SG: SERIES' #1 - Beginnings

[[In the RACC posting, #0 was accidentally posted as #1. The following
post is the true #1, and the start of the series. Mea Culpa -- Mek]]

In the shadows of a golden age
A generation waits for dawn
Brave carry on
Bold and the strong

Ghost in the Mecha, XLtd

presents

S E R I E S '

1 - Beginnings

*--- The Cry Heard Round The World

-- December 31, 2000

There are plenty of things hospitals are very leery of, superstition
or not. The phases of the moon are a well noted phenomenon, as are
holidays. While the former is much more superstition, holidays have a
much better basis in fact. More people with free time on their hands,
and more people willing to combine things that their body should not be
having in excess.
All in all, good reasons to avoid a hospital in any case, even
without some complications already predicted. Which is why, discretely,
a few friends had hinted to a proud couple that it might be a good idea
to avoid the holidays if they could help it. The doctors agreed, but
the condition of the mother made induction methods just slightly worrisome.
Not enough that they were alarmed or worried of a miscarry, but enough
for them to point out there were risks.
Which was enough for the mother. With a wry smile, she simply told
the doctors the simple truth she'd held for some years of trying. "What
would be, would be." Arrangements were made just in case, and then the
spirit and whirlwind of the season hit. Even with keeping to a
wheelchair and wistfully watching those who danced at the parties, it
was a good yuletide and days after. Even if she could swear the little
girl wanted to kick in time with the band.
She later would have realized that any daughter of -hers- wouldn't
settle for the opening act. Fortunately, they were with friends who
could help again. Of course, the decor wasn't precisely what she
thought of when it came to a maternity ward. The doctor who was in
attendance probably thought much the same. Fortunately, he wasn't the
one who was doing the work. Just giving advice as needed. The young
woman midwifing had, after all, a self-described good hand in the family
business.
Alice Liddell, Momentum of Mason's Mazin' Mob, silently coaxed at the
child as she went to help ease the little girl's passage from her
mother. She was tempted to send to the girl, partially because the
silence was maddening. But she wouldn't have had the man, Ted Kimball,
anywhere else. On the other hand, sending telepathically to a newborn
(especially one who was still trying to get to that stage) seemed
another kind of no-no. So she spoke, even if she couldn't quite hear
it, just to prove to her heart she did, and felt some relief as she
helped split the umbilical and the sounds she had keenly missed ran back
to her ears.
"Oh thank Elvis. No offense, but I like the sound of my
voice a bit too much." She winked, helping the doctor clean the girl
and gently gave her a small spank. The newborn girl wailed as she should, a
small tuft of brown hair seeming stark on her head... the rest of the
hair fine and near colorless. "I hope you'd planned for a girl, because
that's what a beautiful little screamer you've got. Hard enough I can
feel it up my bones."
It wasn't really anything anyone could have thought through in
advance. To be sure, Ted and his wife Chelsea had been warned there
were good chances of their child being affected by their lifestyles and
choices, but how and why weren't something anyone could foretell. So
Alice made a small mistake as she went to swaddle the child to hand it
to her mother.
She let go.
Suddenly, that feeling from her bones was rather secondary from the
feeling to her mind, as the baby's cries filled it quite heavily.
Plenty of mages and mentalists around the world joined Alice in her
sudden headache, hearing the child as if the child were right in their
room screaming in need. Many normals, not as well attuned, still would
wonder if they'd heard a neighbor's child screaming that night, if they
thought of it at all.
The response was just as swift back:
[[}{<<|| FOR ELVIS'S SAKE, CALM HER DOWN! ||>>}{]]
Recovering her wits a bit, Alice finished wrapping the child, cooing
gently. She handed the child to her mother, closing eyes a moment
expecting another grenade to explode in the room. When she realized no
railspike to the head was coming, she looked at the three thoughtfully.
"This... could be a bit of a problem."
Chelsea Montrose Kimball, nodded a bit, slightly distracted. Esther
Angellica Kimball merely was content to be held, knowing she was safe
and loved.

*--- Every New Beginning Comes From Some Other Beginning's End

-- May 7, 1999

The room was tastefully done in pastels and other light shades, but
the windows were shaded, leaving little light to catch the colors. The
room was much smaller than most of the rooms in the estate, but it also
showed much more signs of someone living there.
The woman on the bed still had her eyes closed, her breathing
regular even if she had a nasal tube to help oxygen into tired and
aching lungs. Lungs that had borne too many cigarettes even if the
throat and voice had withstood the test of time. She wondered if she
hadn't been stricken down if she'd be in the same house at all at this
point, or if she'd be bitterly fighting battles tasting of more
bitter ashes.
Most of the room was rented furniture, sparsely decorated with small
brikabrac from her 'real' bedroom. She had little illusion when the time
came, most of the items would be scrubbed or destroyed. Not just the
rentals... but her items as well. It probably was why her husband
conceded to her one request and brought her family's antique heirloom,
an ornate mirror, to her room. It was placed at a spot inconvenient to
look at, but that bothered her very little. It wasn't the point for her
to look into it.
"I wish I had better news for you, but the doctors are quite
competent... and accurate." The voice was calm and cultured. Not
precisely warm, but not without emotion or sympathy. It also belonged
to someone not in the room. The mirror conveyed it very well however.
Natalie Generi took a painfully deep breath, but nodded. She spoke
carefully, as it took effort with even the support. "I've... many
problems with Richard... but he does not chintz... on taking care
of what's his...."
"And while you may not have been happy with this life, it is what you
wished for." The voice's tone was regretful. "I'm sorry, dear, I truly
wish I could have helped make it a more fulfilling one."
Natalie tried, but failed to prop herself up or turn to face the
voice better. That she didn't manage worried her only slightly more.
She knew it was getting very close to time... perhaps past it if the
doctors hadn't taken stiff measures. She tried to take another deep
breath. "My...own fault... but I need to... ask..."
"I'm afraid I can't do much to help, dear. Your family has a place in
my heart, but there's nothing in my power to stop this..."
"It's NOT..." she gasped again, taking a long moment to gather her
breath. "What I need to ask... my son..."
"Joshua?" The voice turned curious. "I thought Richard had nothing
but pride in his son."
"He takes care... of what is his.... but in his... own way."
"Ah." The voice took a long moment, thoughtfully. "Yes, and his
slanted sense of ethics and priority would be terribly at odds with
bringing the boy up to his potential."
"Josh... knows too well..." Her voice failed again a moment, and she
closed her eyes. There really wasn't any need to keep them open.
"His...own views on right."
"I would say that's unfortunate, but considering your concern, that
speaks well of him. Even if perhaps that he's inherited a certain
stubbornness from both lines." The voice sighed. "If I did, you know it
won't be easy for the boy. No more than it was for any of your family
I've looked on over the years. Yourself included."
The woman started to gather the breath to respond, but instead
forced her eyes open as someone else spoke instead.
"And why would that be?" The young male voice was openly curious,
but wary. Natalie knew the door was locked, more to keep Josh from the
room. But that assumed he had to use the door, a talent she'd warned
him not to let his father see.
Under the camera, perfectly within the blindspot, a young boy barely
older than twelve sat. His bright blue eyes were part of the few bits
of color on him, as he'd chosen a black shirt and dark pants to wear.
It contrasted highly with his pale skin, giving him a ghost-like air as
he sat.
Natalie didn't know how long been there... and honestly realized it
perhaps didn't matter. The voice must have come to the same
conclusion as it spoke to him directly.
"Your mother and I know each other from a long time back." Josh
turned to look, his eyes widening slightly in surprise, but putting on a
brave determined face. One that really didn't fit his age, but fit well
enough. The dark shadowed form was visible in the mirror, a woman who
seemed almost as old as her mother, yet seemed older like grandparents
he'd never known.
Her clothing looked old-fashioned, though he really couldn't point to
anything that was directly so. Perhaps the ivory armlength gloves
poking out of the dark shawl she wore over her matching blouse. Perhaps
the small glasses she kept at the tip of her nose. But Josh thought it
mostly was just the eyes itself.
If the woman noticed the intent stare, she seemed to pay it
little worry. "She was concerned about your welfare, and was sharing
that concern with me."
"Mother doesn't think Father has much care for anything but the
principles of his business." Josh's tone was rather flat, his face a
grimace that seemed to mirror that tone well.
"And what do you think, Joshua?"
"I think Mother gives him more credit than she should." He clenched
the fist not holding a notebook close to himself, looking down a bit.
His mother shook a moment, tear running from eyes. She took a breath
a moment later. "Oh... I needed that."
The other woman's smile widened a touch, but kept her own tone more
diplomatic. "I think that might be a rather blunt opinion of him... but
not inaccurate. Your mother thinks it might be... smarter if you went
with me instead."
"Wouldn't that be kidnapping? Especially since Mother..." His voice
caught there, a bit of the veneer failing.
The woman in the mirror smiled a sad smile. "Sometimes, the
difference is in the spirit and the letter of the law. But in the end,
prices get paid."
"But no one's above the law..." Josh protested quickly, then trailed
off as his mind caught up to his mouth. The woman in the mirror laughed
lightly as he blushed, embarrassed, but the laugh didn't seem cold or
sharp as she did.
"I think someone has seen one too many crime drama shows." She
sobered. "No one should be, but many people are close to. There ARE
rules and prices, but nothing is completely in the hands of order, no
matter how much I try."
He considered her words a moment. "You try to help people within the
law? Like a cop?" He leaned forward, his demeanor breaking through a
bit as the eagerness overtook his control.
The woman considered. "Not quite like a cop, though I do have rules
as well."
"Can you teach me? I mean, to be what I can?" His voice is hopeful
a moment. Then he paused, looking to his stricken mother. His mother
smiled to him faintly, trying to reassure. It wasn't easy to do in her
current state. The woman in the mirror seemed to understand.
"Now that is a good question. So of course it's not an easy answer.
But I think perhaps... yes, we could try. It is, after all, what your
mother wishes." Natalie nodded feebly in agreement with the woman's
words before breaking into another wrenching cough.
"But.. I shouldn't leave her..." The boy was subdued, guilty in
tone. "It wouldn't be right."
"No, it wouldn't be easy. Your mother, at least, thinks it would be
right. Do not mistake words that work along the same path for being the
same word. I don't promise things being easy. But only because I will
do my best to give you what you ask. So it's best to be sure what you
want before you ask or choose."
The boy paused at that, distracted by his mother's cough and fighting
the urge to run into the camera's view. "I...I want to do good, to be
someone who helps bring right back. To make things proud again." He
squared his shoulders a bit. "It's not about easy... it's about what
matters."
The woman in the mirror regarded him a long moment. "Yes, yes it
is." She sighed lightly, then snapped her fingers dramatically. As she
did, the camera literally sparked and died. She walked through
the mirror as if the glass had never existed and looked to the
boy intently. "Though I do wonder if it'll be easier on you than me,
in the end. Very well, I accept."
Josh paused as he realized the hated camera was no longer working and
moved forward. He paused hesitantly, then ran over to his mother first
and took her hand. The squeeze she gave was as firm as she could make
it, but it also was enough. Josh kissed his mother's brow.
The woman watched bemusedly, but waited. Both talked for a few more,
then Josh leaned closer again, allowing his mother's lips to brush
cheek. He then looked to the woman, his eyes much more firm and
intense. "We have to go now?"
"Yes we do, little squire. If there's anything left for you to
do..." She nodded as the boy shook head. "Well, then, step through and
we'll see about some breakfast while I rearrange a calendar that had
seemed rather pleasantly free." She smiled again the words obviously a
joke.
Josh nodded and started to walk for the mirror with her. He paused
at the threshold a moment, but didn't look back before coming through.
The woman paused slightly longer for entirely different reasons. She
looked slightly to the left of the bed as another entered the room.
She sighed with small regret, but made a small nod of acceptance to
the newcomer before turning to leave.

"Do take good care of her."

In the morning, amidst all the other bad news piling at Richard
Generi's feet, he was informed of the passing of his wife and that his
son was missing. That the mirror was gone was not even noticed for
another year when the estate was catalogued.

