SUBTLER THAN LIGHT
Episode 5
[Hidden Hearts, Part Five]
"It's Full of Monkey"
by
Gary W. Olson
"This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight"
- Florence + The Machine,
"Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up)"
***
"There's nothing down there."
The Programmer sounded surprisingly calm, even as he made his claim to the weres heading down the inclined road into darkness. China Moroboshi studied him as she, Shelby d'Rodang, and Zia Azad walked about of the recently-exposed chambers beneath the playground cement of Emerson Park. So far as she could tell, the red-and-black bathrobe-clad minor villain who had once gone by the name Gary W. Olson was barely perturbed that they had deciphered the strange playground arcana that triggered the lair's opening and allowed his capture. He held his handcuffed hands up to his chin, scratched the white stubble that passed for a chin-beard, and paid no mind to Marty Steinmetz, the werepanther charged with making sure he didn't wander off.
"How's it looking, Miko?" China asked into her transceiver. "Is this what we think it is?"
The transceiver emitted a bit of static before Miko Tagashi's reply came through.
"If what you thought was a short ramp that leads to a collapsed passage and a surprisingly tacky laundry-room-slash-game-room-slash-poorly-maintained-slime-creature-growth-vat, you're in the money. Otherwise... dead end."
"Dead end," agreed Amy 'Apples' Pierson, the werefox who'd accompanied Miko on her reconnaissance. "Though one of those Galaga-Ms Pacman combo arcade games is down here. I may need to spend a few hours investigating that..."
"There's nothing down there," said The Programmer. "Why does nobody listen to me?"
"Because you're you," China told him. "A supervillain, for some suspect value of 'super,' who tried to blow up the _Subtler Than Light_ a few hours ago to get the Heart of Mu, only to be fooled when a wily red-feathered raptor deployed a paper-mache bust of Isaac from the Love Boat."
The Programmer winced. "My *monkeys* were fooled," he insisted. "*I* was directing them from here, but all I could go by was what they described. After I call my superhost to complain about how crackable the 'uncrackable disguise' of this place turned out to be, I'm gonna call my boss and tell 'im he should get a refund on any unused portion of his contract with 'em."
"And your boss is...?"
"Also in my contacts. Which I'll *gladly* unlock for you if you'll let me touch the screen."
"Not going to happen," China told him. "Back to you supposedly remote-directing your hired monkeys to invade the _Subtler Than Light_ and steal the Heart of Mu. I'm not buying it. Even *your* computer interface powers couldn't get into our systems. What systems it uses are made of nectarisite, and last I knew--"
"Do people forget I used to work in C-Space, back when Dana Wader was running me to produce that whole mind-control-signal business of hers? You're not as unhackable as you think. Especially given *my* skills."
She raised an eyebrow at the smug expression that had overtaken his face.
"Our people set up Nectaspace security--"
"Nec-what-now?"
"Nectaspace," she repeated. "Same as what you call C-Space, only named so it can be differentiated from cyberspace. Point being, we wanted to make sure you couldn't just get back in if your pasty, jowly face ever darkened our doors again."
The Programmer said nothing.
"Hey," Miguel Veracruz called from surface level, one story up. "This clown giving you a hard time?"
"He ain't shakin' my bake, if that's what you mean," China answered.
Miguel's brown-furred werewolf brow furrowed. "*Is* that what I mean?"
"We're okay," China said, instead of clarifying. "Is Moon Moon keeping an eye on Professor Seaborn and Jolene Godziller?"
The Programmer looked sharply up at Miguel, eyes wide.
"They're discussing the merits of various things they've licked over the years," Miguel added, returning The Programmer's regard with cool disdain.
"Ah," said China, as she wondered what about the exchange had wiped the smirk from The Programmer's chops. "Be sure to... um... keep up with that."
Miguel scowled, then withdrew from the edge of the opening.
"This isn't *your* lair, is it," said Shelby, before China could pose further questions. China looked back at the human-sized pterodon-ish Rodang, who had addressed his question to the captive villain. "From the aging of the walls, not to mention the interface with the electric grid and the taps into the water and sewer systems, this place has been here for a few decades."
"I *told* you it's a rental," The Programmer countered, some annoyance seeping into his words. "And a short-term one at that. You think I can normally afford a sweet pad like this?"
"One bedroom, one bathroom, one kitchenette," said Shelby, reading from his notes. "One unfinished washer/dryer and game room and slime creature vat down-ramp, one command center/evil laboratory/rec room over there, a one-cell dungeon beneath the trap door in the hallway that's only keeping dirt prisoner at the moment. And possibly also a passage to the chain of underground civilizations collectively known as Terra Subterrene, though it looks like they've collapsed this one like others we've found." He gestured to the other side of the exposed lair, where a couple couches and a now-silent television sat. "Who're you renting from?"
"I got it off of LairBnB," said The Programmer. He fidgeted a bit. "Look, am I under arrest or something?"
"Or something," said China. "Homeland Security agents are on their way to relieve us of you and take you to a mid-tier superklink, whichever area one we can find that's rated for cyber-villain holding and has openings, pending charges and arraignment."
"Mid-tier?" asked The Programmer, sounding strangely delighted. "I've never rated that high before."
"Any help you give us now will get you help later on," said Shelby. "Maybe reduced charges. Tell us who you're working for."
"If you give me my phone back, I'll unlock it and you can have both him and my superhost."
"Who is?"
"Ken. Ken... something."
"You ever meet him?" asked Zia. China started, not having realized the woman had come up to her side while she was interrogating The Programmer.
"I got the text with the four-digit code when I got here," said The Programmer. "1-1-1-1, if you wanna know. Punched that into the horse-on-a-spring's back, on the keypad under the saddle, and it opened up. I have a clicker now for when I need to get in and out. That square in the far corner of the lab. It rises up behind some bushes. Quick and discreet, like it says on the listing."
"Ken," Zia prompted. The Programmer blinked at her. "That wouldn't be Ken Gengras, would it?"
The Programmer's brow furrowed. "I... think so. Yeah. Yeah. Sounds... right. How'd you know?"
