---

Disclaimer: This is fiction. All the characters and events portrayed here are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely accidental and unintentional. I as the author reserves all rights. A big thanks goes out to Cathy who proofed and generally made this readable. Any remaining errors, or mistakes are mine! Enjoy!

Soviet Georgia 1975

The lonely, snow covered hills tall ice frosted trees hid the small, slim figure watching the train, below in the valley, puffing its way southward. Far had she traveled before being led here. She shivered, not because of the cold wind whispering though the trees, but because she now understood, only too well, what her friend used to say about riding the luck. Something really bad was about to happen down there, to that train full of people. As much as her instincts screamed for her to try to help, what could she do? Any one of thousand things could cause an accident, and although she knew beyond a doubt that a terrible disaster was looming, she had no idea whatsoever as to exactly what or how to prevent it.

Just thinking about her friend, whose gift she had inherited, caused her heart to tighten in painful spasms. Even after all the months that had passed since her entire world had come crashing in upon her, she was consumed by her grief and tears. Hugging her thin body, still wasted from the purging the tracking chemicals she’d been injected with, she stifled a soul tortured wail of grief.

Slowly, she regained control of herself. Those who’d caused the loss of her dear friends would pay. Above all, those responsible for her brother‘s death would suffer dearly. He’d been the last of her family, and now she was all alone. He was the reason why, despite the cry for revenge that beckoned her, she was determined that justice be done instead. Always her brother taught that, despite it coming from a comic book, ’With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility’ were words to live by. That they were all like Knights of the Round Table, protectors and role models.

About her, soft flakes began falling once more, covering her in a still white shroud. Her luck all but shouted at her. Shaking the frozen raiment away, she lightly hopped to the top of the icy crust. She ran lightly across the snow like a figure from myth and legend, to meet her fate, as fire and thunder found the iron machine down the hill below. This was the one place her watchers would never think to look for her. It was time to rejoin the human race. Behind her, the wind, and drifting flakes, left no traces of her passing.
 

*          *          *
 
Bikipedia:

Project Meridian; Captain Blazzar and The Rocketeers

Following the formal retirement of Major Victory, in protest over various anticommunist senators’ witch-hunts, and the other heroes that followed his example, the Pentagon found itself in an unpleasant situation. WWII had conclusively proved that supra-humans could be an enormous force multiplier in any conflict.

However, now it found itself without the services of those it had grown to depend on, because of the exodus. Falling back on good old American ingenuity, they decided to make their own. Despite the inter-service fight that followed, for the sole control of supra-human research, the Air Force presented the best case for being the most scientifically oriented in the mid 1950’s. The Navy, because of its different requirements, was permitted to run its own program, but it was understood that the Air Force would lead the national effort.

Next came the recruitment drive, searching for prospective candidates. Rigorous testing, and other screening techniques, revealed that supra-humans, able to match Major Victory’s level of ability, were extremely rare. Moreover, initial Ultra-soldier experiments revealed that the best results came from those that had already expressed what was being called the supra-human gene, or had yet to manifest it fully.

Despite some rare successes, the number of catastrophic failures convinced scientists that adults were not the best test subjects. They evolved the theory that the best subjects would be youngsters with the potential but had yet to manifest themselves. The problem was there was no way to screen for such specimens with the available technology. Researchers settled for next best thing; those who were just emerging from their metamorphosis.

Project Meridian was designed from the beginning to recruit, indoctrinate and enhance suitable youngsters for the purposes of National Defense. A number of approaches were tried, but the experimental Z-Ray 3 developed by the youthful prodigy Dr. Albert McClellan became the method of choice, after a string of relative successes.

The Z-Ray series (1-9) was an attempt not to further mutate the subject, but rather to energize or super-charge their existing powers and abilities. The drawback was the significant amounts of radiation that was a byproduct.

Much has been said of the lack of information about the participants of these early experiments. Although the Z-Ray experiments’ successes went on to become part of the Eagle Squadron, the Official US Supra Team during the 1960’s, no mention can be found of the failures.

Rumors and officials off the record, tell of truly horrendous fates for those failures, who were but children. Often, orphans were signed over to the government without question by their guardians. Many simply could not deal with these children’s mutations, and special needs. These unwilling child subjects, are forgotten victims of the Cold War, supra-power, arms race.