*--- Not My Father's Son

-- December 15, 2015; 144SUPERGUY

Jeff leaned back and tried to ignore the cold (31 degrees
Fahrenheit, -0.6 Centigrade) on his back from the snowbank as he
straight up into clouds. He didn't need to feel the subtle vibration of
his kid sister's (one year and three months to the DAY) size 6
tread to clue him in he wasn't alone any more.
"Quarter for your thoughts?" Peggy brushed off a stump before she
sat down to look to her elder sibling. He pushed himself back up to
look to her. Her hair bobbed about a bit as she settled in, her having
a curly wave his own hair never had, his own keeping more or less to the
straight and sometimes a bit more fine. Now that made all the more
sense to Jeff. It hurt a bit but not as much as he thought it would,
actually.
After all, when all is said and done, half rounds to full.
"What, you think it's worth that much?" He grinned lightly as he
made sure to give her his full attention. She smirked back at him, the
expression a mirror of their mother's.
"Well, considering inflation and that you don't seem to have many, I
think I'd better pay market rates." She sobered a bit. "Mom and Dad
just had 'a Talk' with me. Uhm, well, wow.."
"Yeah... they kind of were intending to get around to telling me
sometime." Jeff didn't bother hiding the hurt and slight bitterness to
that. He could hear the truth in that, yet at the same time it seemed
so much like they wanted sometime to be 'any time but now'.
"Well, they probably could have told you right away, but man, I don't
think youd've remembered it." She shook her head. "But heck of a way
to find out you're not only a superguy..." She paused and amended
quickly as he started to frown. "...well, potential superguy, but that
Dad's not... well, your biological one."
"Dad's dad, Mom's mom, and you're a brat." Jeff grinned a bit as he
shook off Peggy's slip. He sobered as he thought things through
seriously though. "I don't think that's going to change much...
not really."
"So what is going to?" Peggy's voice was an odd feeling as he parsed
it. About half curious, maybe a quarter envious and another part
worried... Jeff took a long breath and felt things settle maybe in place
a bit better. And this little... omission aside, this family shot
straight on the issues.
"Maxine and I are going to go for it. We've got a few others who're
stepping up. We figure that the real Hero Patrol's got the town pretty
much covered, but there's still a lot of outlying land. Enough to, you
know, work and learn the ropes."
"So a kind of Border Patrol instead of the big HP?"
Jeff winced. "I hope to Hell that name won't stick, but yeah."
Peggy nodded, leaning back slightly so her heels left the ground,
then bounced back forward. "I'm jealous," she admitted frankly. "Mom
and Dad are going to flip, but I think it's cool actually."
"Thanks.. I'm probably going to need the support. I'm not planning
on hiding it from them." Jeff shook his head, a bit of the bitterness
still catching his voice. "No secrets if I can help it."
"I said they'll flip, not that they'll disown you." She grinned
wryly. "So, what's it like? I mean..."
"Kinda hard to say... sometimes, I think it's almost like saying I
have the old heads up display thing you see in games. It's NOT, but
all the info I can see organizes... I just KNOW it."
"Everything?" Peggy's voice was utterly skeptical in tone, and Jeff
didn't blame her.
"No. Which is what keeps me half-sane." Jeff took a breath. "Well,
let's say I'm going to have fun with school. More than I have, really.
The more I understand, the more I can pick out of what my powers are
telling me. "
"So the more you know, the more you can identify, and the more you,
uh, 'perceive'?"
"About the size of it. Still a lot of things going by ear and
intuition."
"Okay, then what's the intuition got to do with you and Maxine
anyway?" Jeff winced, but kept eye contact with his sister as she
pressed on. "I mean, sure, maybe it was talking about the hero gig, but
I kinda think there's a bit more." She pouted lightly, even if it was
hard to not see the small hurt in her eyes. While Maxine and Jeff were
of a general age, that hadn't been much a barrier to them becoming as
close.
Jeff took a breath and prepped for the explosion. "That's not for me
to say."
"So that's a secret you're going to keep, huh?" Peggy's voice
surprised him a bit for the lack of volume. It made what he said hurt
all the more to him, but he took a breath and plowed on. Trust works
both ways.
He shook his head. "No, I said it's not for me to say. That's
Maxine's to. For what it's worth, I told her you'd pick up on it. So,
Ask Her. If she doesn't, tell me." He smiled tiredly. "I'll either
knock some sense into her head, or else I'll give her a deadline." One,
he noted, much earlier than the one they knew Maxine had.
For a moment, Peggy looked mulish, the desire to press the one who
wasn't fifteen miles away obvious, but again she relented with a nod.
"Okay. I guess if I had something like it, I'd rather have that... I
guess." She looked down. "Maybe I'm a bit more jealous than I figured.
I mean, you've got all the cool revelations with you and the superguy
for a dad and all..."
Jeff rose and pulled his sister up and gave her a tight hug, ruffling
her hair as he released her. "Well, don't count it all out. I mean,
Maxine's our cousin on Mom's side after all..."
"Yeah, but both her parents were in the biz..."
"Exactly the point I'm making, squirt." Jeff grinned a bit. "Maybe
good things come to those who wait."
"Mmmmaybe." She allowed as she tried to deruffle her hair. "But
that doesn't mean I'm not jealous. Going to be in for dinner?"
"Yeah, I'll be there in a second." He waved a moment as she moved
off, then looked to his hand a moment. As he watched, the hand lost
slight definition before he slammed it into a large rock by the stump.
His hand didn't move, the rock, did as the sonic resonance reacted with
its structure. It moved away. In fragments.
Aunt Reba's old group had two different members who did funky things
with sound, and only one of them was female. Mask Principle aside, it
wasn't hard to make a guess on that line...
"Uh-huh, just on my father's side. I'm really sure."

*--- The Vixen

-- June 11, 1997 (*)

There are places in many cities that are not ever on the tourist
guides. Not because they're not quaint, with good friendly people and
meals and drinks that are less quality than many a place listed in those
guides, but because of those guides themselves. Places that don't wish
to cater to those who read the guides, but to those who qualify as
locals to whatever yardstick the proprietor chooses to use.
"The Laughing Vixen" was one of those places, the name a tip of the
hat to what he considered one of the few non-local locals to grace his
pub. This was because she had followed him moving as his reputation had
grown beyond what he'd like it to be. The regulars generally found him
quick enough. Not as quick as the brown haired woman who was there,
usually -to the moment- he reopened under another name.
Her arrival was always a tip of the duster the balding man wore as
much for affectation as vanity. The drink he got her wasn't on the
house, unless he failed the unspoken game they played as she arrived. A
look at what she wore, the attitude (though she was always a lady, to
him) she gave as she walked, and things like that formed his first
'drink order' for her. In the now many years he'd known her, he had
gotten rather good on his estimation, and so placed a light lager in
front of the woman as she removed her coat.
She nodded thanks, sipping the drink a moment before holding it up
to him with a nod of thanks. Her clothing was decidedly casual this
evening, a turtleneck sweater and dark slacks giving an air of relaxed
grace which went more with a beer than a wine's refinement this night.
The barkeep was about to ask if she was looking for some food to go with
it this blust'ry night when the door opened and another came in. He
frowned as the man who walked in had two strikes against him already.
Stranger and dark.
His patron seemed to have the same feeling as he did, her eyes
turning to the door as the man brushed off some of the sodden moisture
of the winter mix outside. She sipped again at her drink, one hand
draped to her coat, her fingers clenched slightly to it. The man took
upon himself to take a seat next to the woman.
The interloper looked over the bottles of liquor and beer cans along
the back of the bar. "Ah, Kirin Ichiban." The barkeep raised an
eyebrow and went to grab the drink. The reaction from the woman next
door wasn't as obvious, but she let her hand move from her coat.
"I'm surprised. I was rather expecting either one of the french
choices, or perhaps 'what she's having.'" She continued to sip her
beer, not turning to face the man quite yet.
"Either of which you'd either be leaving, or ignoring me for the boor
I'd proven to be." His voice was deep, but relaxed. Amused and
selfconfident, perhaps, but not giving a direct threat. "As a
matter of fact, I'd tried the beer a while back and found it a diverting
difference. The lager is better, but I'll take the ichiban."
"After all, one should be looking out for number one," she commented
with mild irony. She sipped a bit more at her glass. "Which I should
take heed myself, but I suppose I'm in a gambling mood again."
"On my intentions, perhaps?" He smiled as he accepted his own drink.
"I would claim my intentions were purely noble, but I'd be lying. But
then again, nothing illegal to them nor intending harms way to you, Ms.
Du--"
"The Dupuis line died years ago. Please, do both of us a favor and
not use it in my presence." The chill tone of her interruption wasn't
mirrored at all in her face, as she took another sip of her beer. "And
I'd suggest to not get too flowery with your speech. Currently, I'm of
mind that this drink might be all I need here tonight."
The man didn't change his expression either, sipping his own drink.
"Very well. Would it be better to call you Ms. Reynaud?" As he spoke
he did turn to look at her straight on, any pretense of indirection
evaporating as he did.
"Charlie.. I think I need to take a booth for the moment." La
Reynaud, formerly Renee Dupuis, smiled the old man as she rose. "I'm
afraid I misjudged what kind of evening this was. It's a rare enough
thing these days."
The barkeep nodded. "Would ye be wishing for food, milady? Or is it
still jus' to be that one draught?" He looked to the man darkly, his
own impression of what he thought of people who pressured away those he
prized.
"Mmm. Perhaps so. The choice cut, if you will, with the usual
trim?" She glanced to the gentleman. "And I do believe he'll be paying
for it now, just as a matter of good faith."
The man smiled, still unperturbed. "This time, I -will- say, 'as she
ordered', since that sounds excellent." He put down a hundred dollar
bill and rose. "Meal and any additional expenses, I think."
The Fox nodded to herself and rose, taking her coat with her to a
booth, sitting with her back to the front door. The man took the other
side, with ease. "You did a remarkable job to find me. I haven't
undertaken any personal or business dealings in... some time."
"Three years, though that assumes we didn't miss a few of your more
subtle traps and tricks. You do not, after all, leave much of a calling
card, considering your penchant for puzzles and traps."
She gave a small nod to her head, hand raising a moment in a phantom
blade's salute. "Touche. I haven't had any real need to, and the
challenge got dull. Depressingly, the local challengers have failed to
even notice anything, mister...."
"Gideon will do, I think. It even has the novelty of being my actual
first name." He smiled a bit, trying to be disarming, she supposed. It
might work if one wasn't always wary. Or, she amended, aware.
"So that would be Gideon du Soleil, then." The Fox kept her smile
subtle as his attention sharpened in some undefined manner. He then
smiled and held his own drink in a small salute as well. "Since if it
was du Lune, I highly doubt you'd even give me that much of an
introduction."
"I wouldn't be sure there, but your deductive skills are quite
uncanny." he admitted ruefully, "Neither of our branches of the family
are the kind to draw attention to ourselves."
"Not in general, but I do have a habit of keeping track and tabs of
people and things of legend... it was rather profitable for me more
times than not." The Fox sipped her drink as she allowed Gideon time
to digest that fact.
He had the grace to take that moment, and then continue on.
"What I was hoping for was a better opening for this," he admitted after
a moment. "Have you ever considered a child?"
"In many ways I'm rather sure your question does not." She sipped at
her drink a moment to cover her frown of surprise. Of all things to be
pigeonholed on, that fell so far down the list that she was rather sure
the fall of Atlantis was much more likely. "On the other hand, I'll
venture that isn't an idle question. And considering your... family's
fascination with lineage, that question is far from idle."
His demeanor changed slightly as the questions went back to more
familiar and less delicate ground. "Yes, it is, especially since the
branches have been rather bare of late, of the purer lines. There's
perhaps only four in my generation, split evenly among the Sun and the
Moon."
"Not you, of course." She sipped again this time watching his
reaction with practiced yet casual intensity.
"No, I'm second born. My brother had been, but met his fate far too
early in life." His tone was wistful and regretful. "However, I think
the odds are good my line would be one to continue the line, of those
left."
"I see you ascribe to false modesty as a sin," she murmured. "And
yet I'm quite sure there are many a woman with a better pedigree, even
allowing for those few with enough... discretion for the approach."
"Perhaps, but you haven't been the only one to keep abreast of
activities within one's purview." He leaned slightly closer. He was,
she allowed, quite charismatic as he turned on the charm. "You've been
the queen of the game, whatever game you choose. Yet you've walked away
without taking a prize more than a token. And most are aware you could
have. Well, those who recognized the game they were in. And that alone
was a bit fascinating."
The Fox sighed. "Perhaps from the outside, but not from my view. It
was more disappointing than not." She cut into her steak with deft
hands. "I took a prize commiserate with the challenge. Which as you
can see, wasn't much."
"Then perhaps this challenge will appeal. Allow me time to press my
case. I would hazard that a child is one of those that is constantly
one."
"If a commitment." She looked up, her eyes flashing warning. "If I
do so, you do realize that I would not do it by half measures. And as
much as your family feud is interesting historically, I have no direct
interest."
"It should not matter much, aside from the child receiving the
training and care that is his or her birthright. And I would not dare
sending the mother away, even if it would not be so... unwise." Gideon
leaned back a moment, taking a serious moment. "There are sins one
cannot avoid, and ones that one cannot abide."
"I've found that man may find many things he can abide that he was
sure he could not." Renee shook her head a moment. "No matter. I'm
sure I can walk out the door now and not worry on it again."
"You could," Gideon agreed amiably. The Fox sighed inwardly, but
merely smiled as he continued. "But you won't."
"You've one month to convince me you're more witty than
insufferable." Her tone was bemused more than not. "Or perhaps other
qualities to endear. There are many things I will or will not do, but
perhaps it's a bit better than not. And, I'll admit... more than my
curiosity is piqued."
He took a sip of his drink, considering her a moment, then deciding
it fair game. "What else?"
"A mystery I don't know the ending or the solution to yet. I doubt
you realize how few and far between those are."
Gideon showed restraint and merely nodded, holding his glass up in
salute. She brought her own to touch. Ten months later, as the house
of the Sun welcomed the little Lionne to their compound, she realized
that the challenge she'd taken on might be bigger than she'd
anticipated. The stakes however were simply bigger than she'd imagined.
Her tears were ascribed to joy and the pain of the birth.
They were only half right.

