let us get
caught up on our lives and so on, over there!" He indicated an
expanse of mostly occupied tables with a wave of his hand.
"Dude," said Rad, breathing a sigh of relief. "Hey, like, K..."
"No problem, brother," said Kaoru, his grin undiminished. "I'm
supposed to go over and see Tom and Laura and their triplets. I
promised to tell them about the pus cannon and the all-calamari
underpants."
Rad nodded, felt his stomach twitch a bit, then let himself be
guided away by Manny.
"Thanks, dude," said Rad. "I know, like, he's my brother and
all, like, but, dude..."
"Eivandt's told me about him," Manny replied. "He thinks the
shows are hilarious. So do Tom and Laura, apparently. Alice and
Cendra think he's weird."
"Like, he *is* weird."
Manny shrugged. "Runs in the family," he said.
Rad noticed the two unsmiling men in government-issue suits as
they started following. "New Secret Service, dude?" he asked.
"My previous detail's off for a few days," said Manny.
"Recovering from having their nectarisite radio control chips
extracted, and from thinking they're ninjas. Elizabeth did a pretty
good job of filing the rough edges off those memories, judging from
them."
Rad followed Manny's eyes, and saw Dr. Elizabeth Tirkoff. Her
dark blue evening gown sparkled in the ambient light as she talked
with a young-appearing woman in a severe-looking black leather bodice
and black pants, who he recognized as Chalandra Harkness. As
Elizabeth talked, without taking her eyes off Chalandra, she reached
to her right and made a near-fist. Immediately, a collar formed
around her near-fist, along with a neck, a coat, a shirt, a tie,
slacks, shoes, and a boy to fill them. The boy, Kirby, looked up and
around at his mom with an expression that conveyed complete innocence
regarding any possible charges of using his ability to be
imperceptible to sneak away to have fun and how did you catch me,
anyway. Elizabeth gave him an I'm Your Mother glance, then released
his collar. Kirby watched the two women talk, unable to keep from
looking bored out of his mind.
"Poor kid," said Manny, as he and Rad started walking in that
direction. "Sneak onto a helicopter and fly into a combat zone just
to see what it's like, and you get punished by having to listen to
adults talk about boring stuff."
"Like, Kirby," said Rad, rolling the name around in his mind.
"Like, hey, wasn't there, like, a Pac-Shmoe named Kirby?"
Manny shrugged. "Beats me," he said.
As they approached, Karina Selanova--attired in the same (or at
least a similar) business outfit Rad remembered from the morning
before--came up to Elizabeth and Chalandra, flanked by a man in an
ordinary black sportcoat and tie. She nodded to Elizabeth, then
whispered something in Chalandra's ear. Both she and Chalandra looked
in Rad and Manny's direction. Chalandra nodded. Rad could not be
sure, but it seemed as if a corner of her mouth curled up.
"Well," said Manny, "looks like that's decided."
"What's decided, dude?"
Karina went around Chalandra and Kirby and gave Manny a courteous
nod as he and Rad approached. The man with Karina--who Rad now
recognized as being Carl, the burly Homeland Security guard who had
greeted him at the Homeland Security office a morning ago, and
apparently was here tonight as Karina's bodyguard--gave him a cool
stare in return.
"I'm sorry to have to impose, Mr. Seconds," Karina said, "but the
statements that Homeland Security collected on last night's battle
against this so-called 'Hidden Empire' are incomplete. I was hoping I
could come by later and get some more details from you and your wife."
"Anything for greater security, Mrs. Selanova," Manny replied.
"You know where we're staying?"
"Of course," Karina replied. "I'll see you then." She gave Rad
a nod. "Mr. Moroboshi," she said, before heading past them, followed
by Carl. Rad noticed that, though Manny had called her 'Mrs,' she was
no longer wearing the wedding band he had last seen on her left-hand
ring finger.
"Dude," he said, after a few seconds. "Like, more
reconciliation?"
"Dude," Manny replied. He put out his left hand, formed into a
fist. Rad made a fist of his right hand, and bumped it against
Manny's fist.
"Dude," Rad agreed.
