SG: Subtler Than Light #4 (3/3): My Superhost

(continued from part three, preceding...)

***

In Cendra Seconds' office on the ground-bound _Subtler Than Light,_ Cendra studied her guest, the new-at-least-to-her superguy who'd identified herself as Psywave. Some of the bravado and brightness on her masked face had gone, and Cendra thought she was making an effort not to look down or away from her eyes.

"What I'm going to tell you... some of it's not something I'd like to see spread around," said Psywave. "I'm not gonna demand secrecy, but I'm hoping you'll want to keep it on the down-low with me once you hear it."

"People don't say that any more," Camila called from her couch.

Psywave glanced back at Camila, and returned her attention to Cendra. "Are you sure...?"

"Talk," Cendra ordered. "I'll figure out how down low I want to go after."

"I'm not from this world," said Psywave. "Not going to say which one I'm from, or how long I've been here, but... well, put it this way... Galaxy Hunter... the one I'm working with, I mean... knows me from when I first came to this world. That's how I got involved."

"And this Hunter became involved with hidden Hearts of a subterranean alternate dimension on our backwater planet Earth... how?"

"As far as almost anyone who knew this Hunter is concerned, they think..." Psywave paused, furrowed her brow, then sighed. "They think *she* was killed in a battle on Reptilos, the capital of the..."

"I know the Reptiloids," Cendra interrupted, even as she silently wondered why giving up a pronoun required a pause for decision. "One I count as a good friend, though I don't see him much anymore. I've gotten ssss... I've hung out with others at Burning M00se through the years."

"You're not fooling anyone, mom," Camila said.

"You know about the separatists, then," said Psywave, ignoring the one-wolf-girl peanut gallery behind her. "About how the Ottsamaddawidu Confederation coalition government fronted by the Scary Clown Party upended the work done to shore up post-Imperial relations with worlds forcibly incorporated into the Empire long ago, and how the Scary Clown faction on Reptilos decided--after the Party On Party won the next election, retook control, and started undoing the damage done--it was time to get on with the violent secession they've always wanted?"

"I'm told the Hunter Corps has, so far, kept them in check."

"Until three weeks ago, you'd've been right. Then the Scaled Order took delivery of the Heart, and fired up the transmat for Earth, just as Hunter tried to deliver said check."

"It's not the Heart of Mu you're talking about, then," said Cendra, as Psywave took a sip from her water bottle. "We had that up until this morning."

"This one was the 'Heart of Hy Brasil.' Which has been in the Treasury for a century-and-a-quarter, though there's not a lot of details regarding the Hottentotian expedition that returned with it."

"I thought the Treasury couldn't be breached. That it's where Ottsamaddawiduans stored things acquired through the millennia of their spacegoing existence... things thought to be too dangerous for anyone, including themselves, to mess with."

"It's apparently been breached once before, a couple decades back," said Psywave, looking increasingly uncomfortable with the topic she'd raised. "But this was a little different than that incident. This was an inside job."

"Who...?"

"Someone replaced the Keeper with a finely-crafted duplicate. Hunter only found out after their bodies were discovered. Her investigation revealed that the Heart was taken... and that the takers went straight to Reptilos."

Just then, the office door opened.

"Have you spilled everything yet?" Galaxy Hunter asked.

Cendra looked the armored hero up and down. The armor looked heavy as hell, even though it was no different than the functional suit that the original Galaxy Hunter, Ragna Rok, had forged soon after coming to Earth for the first time nearly thirty-four years ago. It was the metal itself, Cendra thought. Though it was cut to resemble standard-issue Hunter gear, it looked... it felt, in her mind's eye... far older, giving it an impression of weight its current owner probably didn't experience.

In fact, the more she stared at it... and she was staring hard, now, she realized... the more she could feel something in the back of her mind squirm.

A flight reflex. Something deep in her biology knew the armor, more to the point knew the metal it was forged from, and wanted to escape.

Psywave showed no similar struggle in seeing the Hunter she'd earlier referred to as her partner. Instead, she breezily flipped Hunter off and gestured to the other chair.

"I copped to you having been in hot pursuit of the Heart of Hy Brasil," said Psywave, "and that the Corps thinks you're croaked. Also that you're a fine, comely wench beneath the armor."

"Says you," Hunter said. "Only thing *I'd* cop to is I need to amp up the AC in this thing. I'm sweating my comely ass off."

"You smell like stale patchouli," Camila interjected. Hunter regarded her as if surprised the furry child was there.

"Reptilos wasn't in my assigned sector," Hunter said, as she took a seat in the other chair before Cendra's desk, "but I knew it pretty well, which is why I got put on the case. I got in touch with sources I have there... and learned about the Scaled Order. Bunch of cranky twats... okay, *cultists*... who claim Reptilos had a star empire long before being forcibly incorporated into the Ottsamaddawiduan Empire. And apparently at one time... we're talking tens of thousands of years ago, though how many tens is a matter of dispute within the cult... Earth was counted among them. Late-pleistocene-ish."

"Just about teatime," Psywave interjected, before taking another swig of water.

"These guys have some pretty wild ideas about what their ancestors were up to on Earth," Galaxy Hunter doggedly went on. "Supposedly it was just used as a way-station for war campaigns in this sector, but... there are rumors they were conducting experiments here. And not just getting with *your* ancestors to see who's up for some 'cave painting and chill.' There was some kind of superweapon being worked on, though what it was... even they don't know."

"Ooh, ancient superweapon," said Cendra. "I was wondering if one of those old chestnuts'd pop up."

"Chestnuts are as chestnuts do," Hunter noted.

"But the cult does claim that they're the ones who brought the Seven Engines to Earth, millennia later," Psywave said. "And not the Hottentottians, despite what's in *their* occult histories. A deal with at least some of the underground civilizations extant at the time in what we now call Terra Subterrene. For what purpose... again, even they don't know. I mean, we know Terra Subterrene uses the engines as portal creators between themselves and the Hollow Earth in the Aetheric dimension, but we don't know if that's what the Reptiloids intended. But the cult thinks that if they can gain control of them... or, more specifically, the Hearts that power them... it's 'hello galactic empire' time, with Reptilos ruling all, and them ruling Reptilos. If their lore is correct, the Heart of Hy Brasil, while not powerful in and of itself, can be made to reveal the locations of the other hidden Hearts. Including the one that was yours."

Cendra tried to think about what, if anything, that Dr. Gigawatt, her resident expert on all things Hidden Empire, had said specifically about the Heart of Hy Brasil, or if he had even mentioned it by name. She wanted to say no, but somehow, the name 'Hy Brasil' was familiar.

"So they brought the Hy Brasil Heart to Earth to find its companions," Cendra said, "and that's how they found out about us having the Heart of Mu in our floorboards. And then they subcontracted its theft out to a red-feathered utahraptor and/or a group of Hawaiian-shirt-wearing demon monkeys?"

"T'shamka's got allies, it seems," Hunter said. "He's the head tw... er, cultist, though I can't say for certain which faction he's aligned with."

Cendra frowned. The name triggered a memory.

"Not..."

"Maybe the same T'shamka as in Richard Cartier's journals," said Psywave, "maybe not." She held up a hand. "And before you ask, yes, I know about those, too. I've been reading the annotated editions Gigawatt's put out." She frowned. "Is he ever gonna get to volume 8?"

"I understand he's hung up on a side essay about Shaverology," Cendra said. "Specifically what Richard Shaver got wrong about Deros, and why his daughter Evelyn won't return his calls. Gigawatt's calls about Shaver's daughter, I mean."

"Back to the saga," Hunter said, gesturing at Psywave to shush. "And maybe back it up to Reptilos for a bit. The Scaled Order found out who I was under the armor, soon before they collapsed the cavern that they'd been meeting in on top of my head. They'd been tipped off that I was on their tails, see. Not just *a* Hunter. I mean, they knew my identity under the mask. Which means they have a mole high up in the Hunter Corps, in addition to whoever let them into the Treasury. After I crawled out from under, I snuck into a transmat queue for this year's Burning M00se festivities with forged credentials. Same way they came to Earth."