In 1962, when the American Eagle Squadron and the Soviet Red Guards clashed over Cuba, during the missile crisis, the world was just seconds from War World Three. It was this incident, more than any other, that pushed the world’s powers into negotiations that eventually led to founding of the UN moderated ULTIMATE in 1973, United Law-enforcement Tribunal for International Metahuman Affairs, Terrestrial and Extraterrestrial.

It had shocked Pentagon planners, that members of the Soviet Red Guard Supra-Team, while not as individually as powerful as their Eagle counterparts, were more numerous. Plans were drawn up to expand Project Meridian, but were left unimplemented because of political pressure from the UN, as well as the rest of the world. Research continued, but at a slower pace.

In 1969, the go ahead to fully implement the project was given by the White House, following the initial Strategic Arms Limitation Treaty (SALT) talks. It was felt that the US needed something more to bring to the bargaining table, to force a more favorable agreement.

The recruitment process was different from that previously used, given the change in attitude of the American public. The Anti-war movement was in full swing, as well as a growing distrust of heavy-handed government.

Dr. McClellan himself suggested using a “comic book” like Supra Team format. “What Kid doesn’t dream of being a superhero, at least once in their lives?” He asked.

His approach added a level of motivation to the experiment’s subjects, but also fueled a propaganda effort that printed grossly edited versions of their missions. The comic book was quite popular, and had generally acceptable art work, given it was government subsidized. Its popularity faded as better written, less obviously propaganda stories, attracted a more mature audience.

The subjects picked for Dr. McClellan’s Team included brothers Alan and Gus Glenn, Alicia Mercer, Douglas Knight, Jeff Fuller, and Joyce Sturm.

Alan Glenn: age 10 Mutation: super speed, enhanced physical prowess, and healing.

Gus Glenn: Age 14 Mutation: energy control, expulsion, and flight.

Alicia Mercer: Age 12 Mutation: greatly enhanced agility, flexibility, night vision and speed.

Douglas Knight: Age 13 Mutation: heighten awareness, hand eye coordination, and toughness.

Jeff Fuller: Age 10 Mutation: Abnormally lucky and enhanced physical prowess.

Joyce Sturm: Age 8 Mutation: greatly enhanced physical prowess, strength and intelligence.

They rejected team names such as Teen Eagles, Hero Cadets and others. Staging a mass strike, they pushed for the name Rocketeers, not surprising given how the space program dominated the news during this time.

Similar strikes also occurred during the assigning of individual code names. The Air Force backed down due to a number of issues, but primarily because, as one officer put it, “Well, it was a lot better than what we had anyways.”

The oldest, Gus Glenn, became the leader of the team, Captain Blazzer. Alan, his younger brother, as Vroom; Alicia Mercer, the Cat; Douglas Knight, the Sharpshooter; Jeff Fuller, as Fortune; and Joyce Sturm, as Sensation.

Their first exposures to Z-Ray 6 resulted in satisfactory increases in powers and abilities, by an average factor of seven. Little in the way of side effects made themselves known, with the possible exception of Vroom, who gained the reputation of being clumsy, and a klutz.

His super speed gave him the ability to keep from causing too much in the way of inadvertent damage, but some of his high-speed damage control was found to be greatly amusing, to onlookers.

The Rocketeers debuted in 1971, a year after their selection. They were generally effective and popular, outmatching their foes with their augmented powers. The dark clouds did not appear until two years later, when questions arose about the children’s welfare. To many, it looked as if they were nothing else than a weapon for the Air Force to pull out when needed, and then stuff back into their box.

Those concerns gained creditability when The Rocketeers were defeated, and several members injured, by the menace of Leviathan. Under pressure to contain the damage the huge unstoppable creature was causing, General Curtis Lafitte ordered Dr. McClellan to use the newest version, but completely untested, Z-Ray 9 upon the recovering Rocketeers. Although the scientist officially protested, he carried out the experiment, when it became clear that the General was going to go ahead, regardless of whether he resigned or not.

At first all seemed to be going well, until the last subject, Sensation, underwent the procedure. The exact details are unknown, but the experiment resulted in her death. That is when Captain Blazzar snapped. His Z-ray 9, augmented powers went wild, and he began blasting his way to General Lafitte’s office, whom he blamed for her death. With a complete disregard for the consequences, Captain Blazzar attacked anyone who got in his way.