"Same way I know that's not really a horse-on-a-spring," said Zia, gesturing at the horse-on-a-spring-or-is-it that was ten feet above them on a pole, the only part of the asphalt play area that hadn't rolled back when the lair-for-rent beneath was exposed. The Programmer raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
She touched China's arm. "Can I talk to you, away from this guy?"
China nodded, and moved off with her to the kitchenette. The Programmer stuck out his tongue at them.
"Thank you for bringing me out here," said Zia, once they were in the corner next to the microwave and the Mr. Coffee. "I haven't had this much fun since I got called in to re-Euclideanize an old SNUCCI lair and learned even more reasons to stay away from James Corden." She looked back at The Programmer. Marty had moved closer to him while China and Zia conferred, and The Programmer was making faces at the werepanther to no obvious effect.
"You found something," China prompted.
Zia nodded, and opened the refrigerator next to the Mr. Coffee. China peered at the eleven bottles on the bottom shelf, the only objects within. She took one out and looked at the label.
"It can't be," she said, on taking in the eye-in-smiling-antlered-pyramid design. "Bl00penbrau? I heard stories about this... I thought it didn't really exist. At least, not in *this* altiverse."
"I think it's a homebrew of some kind," Zia replied. "Probably *not* any kind of abominable blend of stout and fermented yoo-hoo like in the creepypasta stories. These bottles are why I guessed at Gengras's name. I read the monograph Dr. Gigawatt and Professor Polinski wrote about the group alleged to have created it... the M00se Illuminati."
"I remember some of what they wrote," said China. "Wasn't Gengras the guy that convinced Scorsese to drop Harrison Ford's voiceover for 'Goncharov?'"
"I was thinking more about him being a leader of the M00se Illuminati, but, yeah, same guy."
"If I recall correctly, the M00se Illuminati got wiped out during the Genocidal War..."
"Maybe they didn't," said Zia. "Or maybe they did, and someone just wants us to *think* this is them. It's a little on-the-nose that there's eleven bottles of Bl00penbrau in here, don't you think? After all the elevens they've already hit us with... the dual hendecagrams on the merry-go-rounds, the eleven broken links in the swingset chain, and how converting 'John Cleeve Symmes Jr' to unodecimal--that is, base eleven--numbers was integral in figuring out how to get in here."
She started pacing back and forth, waving her hands as she talked.
"It's a little too much, don't you think?" she asked. "Like their enemies are piling on phony evidence trying to pin this on them."
Abruptly, she stopped. Her eyes widened.
"What if the elevens... are actually *elevens?*"
"Er," said China. "What?"
"Eleven is the number of the M00se Illuminati," said Zia, "the number of steps in the pyramid of LeviaM00se's true form." She gestured at the image on her bottle's label. "But eleven *reversed* can indicate forces opposed to the M00ses! Like when the Anti-Elvis bribed the set decorator to have a stopped clock show '11:11' in the background where Valery was seductively snorting coke with Stalin..."
"*That* was only in the Faberge workprint!" China interrupted. "And Professor Polinski said it was supposed to be a dream-sequence metaphor for the Eternal Matryoshka..." She stopped, and took a breath. "Look, we can run this by Gigawatt later. Let's just table this, and..."
"No, Letha!" The Programmer interrupted. "I don't understand!"
China and Zia regarded their captive again. He was still in the center of the lair, still handcuffed, still watched by Marty... and waving his cuffed hands in front of his face.
"You said we had to hide!" The Programmer yelled at someone who possibly only existed in his head. "I wanted you to take down El Guerrero and Mono Pantalon, but noooo, then the *Dweller* will find us. And you didn't even answer before... why do we care? The Dweller works for our boss! Is this why you wouldn't let me suit up earlier?"
"What's going on?" asked China, as she and Zia reached Miguel's side. As she asked, she noticed Miko and Apples running up the incline from the lower level.
"Okay, okay, you could've just *said,*" The Programmer groused. "You wanna do this now, then?"
"Who's he talking to?" Marty asked.
"What's he talking about?" Miguel asked.
"Could one of you just punch him?" China asked.
"Could you tie your robe better?" Shelby yelled.
"Does the contract I signed include post-job therapy?" Zia asked.
If The Programmer heard their questions, or felt a sudden breeze below the belt, he gave no sign. Instead, he opened his mouth wide as a long bronze-gold tentacle snaked out, its tip transforming into several prongs and blades.
The tip struck the cuffs at their lock. A moment later, they fell away.
Marty leaped at The Programmer, only to be repelled by an unseen force into the wall next to the 'up' ramp. The villain rose several feet into the air, in time to be missed by the swiping claws of Miko and Apples. China, Zia, and Shelby dashed up the ramp, reaching surface level (and Miguel) just as The Programmer emerged.
Only he wasn't entirely The Programmer anymore, as far as China could tell.
Nectarisite was billowing--there was no other word for it that she could summon--out of The Programmer's mouth, nose, and ears. Not, she noted with some relief, from anywhere lower than that. It coalesced around him, forming a thick liquid shell that soon took on hard dimensions.
It was baroque in design, and rococo in ornamentation, but clear in function. The chest plate opened to display barrels. The incredibly oversized gauntlets revealed fingertip guns and launchers that popped out of oversized forearms. The helmet resembled an old-time deep-sea scuba diver's helmet, made from bronze-gold nectariste. The Programmer's eyes were visible within.
"Is that..." Miguel started.
"The Programmer," China confirmed. "Get everybody out of here..."
Before she could complete her command, The Programmer, his upsettingly pale-and-hairy legs dangling from the oversized top-half-of-an-armored-suit that had swallowed everything above the waist, shot straight up into the afternoon sky and streaked away.
Toward Venice Beach.
"Warn Esteban!" China ordered Marty. "Miguel, get your pack on and get after him! Should be a couple more in the van... take Apples and Miko with you."
"What about you?"
China closed her eyes. It was times like this she hated being responsible.
"The rest of us will stay here and secure this lair, and wait for Homeland to arrive," she said, her eyes snapping open. "Can't chance that The Programmer's trying to draw us off so his demon monkeys can come around and clean the place up. But you've got to go after that... I don't know what that's called."
"Yes, you do," said Miguel. "And so does Esteban. He's got the bottom half."