*--- Errant Login

-- April 28, 1998

Domain name resolution is wonderful when one needs to recall the
location of a website or a computer connected to the Internet, but on
occasion a machine has no external name to resolve to it. Without it,
one has to recall the four digits between 0 and 255 where the machine
resides, assuming that it has a public address facing the Internet. Of
course, one of the reasons for DNS is because it's so easy to mistakenly
type one number for another...

Mark sipped his liter bottle of dew as he settled down at his home
computer. It was the weekend, it was the break week for his live games,
and he had nothing better he wanted to do. He grinned and pulled out
his little notepad and set up a terminal window and start the ssh
connection to his compatriot's workmachine. While the database work was
his bread and butter, his friend had clued him in he'd been putting in
some side time on a little project closer to Mark's interest.
While the massively-multiplayer games were finally showing up for the
masses, it never interested Mark so much. He'd always been more
interested in the text-based multi-user dungeon/environs. Especially
those which allowed the players to design and build up their own
environs and tools. Granted, that required a bit more trust than most
of the combat-oriented MU*s allowed, but nonetheless he enjoyed it
hugely.
His friend had claimed he'd finally figured out to link the two
styles better, and even was working on limited graphical avatar support.
While a bit skeptical, Mark's interest peaked all the more to that, so
badgered the IP of the machine and got a 'guest account' to the server.
Now as he typed, he frowned, looking over the note.
"God, I can't even make it out myself... is that a thirty seven or did
an eighty seven smudge... ahwell, only one'll work, right?" He shook
head and went to type it in. To make matters worse later, he
fatfingered another digit but didn't notice as the login screen showed.
Quickly, he typed in the account and password he was given, and grinned
as the screen changed to a customized prompt.

WELCOME user, to the REFUGE.

Last Login: unavailable

command:

Mark checked his notes and typed "persona", clicking enter. His
friend had wanted to wait till he'd had documentation to give out, but
Mark knew that'd be forever. So he was playing it blind, which suited
him fine, as it allowed him to pretend he was his friend's first beta
tester. Or alpha tester, even.

> Persona creation requested. Form of persona?

He paused at that, wondering a bit. Well, it's not like there's been
any presentation or options listed. Something to let him know it could
be useful later. He considered his options, then looked over at the
corkboard by his computer. All the characters on the boards were
'retired' from the campaigns he'd played them in. He considered, then
chose one from a PBEM he'd played in the year before. Why not?

# Android heroine

> Searching... loading modules. Begin physical description?

Mark grinned and cracked his knuckles. Time to see how much the
buffer could take. Besides, his friend knew how much he was a detail
hound he was, so might as well give him the full bore test...

--

On the other end of the line, the Redundant Engineering Fabricator's
Use Generation Editor accepted the input passively. After all, this was
what it was designed for, though its processors hadn't been ever used
for something of this scope and magnitude. Branching and spawning the
modules the control program's internal logic indicates would be
required. As the input continued, the processor activated a sideboard
that the creator of REFUGE hadn't quite cleared for general use. But
from the looks of the request, a bit of research could need to be done.
REFUGE didn't mind, since despite its local interface, it didn't have
one that could comprehend emotions. If anything, it justified its
existence aside from its caretaker functions.
As the sideboard processed the requirements, it started to formulate
searches using the protocols available to it. It opened ports to various
locations as information was consumed and sorted silently. One gopher
query lead down to an interesting branch or two. Follow up posts
following the patterns set led to others, and slowly a map of progress
started to be built. In the corner of REFUGE's main monitor a small
progress bar incremented to "0.01%", the estimated time not given.

Elsewhere, a hand turned off an old campus server before the disc
inside died. Dustin smiled and pulled the plug from the box, letting
the ancient 'secrets' left on its antiquated gopher 'share' be lost
again as it had been for almost half a decade. The message had already
been delivered to whom he wanted, so the bottle wasn't needed anymore.
Slipping to the a table in the closed and empty library, he pulled a
deck of cards out from his sash and started shuffling it with practice
ease. Each card flipped with a flourish as he dealt a hand before him.
A King with face of painted woad, a Queen in armor mail, a Jack with
monocle and hand held high and straight. His smile shifted just enough
to be a smirk, as he went to flip the next two.
An Ace, but not of any of the traditional suits, but what looked to be a
flying serpent. He paused at that, the smirk slipping to a more subtle
smile than usual. He placed the card back in and shuffled again. The
same card placed itself into the fourth position, as if taunting.
"This... means something." He smirked at a personal jest in the
statement, then turned over the last card for the hand.
The last card was the joker of the deck, though instead of the
European jester, a woman with a fox face and multiple tails hid her
nose with a fan. He looked on the card a long moment, his permanent
good mood seeming to be threatened.
"No," he murmured to himself. "I'm sorry, but you are the ace of
this run, the game doesn't allow cards running wild." He shuffled the
cards again, the King remaining where it was. The next card, unchanged,
was the Joker. He stopped and looked at the card again intently. His
eyes lit up as comprehension dawned.
"Of course. The mother, not the child. Well. We'll have to see if
we can finesse that a little bit." He chided the card. "After all,
your daughter has a date to keep with me soon."
He rose, smirking as he walked toward the hall. As he did, he seemed
to fade, his voice the last thing to leave the room. "One doesn't keep
me waiting after all."

---

Copyright 2008, James Rinehart. All rights reserved. "The Fox/Renee
Dupuis" co-created with Chris Angelini for the Matters of Perspective
Miniseries. Jeff 'Perceptor' derived from characters and planning from
Mike Escutia's Hero Patrol. Opening lead quote from "Only the Young"
performed by Journey.

[SG] SERIES' #0: One Question

If you were the one, the chosen one
To sacrifice yourself in the moment of danger
Would you have the grace, the courage it takes
To save the life of a stranger?

Ghost in the Mecha, XLtd

presents

S E R I E S '

0 - One Question

*--- Hey There, Mr. Madman

-- July 6th, 2009

Watchamacallit Station had many adjectives associated with it. Most
of them not being anything positive for its outlook. However, it had a
few. Remote. Vital. Sturdy. Well, the last it had some danger of
losing soon if the station's sole inhabitant didn't turn over some
cash quickly. He'd even considered raising his rates to keep up with
interstellar inflation and the collapse of a few free trade agreement
loopholes he'd been using for some supplies.
Part of the problem was location workes both ways. He didn't like too
many people coming around asking too many questions. On the other hand,
without enough questions, no money. No money, no fixing. No fixing,
well. He might have to rent a place. And he hated that. So he found
himself working in the environmental room, trying to scrub scrubbers to
gain another six months out of the seven-over-warranty he'd already
gleaned out of the current set. He knew they were good for that. After
all, he _was_ The Sage. If he applied the elbow grease, that is.
An alarm sounded sharply for a moment, then cut out as quickly as the
airlock door cycled faster than was generally possible. The Sage
scowled and wiped his hands on his coveralls as he went to head for his
rooms. Partially to get on something a bit less messy, but more
realistically to provoke his visitor to appear in front of him before he
could. On cue, the man walked into the engineering section from a side
passage, cutting off the Sage from his rooms. The Sage's scowl deepened
in further annoyance as he looked at the visitor.
"Ohhh, no. Not you, no questions for you. I don't care what you've
got, I don't care what treasure you bring, what money you offer, what
poison you want me to swill." The Sage rubbed his head and scowled all
the more as he felt the grease smudge his the top of his balding head.
The man smiled widely, the twinkle in his eyes shining almost as
brightly as the gold filigree woven into the flowing shirt and sash he
wore. The clothing was as gaudy as a Hawaiian shirt, if seemingly more
expensive by far. It only made hime seem more insufferable to the Sage's
opinion. "Oh, I don't have any poison for you, sir. And are you sure
you'd not take a question from the likes of me? I'd hate to find that
the all knowing Sage would find any question a problem, unless, for
example, he does not know."
A vein pulsed on the balding man's neck, though the flush of blood
to his face helped hide it as he looked angrily at his 'guest'. "A
question? A question I don't know? I. Am. The. Sage. I Know
EVERYTHING!" He took another breath and seemed to calm, a patent and
false sense of hospitable friendliness. The kind practiced by
pre-owned vehicular salesmen since the wheel was put up for barter.
"But if, and I say IF, I would answer such a question, that price would
be a high one. Way above my humble standard rates."
The smiling one's expression didn't change one bit. "Oh, I think I
have a few things to offer. All for one question." He reached into his
pants and pulled out a small golden sphere. It wasn't bigger than a
golf ball with a few stub pencils seemingly stuck through. He held it
with casual grace, as if willing to just let it roll off his fingers.
The Sage blinked a moment, then snatched the item out of the man's
hand angrily. "What the Hell did you think you were doing bring
that anywhere? Especially here!" He cradled the little sphere like a
precious gem or egg as he glared to the man.
"What's a few atoms of Absurdium among friends." The smile didn't
waver at all. The Sage didn't need to speculate that his guest had all
going to plan, damn the luck. "Enough to power this station for oh,
half the life of the universe."
"And half a chance of blowing it and a good bit of the sector to the
end of time instead, if it gets breached!" The Sage snarled. His hands
held fast to the item as he glared. "Damnation, Dustin! That's no
payment, that IS the poison."
Dustin Etranger, so named, didn't bother changing his expression any
more than he did for anything else. "Oh, I had a feeling it wouldn't be
so simple. So perhaps this would be enough?" With another flourish, he
pulled out of thin air a small rack of pink crystal, each slightly
smaller than the last. The Sage's expression brightened as he looked at
that, phantom images of dollar signs blinding him a moment. "Is that a
perfect set of Octavian core crystals?", he asked rhetorically.
"Valued at about half a million galactic credits minimum on the
auction circuit, yes," Dustin confirmed. He held it one-handed, the
other end pointed toward the Sage. "One. Question."
The Sage watched the end of rack, swallowing with difficulty. He
could feel the headache building in the front of his head as the tension of
the moment increased. He moistened his lips, eyes following the case as
if it were a cobra poised to strike at his face. "One. Question."
Still the smile stayed the same, even as the tone of the voice
dipped, cold as the space outside, softer than the hiss of a snake.
"Why are you The Sage?"
"Why." The Sage paused, a moment of surprise hitting even as he KNEW
what was being asked. Such is the power of sheer absurdity. As the
shock passed, he scowled and finally broke eyecontact with his coveted
prize to glare. "WHY? BECAUSE, of course! I KNOW EVERYTHING! What
else do you EXPECT?"
"Ah, well, that is the question I suppose." Etranger admitted
amiably, his voice regaining it's general tone of affability. His hand
loosened its grip on the case as he relaxed, the end of it tipping
enough to allow pseudogravity to take its course with it. The Sage let
out an inarticulate cry and grabbed quickly with his hands, forgetting
the small object within it. He grabbed the rack, cradling it much like
he had the golden orb that now bounced unnoted into the station center.
Etranger, his objective realized, sketched a small salute and turned
to leave. As the airlock klaxon rang again, the Sage uncurled and
winced as the headache didn't abate fully. He regarded his prize a long
moment, then started to walk for the hanger airlock. For all the
greed-fueled glee on his face, something nagged at the back of the
Sage's head. Something he knew he was willfully ignoring.
As he placed the crystal down in the copilot's seat of the overlarge
transtellar shuttle he ownened, he let himself just let that nagging
feeling go. He turned on the transmitter, sending to the obligatory
picket he'd had for over a decade. "This is the Sage, and I'm declarin'
the station's closed. Sage's holiday! See you all in a few planetary
rotations OF your choosing. Choose a long one, I'll be a bit."
There was a small pause before the picket's occupants responded.
"Roger that, Sage. Anything we should worry about while you're gone?"
The Sage smirked as he went to reply. "That would be a good
question. Would you like to contribute fifteen to my coffers to find
out?"
"Fifteen? I though you've been charging twenty or more for years..."
"I'm feeling charitable, benevolent, and nostalgic." The Sage
declared arily. "Rate'll be back when I get back. IF you want to
capitalize on them now..."
"....no, I think we're good. Happy Holiday."
"Hmph." The Sage toggled the comm off and threw the shuttles
thrusters into a lurching move forward before the engines finished
tuning their balance. They never did want his answers when he was in a
good mood. But of course, he knew everything. They knew better than to
think it was everything they wantd to hear. Besides, it'd be horrible
if he gave them the interstellar forecast.

Cold, with 5% chance of the fabric of time and space unravelling five
solar days hence, stellar winds from the galactic core at 3
parsecs/year.

---

Copyright 2007, James Rinehart. All rights reserved. The Sage created
by Bill Dickson. Opening 'teaser' quote from hidden track of Styx'
_Cyclorama_ album.

SG: Rad #94 (2/2): Your Bran

(continued from part one, preceding...)