They reached Chalandra, Elizabeth, and Kirby. Kirby looked like
a kid trying to contain a major fidget.
"Like, hey, Liz, Chal," said Rad, as Manny gave Chalandra a quick
kiss. "Like, hey, little dude. You, like, look bored, y'know?"
"A little," Kirby admitted. "Mom says I got to stay close the
*whole evening.*"
"Not the whole evening," Elizabeth Tirkoff corrected. "Just
until I say."
"Weren't you, like, kind of blurry, like, before?" Rad asked.
"Bhossi said the stuff I got splashed with in her lab wore off,"
Kirby answered. "No ill effects. It sped me up for a bit, kinda like
Momma Alice. You saw, right?"
"Sure did, Kirby dude," Rad answered, remembering how, a day ago,
Kirby had sped around the control room of the _Vander Harkness_ and up
and over some anvils that Johnny Clark had been juggling.
"I remember when my parents were just worried about me looking
both ways before crossing the street," Elizabeth said, before taking a
sip of her wine.
"Or about talking to strangers," Manny added.
"Or the Black Death," said Chalandra. "Even though that was
technically over by the time I was born."
"Like, hey, Liz, my bro Kaoru, like, is here," said Rad. "He's,
like, telling people, like, about his game show, y'know? Maybe, like,
Kirby would like to, y'know, hear about it."
Elizabeth considered. "Is that the one with... I'm trying to
think... the sheep-intestine slingshot? And earwax-ball dodging?"
"That sounds cool!" Kirby exclaimed.
"He's downloaded a few of those shows," Elizabeth said. "They're
amazing... in a way I never want to see." She considered Kirby, who
was giving her his best 'please-let-me-go-even-though-i'm-playing-it-
too-cool-to-actually-look-like-i-want-to-go' look. "Alright. But
we'll head over together."
"What time's your flight?" Chalandra asked.
"Early," Elizabeth replied. "6:30 AM, on Awesome Airways' _Silly
Wizzard._ I'll call when we're on our way." She paused. "Are you
leaving already?"
"Lots of paperwork to go over tonight," Manny said. "City of Los
Requemados wants to talk to us about having a flying structure docked
to our building there without a permit. Plus, all the work that piled
up yesterday while we were out saving greater Los Angeles. You know."
"Okay," said Elizabeth. She hugged Chalandra, then Manny. Kirby
took this as his cue to head out, which he did at a run. "Take care,
both of you. Hard to say when I'll be back this way again." She
started to turn, then looked back at Manny. "Teatree oil will help
with the marks," she added, low enough that passerby could not hear.
"Also, loose-fitting shirts."
"What?" asked Manny. "Oh... um... right." His cheeks reddened a
bit, and he considered his wine glass. He smiled. "Right, I'm cut
off." Chalandra accepted the glass from him and handed it to a
passing waiter.
Elizabeth and Rad made their way through the tables, following
Kirby, who would sprint forward a ways, turn, wait, then sprint some
more. Rad got the sense that Elizabeth was trying to hide a grin
while watching him.
"Some days," she said, "it's really hard to keep a straight
face." She shook her head. "How's Rumi doing?"
"Like, better," said Rad. "We, like, talked for a bit, like,
before we got here, y'know? And, like, as weird, like, as my day was,
hers was, like, even weirder, and, like, stuff."
"Did she tell you how she knew Capella?"
"She, like, said she had, like, this vision, y'know?" Rad
replied. "The _Subtler Than Light,_ like, in 1899 Central, like,
America. Erasmus Fancy, like, in a sphere-ship, like, with a
Reptiloid, and, like, a short dude." And Akane, he added but did not
say. Then he inwardly cringed, but a quick check from his implant
revealed his standard [space science!] psi-shield was active, and no
probes were detected. Unlike Manny, who no longer had a psi-shield
implant, he did not have to rely on mental exercises and techniques to
keep his thoughts to himself.
"That's got to be worrisome," Elizabeth said. "Having visions, I
mean. Has she shown any clairvoyant tendencies before this?"
"Like, nope," Rad replied. "And, like, I'm not too worried.
Visions, like, happen, y'know?"