"I was at Burning M00se when she showed up last night." Psywave gestured at Hunter. "Just soakin' up the weird with all the humans and other-than-humans and people-sized kaiju and the like. Saw her. Recognized her. Confronted her. She spilled."

"Then she took me to Ragna Rok, who as usual since his retirement was also on hand for the festivities," said Hunter. "She said he'd been on Earth for a few years now, one of Malaga's more recent year-round residents, and if there was a Hunter I could still trust, it was him. I spilled to them some more. We decided we had to keep my and her identities secret while we were unsure of where the Scaly Order Reptiloids were, or how far along they were with their plans or who they might be allied with here. We figured if they found out we were there, they'd accelerate their plans, and we'd lose our only chance to catch them."

"Clever," said Cendra. "Maybe too clever by half."

She pursed her lips after saying this. Something about their story felt... off. Like they were lies that were also true. From a smooth-talker like Lemon Rydell, she expected it. From an unknown like Psywave, she had no reason to discount it. But to get this vibe off a Hunter... that was disturbing.

"Their plans were pretty damn accelerated already," Psywave said, taking over the narrative. "Way too early this morning, after she spilled but before we could make much of a plan to investigate, we intercepted a transmission on an old Imperial frequency. Apparently someone else was going after the Mu Heart, and *that* accelerated *their* plans, so they made a panicked call to whoever they contracted with, who in turn contacted their demon monkeys... who were the loud-shirt-wearing ones you encountered this morning."

"I made the call to beam you a warning," said Psywave. "It led with the Hunter Corps brand logo so you'd know it's legit..."

"I've been meaning to ask since forever," Cendra said. "What the hell is up with that?"

"It was something the first President of the Confederation came up with," said Hunter. "The hand with the flower is supposed to symbolize peace. Or maybe that's the bird? I can't remember. The beer was meant to symbolize... partying, I think. Not sure about the little armored dude in it. I think maybe after the first three symbols the designer worried we might lose the thread."

"So, also Rad," Cendra noted, "the first symbolic President of the Confederation, back in the nineties. Guess it makes sense Ragna'd give him something like this to work out, and it shouldn't be surprising this was the result. Kind of 'on brand' for him."

"People..." Camila started. "Okay, people *do* say that. But they should stop. It's stupid."

"Psywave and me were translocated to L.A. through a spell cast by Shadebeam Moroboshi," said Hunter. "Ragna tried talking her out of it, but she insisted, though I'm told took a lot out of her. You know how far downhill she's gone, right?"

"From what Erin says," Cendra said, "she might make it to next year's Burning M00se... but it'll be her last." She shook her head. "Despite his best efforts to halt her decline. She's been tied to Malaga, New Mexico for 21 years now. Being near that crashed cathedral-sized elevator from the Earth's core and holding that annual festival of hers is what keeps her from descending into gibbering madness... but I guess 'alive' is too much to ask on top of that."

"She keeps saying Leviam00se wouldn't do her dirty like that, though," Hunter noted, as Psywave picked up her almost-forgotten water bottle from her arm rest. "Which she says means something bigger's at play and she'll heal up after next year's bash and people should stop being all sad-faced at her so much. Not that I know who the hell Leviam00se is, but... I hope she's right and everyone else is wrong."

"Back to the Heart of Hy Brasil for a second," said Cendra. "Why does the Scaled Order even need the Demon Monkeys, if they have--"

She was interrupted by a knock at her door.

"Hey, Cendra," said Johnny Clark as he zipped in, still shirtless, but now sweaty and bearing a tablet computer.

"What is it?" Cendra asked.

"You said you wanted to know when the _Subtler Than Light_ hull was patched," he answered, as he set the tablet on her desk. "We just finished. Trice said they don't need me for fixing the lower level floors, so if it's all right with you, I'm going to see if I can catch up with Bonnie's team before they port out to Malaga."

"If she's got an extra seat, have at it," Cendra said. "Oh, can you take Camila to my quarters on your way down?"

"Aw, moooommmm," Camila complained. "I was being good. Kind of."

"Don't worry, squirt," said Johnny. "I'll take you through the big holes in the next couple decks. It's pretty twi... oh! Um... hello!"

Johnny, Cendra realized, had just realized that Psywave had been looking him up and down, though what she thought of Johnny was not entirely clear. Johnny, for his part, appeared surprised that she was there. Surprised... or perhaps flustered at her scrutiny.

"Hello, yourself," said Psywave. She looked him over once more... and smiled. "I don't suppose you're into karaoke, long moonlit flights, and showing visiting ladies the finest drinking establishments around here, are you?"

"It's kind of early," Johnny replied, a smile dawning on his face as he wiped sweat from his brow. "But if you're around tonight, I should be back from Malaga, and then maybe we could hit Dicey Ned's, and after that, I could interview you for my web series..."

"Ahem." Cendra gave the word a gravity that pulled Johnny's eyes her way. When Johnny saw her glare, he gulped, nodded, and looked at Camila. "Come on, squirt. Time to go. Nice meeting you, Psywave! Oh, and you too, armored person... Galaxy Hunter? You look like a Galaxy Hunter. Um, nice. Did I say that? Right."

Camila leaped onto his shoulders and waved to her mother as Johnny carried her out.

When the door closed, Psywave gave Cendra a baleful look.

"Not to complain," she said, "but it's been a while for me, and he looked cute, capable, interested, and..." Her smile grew wider. "...durable." She took a long drink from her bottle of water.

"Thirsty?" Galaxy Hunter asked.

"Damn right," said Psywave. "Also, I didn't realize I wanted so much water."

"I thought you were done with... all that."

Psywave gave Hunter a sour look.

"I was," she said. "I am. I mean... do I have to be?"

"Your words."

"So?" she asked. "I'll eat them."

"Also, 'my lovelife is an armada-wreck,' 'every time I think it's right it's so, so, so very wrong...'"

"I didn't say that!" Psywave protested. "I mean... one 'so' at most."

Hunter tilted her head.

"Okay, two!" Psywave exclaimed. "It was late, we were all as spilled out as we could get, and I was buzzed. I always repeat my 'so's' when I'm buzzed. Also, I apparently get all maudlin or something. It's not like I'm *looking* for someone. Just, you know... some recreation."

"'Always how it starts.'"

"Now you're getting nasty, saying things I said at me." She frowned. "I didn't get that guy's name, though."

Cendra thought back. Johnny had left before Psywave showed up in the _Subtler Than Light's_ lobby with Esteban, and Psywave had gone on to Cendra's office before Johnny had bounded up onto to the main deck to catch the giant nectarisite deck plate he'd casually tossed up.

It occurred to her that, while the world in her experience tended toward taking things away... it sometimes gave as well. In this case, it had given her one more chance to find out what she hoped was true.

"He's a grown man," Cendra said. "Quite capable."

Psywave looked at her oddly.

"Of making his own choices, I mean. Wouldn't know about the other. You should be careful, though. He might... and I don't mean to put you off... he might actually want to interview you for his web series. Something about lair flipping, I think."

"You mean that wasn't a line?" Hunter asked.

Cendra shook her head.

"I'd chance it," Psywave said. "Worst comes to worst, I've got a friend and a new place to get buzzed at."

"Also great for a great bloody brawl, some nights," Hunter noted. "So I've heard."

"Now you're trying to get me excited again," Psywave said. "But... this guy. He's not the type who thinks he's entitled, is he?"

"He's good about that, both from what I'm told and from what telepathic impressions I've gotten off him," said Cendra. "He might prefer the so-called friend zone, given the romantic trainwrecks he has in *his* past."

"Shares a lot, does he?"

Cendra nodded.

"Oversharers are my people," said Psywave, as she raised her bottle to her lips. "Introduce us next time."

She took a long drink, sending a couple large bubbles glorping up the bottle.

"His name's Johnny Clark."

The massive and involuntary spray of water out of Psywave's face, through both mouth and nose, was intensely gratifying to Cendra. The half-empty bottle toppled to the floor as Psywave looked frantically back at the door, then at the space where Johnny had greeted her, and finally at Cendra.

"But... but... he was just... I mean, he was only this tall last time..." Psywave sputtered, waving her hand at a roughly foor-foot level. "And he was skinny and he wouldn't just sit still and watch a movie when I had to hang out with him and his hair... hey, he had midnight blue hair, how come I didn't notice that..."