***

Goats, Rad thought as he extracted himself from a rack of
costumes, were the last resort of the incontinent. He had heard an
aphorism quite like it, he was almost certain. Why they should be the
last resort of the incontinent, he had no idea, but they had
apparently not suffered from the same problem. They milled around the
office-end of the large studio space, their gunbelts occasionally
bumping into things. The gunbelts themselves--simple loops around the
midsections of the goats with attached painted tubes--looked no more
real than the other movie props in the room.
"Um, dude," said Rad. "Like, why are there goats...."
"For my next movie," replied Templar, who was sitting on the
floor, holding strips of celluloid. The pseudo-ninja tied up earlier
with Templar had evidently been cut loose by a compatriot. "The sheep
were on strike. I told you about that, right?"
"Oh, yah," Rad answered. "I just, like, didn't know that the
goats, like, were here."
"You could smell them," said Manny. "Tom must have set them
loose... damn. Where is Tom?"
"Gone," Guillermo answered. "I saw two of the wannabe ninjas
taking him out the front door. Couldn't do anything about it with six
goats dancing the watusi on my back, but---"
"Like, dancing?" Rad asked. "Really?"
"They're well-trained," Templar noted, as he struggled to his
feet. "I was going to put them in a dance competition movie after
this one, assuming I can settle with the sheep. It's gonna be called
'Sheep Up,' and I really think it's the one that will get me back onto
the A-list---"
"Guys, focus," Manny interrupted. "Not all of the ninjas
escaped." He gestured at two bodies in a more shadowy part of the
cavernous room. Guillermo and Rad went to them.
"Dead," said Guillermo, after a few moments examination. "Both
of 'em. Looks like those idiots waving their katanas around did it."
He gestured to one body, that of an old Asian man with a sword
sticking out of his rib cage. A jelly-filled donut was impaled on the
handle. The other body, that of a pale-skinned woman barely in her
twenties, had no obvious wounds, but she was still dead. Rad felt his
fingers curl, forming fists, and willed himself to calm down.
"Can we, like, still go, like, after them?" he asked.
"Tried," said Guillermo. "I think I saw some of them on a bus,
though I'm not sure Tom was with them. That was six minutes ago.
Manny called Harxxon and had them try to track departing vehicles via
satellite. They may have something for us soon."
"Can anyone tell me why my donut delivery guy thought he was a
ninja?" asked Templar, as he wiped powered sugar from his lips. "He's
never said anything about that before."
"He must have been delivering the donuts when our guys rolled
up," Manny answered. "Looks like they have some insta-conversion
technology on their hands. They got my Secret Service detail on the
spot."
Guillermo rubbed his chin, then rolled the man's body onto his
side. He pressed fingers against the back of the neck, then to the
left, then to the right. After a few moments, he let out a short
grunt.
"Like, what is it, Badass dude?" Rad asked.
"Don't call me Badass," Guillermo told him, his tone almost
absent-minded. "I hung that name up after the Genocidal War a decade
ago. Not who I wanted to be anymore. Still ain't."
Rad nodded. "Like, what is it, Guillermo dude?" he amended.
Guillermo considered the corpse for a few seconds longer, then
shook his head.
"He's got something in his neck. There's a light scar, and I
could try taking it out with tweezers, but I don't want to damage it.
Might have to get him to Harxxon so they can pull it."
"'It'... being?" inquired Templar.
"Radio-control chip," Guillermo said. "Popular with your basic
shadow conspiracies, rogue intelligence agencies, not-so-rogue
intelligence agencies, faceless corporations, private armies,
micromanaging villains, handlers of assassins of famous figures, the
producers of 'American Idol,' and so forth. Once implanted,
instructions get transmitted on a certain frequency, and the chip-
controlled person carries them out. When transmissions cease, the
person has no memories of what he or she did while controlled."
"If you could get the chip out," said Manny, as he rubbed his
chin, "could you find what frequency they're transmitting on? Maybe
track the source, or even override it?"
"Maybe," said Guillermo. "At least on finding the frequency and
tracking it to its source. Overriding it depends on breaking the
encryption, which these days has gotten pretty tough." The humanoid
donkey considered some more. "If they used encryption at all."
"Like, why wouldn't they, dude?"
"They're in a hurry. Someone at their command central is cutting
corners where there's no corners to cut. Either they're under intense
pressure to produce results, or they just said 'screw it, let's dress
'em up like ninjas or whatever and send them out, my world domination
plan is getting stale on the bun.'"
"That sounds like a lot of villains we used to know," Templar
said. "But aren't most of 'em out of the biz like us these days? The
war wasn't kind to them, either. 'Least not the ones we knew."
"I saw Dr. Sleaze and the Tapeworm doing an infomercial the other
day," Manny noted. "Buying old supervillain lairs for no money down."
"I see The Producer down at 'Dicey Ned's' once in a while,"
Templar added. "He manages some motel in East L.A. Gone completely
to seed. Sad, really." Templar slapped his gut, as if to suggest
that it agreed with him.
Rad nodded, though his thoughts were more on the bodies on the
floor. He had something in common with them--an implant beneath the
skin. His was far more advanced, he knew, being the latest in
Ottsamaddawiduan [space science!] technology, scarcely distinguishable
from his own flesh without equally advanced diagnostic equipment. His
was limited to two-way communication, aided by his house's computer
net, and he had been assured it could not be used to make him do
anything. Despite this assurance, he seldom made use of it, though
Glum and Rumi used theirs a lot--at least prior to coming to Earth.
The things he liked to do the most never required it.
The thought of his wife and daughter prompted him to mentally tap
his sub-implant. *Like, call Glum,* he thought. *Totally urgent,
y'know?* The implant, which had been specially programmed to handle
Rad's peculiar command syntax, connected to his house's ESI (Expert-
System Intelligence), which then attempted to connect to Glum's
sub-implant.
Rad waited for several seconds, a long time in sub-implant-to-
sub-implant terms. Finally, he heard the dulcet tones of his house's
nameless ESI.
**Glum's transceiver is offline,** it said. **In-head
diagnostics offline. Relative Positioning System offline.**
Rad fought down momentary panic. They had never gotten around to
testing the comm system fully after arriving on Earth, or doing the
tuning which getting integrated with a planet's net usually involved.
*Like, call Rumi. Totally urgent and, like, stuff.*
He waited.
**Connection made.**
*Rumi!* Rad called. *Where are you?*
He waited, but there was no reply.
**Connection lost,** the ESI noted. **Rumiko's transceiver is
offline. In-head diagnostics offline. Relative Positioning System
off---**
Rad waited for the ESI to finish.
*Like, hello?* he asked. *You, like, there?*
Again, no reply.
"What's up?" asked Manny, on seeing the look on Rad's face.
"I was, like, trying to contact Glum and Rumi, like, y'know?" Rad
said. "And, like, they're totally offline. And, like, now I think,
like, I am, like, too. Something's, like, up, y'know?"
"You'd better get over there," said Manny. "You know how to get
to Cendra and Miguel's?"
Rad nodded. He had gotten the address and general area from
Eivandt that afternoon. He was glad he had; with the ESI down, it was
all he had to go with. Despite his technological ambivalence, he
missed having a full Artificial Intelligence he could contact with
problems. ESIs were helpful, but they were not sentient, and did not
have a sentient AI's creative problem-solving abilities.
"There's a Harxxon evac copter on the way," said Manny. "It'll
take me, Guillermo..."
"And me," Templar interrupted. Manny glanced at Templar, nodded,
then continued.
"...Templar, and these two bodies back to Harxxon's branch in Los
Requemados. Once you've checked up on Glum and Rumi, bring them up
there. It's the big new building in the city that looks like a big
'H' from the sky. Nothing else like it there."
"Like, cool, dude," Rad replied. He would not need help finding
Los Requemados--it had been where he had grown up, after all. "I'll,
like, see you over there, like, y'know?"
Without waiting for a reply, he flew through the nearest window-
frame and into the early evening air.

***

When Rumiko opened her eyes, she realized she was dreaming.
Though she had never before realized this during a dream, the
understanding came at once. The biggest hint was the giant bronze-
gold battleship hovering over the ruined, jungle-surrounded temple.
The second-biggest hint was the massive electric arc that connected
the nose of the rococo-styled ship with the top of the temple. The
electric arc was eerily still, frozen in time. The third biggest hint
was that she was naked, and that what she saw felt like a test for
which she had forgotten to prepare.
The only person-like figure she could see was a fairly distant
guy wearing what looked like an over-sized pair of bronze-gold battle
pants. Los Pantalones, she realized. The guy, like the battleship,
was frozen in mid-air, facing her. Puffs of smoke lingered at his
knees.
So she was alone in this dream. Rumi relaxed. She always felt
awkward in her body, and being without some form of cover only made
her more self-conscious. Even her time spent on Planet California had
not helped the feeling---
Rumi felt something settle on her skin. She looked down and saw
a tiger-striped sundress, the kind her mother often wore. Not Rumi's
favorite apparel, but it would do. Likely, it was her dream's
response to her anxiety.
Looking down also made her realize she was not on the ground.
Bronze-gold metal was beneath her. She surveyed the dreamscape with
greater care.
The jungle canopy was perhaps a hundred feet down from where she
stood, atop what seemed to be a twenty-meter-diameter bubble made of
the same bronze-gold metal as Los Pantalones. The jungle itself
stretched out to the horizon in all directions, and was dark and
menacing beneath the frozen storm clouds. The view of the battleship,
the temple, and the Los Pantalones-wearing guy was so like the image
she had seen from Esteban's photocopy of his great-grandfather's diary
that she knew at once that the picture or engraving or whatever had
been done from this viewpoint. By the bubble itself, perhaps, or
whomever was in it.
Rumi attempted to fly, but could not feel anything psychokinetic
happen. Her bare feet slipped on the gleaming (and surprisingly non-
rococo) surface of the bubble, and as soon as she knew she would fall,
she went over the side.
It was not like falling in the real world. She had time to watch
the tops of the trees get closer, and even look up to see the bronze-
gold bubble recede. There was no feeling of air rushing past, or
gravity, or anything else she associated with falling.
*Maybe I can just stop.*
With that thought, Rumi stopped falling. She smoothed out her
dress, looked up at the bubble, and decided she was rising up to it.
Soon, she was directly between the bubble and the titanic frozen
confrontation above the temple.
There was an area on the side of the bubble that was transparent,
though its border with the bronze-gold metal seemed hazy and
uncertain. Within the bubble were five figures of various sizes. The
smallest were two creatures that appeared to be monkeys with kangaroo-
like furry legs. They had horns, and one appeared to be tossing a
piece of green fruit to the other. These 'demon monkeys' were being
ignored by the bubble's three sapient occupants, who were regarding
the battle with varying degrees of visible emotion.
On Rumi's left was a Reptiloid in a white lab coat. The Reptilos
system was part of the Ottsamaddawiduan Confederation, and though Rumi
had never been there, some Reptiloid friends she had had on Planet
California had told her much about it. Reptiloids were basically
humanoid with green, leathery, scaled skin and gecko-lizard-like
facial features that included a small snout and a long, forked tongue.
This Reptiloid's tongue was visible, as the Reptiloid had opened her
mouth in what appeared to be awe at the sight of the battle. What she
was doing on Earth in the late nineteenth century (if the date on the
photo had been correct) was a mystery, but there she was.
In the center was a short and stout humanish fellow. He had pale
skin, a wide and snarling mouth, no hair save a thick monobrow arched
in anger, and wraparound bronze-gold glasses that hid his eyes. The
lab coat he wore was of a style similar to the Reptiloid's. His
finger was on a button. Rumi could see nothing above it save a
geometric pictograph. Possibly, it was the button that had captured
the battle image that Esteban possessed.
On Rumi's right was what appeared to be a bonobo that was the
size of a gorilla. Unlike Coco, there was nothing metallic about his
fur or appearance, and he had a grotesque scar that ran up his cheek,
through what had once been his left eye, and up his forehead. If Rumi
had to put a name to the emotion on his face, she would have chosen
grim determination, or perhaps constipation. He also wore a lab coat,
though his had a patch above the left breast-pocket. A circle with
three starbursts--one on the left of the circle, one on the right, and
one within. She wondered if it was a symbol for the 'Hidden Empire'
to which Esteban's great-grandfather's journal had referred.
Rumi had a strong and unprovable feeling that her mind had not
invented the details of this dream. Somehow, she was in the past,
wedged into the moment the picture had been taken, and that this was a
one-time opportunity to see what the picture had not revealed. There
was something important to see--maybe the occupants of the bubble,
maybe the figure occupying Los Pantalones, maybe even something on the
flying battleship or in the temple. How long she had to look she did
not know.
She wondered what had happened to her in the real world. Had she
fallen? Was she on the ground now, hurt or dying? How would she wake
if---
"Think of something else," a feminine voice from above told her.
"Anything else." The voice was warm and conversationally-pitched, and
likely only seemed loud because everything else was silent. It held
hints of amusement and concern, with an undercurrent of strength.
Rumi guessed its owner was close, and since the guys in the bubble
were still frozen, there was only one place nearby she could not see.
Rumi rose to view the top of the bubble. Seated where Rumi had
earlier stood was a woman who Rumi guessed was around her mother's
age. She also wore a tiger-striped sundress, though it hardly went
with her emerald-green skin and pine-green hair. As Rumi rose, the
woman looked down at the dress, looked up, and smiled.
"Well, thanks for the outfit," she said. "Though I was hoping I
wouldn't turn up green here, too. Green's not supposed to be my
color."
Rumi remembered what Esteban had said about why he was trusting
her with what he knew about Los Pantalones after just meeting her for
the first time. He had said the 'Green Lady' said she was 'okay.'
With everything else around her being from Esteban's great-
grandfather's picture, she had a strong idea this was the same 'Lady.'
In fact, she had a strong idea that this was not a mere dream
figure at all. Her few contacts with telepathic beings had felt a bit
like this, though they had never occurred in a dream environment.
Something about the Green Lady felt solid and true, as did nothing
else in the dream. Not even herself.
Moreover, Rumi thought she recognized the woman. Though her
memories were hazy, having last occurred when she was barely past
being a toddler, her family kept photos. Sometimes Rumi saw her dad
contemplating one, an unusually thoughtful look on his tan face.
"Aunt Akane?" Rumi asked.
The hesitance in her voice drew another smile from the woman Rumi
guessed to be Akane Moroboshi.
"Hi, Rumster," she said. "We have to talk."