"Oh... right. I remember now."
As if things weren't already complicated.
El Esbirro del Traje was in the air.
***
A fair number of people--but fewer than you might think--watched as Rumi Moroboshi touched down on the sunlit sandy beach scarcely a dozen feet from the Pacific Ocean, and twice that much from a neon sign that proclaimed the squat building between her and the Venice Boardwalk to be 'Mr. Tep's Alehouse.' People living in Venice were used to all the low-level superguys, minor mages, and sidekicks-and-or-henchmen-for-hire that came and went. Small-time bruisers looking for big-time headlines, weak tekes hoping for a ticket to a powerup, illusionists trying to eat off of a small writeup from Industrial Revolution days... they were all here, mingling with (or sometimes also being) would-be actors, starving screenwriters, and squinty-eyed agents.
It was the tourists that gaped at her most. They were around day and night, she knew. Scouring the scene, looking for anybody they recognized as somebody. A couple had already snapped her with their phones, and were undoubtedly trying to work out her identity with the M00slr app, even though the mask she wore made that impossible.
"Just another flying redhead," she said under her breath. "You've seen it before, my dudes."
Flying redheads, blondes, brunettes... any color one cared to name, and several unnameable ones besides. She'd been a blonde the last time she'd landed on this stretch of beach, seven years before, when she'd superguyed as 'Valley Girl,' though she'd been no more a real blonde then than she was a real redhead now. Just a young half-human-half-Hottentottian woman who'd wanted to understand the weird world her parents had brought her to in 2007 at the age of fifteen, and had decided the way to begin was to mask up, change her hair color, go out into the world, and start whalloping bad guys. It had made sense at the time.
Now she was a woman, 31 in the year 2023, whose only certainty now was that she hadn't understood anything on Earth until well after she'd screwed up her life on it. Sense was nowhere to be found.
The early afternoon sunlight glinted off the _Subtler Than Light,_ the bronze-gold battleship from another dimension that was permanently parked about a quarter mile to the north. Once it had been a home away from home, and she'd come to know every corridor, every room, and every person inside. She regarded it with narrowed eyes, wondering if people on its bridge were monitoring her. Cendra said she'd give her some space, provided she didn't keep secret any further important things. They were on the same side, after all.
But she *was* keeping secrets. And she knew Cendra knew.
She could've found who she was looking for in a moment, if she wanted to. A single mental ping would've been enough. But even now, with the weight of galactic intrigue and the possibility of war with civilizations below this world's surface, she couldn't help take a moment to look around. A moment to remember.
She closed her eyes, remembering the scent of the surf from one near-perfect evening, ages ago.
Then she felt a metallic paw in her hand.
*I never told him, until you were gone,* said a boyish voice that slid into her head without the intermediate step of going through her ears. *I kept my promise.*
Rumi sighed, and squeezed the paw.
*I know, Coco,* Rumi thought back at the two-foot-tall metallic bronze-and-gold bonobo who'd gotten to her side without her noticing. *I wish I hadn't asked you to.*
*Wishing hasn't gotten any of us far,* Coco said. *At least an organic being can poop in one hand and have it pile up faster.*
Rumi snickered at Coco, who winked at her. *Take me to him?* she asked.
*Walk this way,* said Coco.
Rumi, knowing better than to take that bait, walked like a regular human/human-like alien instead as she let Coco lead her by the hand into Mr. Tep's.
Inside, she looked around... and frowned. *Did Tep redecorate?* she asked.
*Mr. Tep is no longer the owner of this establishment,* Coco said, as she took in the well-lit tables and booths arrayed before a sprawling and currently empty stage. *The Outer Gods recalled him after his alliance with SNUCCI crumbled following the sinking of Monsta Island. The new ownership elected to keep his name on the sign, as he is prophesied to return, heralding the doom of the world and the end of the Happy Hour.*
*Man, I remember the drinks he served,* she said, as she looked over the few patrons at the bar, who, in turn, were regarding her with evaluative expressions. *It was crawling chaos getting out of here at closing...*
Her mental words trailed off, as she saw two figures in the far corner booth, which curved around a round table. One she didn't recognize. The other...
*Come on,* said Coco. *They're almost done.*
As they walked, Rumi looked around, at anything other than the man who'd been the boy who'd been her best friend in any world until everything had gone wrong. The cool black-red-and-green 'Neo-Squamous' aesthetic Mr. Tep had favored had been replaced by warm pink and shifting bright primary colors projected from recessed alcoves. The stage itself was unchanged from the barely-lit version she'd seen just an hour earlier in a blown-up picture in Cendra's office. The one with her, Esteban, Lemon, and Coco in a tangle of limbs and instruments on the edge, unsure of what to do with the tension just released in what they didn't know at the time was their final performance.
The empty tables and stools... where had the friends she'd made so long ago gone? Would any return as the day progressed, or had they all moved on?
One thing was sure... the person who'd said she and Galaxy Hunter could just zip into Los Angeles, thwart the theft of the Heart of Mu, and get out without complications or repercussions was an idiot par excellence. That she'd been that person was of no comfort.
Esteban Veracruz looked up at them as they approached. The golden headband above his eyes was the only visible indication he had his armored trousers, Los Pantalones, with him in compressed form. He nodded without a change in his stony expression, before looking back at the other in the booth with him. That other--a slender, near-white-skinned man with long black hair, a black 'Sisters of Mercy' concert shirt that had seen better decades, ripped black jean shorts, and bare feet--looked up at her in annoyance before looking back at Esteban.
"She's aiding my investigation, as you are," said Esteban, gesturing to the curved section to his right, opposite his current guest. "Mr. Gothic..."
"Kid, please," he said. "My dad was Mr. Gothic."
"Kid Gothic," Esteban corrected. "This is Psywave, a new superguy in town. Psywave, this is Kid Gothic... who was just telling me something that might interest you as well."
"I saw that dinosaur you said you were lookin' for," said the clearly middle-aged man who'd insisted on being called 'Kid.' "See, me an' Mal were up north'a your golden palace when it went boom. We saw that red-feathered raptor scurry out a half-sec later. She threw what looked like a box onto the ground. There was smoke, an' then the box was gone an this cheap-ass dino mannequin was rollin' up the avenue. The real raptor ducked outta sight when all'a those monkeys appeared and went after it."