"Right," said Elizabeth. "I forgot you had a few in your day...
Kirby! Don't get too far ahead!"
"Come on, mom!" Kirby, three tables ahead, called to her. "I can
hear him talking about the 'use those white things that you get in
cans of pork-and-beans as flotation devices' challenge!"
"That's supposed to get me to hurry?" Elizabeth replied, too low
for Kirby to hear. "You should get Rumiko in on this," she added.
"What teenage girl doesn't want to hear about pork-and-bean floaties?"
Rad laughed, then looked around. He saw Yury talking with
Templar and his guest... a surprise, but it seemed to be civil enough,
and even pleasant. Kent and Key were describing something to Hal, who
was listening with an apparently inexhaustible patience. He could not
see Johnny Clark right away, but noticed that Lemon Rydell--the kid
who had been threatened yesterday by Dana Wader--appeared to be
floating past surprised people, which was soon revealed to be because
he was standing on Johnny Clark's upturned right palm, arms out to
maintain his balance as Johnny ran. Esteban Veracruz and Coco were
trying to keep up. Cendra, Miguel, Eivandt, and Alice watched from
the bar. Dr. Gigawatt was demonstrating a card trick of some kind to
Bhossi, Cla'rabhelle, Laura, and the McCavish-Laffalot brood. Glum
was giving Manny a hug near the elevator, while Chalandra, Karina,
Carl, and Manny's Secret Service guys waited inside. China, in front
of the other elevator, looked like she was giving directions to
something to Iris Adams, who was noting them down on her SpoonBerry.
Guido and Marta had been joined by Tom McCavish-Laffalot, Shadebeam,
Slithis, and Mysanga in chatting, drinking, and cigar-smoking, while
Roog panted and slavered and spun.
Rumi was nowhere to be seen.
He mentally tapped his sub-implant. *Like, ping Rumi, y'know?*
he instructed.
A fraction of a second passed, during which his house's Expert
System Intelligence received the command, processed it, retrieved
Rumi's current location from her implant, and replied.
**Rumiko located,** said the ESI, in its usual dulcet tones.
**Relative positioning, forty-eight feet north-northwest, forty-six
feet down.** The ESI fed him additional information to help him with
which directions 'north-northwest' and 'down' were. Forty-eight
feet... that was close to the outer edge of the force-bubble dome, but
inside. But down forty-six? That was below the lowest level of the
restaurant.
"I'll, like, catch up, Liz," said Rad. "I've, like, got to,
like, find Rumi, like, y'know?"
"See you," she replied, as she headed for Kirby.
He headed for an elevator.

(continued in part four, following...)
--
Copyright (c) 2009 by Gary W. Olson. All Rights Reserved.
--
Gary W. Olson
swede at novitious dot com
Superguy LiveJournal: http://community.livejournal.com/superguy_list/
Superguy DreamWidth: http://superguy.dreamwidth.org/
Superguy Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=47273370926

SG: Rad #100 (2/5): Like

(continued from part one, preceding...)

***

"--and it's completely dark, so I had to fly slow," said Esteban
Veracruz, making a pushing motion with his hands that Rumi Moroboshi
guessed indicated the level of slowness he had achieved. "There were
all these ferns scattered around, palm trees... and I think I saw a
fondue pot and some strawberries. Then I got to the bridge."
Of the people at the table, only Tom McCavish-Laffalot seemed to
be paying close attention to Esteban's story. Three similar-looking
brown-haired and light-complected eleven-year olds--two boys in
sportcoats and dress clothes they seemed to find uncomfortable, and
one girl in a lime-colored dress she did not seem to care for--
occupied themselves with what seemed to Rumi to be texting and
screwing around on the web on their cell phones. Dr. Laura McCavish-
Laffalot, a wiry, black-haired, fortyish woman in a lime green gown,
seemed to be dividing her attention between listing to Esteban, asking
questions of her children, eating pieces of her veal, getting her
children to eat and getting her husband to eat. Coco, the metallic
bronze-gold bonobo, was seated next to Esteban and seemed more
interested in who else was around.