A clanging sound echoed in the office. Cendra saw that it came from Galaxy Hunter's faceplate, which Hunter had slapped her own armored palm against.

Psywave gibbered a bit more... then stopped.

She glared at Cendra...

...then groaned and pulled down her mask.

"How did you know?" she asked.

Unmasked, Cendra could now see aspects of both her father and her mother in the wideness of the woman's eyes, the angry curve of her lips, and the two small, conical horns on her forehead hairline. Strange how they weren't visible when the mask was on, she thought.

"I didn't know," said Cendra, a smile breaking across her face so hard she thought the top of her head might fall off. "I just saw how Esteban looked at you, down in the lobby, when you both saw Lemon. I saw that look, which I'd only *ever* seen him give you or Lemon, and later on when you stopped on the photo, I had the idea. Which I gave up on, after I couldn't get a rise out of you with anything I said about it. The rest was hope and, finally, a small bit of lucky timing."

"And she told *me* to be careful," Galaxy Hunter muttered.

Psywave shook her head... then laughed.

"I thought I was ready for anything anyone brought up from the past," she said. "When you caught me looking at the picture and started talking about the boys... I kept my game face *on,* just like I learned how to... in my time away. But this... *damn.*"

"It's what you get for being a stranger for so long," said Cendra, abruptly standing. "And for trying to fool me of all people, no matter how good your reasons were. Which I'd *really* like to know, now. But before that... bring it in."

Psywave flew over the desk. Cendra pulled her into a fierce embrace before her boots could touch the ground.

"Welcome back to Earth," she said, pressing her cheek into the other's red hair. "Welcome back... Rumi Moroboshi."


WHY DID RUMI COME BACK TO EARTH?
WHY DID SHE LEAVE?
WHY DIDN'T SHE SAY WHO SHE WAS?
WHY DOESN'T SHE STAY PROPERLY HYDRATED?
WHO'S GALAXY HUNTER?
WHY DOESN'T SHE SAY WHO SHE IS?
DOES SHE STAY PROPERLY HYDRATED?
IS KAZZA STAYING PROPERLY HYDRATED?
WILL SHE WALK *REVERB* THE PATH OF BONE *END REVERB*?
DOES SHE HAVE *REVERB* EIGHT DOLLARS *END REVERB* ON HER?
WILL MIGUEL DEAL WITH HIS BAGGAGE?
WILL MIGUEL'S NEW PACK THRIVE?
WILL THEY SUCCESSFULLY TAKE THE PROGRAMMER INTO CUSTODY?
WILL THE PROGRAMMER CHEW OUT HIS SUPERHOST?
WILL JOLENE BOGART THE OXYGEN DESTROYER?
WILL JOHNNY PUT ON A SHIRT?
WHAT IS THIS, KALE?

Find out someday, on an upcoming... SUPERGUY!

--
Subtler Than Light #4 (c) 2023 by Gary W. Olson. All Rights Reserved.

For behind-the-scenes notes on this episode, visit my posting in
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SG: Subtler Than Light #4 (2/3): Calling

(continued from part one, preceding...)

***

Emerson Park was nice, Miguel Veracruz thought. For some value of 'nice,' anyway. The benches were free of graffiti. The bushes were well-tended, if a little ragged. he playground equipment was firmly anchored on a good-size asphalt block in the center that looked as if it could weather a hurricane. The liquor stores across the street were well-stocked. It wasn't the kind of place that looked like it had hosted an epic fight between a man wearing the lower half of a fearsome armored suit, another man with metal snakes coming out of his eyes and mouth, a metal bonobo with dazzling hair, and a troupe of teleporting demon monkeys... unless you counted the scorch marks on the grass.

"So you're saying they found nothing," Miguel said, as he looked at the small group of people in the center of the playground, a couple of whom--China Moroboshi and a stocky, light-brown woman whose name Miguel didn't know--were regarding a horse-on-a-spring with the kind of expressions ordinarily reserved for disarming bombs. "The trail of The Programmer and his little demon monkeys just ends here."

He smacked the jetpack he'd used to quickly travel from the _Subtler Than Light_ to the park, now planted in the sand next to the picnic table he was seated at. To his annoyance, it failed to fall over.

He was the only human-presenting human at the table. With him were four weres of varying species and fur colors. They'd transformed on arriving in the park ahead of him, and were holding off on shifting back to human until they were sure they were no longer needed. Shapeshifting took energy, and lunchtime was approaching.

"'Monkeys all gone,' s'what they say," Miko Tagashi answered. He looked at the silver-furred, green-camouflage-shirt-and-shorts-wearing werewolf seated next to him. "Apples and I got here around the same time Marty and Moon Moon did, which was a little before they did, hoping to keep the scene of the battle intact. But there wasn't anything to protect. The only guy left in the park was that guy and that godziller over by the swingset talkin' to Shelby."

She gestured in the direction of a scruffy-looking, pale old man in a heavy coat, who was standing next to a slightly-taller human-size kaiju who was inhaling blue smoke from a reactor-shaped cup. Another human-size kaiju in a lab coat, Shelby d'Rodang, was holding his tablet computer up to his eyes like he was looking through it, to what end Miguel could only imagine.

"I'm sorry they called you back from the protest you were at for this," said Miguel. "We thought we'd have a hotter site than this."

"Miko and I were the only two from the pack to even show up to the protest," said Amy 'Apples' Pierson, a crimson-furred werefox in a red t-shirt and blue shorts. "Again. After Nance promised us we'd have a full crew and signs and everything. At least *they* were glad to see us... and they pay our invoices."

"Yeah," said Marty Steinmetz, the black-furred werepanther leaning against a nearby tree.  "Which is what we really wanted to talk to you about..."

Miguel sighed.

"You mean you didn't call me because you were ultra-concerned about the menace posed by The Programmer and his weirdo face-tentacles?"

"You said you fought the guy back in '07," said Miko. "You didn't sound like you considered him a big threat."

"The Programmer I remember," Miguel said, "was this vain, lumbering twit who thought he was all that just because he could control computerized-things with his technological implants. What Esteban described was an order of magnitude more dangerous. And since he failed at getting the Heart of Mu, he's probably out there hunting for it. Knowing where he is might give us a lead on where it is."

"I did smell ham earlier," said Moon Moon, the barrel-chested blond werewolf in tight black shorts seated on the grass next to Miko. "Is that a clue?"

"It was a sandwich," Marty told him. "Specifically, the one you bought just before we left the recruitment drive we were supposed to be working on today."

"Oh, right." Moon Moon frowned. "What happened to it, then?"

"You ate it."

"Ohhhh."

"Back to what Marty was starting to say," said Miko. "The reason we asked *you* to come out here. Miguel... we're broke."

"What?"

"The pack account got closed out yesterday," said Marty, as he rubbed his jaw. "I only found out after I tried to put in a PhootDash order this morning and got denied."

"August Rydell has cut us all out of his pack," said Apples, "and this time it's for good."

"We don't *know* that..."

"We know," said Moon Moon. He shifted away from the half-rusted barbecue grill he'd been peering at. "You remember what he said in the last pack meet."

"You mean..."

"'Hey, why is my chair wet?'" Moon Moon went on, imitating the grizzled voice of their pack leader. "'Moon Moon, how many times do I have to tell you to clean up after you get sick from eating too many corn dogs? And what is this, kale?'"

"I would've thought 'If you don't stop digging into my business, I'm kicking you lot out' was a more relevant quote," Marty said.

"It was how he said it," Moon Moon defensively replied. Miko scritched behind Moon Moon's right ear, bringing a broad smile back to his lupine face.

"The last pack meet was a month ago," said Miguel, rubbing his face and wishing he was anywhere else. "Have any of you heard from him after that?"

"Not directly," said Apples. "Nance checked in last week to make sure Miko and I'd represent at the protest in Fresno this morning. Said most of the pack would be there, which was a total lie."

"Nance made sure Moon Moon and I were on the drive at Redondo Beach today," Marty noted. "Said most of the pack would be there." He considered this. "Maybe they turned into Revolutionary Anarchists?"