Torn up by the death of their friend, the rest of The Rocketeers tried to stop Captain Blazzar‘s rampage. Completely berserk, he used a new power, gained from the Z-ray-9. Emitting an explosive energy pulse with the strength of a small atomic bomb, he badly damaged Area 61. He and Sharpshooter were killed, as well as badly injuring his brother, and Alicia Mercer, the Cat, who later died.

Conspiracy theorists, years later, claimed that is not what happened at all. Captain Blazzar had not died in the explosion. It was the intervention of Dr. McClellan, with the help of Sharpshooter and Fortune, that stopped his mega-manic killing spree.

According to the theorists, Fortune used an experimental dimensional portal, meant to imprison criminals too dangerous for normal prisons. Acting as a diversion, Sharpshooter, even though it cost him his life, managed to give his teammate the chance to get close enough to exile the out of control Captain Blazzer.

In both versions of the incident, Fortune, true to his name, walked away without a scratch. A year later, he committed suicide after suffering severe clinical depression because of the lost of his friends, that had been the only family he‘d ever known.

Vroom eventually recovered from his injuries and awoke from his coma, but lost his powers. Without those, the Air Force dropped him from the program into a foster home. Bitter about how he was treated, he ran away from the foster home early in 1975 and did not reappear, until making an appearance in 1989, to testify at the Senate Committee investigating the tragic incident. He has always refused to comment to the press, or agree to interviews, even after the truth came out.

Ironically, Leviathan, who had triggered this entire series of events, disappeared soon after defeating The Rocketeers. He did not reappear until months later in Central America, making General Lafitte’s decision to risk The Rocketeers, using the Z-Ray 9 experimental procedure, questionable.

The Meridian Project was forever closed, after the signing and ratification of the ULTIMATE treaties in 1975. Rumors persist that ultra-soldier programs are actively being pursued, regardless of government assurances that all such are things of the past.
 

*          *          *
 
Chapter One

Area 61
September 1, 2008

General Robert Laramie stood before the massive monitor in Area 61 command center. Technically Area 61 didn’t exist and this was only a small storage facility for the Office of Archives and Research. In reality, it was the Air Force’s research and development center for Ultra-Soldiers. They’d came perilously close to losing control of the project after that fool Lafitte screwed up back in 1974.

The bad judgment in using the Z-Ray 9 on The Rocketeers not only caused serious damage to the base, but also trashed his career. General Laramie was well aware that the projects under his command were of debatable legality.

Research on Supra-humans wasn’t prohibited, but was frowned upon. That was to prevent another Supra-human arms race like what happened in the Fifties though the Seventies. Investigations by Dr. McClellan’s team were still continuing, but were limited by prohibitions against experiments being conducted on human subjects as per the ULTIMATE treaty protocols. Limitations that the General admitted were being pushed to the letter.

McClellan might be a world-class flake, but he was one of the most brilliant men on the planet. His discoveries and inventions in genetics, biophysics and high-energy physics had earned him a suitcase full of patents, and won him not one, but five, Noble Prizes.

For the purposes of Area 61, he had any number of contingency plans for projects to produce Supra-humans to protect the United States and its interests. As the leader in the field, when he asks to speak to the commanding officer on a matter of importance, that officer had better listen.

Determined to maintain his command presence no matter how many Noble prizes this civilian had won, he all but demanded, “Why am I here Doctor? I’m a busy man.”

The balding scientist pushed up his glasses, still looking surprisingly youthful given he was on the high side of sixty. He clicked the remote, causing a graphic to appear on the big screen. “As you know General, our power is provided by a pair of fusion reactors. This morning we took note of a power drain that, at first, appeared trivial.”

The graphic showed the beginning of the power loss, and the sharp rise as time passed.

“Routinely, we traced it back to its cause. That took us a few hours, during which the drain continued to increase to worrisome proportions. We traced it back to the high security vaults, where sensitive or dangerous projects are stored, specifically, back to Vault Nine.” The old scientist said, rather nervously.

“Stop beating around the bush, Doctor. What is stored in Vault Nine?” General Laramie demanded.

“That would be the prototype, Looking Glass projector.” He replied, wiping his sweaty palms.

“In the past six hours the power demand to Looking Glass has jumped by a factor of ten. If this curve continues, our reactors will no longer be able to keep pace with the demand and the dimensional gateway will collapse. The Estimated Time of Wormhole Failure (ETWF) is three weeks bearing in mind that approximation will change as more data becomes available.”