Rumi glanced at Esteban, whose face betrayed nothing. Not of what he thought of Kid Gothic's story, or what he thought of her being there in that moment. She felt something in her chest tighten.
"I... believe we know this part," she said. "Don't we...?"
Kid Gothic drained the rest of the mug that had been in front of him. "But what you don't know," he continued, "is that it wasn't the first time we saw this raptor. We seen her off 'an on in the homeless camp just a few blocks north'a'you. Usually in the company of either 'r both the Prof or Kris/Kram."
"Professor Seaborn?" Esteban asked. "I flew over earlier looking for him, but he wasn't there."
Kid Gothic shrugged, then looked at Rumi. "Me an' Mal use'ta live in that camp, 'fore we got hitched, just after Mr. Veracruz here got us some work on cleanup detail with the city. S'why I'm here. I don't like snitchin', but something like this... it's too big for us Beachcombers."
"The Boardwalk Beachcombers," said Esteban, glancing at Rumi as he spoke. "Keeping the Boardwalk between Barnard Way and the Skatepark free of villainous domination for the past three years."
"Which is what your generous donation is gonna fund, Mr. Veracruz sir," said 'Kid.' He held up his smartphone, which was open to an app store of some kind. "Now I can pay for a full month of bein' advised by ICBINI."
"Ick-what?" Rumi asked, as Coco slipped under the table and popped up between her and Esteban. The tightness in her chest eased a little... but only a little.
"An AI," said Esteban. "So its ad copy claims."
"We're an established superguy group," said Kid Gothic, punctuating the last three words with finger-points as he heaved his way toward the free end of the booth. "Superguy groups gotta have AIs. All the big ones did back in the day, right? Heck, even you did, when you were in the Ventura Vengers. I remember those interviews you did after you had'ta drop your secret identity. That lil' guy right there, hey?"
Coco narrowed his eyes at Kid Gothic, then stuck out his tongue and thppthed at him. A 'raspberry' sound played over his external speaker.
"ICBINI said we're gonna meet our nemeis... is... ees," Kid Gothic went on as he stood. "The Rock Lobsters. Or Lobbers. 'E said it both ways. An' we're gonna be victorious."
He nodded to Esteban and Rumi, then headed out.
"ICBINI?" Rumi asked, as Esteban leaned back.
"Not a real AI," Esteban answered. "Not even an Expert System. More like one of those GPT programs." He furrowed his brow. "'I Can't Believe It's Not Intelligence,' that's where the acronym comes from. Hot new thing for hero groups on a shoestring."
"Does it work?"
Esteban shrugged. "Depends on what you mean. In the sense of 'gives accurate information and a sensible battle strategy,' no. If you mean 'gives you the idea of going down to the skatepark and throwing hands with the punks down there 'til somebody gets hurt or they decide they'd rather get high together instead...' that's more like it."
*Esteban,* Coco thought at them. *Rumi has come here to...*
"I know why she's here," said Esteban, a flicker of an unidentifiable emotion breaking the flatness of his expression. "And the answer is 'no.'"
Rumi's heart sank.
*I know you can't forgive me for what I did,* she thought at him, through the mental link they, Coco, and no one else shared or could penetrate. *I knew that when I saw you in the park this morning... and later when you agreed to take me to the STL and not tell Cendra who I really was. But... I want you to know...*
*What?* Esteban asked, giving her a confused look. *'No' is my answer to the question of if I ever forgave myself for what I said to you. I mean... I was angry for a long time, yeah, but even then... I never wanted you to go. You're the one person I *could* forgive.*
*Rumi...* Coco started.
*You can't!* Rumi exclaimed, slapping the table and tipping over the empty mug. *How can you forgive me for sleeping with Lemon? For all the months we carried on behind your back?*
*Este...* Coco said, looking from Rumi to his longtime friend and armored-trousers-mate.
*He seduced you!* Esteban mind-exclaimed, his neutral expression gone in a blink, his eyes now wide. *You weren't to blame. It was that Heart of Mu that--*
*We started before China discovered it in the Root,* Rumi tele-growled. *And yeah, he was seductive, but I *knew* what he was doing, and I *liked* it and I *wanted* it! I don't *deserve* to be let off that easy, Mister...*
*Is that why you left Earth?* he asked, face twisting in suppressed hurt. *Is that why you never let me know where you were so I could try to talk to you? I thought you... you...*
*I didn't!*
*Didn't what?*
*I don't know! Whatever you were about to say! Unless it was something about me not being terrible, because I was!*
Esteban banged his fists on the table, startling both her and the bartender.
*God *damn* it, Rumi, why won't you--*
Coco placed a tiny paw against his lips. Even though Esteban had been speaking through his mind instead of his mouth, this cut off his anguished words.
The bronze-gold bonobo slowly pulled his paw from Esteban's lips, then turned it up to show his palm. Tentatively, Esteban rested a couple fingers on the offered paw, and exhaled slowly when the monkey's fingers wrapped around them. Coco looked at Rumi, and offered his other paw.
*I... you don't want me in there,* she thought. *Not anymore. I don't... I mean...*
The bonobo didn't say anything. He just watched, open paw waiting. In his eyes she saw patience, understanding... and her own reflection.
"It's been... too long," she said out loud. "I don't remember how..."
But she raised up her hand anyway, and rested two fingers in Coco's paw. As the nectarisitic glow overwhelmed her senses, she heard herself speak out loud.
"My God... it's full of monkey."
Episode 5
[Hidden Hearts, Part Five]
"It's Full of Monkey"
by
Gary W. Olson
"This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight"
- Florence + The Machine,
"Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up)"
***
"There's nothing down there."
The Programmer sounded surprisingly calm, even as he made his claim to the weres heading down the inclined road into darkness. China Moroboshi studied him as she, Shelby d'Rodang, and Zia Azad walked about of the recently-exposed chambers beneath the playground cement of Emerson Park. So far as she could tell, the red-and-black bathrobe-clad minor villain who had once gone by the name Gary W. Olson was barely perturbed that they had deciphered the strange playground arcana that triggered the lair's opening and allowed his capture. He held his handcuffed hands up to his chin, scratched the white stubble that passed for a chin-beard, and paid no mind to Marty Steinmetz, the werepanther charged with making sure he didn't wander off.