When Rumi landed near the table, Coco grinned, leapt from his
chair and flew to her. She caught him and swung him around a couple
times.
*Can you still hear me?* Rumi thought. Again, as with Cendra,
she could not 'send' the thought, but let its sound play in her head.
*Yes yes,* Coco replied, his telepathic voice still sounding as
if it belonged to a spaced-out pre-adolescent. *Adventure tales are
being told. Food is being consumed. Triplets are being bored. Where
have you been?*
*Just got here,* Rumi thought back, which was technically true.
*Where can I sit?*
*On your butt,* Coco thought, then widened his grin. Rumi, who
had heard that and variations on that numerous times before,
particularly from her dad, gave a tolerant smile in return. Esteban
looked up and saw her.
"Oh, hey, Rumi!" he exclaimed. "You made it!"
Rumi sat in the chair previously occupied by Coco, while Coco
floated off in the direction of the bar. "Cendra just gave me a short
run-down of what you saw in the ship last night. How badly is it
damaged?"
"Not as bad as you'd think," said Esteban, whose red dress shirt
and black slacks looked as if they had been purchased off the rack
that day. "The deck and the inner quarters are pretty much intact.
The engines are a mess--I don't see how it'll ever fly again, or even
generate internal power--but the rest of the damage seems pretty
light."
"It'll be quite a while before it can be fully evaluated," said
Tom. "I was out there this morning with Karina, Guido, and the cows."
He tilted his head to indicate Bhossi and Cla'rabhelle, whose
negotiations with the bartender had evidently been successful, judging
from how they seemed to be enjoying--via straws--the bubbling orange
and chartreuse drinks before them. "Bhossi seems to think internal
power might be restorable, to a limited extent. Cla'rabhelle says
there's no way it can project a strong-enough aetheric field."
"They were out in public?" Rumi asked.
"Amazing, isn't it," said Laura. "I was on staff with Harxxon in
Egypt at the time they were found in the tunnels beneath Giza.
Chalandra brought me in to examine them. They were scared out of
their minds by what they'd gone through--an escape from Mu, out of the
aetheric dimension altogether, into the underground highways that I'm
now told link a bunch of subterranean civilizations... and now look at
'em."
"They were staying out of sight to keep Capella and the Hidden
Empire from finding them," Esteban said. "Now that they've been ou...
um... now that they know they're here, they feel like they don't have
to hide so much."
He glanced at Rumi as he finished. Rumi gave him a look she
hoped was sympathetic.
"I wonder where... oh, hey, there's Eivandt!" Tom noted. "Excuse
me, dear," he said to his wife, "I wanted to go ask him something."
"Sure," Laura responded, giving him a quick kiss as he got up.
She then looked at Esteban and Rumi, started to say something, then
was interrupted when blorting sounds came from one of her boys's cell
phones.
*How are you doing?* Rumi thought, while Laura was distracted.
Esteban did not respond, so Rumi thought it again, this time
attempting to push the thought out more, as she imagined telepaths
did. This time, Esteban caught it.
*Okay,* he thought. *Cendra thinks I ought to just tell everyone
and get it over with. She thinks Miguel will... she thinks he'll
surprise me.*
*If anyone should know...*
*It'd be me,* Esteban replied. *I lived with him for a lot
longer than she has. He listened to everything dad said, growing
up... got pretty good at repeating it, too. He got approval for it.
I tried, but somehow, I think dad could tell I was faking. Which only
made me try more.*
*What about your mom?*
*She was gone,* Esteban answered. He looked up at her, eyebrows
raised. A pleading look.
Rumi thought of what Cendra had said--her implication that
getting answers out of Esteban would be difficult. She wondered if
the real problem was not something else--Cendra's newness in his life,
plus her access--accidental or not--to thoughts he intended to stay
hidden.
If that was the case, Rumi thought, what chance had she, who had
been in his life for maybe a day?
"Hey, that guy talking to Uncle Templar," she said, aloud,
deliberately changing the subject. "Isn't he... um... that guy?"