The General studied the changing graphic. “Why would that be a problem Doctor? What kind of damage will this collapse of yours cause?”

Clearing his throat, the Doctor blinked before replying. “The artificial wormhole has been stable for almost thirty-five years. For it to collapse in this manner, more energy has been pumped into it from the inside, destabilizing the energy flow. There shouldn’t be any release of excess energy into our space time continuum, if my calculations are correct.”

Feeling tired of the run-around, the General barked, “Please come to the point Doctor McClellan. Just why should I be concerned about this?”

With his hands visibly shaking, he took a sip of water. “Captain Blazzar. We trapped him with the Project Looking Glass prototype thirty-four years ago. For him to generate enough energy to force open the gate, he has gotten more powerful. A lot more powerful than he was before. Enough so that he can produce more power than our two fusion reactors. The last time he generated explosive blasts on the order of one kiloton. Based on my equations, he will be able to exceed that by several orders of magnitude.”

“I see Doctor. You’re telling me we are about to have one of the most powerful supra-humans in recent history, dropping into the middle of my super secret military base? Is that correct?”

Clearing his throat nervously, the Doctor replied, “Yes General. If you’ll remember, he was on a berserk, insane killing spree.” Looking down at his notes, he continued, “The final count was 151 dead, including four of his own friends. Several hundred others were injured, including his only brother.”

The General recalled, “Yes. Alan Glen, Vroom the speedster, and the only surviving member of The Rocketeers. Very well, Doctor. As of this moment I’m reactivating Project Meridian on my own authority. I’ll have official written confirmation by tomorrow.”

Over his shoulder, he commanded his aide Captain Syn, “Alert my flight crew, and the Pentagon. I need an emergency meeting with the Director of OAR, and the Joint Chiefs ASAP.”

Turning back to the owlish blinking scientist, he directed, “While I’m gone it’s up to you to get the ball rolling. The database of suitable candidates is constantly updated, so finding participants shouldn’t be a problem. What we don’t have is someone we knows how to train a teenage supra-team.”

Decisively, he decided, “Get Alan Glenn. He has experience, and knows our opponent.”

Dr. McClellan stammered, “But he publicly denounced the entire Meridian program, and hates anything to do with the military.”

General Laramie gave Dr. McClellan a flint eyed stare, “You’re a multiple Nobel Prize winner Doctor. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
 

*          *          *
 
Chapter Two

Charlotte NC
September 2, 2008
ETWF: 20 Days

Dr. Courtney Hathaway sweltered in the black, government SUV, that came with all the extras, including the required, dark tinted windows. Even with the air conditioner roaring at full blast, it couldn’t compete with the sultry, southern, summer day. Flicking out a compact mirror, she checked her makeup. This had better be worth it.

Addressing the aging project leader in the front seat, she asked. “Tell me again Doctor McClellan, why am I dressed like this?” She waved her hands at her tight red dress, more suitable to clubbing, or walking the street, than for convincing a unwilling, ex-superhero to become part of an illegal experiment, outlawed by international treaties.

Not looking up from his laptop, where he was watching news coverage of a local superhero’s exploits, he replied, “You see, Dr. Hathaway, Alan Glenn, AKA Vroom, lost his supra-human abilities after nearly dying from severe injuries, right after being exposed to Z-ray 9.

At the time, we surmised that his body, in trying to save his life, burned-out his powers. However, the Air Force dropped him from the program, when it was determined he no longer was supra-human. Against my recommendation, I might add. The phenomenon needed more study.

“Back to your question Doctor Hathaway, we have no idea if his powers have returned or not. It has been known to happen before, and one of Mr. Glenn’s talents was accelerated healing. He also has a demonstrated lack of respect for authority, which wouldn’t make his failure to report his correct status to ULTIMATE, as required by law, a surprise to anyone.”

She quickly identified the web site Dr. McClellan was watching and, using her own laptop, quickly located the recorded incident. Using her own specialized programs, she’d designed herself, she watched the entire clip in fast forward. Maybe, in his day, Dr. McClellan had been a wiz-kid, but her own mental functions and powers were superior to anyone she had yet met. It was easy to multi-task, and listen to him meander at the same time.

Courtney was ‘miffed’ that someone of her superiority was left playing nothing more than eye candy. She was responsible for procuring the project’s candidates. Courtney wasn’t anticipating any problems, but had found herself detoured for this experiment of Dr. McClellan‘s.