"How's it looking, Miko?" China asked into her transceiver. "Is this what we think it is?"
The transceiver emitted a bit of static before Miko Tagashi's reply came through.
"If what you thought was a short ramp that leads to a collapsed passage and a surprisingly tacky laundry-room-slash-game-room-slash-poorly-maintained-slime-creature-growth-vat, you're in the money. Otherwise... dead end."
"Dead end," agreed Amy 'Apples' Pierson, the werefox who'd accompanied Miko on her reconnaissance. "Though one of those Galaga-Ms Pacman combo arcade games is down here. I may need to spend a few hours investigating that..."
"There's nothing down there," said The Programmer. "Why does nobody listen to me?"
"Because you're you," China told him. "A supervillain, for some suspect value of 'super,' who tried to blow up the _Subtler Than Light_ a few hours ago to get the Heart of Mu, only to be fooled when a wily red-feathered raptor deployed a paper-mache bust of Isaac from the Love Boat."
The Programmer winced. "My *monkeys* were fooled," he insisted. "*I* was directing them from here, but all I could go by was what they described. After I call my superhost to complain about how crackable the 'uncrackable disguise' of this place turned out to be, I'm gonna call my boss and tell 'im he should get a refund on any unused portion of his contract with 'em."
"And your boss is...?"
"Also in my contacts. Which I'll *gladly* unlock for you if you'll let me touch the screen."
"Not going to happen," China told him. "Back to you supposedly remote-directing your hired monkeys to invade the _Subtler Than Light_ and steal the Heart of Mu. I'm not buying it. Even *your* computer interface powers couldn't get into our systems. What systems it uses are made of nectarisite, and last I knew--"
"Do people forget I used to work in C-Space, back when Dana Wader was running me to produce that whole mind-control-signal business of hers? You're not as unhackable as you think. Especially given *my* skills."
She raised an eyebrow at the smug expression that had overtaken his face.
"Our people set up Nectaspace security--"
"Nec-what-now?"
"Nectaspace," she repeated. "Same as what you call C-Space, only named so it can be differentiated from cyberspace. Point being, we wanted to make sure you couldn't just get back in if your pasty, jowly face ever darkened our doors again."
The Programmer said nothing.
"Hey," Miguel Veracruz called from surface level, one story up. "This clown giving you a hard time?"
"He ain't shakin' my bake, if that's what you mean," China answered.
Miguel's brown-furred werewolf brow furrowed. "*Is* that what I mean?"
"We're okay," China said, instead of clarifying. "Is Moon Moon keeping an eye on Professor Seaborn and Jolene Godziller?"
The Programmer looked sharply up at Miguel, eyes wide.
"They're discussing the merits of various things they've licked over the years," Miguel added, returning The Programmer's regard with cool disdain.
"Ah," said China, as she wondered what about the exchange had wiped the smirk from The Programmer's chops. "Be sure to... um... keep up with that."
Miguel scowled, then withdrew from the edge of the opening.
"This isn't *your* lair, is it," said Shelby, before China could pose further questions. China looked back at the human-sized pterodon-ish Rodang, who had addressed his question to the captive villain. "From the aging of the walls, not to mention the interface with the electric grid and the taps into the water and sewer systems, this place has been here for a few decades."
"I *told* you it's a rental," The Programmer countered, some annoyance seeping into his words. "And a short-term one at that. You think I can normally afford a sweet pad like this?"
"One bedroom, one bathroom, one kitchenette," said Shelby, reading from his notes. "One unfinished washer/dryer and game room and slime creature vat down-ramp, one command center/evil laboratory/rec room over there, a one-cell dungeon beneath the trap door in the hallway that's only keeping dirt prisoner at the moment. And possibly also a passage to the chain of underground civilizations collectively known as Terra Subterrene, though it looks like they've collapsed this one like others we've found." He gestured to the other side of the exposed lair, where a couple couches and a now-silent television sat. "Who're you renting from?"
"I got it off of LairBnB," said The Programmer. He fidgeted a bit. "Look, am I under arrest or something?"
"Or something," said China. "Homeland Security agents are on their way to relieve us of you and take you to a mid-tier superklink, whichever area one we can find that's rated for cyber-villain holding and has openings, pending charges and arraignment."
"Mid-tier?" asked The Programmer, sounding strangely delighted. "I've never rated that high before."
"Any help you give us now will get you help later on," said Shelby. "Maybe reduced charges. Tell us who you're working for."
"If you give me my phone back, I'll unlock it and you can have both him and my superhost."
"Who is?"
"Ken. Ken... something."
"You ever meet him?" asked Zia. China started, not having realized the woman had come up to her side while she was interrogating The Programmer.
"I got the text with the four-digit code when I got here," said The Programmer. "1-1-1-1, if you wanna know. Punched that into the horse-on-a-spring's back, on the keypad under the saddle, and it opened up. I have a clicker now for when I need to get in and out. That square in the far corner of the lab. It rises up behind some bushes. Quick and discreet, like it says on the listing."
"Ken," Zia prompted. The Programmer blinked at her. "That wouldn't be Ken Gengras, would it?"
The Programmer's brow furrowed. "I... think so. Yeah. Yeah. Sounds... right. How'd you know?"
"Same way I know that's not really a horse-on-a-spring," said Zia, gesturing at the horse-on-a-spring-or-is-it that was ten feet above them on a pole, the only part of the asphalt play area that hadn't rolled back when the lair-for-rent beneath was exposed. The Programmer raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
She touched China's arm. "Can I talk to you, away from this guy?"
China nodded, and moved off with her to the kitchenette. The Programmer stuck out his tongue at them.
"Thank you for bringing me out here," said Zia, once they were in the corner next to the microwave and the Mr. Coffee. "I haven't had this much fun since I got called in to re-Euclideanize an old SNUCCI lair and learned even more reasons to stay away from James Corden." She looked back at The Programmer. Marty had moved closer to him while China and Zia conferred, and The Programmer was making faces at the werepanther to no obvious effect.