"Hope not," Moon Moon said. "Remember the cleaning bill from the last time?"

"And he knew *you* would be too down-in-the-dumps to be anywhere other than sleeping in," said Miko, waving a hand at Miguel.

"I was up!" Miguel protested. "Buying a book at the crack of dawn, even!"

"We don't need them," Marty insisted. "We don't need August Rydell's money, wherever he gets it."

"Except in a couple weeks when the rent comes due," Miguel noted, though it was his own apartment on his mind. "A morning's contract work here ain't gonna cut it."

"We all have skills," Miko said. "I've got my electrician's license, and I've done some side work fixing up bikes and mech suits up and down the coast. Apples is a freelance cryptocurrency adviser..."

"Hardly anymore," Apples interjected. "The bigfeet and chupacabras got burned when they dropped theirs in favor of Phootcoin, and the Dark Watchers of the Santa Lucia mountains only trade in blank stares, which are hell to monetize these days. I'd go into NFTs, but the Mushroom folk funged that up six months ago. I might have to get my pilot's license renewed."

"Marty's been doing dinner theater out in Burbank..."

"They fired me, remember?" said Marty. "Management found out I was a were and they started worrying the customers'd be on the menu. Which, given the customers they attracted... no. Just... no."

"And Moon Moon..."

"Hmmm?" hmmmd Moon Moon, who stopped in mid-lick of the barbecue grill next to him.

"...is Moon Moon."

"I haven't gotten a radio gig in months," said Miguel, as Moon Moon got back to whatever the hell he was doing. "Or voice acting, or repair work, or... anything, really. I guess I've just been letting everything slide while I worked out my issues."

"Some people have issues, Miguel," said Apples. "You've got subscriptions. Why don't you go back to therapy?"

"I'd need a therapist to figure that one out," Miguel said. "I thought I'd made it through, after I fucked up with Cendra for the last time, and rebuilt my relationship with Esteban after we had it out when he came out."

"He still hasn't called me back, though," said Moon Moon. "You told him to, right?"

"Just this morning," Miguel confirmed. "Of course, if I wanted to go back to therapy, that brings us back to money and where to find some."

"The pack was our net, and not just financially," said Marty. "We can cover money shit, at least in the short term, but I don't think any of us were built to be loners. We've got to form a new pack. Just the five of us to start with... plus Camila, of course... and you to lead."

Miguel sighed. There were the words he'd been dreading.

"Why...?"

"You've been in the pack... our former pack... longer than any of us," Apples said.

"Moon Moon's been in it longer," Miguel replied.

Everyone looked at Moon Moon, who was staring cross-eyed at a monarch butterfly that had landed on his nose.

"Okay, I see your point," Miguel went on. "But... I'm no pack leader. I mean... you know what I've been going through... you're right. I've got subscriptions. My head isn't any clearer than when I stepped back from being August's lieutenant."

"There's also Los Pantalones to consider," Miko noted. "Your brother found them, and formed an unbreakable bond. You became a werewolf from a bite you suffered while defending him against our... our old leader."

Miguel closed his eyes. The memory came to him, as vivid as the day in 2004 it had happened. Standing with then-twelve-year-old Esteban in front of the storage unit deep within the U-Stor-It lot in Reseda, having been led there by a call only Esteban could hear. Watching the door rolled up to reveal a massive pair of bronze-gold pants with an eye-watering amount of rococo ornamentation. Wondering at the bronze-gold metallic bonobo that stood atop the pants and beckoned to Esteban with a paw.

Esteban started forward... but a chilling growl made Miguel spin. Atop the roof of the row of units next door had been a figure in a ragged coat and khaki shorts, whose frazzled pepper-grey fur, long-clawed hands and jagged teeth soon gained the entirety of his attention. He'd heard Esteban mumble something strange--"My God, it's full of monkeys..."--but that was when the werewolf leaped at him and sank its teeth in Miguel's defending forearm.

He hadn't known it at the time, but the attacker was August Rydell himself. He hadn't known that guarding the pants was the one thing that August's pack, aside from its free-form participation in fringe politics and beach keggers, regarded as an absolute.

Only the bond between Esteban and Los Pantalones kept the pack from violently taking back their property. Only bringing Miguel into the pack let them square their former solemn duty with the new truth that Los Pantalones had made its choice and there was no going back. With Miguel inducted, the pants were still 'in the pack,' even though Esteban was not a were himself.

How had they gotten from that point to this? When had August decided to sever himself and as much of his pack as still followed him from the object they'd once zealously kept safe?

"I'm willing to be part of the new pack," he said. As he did, he felt something ease up inside him. Admitting that the old pack, the only one he'd known, was done, he knew, was the reason he'd been reluctant to come to the park. But now that he'd said the words... it felt right. It wasn't the heaviest of his baggage, but even dropping one bag made everything feel lighter.

But he had to add one caveat. "Me being the family of the Wearer is no basis for making me leader, even if I was up to the task."

"Why do we need a leader?" Moon Moon asked. "I thought we were an autonomous collective."

The words hung in the air for a few moments, as if unsure whether or not they were leading into a Monty Python bit.

"Hey, Miguel!" China called, before anyone could take it further. "We found something!"

"Oh, great," said Miko, "did this 'The Programmer' leave a business card on the jungle gym?"

"Come on," Miguel said, as he stood, glad that he had an excuse to table this 'pack leadership' business. "It's what we're here for."

Moon Moon blinked. "We're not here for running and catching frisbees?"

Miguel tuned out the pack banter and re-checked their surroundings. No one new had entered the park since he'd arrived, though he noticed a Gaudyra and a Gigoon slouched against a convenience store wall across the street, casually watching them. The godziller that Shelby and China had been interviewing seemed keen on not looking back at them as it took furtive puffs from what looked like a cup-sized fission reactor. The scruffy human Shelby had earlier been interviewing seemed unconcerned, taking swigs of something that, if it wasn't inebriating him, was hopefully at least disinfecting his insides. Shelby and the light-brown woman China had been talking with earlier were fussing with exact positioning of the merry-go-round.

China nodded as the pack reached their group.

"John Cleeve Symmes Jr," China said. "His holes are famous."

"Are they," Miguel replied.

"They are," she confirmed. "Right up there where the North Pole should be, and down where the South Pole should be. Where the entire Arctic Ocean and all of Antarctica should be."

"And are," Marty said. "Next you'll be trying to get us to believe Mt. Everest is in Alaska."

"It is," the woman by Shelby told them. "Mike Polinski used to live there."

Miguel shrugged. "The testimony of giant prehistoric hockey players aside... um..."

"Zia Azad," the woman said, stepping forward and extending her hand. Miguel shook it as he looked her over. She was in her late forties, he judged, with a high-but-soft voice, short black hair, a stocky build, a firm grip, and a shirt that showed an artfully-rendered hideous tentacled abomination smoking something and exhaling rainbow-colored clouds. "My girl China brought me in to do a thaumaturgic reading. Had me sign an NDA and everything. Got some really strange readings off of the stuff in this area like there was something... different... about the demon monkeys that were here, not that you guys have much of a baseline to compare against. Not enough to establish a trail, though. But I noticed a few other things while I was working that up that we're still figuring out."

"Things like this Symmes guy's famous holes?"

"Not directly," said Zia. "Chi, you were saying?"

"John Cleeve Symmes Jr," China said, "claimed there was a 4000-mile-wide hole at the North Pole and a 6000-mile one at the South, back in the early 19th century. Came to be known as 'Symmes Holes,' passages to the Hollow Earth. Tried to get funding for an Arctic expedition to prove his theories, but supposedly never could. Hey, Shelby, bring the prof over here."

The Rodang in the lab coat led the scruffy man he'd been talking to earlier over to the assembled group. Though not strictly invited, the godziller with the scruffy man followed.

"Could you tell all of us what you were saying to China, Zia, and myself earlier about Symmes?"

"Sure," said the scruffy man, whose eyes were bright and alert, even though they were set in a face had the texture of a dried hot dog skin. "Now, it's not generally known, but Symmes was a member of the Illuminati..."

"Bavarian or M00se?" Shelby asked.