IS THAT REALLY AKANE?
IS SHE REALLY THE GREEN LADY?
DOES RUMI REALLY DRESS EVERYONE WHO APPEARS IN HER DREAMS IN SUN
DRESSES?
WHAT IF SHE DREAMS OF BARACK OBAMA?
OR JOHN MCCAIN?
IS THAT LIKELY TO HAPPEN?
I MEAN, JUST TELL ME.
IT'S KIND OF CREEPY.
SHOULD I BE ASKING QUESTIONS ABOUT ALL THE OTHER STUFF THAT HAPPENED?
WHAT ABOUT THE GUNBELT-WEARING GOATS?
WHAT ABOUT THE DEMON MONKEYS?
WHAT ABOUT THE BUS-RIDING WANNABE ZOMBIES AND NINJAS?
WHAT ABOUT... AH, NEVER MIND. I'M STILL THINKING ABOUT JOHN MCCAIN IN
A SUN DRESS.
AND WHEN I SAY I'M THINKING ABOUT IT, I MEAN I'M TRYING NOT TO.
I NEED THERAPY NOW.

Start the long road to recovery with... SUPERGUY!
--
Gary W. Olson
swede at novitious dot com
swede3000 at earthlink dot net
LJ Superguy Discussion: http://community.livejournal.com/superguy_list

SG: Rad #94 (1/2): We Will Eat

Ninjas had never been Rad's favorite foe--at least, not the kind
of ninjas he used to encounter in his old days of being a superguy.
There was little they could do against his psychokinetic blasts, and
they seemed too occupied by their innate need to pose and issue
bizarre ultimatums to actually fight. Their sole advantage had been
numbers. And some of their poses were kind of cool, and thus
distracting. Rad later learned that some ninjas were actually good at
ninja activities such as lightning-quick death strikes and stealth and
throwing smoke bombs so that they do not rebound, but had never
encountered such exemplars of ninja-ness in person.
He observed that he was in no danger of encountering such a ninja
today. The thirty or so people who had burst into the large, shadowy,
goat-scented, stuff-filled office/studio space of his friend Templar
Maccabee, the fallen Hollywood star formerly known as Criticalman,
were about as far below what he considered to be the 'average ninja'
as the kind of ninja he would have liked to fight was above. Their
black robes were ill-fitted at best, and they brandished throwing
stars and donuts as if they could not distinguish the difference.
(The donuts were present because a donut delivery guy had recently
been absorbed into their wannabe ninja troupe.) A couple phony ninjas
fell down as they attempted poses beyond their clearly non-ninja-like
physical capabilities. The only point Rad could see in the favor of
these 'pseudo-ninjas' was that none of them appeared to be Timothy Van
Patten.
"Hai kiba!" they exclaimed. "We judo chop and zoom-zoom our way
to the Tom! We seek the Tom! Toshiba!"
The only Tom in the vicinity was another friend of Rad's--Tom
McCavish-Laffalot, the former MicroVax. Together, he, Rad, and Manny
Seconds had come to Templar's studio in Van Nuys to seek help from
Guillermo, the seven-foot-tall anthropomorphic donkey (formerly known
as Badass) working for Templar as his advisor on explosives and guns
and general violence and how to make it look good in his movies. Both
Guillermo and Tom had contacts through which they could investigate
the man formerly known as The Programmer, on the instructions of
'Miranda Satori' (who Rad and Manny and very few others knew to be a
pseudonym for Rad's sister, Akane Moroboshi, the former Radian,
falsely believed by the world at large to be dead, and so reclusive
and elusive that she might as well have been). Tom had managed to dig
up a connection between The Programmer's current employer and the
mega-corporation named Harxxon, which employed Manny. Rad could not
believe that the sudden invasion of these pseudo-ninjas was a
coincidence.
"Will you guys stop that?" Guillermo asked, swatting away three
pseudo-ninjas who were attempting to climb him. "Just because there's
thirty of you---"
Ten more pseudo-ninjas swung through the previously shattered
studio windows. Several skidded on the bare, glass-littered floor and
crashed into 'futuristic' movie props.
"--forty of you, don't think I won't personally give your
individual not-ninja asses a good kick--ow!"
"Take that, grasshopper!" the pseudo-ninjas yelled. "We seek the
Tom! We are ninjas and stuff! Mitsubiggi!"
All at once, the forty or so pseudo-ninjas lifted their weapons
and/or donuts and rushed en masse toward Tom, Manny, Templar,
Guillermo, and Rad. After pausing for a display of nearly-
synchronized facepalming--only 'nearly' because it had been a long
time since they had been in this sort of situation--Rad, Guillermo,
and Templar moved so that they could defend Manny and Tom.
Rad's psychokinetic blasts punched holes in the ill-considered
assault, but the pseudo-ninjas were on them before he could launch
more. Guillermo lobbed a stun grenade toward the rear of the pile,
then swung his fists in wide arcs, sending attackers flying.
"Eat our ninja porcupine!" one yelled. "I swing this mighty...
lobster? Spool your trout of mass destruction no more?"
"We're all Sir Garnet today!" another exclaimed, as he attempted
to shove a glazed donut up Templar's nose. Templar, the one among
them most clearly not in top physical shape, nevertheless was able to
shake free and retaliate. Long black strips of celluloid sprayed from
Templar's thumbs, ensnaring his attacker and a few other
pseudo-ninjas.
Rad blasted a couple more targets, and noticed Manny's look of
intense concentration. When several of the pseudo-ninjas turned on
one another, starting up smoke bombs and then dropping them into one
another's costumes while shrieking 'Bjork!', he realized that Manny
was using his old confusion-causing abilities on their foes. He had
forgotten that Manny, unlike his brother Eivandt, had not lost his
mind-altering abilities.
A moment later, Manny crumpled to the floor. Behind him, a
pseudo-ninja brandished a pair of numchucks and yelled something
incomprehensible. Rad blasted him into the nearest wall.
"Like, how did he get past us, dudes?" Rad asked.
"Who did?" replied Templar, as he wrapped a couple more pseudo-
ninjas in celluloid. "I didn't see any---"
"Behold our ninja badness!" another assailant called out, as he
slammed cream-filled donuts down on Templar's thumbs. The celluloid,
undamaged by this ineffectual assault, arced back to find the
attacker. It was successful, but also managed to ensnare Templar.
"Urk!" said Templar, as he was bound mummy-style to the
pseudo-ninja.
"Hai-kiba?" asked the pseudo-ninja.
[Stock footage: old ladies not clapping.]
"That's two of us down," said Guillermo, as he tossed a pseudo-
ninja into a balsa-wood model of an alien spaceship. The model, Rad
saw, took more damage than the pseudo-ninja. "They shouldn't even be
able to... hey, stop that!"
The anthropomorphic donkey staggered as no fewer than six pseudo-
ninjas climbed on him, all trying to knock him over. What Rad found
strange was that they had abandoned their weapons and/or
confectionery, and were instead slapping at Guillermo with their bare
hands.
"Smack that!" they exclaimed in unison. "All on the floor!"
"Are we on the floor?" one of them asked.
"Smack that!" the other pseudo-ninjas shouted, while Guillermo
windmilled his arms, trying to knock some of them off. "'Till you get
sore! Smack that!"
Rad glanced down at Manny, and observed that his friend still
seemed unconscious. He was not sure why the pseudo-ninjas had gone
from lame ninja exclamations to lame song lyric exclamations, even if
this attack actually seemed more effective. With two psychokinetic
blasts, he dislodged three of the pseudo-ninjas assailing Guillermo,
enabling the former mercenary to swat away the other three.
"How can there be more?" Guillermo asked. Rad had lost count of
how many pseudo-ninjas had been in the room at the start of the
battle, and of how many he, Guillermo, Templar, and Manny had actually
dispatched, but was almost certain the room should not still have been
as crowded as it was. He blasted holes in the crowds of advancing
pseudo-ninjas, then felt hands on his arms and ankles.
"We seek the Tom!" two pseudo-ninjas exclaimed at him. "You are
not the Tom! What is up with that?"
Rad shook them off and looked around. Where *was* Tom?
The large room filled with a rumbling sound. Rad, Guillermo, and
the pseudo-ninjas all turned toward the shadowy far end of the room.
What they beheld was something that would have filled an ordinary
person with fear. Rad was no ordinary person, and even he felt his
nerves shake.
"I, like, knew this place smelled like those for, like, a
reason," he said, just before the herd of gunbelt-wearing goats ran
headlong into them all.

***

RAD
Episode 94
[ Rad Returns, Part Four of Ten ]
"We Will Eat Your Bran"
by
Gary W. Olson