"You found something," China prompted.
Zia nodded, and opened the refrigerator next to the Mr. Coffee. China peered at the eleven bottles on the bottom shelf, the only objects within. She took one out and looked at the label.
"It can't be," she said, on taking in the eye-in-smiling-antlered-pyramid design. "Bl00penbrau? I heard stories about this... I thought it didn't really exist. At least, not in *this* altiverse."
"I think it's a homebrew of some kind," Zia replied. "Probably *not* any kind of abominable blend of stout and fermented yoo-hoo like in the creepypasta stories. These bottles are why I guessed at Gengras's name. I read the monograph Dr. Gigawatt and Professor Polinski wrote about the group alleged to have created it... the M00se Illuminati."
"I remember some of what they wrote," said China. "Wasn't Gengras the guy that convinced Scorsese to drop Harrison Ford's voiceover for 'Goncharov?'"
"I was thinking more about him being a leader of the M00se Illuminati, but, yeah, same guy."
"If I recall correctly, the M00se Illuminati got wiped out during the Genocidal War..."
"Maybe they didn't," said Zia. "Or maybe they did, and someone just wants us to *think* this is them. It's a little on-the-nose that there's eleven bottles of Bl00penbrau in here, don't you think? After all the elevens they've already hit us with... the dual hendecagrams on the merry-go-rounds, the eleven broken links in the swingset chain, and how converting 'John Cleeve Symmes Jr' to unodecimal--that is, base eleven--numbers was integral in figuring out how to get in here."
She started pacing back and forth, waving her hands as she talked.
"It's a little too much, don't you think?" she asked. "Like their enemies are piling on phony evidence trying to pin this on them."
Abruptly, she stopped. Her eyes widened.
"What if the elevens... are actually *elevens?*"
"Er," said China. "What?"
"Eleven is the number of the M00se Illuminati," said Zia, "the number of steps in the pyramid of LeviaM00se's true form." She gestured at the image on her bottle's label. "But eleven *reversed* can indicate forces opposed to the M00ses! Like when the Anti-Elvis bribed the set decorator to have a stopped clock show '11:11' in the background where Valery was seductively snorting coke with Stalin..."
"*That* was only in the Faberge workprint!" China interrupted. "And Professor Polinski said it was supposed to be a dream-sequence metaphor for the Eternal Matryoshka..." She stopped, and took a breath. "Look, we can run this by Gigawatt later. Let's just table this, and..."
"No, Letha!" The Programmer interrupted. "I don't understand!"
China and Zia regarded their captive again. He was still in the center of the lair, still handcuffed, still watched by Marty... and waving his cuffed hands in front of his face.
"You said we had to hide!" The Programmer yelled at someone who possibly only existed in his head. "I wanted you to take down El Guerrero and Mono Pantalon, but noooo, then the *Dweller* will find us. And you didn't even answer before... why do we care? The Dweller works for our boss! Is this why you wouldn't let me suit up earlier?"
"What's going on?" asked China, as she and Zia reached Miguel's side. As she asked, she noticed Miko and Apples running up the incline from the lower level.
"Okay, okay, you could've just *said,*" The Programmer groused. "You wanna do this now, then?"
"Who's he talking to?" Marty asked.
"What's he talking about?" Miguel asked.
"Could one of you just punch him?" China asked.
"Could you tie your robe better?" Shelby yelled.
"Does the contract I signed include post-job therapy?" Zia asked.
If The Programmer heard their questions, or felt a sudden breeze below the belt, he gave no sign. Instead, he opened his mouth wide as a long bronze-gold tentacle snaked out, its tip transforming into several prongs and blades.
The tip struck the cuffs at their lock. A moment later, they fell away.
Marty leaped at The Programmer, only to be repelled by an unseen force into the wall next to the 'up' ramp. The villain rose several feet into the air, in time to be missed by the swiping claws of Miko and Apples. China, Zia, and Shelby dashed up the ramp, reaching surface level (and Miguel) just as The Programmer emerged.
Only he wasn't entirely The Programmer anymore, as far as China could tell.
Nectarisite was billowing--there was no other word for it that she could summon--out of The Programmer's mouth, nose, and ears. Not, she noted with some relief, from anywhere lower than that. It coalesced around him, forming a thick liquid shell that soon took on hard dimensions.
It was baroque in design, and rococo in ornamentation, but clear in function. The chest plate opened to display barrels. The incredibly oversized gauntlets revealed fingertip guns and launchers that popped out of oversized forearms. The helmet resembled an old-time deep-sea scuba diver's helmet, made from bronze-gold nectariste. The Programmer's eyes were visible within.
"Is that..." Miguel started.
"The Programmer," China confirmed. "Get everybody out of here..."
Before she could complete her command, The Programmer, his upsettingly pale-and-hairy legs dangling from the oversized top-half-of-an-armored-suit that had swallowed everything above the waist, shot straight up into the afternoon sky and streaked away.
Toward Venice Beach.
"Warn Esteban!" China ordered Marty. "Miguel, get your pack on and get after him! Should be a couple more in the van... take Apples and Miko with you."
"What about you?"
China closed her eyes. It was times like this she hated being responsible.
"The rest of us will stay here and secure this lair, and wait for Homeland to arrive," she said, her eyes snapping open. "Can't chance that The Programmer's trying to draw us off so his demon monkeys can come around and clean the place up. But you've got to go after that... I don't know what that's called."
"Yes, you do," said Miguel. "And so does Esteban. He's got the bottom half."
"Oh... right. I remember now."
As if things weren't already complicated.
El Esbirro del Traje was in the air.
***
A fair number of people--but fewer than you might think--watched as Rumi Moroboshi touched down on the sunlit sandy beach scarcely a dozen feet from the Pacific Ocean, and twice that much from a neon sign that proclaimed the squat building between her and the Venice Boardwalk to be 'Mr. Tep's Alehouse.' People living in Venice were used to all the low-level superguys, minor mages, and sidekicks-and-or-henchmen-for-hire that came and went. Small-time bruisers looking for big-time headlines, weak tekes hoping for a ticket to a powerup, illusionists trying to eat off of a small writeup from Industrial Revolution days... they were all here, mingling with (or sometimes also being) would-be actors, starving screenwriters, and squinty-eyed agents.