"Ya got me," said the man. "Anyway, Symmes wasn't trying to actually get people to go there, he was trying to keep people away, and his chief way of doing that was by making his theory sound as stupid as possible..."

"I'm sorry," Miguel interrupted. "Who are you?"

"Oh," said the man, whose face briefly screwed-up into an attempt at a smile. "Sorry... I'm Professor Seaborn. Formerly Chair of Occult Studies at ITT Technomancy, before losing everything when that college was unfairly shut down after the Monsta Island invasion. Now as I was saying..."

"The timing was coincidental," the godziller next to him spoke up. "Everyone wants to blame things on us, juuuust because we were manipulated into stomping on some cities and got turned into lots of bitty-sized kaiju for our troubles. Your so-called Institute got shut down for scamming its students, and sometimes turning them into small rodents."

"The fools at the Institute laughed at me," Seaborn rumbled.

"And now?" Shelby asked.

"They're... no longer at the Institute."

"An' nobody wants to hear you wheeze on about the Hollow Earth, Seaborn," the godziller went on. "Just get to what you figured out for these kind folks, so they can get out of my park and we can get back to getting blitzed out of our minds."

To emphasize this plan for the future, the godziller took a large whiff of the blue smoke curling up from his 'reactor' cup. Miguel wrinkled his nose.

"Oxygen Destroyer" he said, as he glanced back at the kaiju loitering outside the convenience store. "Shoulda known... you got the look. But what's it cut with? Tide pods?"

"What if it is?" the godziller snarled.

"Now, Jolene," said Seaborn, gesturing at the spiny lizard to pipe down. "To cut to the chase, as it were, this lovely lady here..." He gestured at China. "...was asking about Agarthan designs. An' we laughed, didn't we? We laughed, on account'a those are Symzonian designs in the merry-go-round rust, made up t'look Agarthan."

"They're Agar-tastic," Shelby offered.

Jolene d'Godziller gave the Rodang a sour eye, then took another puff of Oxygen Destroyer.

"Symzonia, for the uninformed," Seaborn continued, "is the country that John Symmes Jr went to in the *successful* trip to the Hollow Earth in the mid-1800s. He even published the story of his trip, disguised as fiction... though he kept certain details out of that, such as it being in another dimension."

"He also left out details about the Symzonian hendecagram, like what my scan picked up in invisible chalk on the hopscotch grid," said Zia. "It matches the Symzonian hendecagram in the rust of the merry-go-round, which, if that's positioned just right, becomes an inverted hendecagram, and..."

"Hendecagram?" asked Apples.

"Star polygon with eleven vertices," said China. "Crude, but unmistakable once the professor pointed it out."

The godziller rumbled.

"And thanks to Jolene here for pointing out the one on the merry-go-round."

"It's no coincidence that two as excellently well-informed as we were hanging about in this park," noted Jolene. "This here park hides a secret passage to huge caverns miles below the surface, where all manner of weird and strange creatures roam, some who freely share their mind-altering chemicals to keep us quiet about it!"

"You're doing a great job of that," Marty said.

"Thanks," said Seaborn, apparently not noticing the tinge of sarcasm in the werepanther's words. "I was in Venice when I heard there were monkeys comin' in-and-out of the ground around here in the last few days, and came over to take a look. *I* remembered there used to be this parking garage here, an' there were bums back in the 'aughts who swore they saw these Mercedes-Benz limos going through hidden doors an' heading down, down, down, even though it wasn't supposed to have a sub-level. So we came here... and saw this guy just as the ground closed over him."

"The Programmer," China said. "From how unimpressive they made him sound, it seems a close match."

"Yeah, but his monkeys ain't no joke," said Jolene. "They only resorted to bribing us after trying to scare us failed." She gave the kaiju at the convenience mart another look. "An' I don't think they paid for what they gave us so much as... stole."

"This guy and his monkeys are hiding now," said Seaborn, "but we tipped this lady how they were gettin' in."

"Which, since our scans of what's under here aren't turning up bupkis," China noted, "is what we're now trying to figure out."

"There are eleven broken links in the swingset chains," Zia interrupted. "Based on the information on Symzonian symbology provided by these high-ass gentlefolk, I converted the name 'John Cleeve Symmes Jr' to unodecimal numbers, and used that to orient the merry-go-round to the Cat Star..."

"Cat Star?" Moon Moon perked up, looking around. "Where? I want his autograph!"

"The one in the sky," Miko said. "Felis. The one that's being chased by the Dog Star, Sirius."

"I *am* being serious!"

"So we think we have it," said China, "but nothing's happening. We're still missing *something.*"

Miguel groaned. "You're missing your *minds,* is what I think."

Angrily, he kicked the horse-on-a-spring, which wobbled vigorously in response.

"This is a dead end," Miguel went on. "Appreciate the effort, but we're losing time here. Let's all get..."

The ground shuddered, accompanied by several thumps.

"...gone?"

A glowing line erupted in the asphalt, moving in either direction from the horse-on-a-spring. It curved to the left of the merry-go-round in one direction and to the right of the teeter-totters on the left, ending as a roughly fifty-foot curving crack that roughly bisected the slab.

"Might want to move off for this part," Seaborn offered, as he took his own advice.

Everyone moved off for this part, just as the split in the slab expanded, carrying playground equipment in either direction. The horse-on-a-spring stayed where it was, though its pole now was shown to go down fifteen feet to another floor, this one apparently made of burnished metal. There was a limousine-and-a-half-wide opening on one end of the floor, with a downward ramp leading into a dimly-lit tunnel with no discernible end. A concrete ramp on the side opposite the opening led to the surface, just where the hopscotch grid had been. On either side of the road the ramps formed were a small kitchenette, a couple leather couches, and a television screen showing cartoons.

The eyes of the horse-on-a-spring glowed.

"Intruders detected," it said. "Alert. Intruders detected."

"Who's it trying to alert?" asked Apples.

"Him," said Jolene, gesturing downward with her reactor cup.

In a doorway not far from the ramp opening stood a tall, beige-skinned, long-ragged-brown-haired man in a red-with-black-dots bathrobe (with matching fuzzy slippers). He had a coffee mug in one hand, a smartphone in the other, and a foaming toothbrush in his mouth. He was looking up at them all with evident surprise.

"It's him!" Miguel said, recognizing the older, still-lumbering, still-unimpressive figure. "The Programmer!"

The Programmer considered this, chewing on his toothbrush as he did, before spitting it out.

"I am *so* calling my superhost over this," he said.

(concluded in part three, following...)

--
Subtler Than Light #4 (c) 2023 by Gary W. Olson. All Rights Reserved.

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SG: Subtler Than Light #4 (1/3): So

Kazza Malissk had always dreamed the surface world would be a wonder, and the universe beyond it more amazing still. The Subbit boards of Sol Selegna and the other sovereign enclaves of the Greater Ainrofilacan Reach were filled with details mined from endless hours of illegally-sourced broadcasts and streams from Terra Subterrene--the world above the world. She, like so many of her friends, drank in those images, speculated on their meanings, and dreamed of someday ascending to find the truth.

She'd ascended. She'd found the truth.

It tasted like cheap body spray and regret.

"Don't be so harsh," Neil deGrasse Tyson said in her ear holes as she peered through the opening between her tent and the one next to hers at the humans and humanish folk thronging Venice Beach and its boardwalk. "You're no credulous hatchling. You know what you grew up seeing of them was as much their dream of themselves as your dream of them."

The red-feathered utahraptor narrowed her eyes, refusing to look in the direction from which Neil's words seemed to come. She knew he was no more real than the dreams of which he spoke. No matter how his deep-toned voice soothed her thoughts, or made her remember his introduction to her of the universe above her world.

Her eyes scanned the beach and the boardwalk, stopping at the glinting form of the _Subtler Than Light._ She was far enough away that the damage caused by the bomb early that morning was not visible, though she knew from barely avoiding it that it had been substantial. When a figure flew past, she crouched down, her heart beating fast.

Was it the Galaxy Hunter? She'd been warned he might show. Only the Lady had said 'a' Galaxy Hunter, hadn't she? The days of 'the' Galaxy Hunter were past. And regardless of whether he was 'a' or 'the,' his objective would be the same: the Heart of Mu. The Heart she had stolen from the ship that had stolen it from the Hollow so long ago.