***

The cramped two-bedroom apartment was not a good place for a
battle against people pretending to be zombies. Rumiko Moroboshi had
lost count of how many gray-greasepaint-wearing men and women had
forced their ways through the door or the living room window, but
guessed that that number would not be increasing soon, as both were
now jammed.
"We seek the Miguel!" several pseudo-zombies exclaimed, as they
unconvincingly lurched. "Moan! We will eat your bran! Bran! Bran!"
The pseudo-zombies collectively paused and winced.
"Brains!" they exclaimed again. "Make that brains! Or the
Miguel! Your choice! Moan!"
The pseudo-zombies all seemed focused on Miguel Veracruz, the
werewolf DJ who lived in the apartment with his girlfriend Cendra
Seconds and his younger brother Esteban. Rumi, watching from the
doorway to Esteban's bedroom, felt her muscles tense as her mother,
Glum, sent bright zaps of bioelectricity into several of the pseudo-
zombies. Cendra's parents, Eivandt and Alice, who did not currently
have any superguy-like powers, had nonetheless armed themselves with
materials at hand--Alice with a heavy hardcover book, Eivandt with a
limited-edition lucite-encased replica of one of Superguy's famous
notes--and were alongside their daughter, knocking back
pseudo-zombies.
"I can't lock onto their thoughts," Cendra told them. "Something
else has them."
"We are locked on thoughts of Brauns!" a number of pseudo-zombies
informed them. "Brauns! Brau... no, us stupid... brains!"
"You'll get neither our coffeemakers or our gray matter!" Eivandt
declared.
"Shut up," the pseudo-zombies collectively replied in exasperated
tones.
Miguel Veracruz, the purported object of this visit of the
pseudo-zombies, raised a hand as if to strike several of the closer
invaders. There was no rage in his eyes or expression, but the laid-
back confidence Rumi had earlier seen was also gone. Rumi could sense
the energy building in him, as surely as she could sense her mother's
bioelectricity field, and knew that he was purposely holding back from
transforming into a werewolf. He seemed strong enough as he was,
knocking back pseudo-zombies that got too close.
Rumi had inherited her father's metahuman ability to use
psychokinetic energy, and that same energy inhibited the full
development of the bioelectric abilities she inherited from her
mother, a native of planet Hottentot. From what Rumi understood of
the report given by Ottsamaddawiduan scientists--the same ones whose
intervention overcame the biological divide between Earth-Human and
Hottentotian and allowed her to be born--her body could not sustain
both, and had to select one over the other. However, though she could
not use it to fly or zap, she had enough bioelectricity to sense field
activity in others. As she watched the battle, she saw something that
made her shout.
"Mom!" Rumi exclaimed. "Stop zapping them!"
Glum heard her, and turned her head. That was when the pseudo-
zombies started slapping.
"Smack that!" they shouted. "All on the floor!"
Three pseudo-zombies smacked at Glum, causing her to stumble
back. At the same time, two more lunged at Cendra and eight moved in
on Alice and Eivandt, waving their hands in unison. In the close
quarters of the apartment, it was a difficult maneuver to avoid.
Several smacks sounded, and Miguel went flying into a wall. Rumi
winced, but knew she should not have been surprised. She had earlier
seen that the pseudo-zombies were getting power from a small area just
behind their right ears, and that they would prove more formidable
than they looked. What she had not realized, until just moments ago,
was that her mother's bioelectric attacks only made them stronger.
Why that would be, Rumi did not know. But she no longer had the
luxury of holding back. Rad would not have, she knew, no matter what
promises had been made about not taking on ravening hordes of zombie-
like beings without first getting permission. Psychokinetic power
flared along her skin, forming a shield over her body and pooling in
her hands. It was invisible to others, but to Rumi it was like
sliding into a warm, tan-tinted sea. She raised an arm, ready to
shoot.
Glass shattered behind her. Rumi spun on her heel, right arm
still rifle-straight. Two pseudo-zombies had found the bedroom window
and were trying to climb through, though they were encountering
interference in the form of a two-foot-tall flying bronze-gold-metal
bonobo who appeared to be threatening them with some unspecified form
of aerial martial art. Rumi, who knew three, had no idea what Coco
was trying to accomplish with his exaggerated chops, kicks, and odd
poses, but it certainly seemed to be giving the pseudo-zombies pause.
She looked for Esteban.
"Why... won't... this... work?" Esteban growled, from the knee
region of what appeared to be a plus-sized pair of bronze-gold-
metallic pants. According to him, the pants were properly named Los
Pantalones, and were half of a powerful armored suit built one or more
centuries ago. While she had some doubts on that score, as what she
had already seen of Los Pantalones indicated it was built using a
technology far in advance of what was generally available to Earth in
previous centuries, it seemed a moot point. Los Pantalones was not
responding to whatever it was Esteban was doing.
"Esteban!" Rumi called. "Get back! They'll get you!"
"It was working an hour ago!" Esteban called back. "Kind of! If
I can get it going again, I can get rid of the zombies!" The fifteen-
year-old pressed his hands against the knees of Los Pantalones, and
worked his fingers as if massaging the metal.
If it responded, Rumi did not see. Coco struck the wall next to
her head and toppled onto the desk. The pseudo-zombies he had been
fighting before now toppled through the broken window frame and into
the room. Though this maneuver gashed a deep cut into one of the
them, it stopped neither.
"Brains!" they yelled. "Brains! And whatever else zombies like!
And the Miguel! You give us the Miguel, you can keep your brains,
what do you say?"
Rumi blasted the bleeding one back out through the window frame,
and blasted the other into the wall. The pseudo-zombie slid down
slowly, and for a moment seemed aware.
"What?" asked the pseudo-zombie, a girl who appeared barely older
than Rumi's fifteen years. "Where... how did I get...."
The look of awareness passed when she reached the floor.
"Braaainnnsss..." she gurgled, before falling over.
Coco leapt over Rumi and landed next to Esteban. The bronze-gold
bonobo watched Esteban for a moment, then started massaging Los
Pantalones, along the rococo-style ridges that ran where seams would
have been on ordinary pants.
Rumi started to speak, but at that moment the wall surrounding
the open window frame shook. Large chunks of plaster fell in. Six
pseudo-zombies, the evident authors of this destruction, fought to
widen the opening some more, using far more strength than Rumi thought
non-superguy humans possessed.
"You're out of time!" she exclaimed, as she tried to pull Esteban
away. "Get back here and let me---"
Esteban knocked her hand away, and her palm landed on the right
thigh of Los Pantalones.
Everything in her head went bronze-gold-metallic.
Within the moment was a temple in ruins. Above it was a
beautiful and monstrous bronze-gold ship. Electricity arced from the
nose of the vessel to the top of the more-or-less pyramid-shaped
ruins. Or vice versa, though she could not see where in those ruins a
weapon capable of launching such energy might be. It was like the
picture she had seen in the old photocopied journal Esteban had shown
her, but real, and close....
The moment passed, and Esteban's room returned. She had not
fallen, as she thought she might, if only because Coco caught her in
time.
"What...?" asked Rumi. She brushed her dark red hair out of her
eyes while re-orienting herself.
"Whatever you did worked," said Esteban. His grin was as wide as
his eyes as he looked at the PDA he and Coco had hooked into Los
Pantalones. "Not full power, but enough to kick some zombie ass!"
Rumi remembered some more. Her bioelectric energy had flowed
into Los Pantalones. More than flowed; it had been pulled, as if the
metal had been hungry for it. Had she full bioelectrics, she likely
could have powered Los Pantalones with little problem. But her
capacity for giving energy was stunted, and the power drain had nearly
knocked her out.
"Glad... to help..." she groaned.
Coco flew around to her front, holding her shoulders to make sure
she would not fall again. When he seemed certain she would remain
standing, he clapped his paws on her cheeks and gave her a kiss far
sloppier than any flying metallic creature could be expected to give.
*I knew you wouldn't let us down,* something said inside her
head--a voice that seemed boyish and slightly stoned. Rumi, though
she had little experience with telepathic communication, knew enough
to recognize it for what it was. Coco grinned at her, then dived into
the metal-filled top of Los Pantalones, disappearing without so much
as a ripple of liquidy special effects.
"He knew you wouldn't let us down," said Esteban.
"I heard him," said Rumi. "Now where---"
"You heard him?" Esteban asked. Rumi was not sure how, but his
eyes managed to grow wider. Rumi was sure that had to hurt after a
while.
"Yeah," she said, then wiped her hand over her mouth. She was
surprised to find her lips were dry, even though the kiss had been
wet. "Um... what?"
Esteban shrugged.
Rumi remembered that Esteban had said earlier that the 'metal'
was an element unknown to Earth science, far lighter and stronger--
and, apparently, excitable--than the metal humans knew ought to be.
There were numerous possible extraterrestrial sources, Rumi knew, but
Los Pantalones did not quite seem like any of the ones she could think
of. Besides, there were pseudo-zombies to fight, and---
"Where did the pseudo-zombies go?" Rumi asked.
She, Esteban, and Coco looked about. Save for the one knocked
out by Rumi, who was still on the bedroom floor, and a few other
equally-inert examples in the living room, the apartment was deserted.
The wall around the front door frame was missing several large chunks.
Rumi wasted no time with crying out. She burst through the door
and into the sky. The setting sun washed the buildings around her
with gold, and a few moments passed while her eyes adjusted.
Two more pseudo-zombies lay on the ground near the bushes. They
seemed even more pathetic in the light as she landed--two middle-aged
guys in disheveled suits smeared with gray greasepaint that was
running down their sweaty faces.
"No," one murmured. "We got... all. One of them is th...
Miguel." He paused. "More... interference. We really think...
sure...."
The man's voice trailed off, joining his companion in the happy
land of unconsciousness. Rumi noticed a piece of paper in his hand,
and pulled it out.
"A bus ticket," she said. "What the hell...?" Had the pseudo-
zombies used mass transit to get to their target?
Rumi rose into the air, ignoring feelings of imbalance. The
energy drain from her to Los Pantalones had likely messed up her inner
ear, she thought. But she could not wait; if the bus or busses were
close, she could follow them. She could rescue her mother and all the
others. She could show them she was ready.
If only the ground would cooperate, she thought. It kept weaving
and skittering around, and made focusing on the roads impossible. She
went up further, hoping some altitude would lessen the shaky
appearance of her surroundings, though it only seemed to make it
worse. By the time she decided she would be better off on the ground,
she was no longer sure exactly which direction the ground had gone.
A moment later, everything went bronze-gold again. The color
consumed her as her body started to fall.

(continued in part two, following...)
--
Gary W. Olson
swede at novitious dot com
swede3000 at earthlink dot net
LJ Superguy Discussion: http://community.livejournal.com/superguy_list

SG: The League #4: Elaborations

May 7, 1996
Boston, Massachusetts

"You're not leaving because of me, are you?"
Kid Solipsism looked at Mike Green. He rolled his eyes. "No,
Mike," he said. "Setting aside the incontrovertible fact that
anything you did would be a direct result of my own subconscious
mind directing your actions in what is, after all, a hallucination I
wholly created not once but twice, not even the illusionary actions
that have fueled the alleged adventures of the last several weeks
would cause my current course of action."
Mike stared. "Um... I'm not sure I followed--"
"No, I' not leaving because of you, Mike."
"Oh. Good. Then... why? I mean, I'm sane again and Oanthet
free, you and Dani are finally full members of the team, Dianna's
going to stay -- we're at a high point. Why go?"
Kid Solipsis considered. "We've seen the universe from the
outside now," he said. "I've met all but one of my siblings. We now
know it is conceivable that I could transcend, as Faith did. We've
learned I had a sister we all knew, and a second sister we know
nothing about. And I have chosen the delusion over reality, at least
until such time as I can leave it behind." He looked at the hero
with the perfect hair. "That's a lot to absorb. And it's the
beginning."
"The... beginning?"
"I'm beginning to understand what the universe is trying to
teach me. That will lead me to transcend the delusion. I need to
take time, to figure out how I feel about that. I need to consider
what this means. I need to figure out how I feel about Elizabeth,
how I feel about Faith. And...."
"And Mandy?"
The Kid nodded. "It's complicated. And that means I need to
think it over. We talked about it for some time."
"I'll bet she *loved* that conversation."
"I sometimes wonder why I decided she was such a good shot when
throwing books."
"Heh. At least your girlfriend can't throw them at mach four."
Mike took a deep breath. This would be a touchy subject. "Hey,
Kid... isn't this being a little selfish?"
"Hm?"
"I mean... you're leaving. For years, Mandy wanted you to give
her super powers and you wouldn't--"
"She doesn't have super powers."
"My point is, you and her -- you finally got to a point where
she just wanted to be with *you,* not what you could do for her, and
now you're leaving. Isn't that selfish?"
Kid Solipsism sighed. "Solipsism is innately selfish," he said.
"You all exist because I created you, for my own benefit. It
behooves me to act in my own interest. Otherwise, I dishonor the
illusionary pantomime you all do for my benefit."
"Yeesh. Forget I ask."
"I'm incapable of forgetting anything." He considered.
"Besides, I think you underestimate Mandy."
"I do?"
"Certainly. I decided she was a very special person. Very
resilient, emotionally. And of course she's intelligent. In fact,
I'd say she's one of the most intelligent of all the delusions I ever
conceived of."
Upstairs, Mandy Harken lay on her bed, her unbreakable brip on
the bed next to her. She'd been crying, and had taken a break from
that.
In her head, a gear shifted. Thoughts connected.
Mandy blinked, and sat up. "Oh," she said.
"Really?" Mike said. "Mandy's as smart as Andy Awesome or Lady
Awe Inspiring? That seems--"
Kid Solipsism snorted. "What did I just say?" And of course,
he believed it.

January 6, 1998
Islandilai Primary Command

The Astounding Salad Shooter made his way into the Command
Center. He had bad news. The Astounding Salad Shooter was one of the
ruling elite of the Awe Inspiring Force, but that didn't mean he
wanted to bring bad news to Lady Awe Inspiring. So he was in no rush
until he saw what kind of mood the leader was in.
"--KIND OF INCOMPETENTS DO WE HAVE IN THE INDIAN CAMPAIGN!" the
radiant woman screamed. "*Damn* you, lo-brow! You swore to me your
forces were prepared."
"Hey! Hey hey hey! It's not my fault! We were ready for the
U.L.A.! We were ready for the Allied Heroes. We were playing them
off each other! We would have won!"
"Would have? *Would* have? Would you mind telling me just why
you did *not* win, worm?"
"Fox, I don't know," lo-brow snapped. "Maybe because our
*brilliant* leader didn't predict that two of the Unimaginable
League Amoral's leaders would make a suicide run blowing themselves
and three quarters of their *own* forces up on Christmas Eve,
suddenly leaving us exposed on one flank and giving the Allies
nothing better to do than tear into us! And not only that, they
anticipated every counterattack you had us launch!'
"Do you *dare* question my strategy?" Lady Awe Inspiring
demanded, her beautiful face dark with glorious rage.
The Astounding Salad Shooter cleared his throat. "I think I
know how they did the second bit."
The Lady whirled on the Astounding Salad Shooter. "*Do* you?
How? *Tell* me!"
The Astounding Salad Shooter took a a deep breath. Deep inside,
he composed himself for death, just in case. "We found multiple
intrusions into our communications and IT networks," he said. "The
Allied Heroes have been intercepting all of our orders for weeks."
There was a long, terrible silence.
"I designed that system," the Lady said, coldly.
"Yes, my Lady."
"Who did this? Superuser?"
"In part. We think he was the primary instigator and
implementor, but some of the techniques are... we've never seen
anything like it. It's not his. It's not Andy Awesome's. It's not
Qwintor's. Frankly, I don't know how we could have predicted--"
"Get out," the Lady said, softly.
"Ma'am, I--"
"*GET OUT!*" she screamed, and her fellow AIF members fled.
Far, far away, one of the Allied Heroes Bunkers had been
designated the Brain Trust. In the background, Smartman and Andy
Awesome were having a quiet conversation, while Superuser worked a
command console which he had interfaced with directly several times.
"Wups," he said with a grin. "Looks like someone finally noticed
us."
"Gosh," Mandy said, tapping at her own console. "Our primary
intelligence feed, cut off? Whatever shall we do now?"
"Goodness me, Mastermind," Superuser said. "I have no idea.
None. Ready to engage the security system feed?"
"Been ready for weeks. I was beginning to think we wouldn't
have to use it."
"Hit it." Superuser grinning.
Mandy punched a button. Nine screens flared into life, showing
the inside of half of Islandilai, including the Lady's own command
center. Secondary feeds showed the command centers of half of the
Lady's remaining army. She smiled slowly. "How's this," she
muttered. "We manage to inspire any *awe* in you, bitch?"