It was the tourists that gaped at her most. They were around day and night, she knew. Scouring the scene, looking for anybody they recognized as somebody. A couple had already snapped her with their phones, and were undoubtedly trying to work out her identity with the M00slr app, even though the mask she wore made that impossible.
"Just another flying redhead," she said under her breath. "You've seen it before, my dudes."
Flying redheads, blondes, brunettes... any color one cared to name, and several unnameable ones besides. She'd been a blonde the last time she'd landed on this stretch of beach, seven years before, when she'd superguyed as 'Valley Girl,' though she'd been no more a real blonde then than she was a real redhead now. Just a young half-human-half-Hottentottian woman who'd wanted to understand the weird world her parents had brought her to in 2007 at the age of fifteen, and had decided the way to begin was to mask up, change her hair color, go out into the world, and start whalloping bad guys. It had made sense at the time.
Now she was a woman, 31 in the year 2023, whose only certainty now was that she hadn't understood anything on Earth until well after she'd screwed up her life on it. Sense was nowhere to be found.
The early afternoon sunlight glinted off the _Subtler Than Light,_ the bronze-gold battleship from another dimension that was permanently parked about a quarter mile to the north. Once it had been a home away from home, and she'd come to know every corridor, every room, and every person inside. She regarded it with narrowed eyes, wondering if people on its bridge were monitoring her. Cendra said she'd give her some space, provided she didn't keep secret any further important things. They were on the same side, after all.
But she *was* keeping secrets. And she knew Cendra knew.
She could've found who she was looking for in a moment, if she wanted to. A single mental ping would've been enough. But even now, with the weight of galactic intrigue and the possibility of war with civilizations below this world's surface, she couldn't help take a moment to look around. A moment to remember.
She closed her eyes, remembering the scent of the surf from one near-perfect evening, ages ago.
Then she felt a metallic paw in her hand.
*I never told him, until you were gone,* said a boyish voice that slid into her head without the intermediate step of going through her ears. *I kept my promise.*
Rumi sighed, and squeezed the paw.
*I know, Coco,* Rumi thought back at the two-foot-tall metallic bronze-and-gold bonobo who'd gotten to her side without her noticing. *I wish I hadn't asked you to.*
*Wishing hasn't gotten any of us far,* Coco said. *At least an organic being can poop in one hand and have it pile up faster.*
Rumi snickered at Coco, who winked at her. *Take me to him?* she asked.
*Walk this way,* said Coco.
Rumi, knowing better than to take that bait, walked like a regular human/human-like alien instead as she let Coco lead her by the hand into Mr. Tep's.
Inside, she looked around... and frowned. *Did Tep redecorate?* she asked.
*Mr. Tep is no longer the owner of this establishment,* Coco said, as she took in the well-lit tables and booths arrayed before a sprawling and currently empty stage. *The Outer Gods recalled him after his alliance with SNUCCI crumbled following the sinking of Monsta Island. The new ownership elected to keep his name on the sign, as he is prophesied to return, heralding the doom of the world and the end of the Happy Hour.*
*Man, I remember the drinks he served,* she said, as she looked over the few patrons at the bar, who, in turn, were regarding her with evaluative expressions. *It was crawling chaos getting out of here at closing...*
Her mental words trailed off, as she saw two figures in the far corner booth, which curved around a round table. One she didn't recognize. The other...
*Come on,* said Coco. *They're almost done.*
As they walked, Rumi looked around, at anything other than the man who'd been the boy who'd been her best friend in any world until everything had gone wrong. The cool black-red-and-green 'Neo-Squamous' aesthetic Mr. Tep had favored had been replaced by warm pink and shifting bright primary colors projected from recessed alcoves. The stage itself was unchanged from the barely-lit version she'd seen just an hour earlier in a blown-up picture in Cendra's office. The one with her, Esteban, Lemon, and Coco in a tangle of limbs and instruments on the edge, unsure of what to do with the tension just released in what they didn't know at the time was their final performance.
The empty tables and stools... where had the friends she'd made so long ago gone? Would any return as the day progressed, or had they all moved on?
One thing was sure... the person who'd said she and Galaxy Hunter could just zip into Los Angeles, thwart the theft of the Heart of Mu, and get out without complications or repercussions was an idiot par excellence. That she'd been that person was of no comfort.
Esteban Veracruz looked up at them as they approached. The golden headband above his eyes was the only visible indication he had his armored trousers, Los Pantalones, with him in compressed form. He nodded without a change in his stony expression, before looking back at the other in the booth with him. That other--a slender, near-white-skinned man with long black hair, a black 'Sisters of Mercy' concert shirt that had seen better decades, ripped black jean shorts, and bare feet--looked up at her in annoyance before looking back at Esteban.
"She's aiding my investigation, as you are," said Esteban, gesturing to the curved section to his right, opposite his current guest. "Mr. Gothic..."
"Kid, please," he said. "My dad was Mr. Gothic."
"Kid Gothic," Esteban corrected. "This is Psywave, a new superguy in town. Psywave, this is Kid Gothic... who was just telling me something that might interest you as well."
"I saw that dinosaur you said you were lookin' for," said the clearly middle-aged man who'd insisted on being called 'Kid.' "See, me an' Mal were up north'a your golden palace when it went boom. We saw that red-feathered raptor scurry out a half-sec later. She threw what looked like a box onto the ground. There was smoke, an' then the box was gone an this cheap-ass dino mannequin was rollin' up the avenue. The real raptor ducked outta sight when all'a those monkeys appeared and went after it."
Rumi glanced at Esteban, whose face betrayed nothing. Not of what he thought of Kid Gothic's story, or what he thought of her being there in that moment. She felt something in her chest tighten.
"I... believe we know this part," she said. "Don't we...?"
Kid Gothic drained the rest of the mug that had been in front of him. "But what you don't know," he continued, "is that it wasn't the first time we saw this raptor. We seen her off 'an on in the homeless camp just a few blocks north'a'you. Usually in the company of either 'r both the Prof or Kris/Kram."