She turned away from the fence and regarded it where it sat within what appeared to be a burlap sack in the corner of the mostly junk-filled encampment. Again she thought of opening it, and contemplating the form it had taken the instant she had pulled it from beneath the floor of the _Subtler Than Light's_ engine room: a bronze-gold bust of Neil deGrasse Tyson, host of _Cosmos._

"But you won't," said Neil in her ear. "The demon monkeys may find you if you do. Mono Pantalon certainly will."

"I don't believe Mono Pantalon is real," said Kazza. "Why would Los Pantalones contain such a creature? What function does it serve?"

"You've read the Discourses of High Temperature," said Neil. "What do you think?"

Now she looked at Neil. The image of the famed surface-world astrophysicist shimmered before her, looking exactly as she had seen him in the show that had brought him that fame--in a shiny dark suit with a white shirt and a silver tie, smiling benevolently at her. She bit back the memories of seeing his face for the first time, or of seeing it form again around the Heart, or of how it might taste with a light wine braise.

He was not the astrophysicist. He was the voice of the Heart, and had taken Neil's form to kindle her trust. The Lady had warned this was possible. And even with the sack well-cinched around the Heart, screening it from outside detection, its previously-forged connection with her was strong. She hoped it was not permanent.

"I think I never want to know anything about Mono Pantalon," Kazza replied. "Once the Heart has been restored to its rightful Engine by the Lady, my dishonor will be redeemed, and I will be recognized again as the protector of Sol Selegna. I will never return to the surface where we might meet."

"Is that... all you want?" asked another voice. This one was nearly as deep, but felt warmer. Kazza looked around her nest amidst the tents of the unhoused, alarmed that she might have been discovered at last. Demon monkeys had been through here several times that morning, and assorted flying beings had flown past and peered in. None had found her since she'd been ready for them, rubber mask over her head, cloak over her red-feathered body, muttering to herself and swinging a machete so as to not look out of place. This, however, she was unprepared for.

"Carl," said Neil. "Don't do that. She's on edge enough."

Carl Sagan shimmered into apparent existence, his tan jacket and khaki slacks contrasting with Neil's cooler, more elegant look. An enigmatic smile played across his succulent-looking face as he spoke.

"You'll need that edge," said Carl, looking directly at her. "Especially for what you must do next."

"What are you?" Kazza asked.

"The voice of the Heart," Carl said. "Hasn't he told you?"

"*I'm* the voice of the Heart," Neil insisted. "Whose face did she pick for it, huh?"

"I've seen you both," said Kazza. "Your... shows... have been discussed and contrasted on the Subbits. I have... partaken... of the Discourses, and to my regret contributed to their escalating temperature. I believe my unconscious choice cements my position on... Team Neil."

"Ha," said Neil, sticking his tongue out at Carl.

"Billions and billions of punches later," said Carl, raising his fists at Neil, "you will come to know the truth--my show was better, and my eyebrows more expressive."

"Er..." Kazza started.

"Now is not the time," Neil replied, then glanced at Kazza. "Besides, I'm sure she knows my face is the most flavorful. I apply a buttery marinade to it every day."

"I baste my face with the most excellent vintages of pinot noir," Carl countered. "I am cosmically delicious!"

Kazza's stomach rumbled, and she realized she was salivating.

"I have to fight this," she said, not caring that they could hear. "I am a *civilized being,* not an eater of sentients, no matter how tender their eyebrows and cheeks appear!"

"Right on, sister!" yelled someone within one of the tents. Kazza cringed, then made sure her mask was secure. It would not hold up to close inspection, she knew, but she was among those on the surface that few cared to closely inspect. The transient humans in the space on the Venice Beach boardwalk they currently occupied were many, and varied, and didn't seem to mind keeping company with a feathered someone who had conversations with people they couldn't see. They'd made the perfect cover for weeks now.

The owner of the voice poked his head out of his tent, just as Neil and Carl vanished from her sight. One of his heads, at least. Kazza nodded to the white-bearded, oily-cheeked man who peered out.

"Hello, Nik," she said. "I hope the demon monkey incursions didn't disturb you."

"Ahhhh," Nik ahhhhd. "'Least they don't wreck our shit, unlike *our* monkeys. They look at you twice in that?"

Kazza pulled off her rubber mask and peered at it.

"They seemed confused," she said. "I don't believe they knew what to make of this green mask that is purportedly the face of a velociraptor. But I kept my body beneath my cloak and my machete sharp, and they moved on, as you said they would."

"Like Seaborn said they would!" another voice from inside the tent yelled. "'E just repeats everything that meatsack says!"

Nik spread the tent flap so that his second head, to the left of his first, also had a view.

"I remember," Kazza assured him. "Thank him for me when he returns from his walkabout, Kram."

"You're not gonna be here?" Kram asked, wrinkling his dirty, grey-bearded face.

"I will be moving on, soon," said Kazza. "I appreciate Seaborn's optimism, but I cannot return to... my home... the way I came," said Kazza. "It is held by forces working for... another power, one opposed to my Lady."

"I got the same problem with opening tuna cans," Nik said. Kazza elected not to pursue this non-sequitur, as Nik sniffed the air. "Hey, you smell hot dogs?"

"That's us," Kram opined.

"Huh," said Nik, as it side-eyed the head to its left. "Well, it's our shift down at the pier. Safe travels to wherever yer goin', Clever Girl."

Kazza blinked. "Why do you call me that?"

"Y'got powers, right?" Kram said, as the bulky body he and Nik co-piloted emerged, stood, pulled on a trenchcoat, laced up his rollerblades, and waved a cardboard sign that proclaimed his status as a veteran of the battles of the Industrial Revolution. "Y'got powers, y'got to have a name. S' Superhero Guild rules, right?"

"But why *that* name?" Kazza asked. Nik/Kram shrugged and roller-shambled away.

"Is he gone?" Neil deGrasse Tyson asked as he shimmered back into appearance-of-existence.

"Yes," Kazza answered. "Why do you care? I thought only I could see you."

"We were merely being cautious," Carl Sagan said, as he reappeared. "Telepathic sensitives can sometimes perceive us. Also, have you never watched 'Jurassic Park?'"

"I have seen the name in the Subbits," Kazza said. "But I know little of it."

"Never mind that," said Neil. "Focus on being ready to seek the Sunken City."

"The what now?" Kazza asked.

"*The Sunken City,*" Neil and Carl said together, giving their voices a rumbling reverb.

"I knew that," said Kazza. "I just wanted to hear you do that again."

"Wait 'til you hear about the Path of Bone," Carl said.

Kazza sighed, and elected not to request a reverb-repeat, though it sounded like it deserved one. The Lady had told her how to find the Sunken City, but had said nothing about what came next, save to listen to the Heart. "How... exciting."

"Your Lady knows of your peril," Neil said. "She has renewed an old acquaintance," Carl said. "Or, rather, the new holder of an old acquaintance's office. She has called in a debt of that office."

"The *Charnel House* will incarnate tonight," Neil and Carl chorused, giving 'Charnel House' some hefty reverb. "Deep in the dead black hollows beneath the *Sunken City.* The *Path of Bone* will open, and through it we will go to your Lady, and from there, Sol Selegna. We will lead you when night falls."

Before Kazza could respond to this news, Neil and Carl vanished.

Kazza exhaled, and rubbed the feathers around her eyes.

All she had to do was stay hidden for the day. And then... she would walk to where her Lady waited. On a *Path of Bone,* if she had to.

Neil reappeared, nearly causing Kazza to jump.

"One more thing," he said, sounding highly embarrassed and slightly confused. "Would you happen to have *eight bucks* on you?"

***

SUBTLER THAN LIGHT
Episode 4
[Hidden Hearts, Part Four]
"So Calling My Superhost"
by
Gary W. Olson

***

The portal above Cendra Seconds irised open, and she hovered up into the California sunlight. A moment later the lift system shuffled her to the left, and she dropped an inch to the deck of the _Subtler Than Light._ Then Psywave appeared, and was shuffled to a space on the other side of the hole before being released from the suspension field. The portal closed, leaving what would have been no trace had blue paint not been employed to indicate with a rough circle to the current crew where the portal was.