THE LEAGUE
Episode #4
Elaborations
by
Eric A. Burns
unleashing the power of his animal spirit

Salem, Massachusetts

Ellen and Tim got off the train, and walked up the platform. "I
can't believe we're in Salem," Ellen said. "I can just *feel* the
psychic activity all around us!"
"Yeah, well -- I can't believe we got out of Boston," Tim said.
"Maybe we should move up here, get away from all the weirdness and
crime."
"We should seek out a coven, and have them cast the tarot runes
to divine our future!"
"I thought tarot cards and runes were different...." he trailed
off , looking around. "Is that... mist... glowing green?"
"It is the prana of life, filling our... um... actually, I'm
not sure that isn't radon gas."
"Radon gas is invisible."
"Are you sure?"
"Um... I'm a building inspector?"
"Yes but--"
The gas coalesced into a green spectral form -- an ancient
sailor, glowing green and spreading before them. "AVAST!" he cried
with a voice echoing with a thousand watery graves.
Ellen and Tim freaked.
"NOW YE'VE AWAKENED THE SPIRITS OF THE DEAD!" he cried. "THE
BANSHEES WAIL AN' THE DESPERATE CAUL TORN FROM THE VISAGE O'THE
WORLD! FEEL ALL SURROUND AND COMPOUND AND KNOW YER VERY SOUL'S
IMPERIL'D!" The ghost sailor swept off his hat, holding it upended
towards the pair.
There was a long pause, after the screaming had died down.
The ghost pirate cleared his throat, shaking the hat a little.
"Excuse me... are you expecting us to tip you?" Tim asked.
"WELL, AYE. A'COURSE. WHAT'D YE EXPECT? A FREE SHOW?"
"Show?"
"WELL A'COURSE IT'S A SHOW? PEOPLE COME TO SALEM? THEY WANT
WITCHES AND GHOSTS AND SPIRITS AN' -- OH FER CHRIST'S SAKE, JUST
GI'ME A DOLLAR!"
"What? *No.* Look, you practically scared me into wetting my
pants!"
"AYE! THAT'S WHY YE TIP ME!"
There was a hideous cackle, and a beautiful, seductive pale
woman swept up, black smoke surrounding her, her pale skin luminous,
her lips blood red. "Now the witching hour comes--"
"GI'IT UP, BERTHA!" the ghost wailed petulantly. "THEY'RE NOT
TIPPING."
The witch blinked. "You're kidding me," she said. "I wasted a
whole smoke opening on this?"
"It was very nice," Ellen said, embarrassed. "But I don't have
any change or loose bills and--"
"Are you *all* like this here?" Tim demanded.
"WELL A'COURSE!" the ghost wailed. "THE CHAMBER A'COMMERCE HAS
RECRUITED THE FORCES BEYOND KEN FOR YEARS NOW! YE PEOPLE DEMAND IT!"
"Oh, stop bothering, Horace," the witch said. "Come on. Let's
get a burger and hang out by the statue of Samantha from Bewitched.
That's always good for a few bucks.
"YE DON'T FIND THE STATUES IN POOR TASTE, WHAT WI'IT DEMEANIN'
YER VERY RELIGION?"
"Oh please. Putting up statues to *witches* and we're supposed
to be demeaned? I think we need Glinda the Good Witch and Witch
Hazel from Looney Tunes up on the opposite side of the square...."
her voice trailed off as the pair walked away.
Ellen watched them go. "Well... um... maybe we should hit an
ATM--"
"I wanted to go to Portsmouth and drink tea," Tim said.
With a sudden clap, a spectral dog and a pale female spirit in
tatters appeared, the woman wailing a banshee wail.
"We don't have any money!" Tim shouted.
The banshee stopped, snorted, and started drifting. "C'mon
Toby."
Toby the dog followed, snorting in disgust.
Not far away, a helicopter landed on a pad. "You sure you're
going to be all right," the pilot asked his passenger. "There are
strange things out there, and they get pissed off it you just give
them singles."
"I'll be fine," Elizabeth said. "They consider me a local. I'll
call when I'm ready to go back.

* * * * * *

"What are you *doing* here, Kirby?" Mandy was exasperated,
though not really angry.
"You keep going away, and once I noticed that you went to the
Load Pan Bay but you never actually came out the doors, so I got
curious."
"How'd you know I didn't leave the elevator?"
Kirby rolled his eyes. "You get in the elevator at the same
time *every* day. And one day I was down there -- I was playing
Deathmatch with Trist an' Sammy -- and I noticed that it was that
time so I kept an' eye out so I waited because I didn't want you
coming out and yelling at Trist or Sammy but not me 'cause I was
stealthed and you didn't come out so I started to watch and made
sure you really did get in the elevator and you did three days so
the next two days I watched below and you never came out, so I
decided to follow you."
"...did you," Mandy said.
"Uh-huh, and you went down a *hole.* That was yesterday. Today
I decided to jump after you, and here you are, and you're in the
*League.*"
"...Ops," Hazard said, her voice pained. "What exactly are we
going to do with him?"
Mandy looked at the nine year old. "I have no idea," she said,
quietly. "Kirby--"
Kirby rolled his eyes. "I know, I know," he said. "My mother
hates the League 'cause she's *like* that, an' half the people up
there are weird about it, which is dumb because you guys are all
*heroes,* and that's really cool! So I won't tell anyone you're
really based out of our own basement!" He looked around. "Why do we
have a basement down here, anyway?"
"Kirby, this is really important," Mandy said. "If your mother
or other people found out--"
"I get it, Aunt Mandy." Kirby was serious now, turning to look
at her. "And don't worry. Mom can only read my actual thoughts if I
let her in, and then only the surface. She can't sense me at all if
I blank out or stealth. I won't tell on you." He looked around,
grinning. "So where's Trashman?"
Capacitor looked at his sister, then at Mandy. "Things just got
more complicated, didn't they?"
"Ohhh yes."

April 19, 1997
Austin, Texas

There were more than a few orderlies and support staff who
stared at Momentum as she walked into the facility. It had not been
that long since the thief had been put on an 'active probation,'
assigned to the Adjusted League Unimpeachable Academy. More than a
few people wondered if it was all some kind of trick. Others
wondered if the beautiful brown haired girl would release a swimsuit
calendar sometime soon. Many people are, in the end, simple in their
needs and thoughts.
But, most of the people who worked at the Larches were more
concerned about what the thief might do than what she'd look like in
a bikini. Especially given the patients.
It was only after they realized who the blond woman in the red
and white bodysuit, with the white cross logo over her heart was
that they relaxed. Momentum was a known criminal, but Healer was a
legend.
"You'll get her out of here?" Momentum asked, softly."
"That's why we're here. Though it seems like a nice facility."
Momentum shivered. "You know what used to be around the corner?
The Texas School for Defectives."
"That was the turn of the century, Alice." Healer smiled, just
a touch. "They've gotten better."
"I know... it's why I didn't fight her being in here but..."
"While she's been here, she's been away from your mother,
Alice." Healer rested a hand on Momentum's shoulder. It was a credit
to the work that Healer had already done with Alice that Momentum no
longer shrunk away when the telepath touched her. "You did right by
her. Now it's time to see if we can do more."
Momentum nodded. "Let's go."
They walked into an inner room. The walls were painted bright
colors in here, with lots of toys and activity games. It was like a
Kindergarten, almost, only oversized. And today, there was only one
person there. She was a pretty girl, her face slughtly angular, with
high cheekbones and dark brown hair. Her emerald eyes were wide. She
was maybe seventeen, and she wore a pink tee shirt decorated with a
unicorn and sparkles.
Healer paused, remembering what Alice had told her about her
sister. *She's... slow,* the thief had said. It had been a
significant admission on her part.
"Alice!" the girl said, bouncing, her face lighting up. "You
came back!"
"'Course I came back, Susan." Momentum's face softened, and she
took her sister's hand. "Have you been a good girl for all the
doctors?"
The seventeen year old nodded, her movements broad --
unrestrained. "Uh-huh! We've been playing counting games! I like
counting! Would you like to hear me count?"
"You bet, but I want to introduce you to a friend of mine,
first." Momentum leaned forward. "She's a *superhero.*"
Susan's eyes got wide. "Really?"" she whispered.
"Really. Wanna meet her?"
"Yes!"
Momentum grinned. "Susan, this is Healer. She's a superhero."
Susan bit her lip. "H'lo, Miss Healer," she said, shy.
Healer smiled warmly. "Hello, Susan. I'm very, very glad to
meet you."
That got a larger smile from the seventeen year old. "Really?"
"Really. I hope we can be good friends."

Salem, Massachusetts

Elizabeth stepped carefully onto the Green. There was a hint of
mist near the ground even as the sun set, and Will O'Wisps were
floating along the nearby trees. Getting closer, Elizabeth could see
the flitting of small fey creatures -- the kind that James Barrie
once claimed were born of the laughter of children. Not far away, a
twenty-eight year woman stood. She was beautiful, slender with a
model's build. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail,
showing the slight point to her ears as she watched the feykind
dance.
"They're amazing," Elizabeth said softly.
"They're showing off," the woman said. "They can tell you're
not a tourist, and they sense you're a friend of mine. So they want
to make a good impression on you."
"They're succeeding."
"It's hardly surprising. As the barriers between the halfworlds
weaken in Salem, we see more and more of these. It's why I like this
field -- the fey are less likely to busk for money than the ghosts
or the arcana -- and when you get into actual witches, there's no
telling what you'll get."
"I believe it." Elizabeth turned towards the girl. "Hello,
Susan."
Susan turned to face Elizabeth. "Hello, Lil."
The pair embraced.
"It's so good to see you," Susan whispered.
"I know, Suz-i-q. I know."
Susan giggled. "You haven't called me that for a long time."
"It seemed appropriate." They separated. "But... I'm not here
for a social visit."
"I know."
Elizabeth blinked. "You know?"
"Come on. I got us reservations at Strega."
"You got us reservations? When?"
"Six days ago." Susan smiled an enigmatic smile, darting away.
Elizabeth shook her head and followed.