"Professor Seaborn?" Esteban asked. "I flew over earlier looking for him, but he wasn't there."
Kid Gothic shrugged, then looked at Rumi. "Me an' Mal use'ta live in that camp, 'fore we got hitched, just after Mr. Veracruz here got us some work on cleanup detail with the city. S'why I'm here. I don't like snitchin', but something like this... it's too big for us Beachcombers."
"The Boardwalk Beachcombers," said Esteban, glancing at Rumi as he spoke. "Keeping the Boardwalk between Barnard Way and the Skatepark free of villainous domination for the past three years."
"Which is what your generous donation is gonna fund, Mr. Veracruz sir," said 'Kid.' He held up his smartphone, which was open to an app store of some kind. "Now I can pay for a full month of bein' advised by ICBINI."
"Ick-what?" Rumi asked, as Coco slipped under the table and popped up between her and Esteban. The tightness in her chest eased a little... but only a little.
"An AI," said Esteban. "So its ad copy claims."
"We're an established superguy group," said Kid Gothic, punctuating the last three words with finger-points as he heaved his way toward the free end of the booth. "Superguy groups gotta have AIs. All the big ones did back in the day, right? Heck, even you did, when you were in the Ventura Vengers. I remember those interviews you did after you had'ta drop your secret identity. That lil' guy right there, hey?"
Coco narrowed his eyes at Kid Gothic, then stuck out his tongue and thppthed at him. A 'raspberry' sound played over his external speaker.
"ICBINI said we're gonna meet our nemeis... is... ees," Kid Gothic went on as he stood. "The Rock Lobsters. Or Lobbers. 'E said it both ways. An' we're gonna be victorious."
He nodded to Esteban and Rumi, then headed out.
"ICBINI?" Rumi asked, as Esteban leaned back.
"Not a real AI," Esteban answered. "Not even an Expert System. More like one of those GPT programs." He furrowed his brow. "'I Can't Believe It's Not Intelligence,' that's where the acronym comes from. Hot new thing for hero groups on a shoestring."
"Does it work?"
Esteban shrugged. "Depends on what you mean. In the sense of 'gives accurate information and a sensible battle strategy,' no. If you mean 'gives you the idea of going down to the skatepark and throwing hands with the punks down there 'til somebody gets hurt or they decide they'd rather get high together instead...' that's more like it."
*Esteban,* Coco thought at them. *Rumi has come here to...*
"I know why she's here," said Esteban, a flicker of an unidentifiable emotion breaking the flatness of his expression. "And the answer is 'no.'"
Rumi's heart sank.
*I know you can't forgive me for what I did,* she thought at him, through the mental link they, Coco, and no one else shared or could penetrate. *I knew that when I saw you in the park this morning... and later when you agreed to take me to the STL and not tell Cendra who I really was. But... I want you to know...*
*What?* Esteban asked, giving her a confused look. *'No' is my answer to the question of if I ever forgave myself for what I said to you. I mean... I was angry for a long time, yeah, but even then... I never wanted you to go. You're the one person I *could* forgive.*
*Rumi...* Coco started.
*You can't!* Rumi exclaimed, slapping the table and tipping over the empty mug. *How can you forgive me for sleeping with Lemon? For all the months we carried on behind your back?*
*Este...* Coco said, looking from Rumi to his longtime friend and armored-trousers-mate.
*He seduced you!* Esteban mind-exclaimed, his neutral expression gone in a blink, his eyes now wide. *You weren't to blame. It was that Heart of Mu that--*
*We started before China discovered it in the Root,* Rumi tele-growled. *And yeah, he was seductive, but I *knew* what he was doing, and I *liked* it and I *wanted* it! I don't *deserve* to be let off that easy, Mister...*
*Is that why you left Earth?* he asked, face twisting in suppressed hurt. *Is that why you never let me know where you were so I could try to talk to you? I thought you... you...*
*I didn't!*
*Didn't what?*
*I don't know! Whatever you were about to say! Unless it was something about me not being terrible, because I was!*
Esteban banged his fists on the table, startling both her and the bartender.
*God *damn* it, Rumi, why won't you--*
Coco placed a tiny paw against his lips. Even though Esteban had been speaking through his mind instead of his mouth, this cut off his anguished words.
The bronze-gold bonobo slowly pulled his paw from Esteban's lips, then turned it up to show his palm. Tentatively, Esteban rested a couple fingers on the offered paw, and exhaled slowly when the monkey's fingers wrapped around them. Coco looked at Rumi, and offered his other paw.
*I... you don't want me in there,* she thought. *Not anymore. I don't... I mean...*
The bonobo didn't say anything. He just watched, open paw waiting. In his eyes she saw patience, understanding... and her own reflection.
"It's been... too long," she said out loud. "I don't remember how..."
But she raised up her hand anyway, and rested two fingers in Coco's paw. As the nectarisitic glow overwhelmed her senses, she heard herself speak out loud.
"My God... it's full of monkey."
(continued in part two, following...)
--
Subtler Than Light #5 (c) 2023 by Gary W. Olson. All Rights Reserved.
For behind-the-scenes notes on this episode, visit my posting in
the Superguy List community on LiveJournal:
https://superguy-list.livejournal.com/41779.html
Gary W. Olson LinkTree: https://linktr.ee/gwox
Superguy List: https://lists.eyrie.org/mailman/listinfo/superguy/
Superguy/Sfstory Discord: https://discord.gg/xuhYChvAPK
Superguy/Sfstory LinkTree: https://linktr.ee/superguysfstory
Subtler Than Light #5 (c) 2023 by Gary W. Olson. All Rights Reserved.
For behind-the-scenes notes on this episode, visit my posting in
the Superguy List community on LiveJournal:
https://superguy-list.livejournal.com/41779.html
Gary W. Olson LinkTree: https://linktr.ee/gwox
Superguy List: https://lists.eyrie.org/mailman/listinfo/superguy/
Superguy/Sfstory Discord: https://discord.gg/xuhYChvAPK
Superguy/Sfstory LinkTree: https://linktr.ee/superguysfstory