Esteban, seeming relieved, looked over to the bar. He considered
the grizzled and cheaply-suited man across from Templar Maccabee, who
was talking with Templar while his hands flitted here and there. At a
guess, Rumi would have said he was telling a story involving either
driving on the freeway or choreographing inebriated bears. Possibly
both.
"That's... um..." Esteban started.
"That's the Producer, Este," said a voice from behind Rumi. "Or
was, back in the nineties. Man, and I thought Mickey Rourke aged
badly."
"Lem!" Esteban exclaimed, standing so fast he knocked his chair
over. He rushed to Lemon Rydell, raising his arms. He then twitched,
skidded to a stop, and brought his arms down, ending with one hand
out, palm flat. Lemon slapped it and grinned.
Rumi remembered seeing Esteban greet Lemon once before--forcibly
contain himself then, as well. Even now, knowing the context, she
thought it strange.
"Hey, Lemon," said Rumi, though she did not get up.
The blond fifteen-year-old was wearing a full white tuxedo, well-
tailored to his lithe form. Rumi wondered where he had gotten it on
such short notice.
As if guessing her question, Lemon looked down at his suit.
"Riot, isn't it? Dad had me out to a shop just today, and they got it
done just in time. Tried telling him the dress code wasn't this
formal, but... okay, I didn't try *that* hard. Esteban."
Esteban relaxed the exaggerated look of skepticism he had
directed at Lemon, grinned, and resumed his seat. Lemon remained
standing.
"I'd love to chat," he said, "but I've got to see if I can get
the bartender to make me a martini."
With that, he was off... but not far. His head jerked back, and
his feet nearly flew out from under him. After regaining his balance,
he turned and glared at someone behind Rumi.
Rumi thought she could guess this one. "Hi, Aunt Shadebeam," she
said without turning.
"Hi, yourself, squirt," said Shadebeam Moroboshi. "Sit your butt
down, Mister Rydell. I promised your dad I'd keep you on a leash
until I got you back to Malaga and your mom, and I'm gonna do just
that."
Lemon sighed, then dashed to take an open seat. One of the
McCavish-Laffalot offspring--he of the still-blorting cell phone--was
in the seat to Esteban's right, and Rumi was at Esteban's left, so
Lemon took the seat to Rumi's left.
"I always thought wearing a collar was supposed to be kinky,"
said Lemon, with his characteristic--i.e. nonexistent--restraint.
"Turns out it's just annoying." He grinned, showing anything but
vexation.
"Told you," said Shadebeam, as she took her seat. "The spell was
not cast with your comfort in mind." Her gold evening dress, while
not as insistently formfitting as Key's and Yury's, was nevertheless
slinky enough for an evening's adventuring. "You're lucky your dad
was so understanding."
"He likes you," Lemon replied. "He says you smell like--"
"Nip it, smart boy," Shadebeam interrupted. Lemon, reluctantly,
nipped it. "How you doing, guys? You look none the worse for wear.
Unlike this one."
"Doc says my arm's okay," Lemon said. "Wasn't as bad as it
looked."
"Same with me," Rumi replied. "Just some nasty scratches."
"Hmmm," hmmmd Lemon, as he ran his fingers along an arc of air
that Rumi guessed contained his invisible tether. "Crackly."
"All I needed," noted Shadebeam, "besides the words, was a few
ounces of wolfsbane, a dash of knotweed, and a picture of Bettie Page.
Got the theoretical workup for the spell in trade from a mage named
Anna Martel, at Burning M00se. Same year I accidentally gestalted
with Eddy Izzard and a llama." She sighed, then smiled. "*Man,* that
was a good year."
"Where's Slithis?" Esteban asked.
"Should be... um... right, there he is." Shadebeam pointed
toward a large knot of people on the other side of the restaurant.
Rumi saw a bit of movement beyond them, and a few flashes of light
that could have been the shifting magic-derived light coming from
Slithis's scales. "Showing off again, I'm sure. "Always says he
doesn't like the attention, but just let some pretty young things come
up to him and say they read about him in one of David Icke's books and
he'd better not try shapeshifting to look like Dick Cheney."