* * * * * *

Capacitor drummed his fingers on the console. Ops and Ordinal
were in the corner, having a spirited debate. Reflects was sitting
on the other side, Kirby on her lap. Hazard and Parvenu were sharing
the other console chair.
"I mean it," Kirby said. "Where's Trashman."
"We don't exactly tell him where to show up, little guy,"
Capacitor said. "Dude shows up when he wants or when we need him."
"So he *is* a member of the team?" Kirby said, excitedly.
"I wouldn't go that far," Hazard said. "He helps us, and if he
*wanted* to be a member we'd take him -- oh man would we--"
"He does his own thing," Reflects cut in. "He spends a lot of
his time back in Dark City, and I guess he shows up in other places
too. They say he's got access to some of the vestiges of the old
Xolchaportation Network, so--"
"That's dumb," Capacitor said. "The X-Port network needed JOEL
or MIKE to run it. Without them--"
"Who's to say he doesn't have JOEL or MIKE or one of the old
bots working with him?" Reflects snapped. "You're always so sure
you're right--"
"I'm not always right -- I'm just right *now.* If you'd paid
*any* attention in xenotechnology you'd know--"
"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry. I got an *87* in xenotech. I'm sorry I
didn't ace all my classes the way you did! I guess that makes you
the better superhero, huh?"
"Hey, I didn't say that! Even though it's true--"
"True? If you were such a good hero, you'd actually *show up*
when we call in for help! I don't even know why you're *on* this
team--"
"Oh, I'm *sorry,* Maria. I didn't *inherit* a quarter ton of
money out of nowhere! I had to get a real--"
"It wasn't out of nowhere! My oldest friend died!"
"She's sitting right over there, and I don't even remember--"
"No one does but me! That doesn't---"
Kirby slid off of Reflects's lap and got out of their line of
fire. Hazard nodded him over and she, Incandescence and Parvenu
brought him to the other side of the room.
"Do they hate each other?" Kirby asked.
"That's a *very* good question," Hazard said.
"What did they mean about her best friend?" Kirby asked.
"Someone died?"
"Well, yeah," Incandescence said. "I did."
Kirby cocked his head. "You look pretty alive to me. Hubba
hubba."
There was a pause.
"Hubba hubba?" Parvenu asked, finally.
Kirby shrugged. "It's what they'd say on *the Suite Life of
Zack and Cody.*"
Hazard rolled her eyes. "The Disney Channel has much to answer
for."
"Hey. Disney was good to me," Incandescence said.
"Um... yeah," Parvenu said, shifting slightly, a little
uncomfortable.
"Is anyone going to explain what's going on?" Kirby asked.
"Well, here's the thing," Incandescence said. "Reflects and I
gained our powers at the same time -- she got the power to deflect
damage away from herself, though for a long time she couldn't
control it. And I was turned into fire which later turned into
Hellfire."
Kirby nodded. "Okay?"
Hazard chuckled. "Okay? That doesn't seem weird to you?"
Kirby shrugged. "My godmother is Trudy Galloway."
"Point. Anyway, we found out that I was actually killed in the
accident -- so I was less a hellfire woman, and more a hellfire
ghost. And I had a chance to ascend to Heaven. Only it was the wrong
Heaven, and there was a clerical error, and then I had the chance to
come back, only by then history had been rewritten and my life was
being occupied by someone else."
Kirby cocked his head. "Meaning?"
There was a sudden sharp ping at the console. "I'll tell you
later," Incandescence said, as the heroes darted over to see what was
going on."
Ops was already punching keys. "Major incursion of the Trudis
at the Museum of Fine Arts."
"Oh Christ, not the Trudis," Parvenu said. "I hate the Trudis."
"Hate them on your own time," Ops said. "I'm marking...
dozens." She shook her head. "Right. Full team. Sync your L-Phones."
The heroes pulled out their L-Phones, punching their
touchscreens. "All green," Ordinal said. "Who has the star?"
"Parvenu," Ops said. "He's got the best resistances."
"I do? Do you remember what happened the last time we fought
Trudis?" the mystic corpse asked.
"I remember that I spent two weeks wearing day glo bustiers to
bed," Hazard said, moving into position with the rest of the team.
"You weren't complaining."
"Hey, bustiers are their own reward. Ready?"
"Ready," the team said, having formed a circle, with Ordinal
and Parvenu in the middle.
"Do it, Trans," Parvenu said. "Ops, cover us."
"On it," Ops said. "You're clear."
With a blur of movement, Ordinal focused. The team disappeared
in a bright blue flash of Cherenkov radiation, even as Ops turned to
track them.
"Is that them on the museum floorplan?" Kirby asked.
"Oh yeah," Ops said. "Trans is *precise.*"
"Okay, Aunt Mandy."
"Call me Ops," she murmured. "Down here, anyway."
"Okay, Aunt Ops."
Ops glanced at the nine year old, who giggled. "You understand
we're going to have to figure out what to do with you, Kirby."
"Yeah, but not right now." He leaned back in his chair.
Ops shook her head. "At least we've delayed your Mother finding
a leader for Lochaber. One crisis at a time."
"You haven't delayed her."
Ops blinked, looking back. "What?"
Kirby shrugged. "Mom doesn't delay, she diverts. She probably
went and talked to Mister Davis, at least from what you said before.
Mister Davis turned her down. She talked to Momma Alice after,
'cause she always talks to Momma Alice, and they probably joked
around and then Mom got a brilliant idea, because Momma Alice brings
that out in her. By now she's probably already pitching to someone
else."
Ops stared at Kirby.
"Targets!" came across the console's speaker.
Ops shook her head, turning to her work. "I hope you're wrong."
Kirby signed. "I'm never wrong. I'm the son of Trashman and
Healer. You're lucky I just know when to keep my mouth shut."

* * * * * *

"Double sweet iced tea," the waitress said, setting the glass
in front of Elizabeth, "and one extra tall chocolate milk."
"Thanks," Susan said, smiling broadly.
"No problem." The waitress grinned. "I *love* chocolate milk."
"It's my number one vice," Susan said with a smile.
"Are you ready to order?"
"I think so," Elizabeth said. "I'll have the petit filet,
medium rare?"
"Very good. Dressing for your salad?"
"Blue cheese?'
"Of course. That comes with mashed potatoes, or you can have a
baked potato if you'd rather?"
"Mash 'em." Elizabeth grinned. "And I'd like a glass of the
house Shiraz with my meal?"
"Excellent And for you?"
"The petit antipasto, please."
"Very good." She smiled. "I'll have some bread for you in just
a moment."
Susan smiled as the waitress left, tapping the top of her
chocolate milk glass twice with her right index and middle fingers
pressed together. She picked the glass up and took a deep sip.
"Some things never change," Elizabeth said, smiling.
Susan smacked her lips, setting the glass down. It still seemed
to be completely full. "When it comes to chocolate milk, I have no
need to change, Lil." Her smile receded but didn't vanish. "So."
"So." Elizabeth took a drink of her iced tea. "Do you have any
questions about Lochaber?"
Susan shook her head. "It made sense, the way you explained it.
But you haven't said what my involvement would be. Are you asking me
to join?"
"Not quite." Elizabeth took a deep breath. "We need a leader,
Susan. Someone who the cameras could love -- someone strong and
powerful but also wise."
Susan arched an eyebrow. "Go on?"
"Our first choice was Rip Davis. That's where I just came
from."
"And he said no? He didn't want to clean up the streets of
Boston?"
"Susan... Lochaber's official mission is retaking Boston's
streets, but unofficially...."
"Unofficially, Lochaber's going to take down the League," Susan
said. She didn't sound surprised.
"Right."
Susan nodded. "Of course he turned you down. Rip's loyal, Lil.
He's loyal to his friends, to Kid Electron, to his ex-girlfriend, to
his sister. There's no way he'd do anything against them."
"I was hoping he'd be loyal to what the A.L.U. used to stand
for first and foremost," Elizabeth said. "And ultimately, that was
professionalism and the rule of law, not vigilantism."
Susan shrugged. "That's always a matter of interpretation. You
had to know he'd turn you down."
"Yeah," Elizabeth said. "But the board came up with him as a
first choice, and I had to admit he'd have been good."
"So who was their second choice?"
"Your sister."
Susan nodded. "Who can't do it, of course." She smirked. "I
wasn't on their list at all, was I?"
"We haven't exactly advertised your abilities, Susan."
"I know." Her smile faded. "Does Alice know you're here?"
Elizabeth looked down.
Susan nodded. "I didn't think so. That's not like you, Lil."
"Alice would have talked me out of seeing you, Susan. And
you're perfect. You're powerful, you're smart, you can be a leader,
you can keep care of your own, you know the League members, and--"
"And dress me in the right clothing and the television will
love me." Susan smiled a bit more.
Elizabeth flushed, "Well, yes."
Susan nodded. "Of course."
"Well, anyway, I wanted to make my pitch--"
"I said 'of course,' Elizabeth. I'll do it."
Elizabeth blinked. "That's it?"
"That's it."
"You're sure? You went to the Academy with several of them too.
And Roger, Maria and Cairi were--"
Susan smiled slightly. "Lil, I said that Rip would never agree
to this, because his first loyalty would be to them, right?"
"Right?"
"My first loyalty is to you. I owe you everything, Lil. Alice
owes you everything. I love you. Is this something you want?"
Elizabeth took a deep breath. Such an innocuous question. *Is
this something you want.*
"Yes," Elizabeth said softly.
Susan nodded. "Then I'll do it. I'll train Lochaber. I'll lead
them. We'll retake the Boston streets. And we'll take the League
down."
"Just like that?"
Susan took another long sip of chocolate milk, the glass
remaining ever full. "Just like that."

* * * * * *

Parvenu focused, the mystic energies flowing through his
fingers, wrapping around his teammates one by one. Guards and wards
against the potent mental powers and disorientation that was the
Trudis' stock in trade. Means of keeping their thoughts clear. It
wouldn't make them invulnerable, but it would help.
Next to him, Ordinal moved in a smooth kata, bending and
warping time and space, shifting the League's frames of reference.
Making their reactions seem faster, setting the Trudis up to seem
slow by comparison.
Above them both, Incandescence burned, her divine flames
cascading down from her wings, wrapping around the heroes, blessing
them and helping shield them.
Capacitor, Hazard, Reflects and Iceweaver just looked
impatient. In the next room, the first pack of Trudis were
organizing.
"Ready?" Parvenu murmured.
"Ready," the echo came back.
He took a deep breath. He had the Star, which meant he'd been
designated field leader for this mission. "Right -- Reflects, get in
there and get their attention. Iceweaver, you and I follow up and
lock them down. Hazard and Capacitor nail them with alpha strikes,
and everyone else bat cleanup. We go?"
"We go," Ordinal said, winking. "Let's hurt some psychos."
"Go!" he snapped, and Reflects leapt forward. Her initial push
gave her momentum, and her feet sparked in silver light where they
touched the floor, creating a near frictionless surface that let her
sweep in faster than a Rollerblader. She screamed as she went in,
bowling through three Trudis as she went by.
"Interference!" a Trudi shouted. She wore a red bustier and
camo pants, the macrame weave through her hair and over her face
sizzling with energy -- the macreme seemed to be the key to the
power of the Trudis, connecting them and making them all stronger.
"Foolishness," a second Trudi, this one in seductive blue,
purred as she whirled and let fly with a series of knife
projections. The energies were psionic in origin but very physical
in nature, which is why Reflects was the first one in -- she was
essentially indestructible when her mirror force was active, and it
was active by default.
"*Fun!*" a third Trudi, this one in a yellow silk leotard and a
rough canvas skirt hissed. "Get 'em, boys!"
The boys referred to four Trudi drones -- men whose heads were
wrapped in macramé, making them stronger and more dangerous, their
muscles reinforced with telekinetic power, even as their wills were
slaved to the Trudi collective. They surged forward, throwing
punches that deflected easily off Reflects's mirror force even as
she tagged one with a punch of mirrored power that blasted him back.
The Trudis surrounding, psionic and physical energy converging, her
physical defenses untouched but Parvenu's mental wards straining--
"Go!" Parvenu shouted, flying into the room even as Iceweaver
skated in on thin ice streams not unlike Reflects's mirror skating.
Her hands blurred into mist and white energy, englobing four of them
in frozen prisons even as Parvenu worked a spell of bedazzlement and
confusion. The Trudis would normally have little trouble deflecting
his spells and keeping their footing, but with Reflects distracting
them they were easy prey.
With a scream, Hazard blasted into the room, laying down
nuclear fire that blasted three drones to one side. A Trudi snarled,
tendrils of darkness swarming over Reflects, only to scream as two
hundred and fifty thousand volts of electricity took her out of the
fight, courtesy of Capacitor. Incandescence struck at one with a
bolt of blessed flame, even as Ordinal threw herself into a circle
kick that smacked a Trudi in the jaw fro across the room. Parvenu
grinned as the Trudis and their drones went down. "Room clear," he
shouted. "Secure the civilians and check for--"
A wave of mental energy swarmed over him, a kalediscope of
thoughts and base desires swaming his mind. "Patrol!" he heard
Iceweaver call even as Parvenu dropped to the floor, holding his
head and trying to focus....
"Back off, *bitch,*" Hazard snarled, nuclear fire surging out
of her hands into the camouflage ball-gowned Trudi who'd ensorcelled
Parvenu. The woman screamed even as Hazard blasted herself into the
air, landing next to her husband. "Snap out of it," she said,
shaking his shoulders. "We need your brain on our side."
"Why do they always go after *me?*" Parvenu moaned, squeezing
Hazard briefly. He shook his head, trying to clear it, noting
Capacitor and Iceweaver were taking down the other patrolling
Trudis.
"They have taste," Hazard said, hooking her fingers into one of
the fallen Trudi's bustier and hauling the villain up, staring her
in the eye. "What the Hell do you people want here?" she snarled.
"You think you're so tough," the beaten Trudi sneered. "But
when we assume control of the Mask of Osiris, the potent power of
Trudi will swarm from our leaders and invade the city house by
house! All will become one with the knots of potency!"
"Yeah, yeah. We'll all become potholders and shawls. Gotcha."
She detonated a microburst that knocked the Trudi out. "Get all
that, lovertodd?"
"Got it," Parvenu said, his mind clearing. "Osiris. The
Egyptian exhibit. Two exhibit halls over."
"We have a problem," Ordinal said. "I'm sensing energy
distortions and signatures in the hall between us and the Egyptian
exhibit."
"How many?"
"One hundred and nineteen."
Capacitor blinked. "Wait, there are a *hundred and nineteen*
Trudis in the next hall? And they're not even the ones targeting the
real exhibit?"
"So it would seem."
Parvenu rubbed his eyes. "It's going to be a long day, isn't
it?"

IS IT GOING TO BE A LONG DAY?

WAS IT A LONG YESTERDAY?

WILL IT BE A LONG TOMORROW?

WILL SUSAN BE A GOOD LEADER OF LOCHABER?

WHAT ARE HER POWERS, ANYHOW?

CAN CHOCOLATE MILK REALLY BE USED TO FIGHT CRIME?

WHY IS ELIZABETH BEING SUCH A DOINK?

WHAT WILL THE LEAGUE DO WITH KIRBY?

SERIOUSLY -- MACRAME?

More answers are going to be more answers, and it's the action
packed pages of Superguy that are going to hold them.