"Wow," said Psywave, shielding her mask-covered eyes with a hand, as her shoulder-length red hair waved in the breeze from the Pacific. "It's sure... bright up here."

The deck of the _Subtler Than Light,_ made of the same bronze-gold metallic nectarisite as the rest of the ship, gleamed harshly in the late morning sun. Cendra put on her sunglasses to temper the glare, and focused on the gaping hole in the center of the main deck, where the bomb set by the faction of demon monkeys working for The Programmer had done its work. Several crew members stood by the hole, while a couple more twiddled with a piece of bronze-gold machinery the size of a snack trolley.

"Ms. Seconds!" one of them called. He was tall, pale, and looked as though he should have made an audible 'gangling' noise with every movement. What looked like a hose with a narrow-pointed attachment was in his hand, the other end connected to the machine. The machine itself--at least the portion resting on legs on top of the 'trolley'--was in motion, wheels turning and pushing what looked like an amorphous blob of nectarisite around, with the blob fighting back and occasionally striking levers. It looked at once laughably antique and inscrutably alien. Everyone on the maintenance crew called it 'the Lathe,' though only the portion on top of the trolley was even vaguely lathe-like, and its functions within the trolley were opaque even to the crew.

"This'll just take a second," she said to Psywave, and gestured to a structure that projected from the far end of the deck. "The bridge is that way, and my office is off the entrance there. I let the crew knew you'd be showing up."

"Gotcha," she said, and took to the air, flying over the hole toward the bridge. Cendra frowned. There was something about the way she flew that was familiar, but just out of conscious reach. The Mask Principle was in effect, she knew. Merely by wearing a partial mask on her face, Psywave kept Cendra--or almost anyone, or almost anything--from recognizing her true identity. Physical features that ordinarily might have helped to make a connection--height, body shape, the exposed part of the face, the sound of her voice--were somehow made unhelpful by that little understood yet quite vexing universal law. And unlike with Mighty Guy, Psywave's features were not so pronounced and unique as to override the Principle.

All Cendra was left with was the look... the somehow *familiar* look... that had passed between Psywave and Esteban down in the lobby of the _Subtler Than Light_ after they saw Lemon for the first time, and a nagging sense that knowing the truth about it and about her was more important than observing the usual niceties about not prying into the secret identity of a superguy. But for now, all she could do was watch... and think.

"How's the work coming, Hector?" she asked, forcing her attention back to the maintenance work.

"We've refit all the small pieces we could, here and on the two floors below," Hector Marcowicz said, gesturing with the attachment at the hole. "Johnny was here. We sent him to get the big piece that crashed on the beach. With his strength and mass-negation abilities, he'll have a lot easier time getting it up here."

"After that," the dark brown woman in the green jumpsuit next to him added, "we'll patch the lower floors. With the Lathe, here, we should be done by day's end."

"Nice work, Trice," Cendra told Beatrice Maddox, her Chief Engineer, who was working the pedals at the base of the 'trolley' as they spoke. "Glad the Lathe is one of the things that still work with the Heart gone."

"Stored energy, my guess," said Trice, a frustrated smile briefly breaking across her weathered face. "We'll probably exhaust it fixing all this, until we get the Heart back from wherever it's been taken."

"Any nausea issues?"

"Ha," said Hector. "I tossed my donuts over the side the instant she started it up." The other jumpsuited workers nodded ruefully.

"Why it should disrupt our digestive systems when no other machinery on this ship has that effect," Trice said, "I've never been able to figure out. But it's earned our calling it 'the Lathe of Heaving' today."

There was much still not known about the Lathe, and the _Subtler Than Light_ in general, even after sixteen years of study. The discovery of the Lathe, at least, had made repairs possible, letting them rework the structure and systems and gradually discover their functions, transforming the ship from a grounded wreck to a functional--if still grounded--battleship that hailed from a dimension that didn't quite agree with how hers did things like 'physics.' Cendra would've felt better if it wasn't the only one in their possession.

"Just don't turn it on until I'm through that door," Cendra replied, as she started toward the bridge. "I'm hungry enough after transforming into a dragon and back. I'd like to keep my omelette..."

A jagged shadow abruptly blotted out the sun.

"...down!"

"Incoming!" Hector yelled.

"Incoming what?" Trice yelled.

A shirtless figure in black track shorts landed on the deck and sprinted toward the hole. As the thing above--a large bronze-gold slab, Cendra realized--plummeted toward them, the figure stopped a foot from the hole's edge and raised an arm.

When the slab struck the new arrival's hand, it abruptly stopped. The figure held it aloft, as if it was lighter than styrofoam. The figure grinned.

"Johnny," said Cendra, exasperation nowhere near in check, "what did I tell you about showing off?"

"It's the technomagic mites that Bonnie zapped into me," said Johnny Clark, tossing the vertical slab from one hand to the other. "They're working in me like crazy."

Cendra looked for Johnny's shoulder wounds, only to see they were fully healed, with only a thin line indicating they had ever been there.

"Can you bring it horizontal," said Trice, recovering smoothly, "and keep it steady in the hole while the Lathe reunites it with the rest of the deck plating?"

Johnny replied by letting the bronze-gold slab fall sideways, and catching it between his hands just above the hole. It was his mass-negation abilities, Cendra knew, not merely his strength alone, that made the move appear so easy.

"Don't push too hard," she counseled. "We don't know the full effects of Bonnie's... novel... approach to spurring your unique biology's self-healing."

"Nonsense," said Johnny. "Though I do have an appetite now. Maybe there's some Spam in the commissary? I could fry it up and add some Velveeta..."

At this, Hector ran for the railing and started heaving, though nothing came out.

"We didn't even start the Lathe up yet!" Trice called to him.

Cendra shook her head. "Just let me know when the work's done, people. I'll be in my office."

She managed to get to the door to the bridge without losing her omelette.

Inside, three crewmembers were going back and forth between monitors, talking into headsets and waving their hands at luminous projected rectangles. A cart that had held bagels just earlier that morning was overturned, with empty bags and emptier cream cheese containers scattered on the floor. Psywave was leaning against the wall next to the door to Cendra's office, drinking from a bottle of water taken from a box by the door, though she stood when Cendra approached.

"Galaxy Hunter'll be here in a few," she said. "You're sure this is necessary?"

"If we're going to work together instead of at cross-purposes," said Cendra, her hand on her office door latch, "I've got to know I can trust you. And that means I've got to know how you fit in to what happened this morning."

"Your party," said Psywave.

"So everyone keeps telling me," Cendra said, rubbing her temples. "I should've kept the receipt."

The door slid open.

"Hold still, Erin," a child's voice instructed. "You nails won't look right if you scuff them on something before they dry."

"I dunno, kid," said Erin McCavish, who was seated in the chair opposite the nine-year-old werewolf girl, examining his right hand. "They look good to me... but I don't think black is my color."

"You'll never understand fashion, Erin," Camila told him.

"Hey, beautiful," said Erin, looking up at Cendra. "You're missing your salon treatment."

On seeing her mother enter the office, Camila immediately abandoned her efforts to improve Erin's fashion comprehension. Cendra had only a few moments to lift her arms before her daughter landed in them and kissed her nose.

Cendra hugged Camila close and closed her eyes. The fur of Camila's snout brushed her cheek. Cendra tried to speak, but felt the words catch in her throat.

Not long earlier, Camila Veracruz had been in danger. She'd been in the bookstore when ki Kazza Malissk--the sentient, red-feathered raptor who had stolen the Heart of Mu from the _Subtler Than Light_--had gone in. While the details still weren't clear, Camila, either not understanding the danger, or understanding it and applying the enthusiastic desire to join in that came from her father's side, had been part of the chaos that followed when Lemon Rydell's demon monkeys tried to capture Malissk. The thought of what could've happened then was one Cendra could barely stand to contemplate.

The world kept on taking. The idea that it could take her daughter was one that never entirely left her mind, and sometimes threatened to overwhelm it. She hugged Camila again, and inhaled the scent of her fur. Camila giggled.