Rumi, who understood progressively less of that sentence as it
went on, just nodded. She recognized someone who was standing next to
Slithis, watching with a sour expression. "Is that Chief Mysanga?"
she asked, remembering the Hottentottian engineer she had been briefly
harassed by at Burning M00se.
"The one," replied Shadebeam. "He's got Roog on a leash there."
Rumi looked down at Mysanga's feet and saw the pomeranian-sized
slavering hellbeast spin around and make yappy 'Tek!' noises at anyone
and everyone. "What?" Shadebeam asked. "I couldn't get a sitter.
Besides, it looks like people have learned not to look at him for too
long." She gestured to a couple ashen people who were staggering
toward the bar. "They should just be glad I didn't bring Mike
Polinski, too."
"Would have been interesting," said Rumi. "Up here, I mean."
"Aaanyway," Shadebeam went on, "Lemon's not going to be able to
attend your post-party party, Esteban."
Esteban's face fell. Lemon glanced at Esteban, then gave
Shadebeam his best 'I'll be good' look. Rumi wondered if his face
would get stuck like that if he held it that way too long.
"Not in my hands," said Shadebeam. "I can't stay all night...
well, I could, as I won't go slobbering coocoo for cocoa puffs due to
being away from Malaga right away. But they're hooking the tesla
coils up to the Escher-tron tonight, and if I'm not supervising,
Burning M00se might turn into a mobius strip. Again. Also, I
promised your dad."
"What post-party party?" Rumi asked.
"Cendra's folks are hosting it," said Esteban, perking up a bit
as he told her. "Not really a party, as such. Me, Cendra, and Miguel
are going to be there, since we're crashing there for the unspecified
future. A few others might come by for the dancing and the beer.
Um... what about you?"
"I'd like to," she told him. "Have to ask my folks, though."
"Hey, Miss Moroboshi," Lemon said, "can we roam around a bit?
How much slack...?"
"It has enough," Shadebeam replied. "Right, go on. The tether
should float over the other guests, so you won't have to worry about
getting it tangled. Just don't try to leave this place... I'll
retract you back so fast you'll look like a pinball."
"Cool!" Lemon exclaimed, his eyes lighting up.
"You'd probably break things," Esteban noted.
"Cool!"
"Things inside you."
"Co... oh." Lemon frowned. "Right. That's bad." He shook his
head, as if to clear it, then stood so fast his chair fell over.
"Let's see who's here!"
Esteban and Rumi got up in time to take off after Lemon, who
plunged into the crowd with a whoop. Rumi thought, as she flew, she
heard Shadebeam slap her palm to her forehead.

***

The descent of the freight elevator was of much shorter duration
than that of the last ascent of the last elevator he had been on.
Barely a minute. The Programmer estimated it stopped no more than
half a mile below the Earth's surface. It was at that point he
wondered why he had been so keen to make the estimate in the first
place.
The elevator's other bipedal occupant, Erasmus Fancy, did not
seem concerned about how far down they were going. It was hard to
determine what he *did* seem--his gorilla-sized bonobo's body was
cloaked in a long brown trenchcoat, and his face obscured by the
shadow created by his wide-brimmed hat. The Programmer thought of
asking, then decided against it. If he held any hope of making it
back to the subterranean world he had glimpsed, let alone of
conquering it through his programming might, he would need Fancy's
assistance... and the allies he promised.
Just getting the story of how Fancy had escaped from the battle
of the night before, with The Programmer slung over his shoulder like
a sack of potatoes, had been difficult. After having passed out for a
while, The Programmer had awoke in a police car being driven by a man
in a brown trenchcoat who identified himself as 'Detective Sanders.'
The Programmer had panicked for a bit before realizing that Erasmus
Fancy, who was also in the vehicle, was in the passenger seat and not
wearing cuffs. He also appeared to be taking driving directions from
Fancy.
The directions had been to The Programmer's apartment--a location
The Programmer was not surprised Fancy knew, given how Dana and Fancy
had been using him for so long. Fancy gave him fifteen minutes to
pack a suitcase, a task for which The Programmer needed only six.
There was little of his former life as 'Gary W. Olson' he wanted to
keep. His two tan-and-black cats, Bailey and Sage, were however among
them, and when he emerged from his apartment building with a suitcase
and two cat-filled pet carriers, 'Detective Sanders' had been
displeased. To The Programmer's surprise, Fancy sided with him (The
Programmer), and Sanders reluctantly allowed the animals into his car.
The car ride was short. The following plane ride was longer.
The car ride that followed that was even longer, and went into a
barely-inhabited area of northern Montana. It ended when they reached
what The Programmer thought was one of the most-boxy looking hills he
had ever seen. It was as if someone had crash-landed a massive
starship, nose-first, then decided they could disguise it just by
painting it to look like the mountains that loomed not too far away.
Sanders--'Field Agent Sanders,' as Fancy now called him--escorted
them into the 'hill,' where The Programmer saw his suspicions
confirmed. The interior was an unlit collection of rooms and crudely-
cut corridors, in which they would have become lost were it not that
Sanders apparently knew where he was going.
"Say 'hi' to Heather for me," said Sanders, as The Programmer
shifted his suitcase into the elevator revealed by Sanders's
flashlight. After The Programmer got the pet carriers in, the
elevator doors closed, and that was the last they saw of Sanders.
Now here they were, less than twenty-four hours out of one
underground base, right into another. The Programmer wondered what he
would see when the doors opened. A lab filled with bubbling liquids
and scientific abominations? Gleaming corridors filled with faceless
armored battle-bots? Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie's day care center?
What was revealed was a stuffy and book-filled study. Were it
not for the lack of windows, and the computer monitor on the corner
desk, The Programmer would have guessed that Peter Cushing was
somewhere around, poised to inform surprised authorities that he
suspected that vampires were at large in the area. He (The
Programmer, that is, not Peter Cushing) set the pet carriers down on a
nearby leather couch, set his suitcase next to it, then flopped down
on the leather cushions. Fancy remained standing. The elevator doors
closed, and all was silent.
But not for long. The room's only visible door--opposite the
elevator doors--opened, and two people emerged. One was a tall,
elegant, and very pale woman with wispy long blonde hair and a sharp
demeanor. The other was a sallow-complexioned old man in a wheelchair
that made *hmrrr-hmrrr* noises as it rolled him into the room. Both
wore nearly identical black suits with white shirts and black ties.
Bailey and Sage loudly hissed. The man in the wheelchair
regarded the pet carriers with a look of singular distaste, before
apparently dismissing them from his regard. The cats continued
hissing, until The Programmer turned their carriers around so they
could only see the back of the sofa.
"Okay," said The Programmer, seeing as no one else was in an ice-
breaking mood. "Which one of you is 'Heather?'"
The woman raised an eyebrow. "That would be me," she said.
"Secret Agent Heather Harlow. I believe it was Field Agent Sanders
who brought you?"
"Yeah. He just said to say 'hi.'"
"By any chance, did he pass along the fifty dollars he owes...
never mind. Of course he didn't."
As she spoke, The Programmer had an unaccountable feeling that
she looked familiar. Like someone he might have seen on television,
long ago.
"Where do I know you from?" he asked.
Harlow's face grew immediately neutral. "You don't," she
replied. "I assure..."
"I've got it," The Programmer interrupted. "You were...
whatshername. Mage-type. Heck Kitty, or Her Kotty... Her Kooty?
No..."
"Hecate," said Harlow, displeasure evident in her tone. "Though
it has been a long time since I last used that name."
"You were in the coverage from back when CalForce almost captured
Radian and Shadebeam," said The Programmer. "Back in '94. I've
studied everything I could find on CalForce, and this was part of it.
These two super-mages had captured Rad, and there was this exchange...
you were working for one of them."
"I was compelled," Harlow icily replied. "And, following the
battle, very beat up and suddenly bereft of my magical abilities. But
I survived." She looked to her left, at the old man in the
wheelchair. "And thrived."
"You may go, Agent," said the man. His voice was rough and thin,
with sickly undertones. "I wish to speak to our guests alone."
Harlow hesitated, as if she wanted to argue. She did not,
however, and left without a further word or look for anybody. When
the door closed, the old man let out a sigh.