"Your nails are lookin' fine," said Psywave, from her vantage point looking past Cendra's left shoulder. "Black is definitely your color."

"Thanks," said Erin. "Have we met, ah... Psywave, is it?"

"I'm new in town," she replied.

Erin nodded. "Erin McCavish. Pleasure to meet you."

Cendra looked at Psywave's face as he said this, but saw nothing to indicate recognition.

But why did I expect her to recognize his name, she thought. Could she be...?

"Erin," she said. "Have you seen Miguel? His pack wants him to..."

"They already called," said Erin. "He checked out a jetpack and left for Emerson Park ten minutes ago, after making sure I'd watch Camila until you got here."

Cendra nodded. "I need the office for a few minutes to talk to Psywave. Ordinarily I'd ask you to stay, but... can you join Bonnie's group that's taking a translocation jaunt out to Malaga?"

"I thought we were out of those portal stones Shadebeam used to supply us with," said Erin.

"Bonnie's calling up a translocation service she's familiar with, and it looks like Lemon's managed to attach himself to the trip as well. I need someone I can trust to ride herd over them."

"Sickbay work is mostly done," said Erin. "Nurse Kamau's following up with a few crewmembers, but I'm free now. Where's Bonnie at?"

"Reception."

He nodded, then leaned in for a kiss.

Erin McCavish, she'd discovered, was different from her ex-husband Miguel in many ways. He was in shape, but nowhere near as muscular as Miguel. He wasn't as brash, though he was even more self-confident. He also didn't have a roving eye, or if he did, his hands didn't rove with it. He was a younger man, thirteen years younger than Miguel and eleven younger than Cendra herself. He was gentle where Miguel was bold, and slow where her ex-husband was quick. He wasn't a man her younger self had ever pictured as a lover, and were it not for a long night, a bottle of spiced rum, and an earnest need for a non-judgmental ear six months ago, she wasn't sure she ever would've realized the differences had virtues of their own.

"I should get down to see Bonnie before they leave without me," said Erin, after breaking the kiss.

"Bonnie means well," Cendra answered, "as far as I can tell, but she might not know what to ask. And with Lemon tagging along... well, let's just say I'm glad you'll be there."

"Does Lemon know... about..."

"I imagine he's up-to-date on your Mastodon feed," she said. "Beyond that... I don't know."

"Then let the game begin," he said, kissing her once more before heading for the door.

"Take a seat," said Cendra, when he was gone. She gestured toward one of the chairs. Psywave started for it, but Camila hopped on before she could get there. When Psywave moved for the other seat, Camila hopped over to that one as well.

"Is that how it's gonna be, squirt?" Psywave asked.

"You gotta be quick, superlady," said Camila.

Psywave moved for the unoccupied chair. Camila leaped...

...then bounced off of what looked like empty air, and fell back onto the chair she'd earlier occupied. Psywave sat down and stuck the tip of her tongue out at Camila. Cendra tried to contain her reaction, but a snort of amusement escaped her.

"Moooom," Camila complained.

"Know your opponent," said Cendra. "If you don't... you see what happens."

"Hmph."

"I've got to talk with... Ms. Psywave... about a few things," said Cendra. "You can listen if you want, but please don't interrupt." She looked over at Psywave, who was taking another sip from her water bottle. "I expect this will be important."

"Ohhh-kaaay."

Cendra watched as Camila took a seat on the fluffy silver couch on the far side of the office between the door and a trophy-packed bookcase. In a blink, her phone was in one clawed hand, while the claws of her other tapped away.

Psywave again made a move toward her seat, then stopped, her eye caught by one of the framed images on the wall behind Cendra, who turned to look.

It was a picture of three perspiration-slicked people and a bronze-gold bonobo reclining on a stage, lit by a single overhead spotlight. All save the bonobo appeared exhausted and strangely giddy. A stratocaster guitar, a Fender Jaguar bass guitar, and a pair of drumsticks were mixed in with their casually intertwined limbs.

It was a good photo, one Cendra had taken herself. Even so, she wondered why it, of all there was to look at, had caught her guest's eye.

Her hope as to what that reason might be surged.

"That's El Guerrero de Los Pantalones, aka Esteban Veracruz, in the center," she said, gesturing at the young man with unruly long black hair who wearing a red Jane's Addiction t-shirt, a bronze-gold headband, a bronze-gold belt, and black shorts. "Pantalones hidden in that moment, though, and his keyboards were out of shot."

"He's the one I came in with," said Psywave, as she peered at the image. "But he looks a lot younger."

"It was taken back in '16, when he was... let's see... twenty-four. He's put on some muscle, and some wear and tear since then."

"And the monkey...?"

"Bonobo, name of Coco," Cendra corrected, her eyes moving to the grinning metallic creature on Esteban's shoulders. "Though really an imitation one, made of the same stuff as El Guerrero's armored trousers."

"What's with the Prince Valiant hair?"

"Coco's self-expression has grown through the years. Especially after discovering how to exist independently of Los Pantalones. He's kind of an AI--a real, sentient intelligence, not a GPT-style whatchacallit--but... kind of more than that, in ways I'm probably not even remotely qualified to discuss. The drumsticks are his."

Psywave nodded, and started to turn away.

"On their left is the Trickster," Cendra hurriedly said, indicating the blond man with the scruffy beard, an eye-hurting tropical shirt, black shorts, and headphones hooked on his neck. "Bass guitar guy. You met him too, just today."

Psywave peered at the picture again, and frowned.

"Not... the guy in the black suit," she said, finally. "I... oh, yeah. I guess I can see it, if I picture him without the beard. 'Trickster,' you say?"

"Call sign he chose. He was ground support for those two, mainly, whenever they and any superguy they could round up on a given evening were out fighting supervillains. Pretty damn good at it, though I never could figure out how he got half the info he seemed to pull out of nowhere."

This wasn't entirely true. She *did* know. She watched Psywave's expression, wishing she could also see her eyes, but it betrayed no similar knowledge. But all she saw was a polite mask.

"Purple hair, there on Esteban's other side," said Cendra, "that's 'Valley Girl.'" Her eyes lingered on the violet-spandex-clad woman who was resting her head on Esteban's shoulder. "The stratocaster was hers. Psychokinetic powers, a bit surly, but kind-hearted. Managed to keep her secret identity secret while she was active, but it leaked out after. Rumi Moroboshi."

"Moroboshi," said Psywave. "As in..."

"As in Joe," Cendra confirmed. "Her dad. Superguy from back in the day who called himself 'Rad.'"

This seemed to renew Psywave's interest in the photo.

"They look... close."

Cendra exhaled. So she was going *there,* was she?

"You have no idea," Cendra said, and sighed. "They were as tangled in their lives as they are in that pic. To call it a love triangle would be an insult to geometry. A glorious, beautiful, sad tangle."

She gauged Psywave's still-opaque expression, then took her best--and last remaining--shot.

"If she hadn't been so insecure... they might've stayed that way forever."

This time, Psywave did respond... by arching an eyebrow.

"Huh," she said, before turning away.

Temptation surged through Cendra to dive into Psywave's mind and pull out the truth with her telepathic abilities. She could feel the faint edges of technologically-assisted mind-screening coming from her, though, and knew that, even if she lacked the ethical judgment to hold back, a direct invasion would likely fail.

But she didn't have to fall back on either principles or fear of failure to refrain. The truth was now clear.

Whoever Psywave was, she wasn't Rumi Moroboshi.

Cendra bit back a surge of sadness at the bitter realization, before it could bubble up to her eyes. Rumi Moroboshi was gone, fled out into the galaxy soon after her tangle with Esteban and Lemon collapsed, taking their individual and collective secrets with it. No word at all outside of her parents in the seven years since, and all they would say was to wait for her to come around.

"So," she said, forcing herself to turn around to her desk, to begin the conversation she should have led with. "How about you tell me what the hell happened this morning?"

Psywave flopped at long last into her seat.

"What's going on is a Hidden Heart was stolen," she said, "and I found out why, and what it meant. And warned you too late."

(continued in part two, following...)

--
Subtler Than Light #4 (c) 2023 by Gary W. Olson. All Rights Reserved.

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