"I am the Director," he said. "Of the new and substantially
diminished Mega-Intelligence Bureau. I imagine you must have many
questions."
The statement, The Programmer observed, was directed at Erasmus
Fancy, who had remained silent through the earlier exchange.
"Why 'secret' agent?" Fancy now asked. "For that matter, why was
Dana a 'Secret Secret' agent, instead of a 'Special Special?' It is
my understanding that 'Secret' and 'Secret Secret' were only used in
the official National Intelligence Bureau 'cover' credentials."
"Times have changed," the Director replied, seeming unoffended by
Fancy's challenge. "The N.I.B. cover was dismantled by the hearings
in '96--a fact Dana sometimes forgot in her dealings with official law
enforcement. In this... reconstituted... Mega-Intelligence Bureau, we
have no official standing. No line item on any budget, even the
'black budget' that we were part of from '52 to '96. The use of
'Secret' over 'Special' is intended to remind us all of this fact."
"Was Dana Wader really an agent of yours?" The Programmer asked.
The Director regarded him as if he were an unmindful child.
"Yes," he answered, finally. "When I found her... when I found her,
she had this resource. This... ship of hers, that crash-landed here.
We're in it now. What's left of it, anyway... modified to current
needs. She had a crew, though its loyalty was suspect, and their
numbers dwindling. And I... needed space. To plan. To gather the
pieces left over from all that had happened. I made her an offer.
She accepted."
"Even though she's a raving homicidal lunatic?"
"Was she 'raving,' when she brought you in?" Fancy asked.
"Um, no," replied The Programmer, thinking of how cool and
restrained Wader had seemed.
"Through the years," said the Director, "I had opportunity to
refine her. Give to her the discipline she lacked. Indeed, during
the dark times of the Genocidal War, I could scarcely do anything
else. Just huddle down here, wait, and work." The old man paused,
and coughed. "I was saddened to hear how swiftly her conditioning
unraveled under pressure."
"I was told," said Fancy, "that she is being held in the latest
version of the so-called Really-Really-Hard-to-Get-Out-Of-Place--the
We're-Serious-This-is-a-Hard-to-Get-Out-Of-Place--pending her trial."
"Hmm, yes," the Director answered. "She is there. I do not yet
know if I shall retrieve her. Properly directed, she is a force to be
reckoned with, as you well know. The problem is that direction, with
her, is difficult to achieve."
"True," Fancy agreed. "And speaking of direction... Director...
would you care to discuss your purpose in bringing us here?"
The Director smiled. His teeth were a noxious yellow, though
otherwise they seemed intact. And sharp.
"You're no fool, Fancy," he said. "Why don't *you* tell *me* why
I had you brought here? Instead of having you killed or whatever else
you might have expected."
"Well, duh," The Programmer said. "You had us brought here so
you could use my brilliance to re-create the work I did for Dana Wader
on the mind-control chips. So you can, I dunno, do all kinds of
conspiracy voodoo on people. Make them into assassins, or couriers,
or spies, or... I dunno, ninjas? Can you do ninjas? I can do
ninjas."
The old man gave him another sour look. But Fancy spoke before
he could.
"That was the use that Dana Wader sought," said Fancy. "One she
could understand, and work towards. The true scope of the work is
larger. To send through the nectarisite, and manipulate it through
our sendings... that was the goal I, and Capella, worked toward. The
goal of our long efforts. Which I believe that *you,* Mister
Director, already know."
The Director waited. The Programmer had a feeling he had been
waiting for this moment for quite a while.
"You have brought me in," Fancy continued, "because you know who
I am and what I am truly capable of. Moreso than anyone born in this
or the previous century ought. Programmer..."
The Programmer bit back his usual insistence on the definite
article.
"Allow me to introduce the man who was once known as the Dweller
in the Shades, and the inspiration for the 'Dick Carter' dime novels.
My one-time mortal enemy... Richard Cartier."

(continued in part three, following...)
--
Copyright (c) 2009 by Gary W. Olson. All Rights Reserved.
--
Gary W. Olson
swede at novitious dot com
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