Still, the Doctor’s plan did have some merit. If Alan Glenn’s powers had returned, they should be able to determine that, since Vroom was known as a do-gooder, boy scout, risking his life for others. In addition, males were possessive, and if he thought he saved her life, that could give her more leverage into controlling his behavior.

She reviewed and summarized the taped news footage as the good Doctor spoke. A group of robbers, using military style tactics, tried to hijack an armored car. Dixie Belle, a star spangled blue clad heroine, intervened and easily crashed their party.

Courtney considered that, perhaps this Dixie Belle could perhaps be Alan Glenn, but immediately discarded the thought. Although gender switches connected to supra-humans weren’t unknown, this bimbo didn’t exhibit any of Vroom’s super speed powers, besides being 20 years too young.

She was inhumanly strong and agile, and she did make short work of even military trained and armed criminals. Impressive perhaps, but she was not a world-class talent like those who’d been exposed to the Z-ray. After a moment’s reflection, she decided that Doctor McClellan’s interest in the star-studded, blue suited floozy, was because of how curvaceously she filled out her uniform.

Snorting at his lecherousness, she knew it was only typical male behavior. Looking out of the dark tinted windows at the building across the street, she rolled her eyes at the sign. A hot rod pulled up front, and an aging man she recognized as Alan Glenn, climbed out.

Oh please! Not another walking testosterone factory, and who was apparently in a mid-life crisis as well. She could only wince, seeing the number of NASCAR signs, and racing oriented businesses she’d seen since leaving the airport. Like many in this hick city, he was just another man who was more like an overgrown child playing with his toys, than an adult.

Dr. McClellan nodded his head and their team prepared to get started. She opened her door and stepped out. It was show time.
 

*          *          *
 
Alan Glenn pulled up in his classic ’68 Fastback Mustang, beside the large custom neon sign advertising his business, Rocket’s Speed Shop. It was his way of honoring his fallen friends and family, but the business also supported him and his dozen or so employees. They provided customized engine work and parts for the thriving racing market near Lowe’s Motor Speedway.

John, his shop foreman, waved as the rest of his crew headed to the time clock, while Susan, his girl Friday, smiled at him as she entered her office. In reality, Alan left most of the day to day running of the shop to them now a days. In the beginning, he’d been right down there in the pits, busting knuckles with the rest of the guys. He’d jumped between turning wenches, to martini luncheons, while building his business.

Twenty years of hard work had paid off, and now, if he didn’t want to come in to work, he didn’t have to. In the racing business, travel was all part of the job. That was good. It was always good to be home, but he always got restless after awhile.

Besides the travel let him indulge in his quest, with no one being the wiser, which suited him just fine. Last night had been good. However, he had to be careful about appearances in his home town, but it’d been nice to keep his hand in. After all, what ULTIMATE didn’t know, didn’t brother him at all.

Pouring himself a cup of coffee, he, after checking to make sure no one was watching, vibrated his hands at high speed so quickly the liquid inside scarcely moved. In no time at all the coffee was piping hot from the induced fiction.

Sipping his morning brew, his eyes grew large as he looked outside. “Hello! What do we have here?” He thought as he watched the long legged brunette in the tight red dress as she tried to cross the busy street.

Even as his eyes were taking in the delightful figure, his brains were figuring the angles. It was still mid-morning in Charlotte, and far too early for the club scene. This city might have grown into quite the metropolis, but in this part of town, you were hell of a lot more likely to see women in a tight pair of jeans and boots, rather than this woman’s come-hither-now dress, and heels.

It didn’t add up. Anything was possible, but the only reason he was still alive was because he’d learned a lot since his Rocketeer days. ULTIMATE had been giving him some grief of late, but this didn’t seem like their style. Stepping outside, he spotted the Feds in their impossible to miss big, black, tank-like, SUV’s. Okay, that answered that question.

The next was, which agency was playing games with him, and what to do about it. The CIA had long given up trying to see if his powers had returned, in hopes of recruiting him on the sly. The FBI grudgingly decided, years ago that he had not broken any laws in revealing Top Secret information to the committee that was charged with investigating Project Meridian. It wasn’t binding to make 10 year old minors sign nondisclosure security agreements, maybe because kids had no business being around anything involving classified materials in the first place.

That left only the DOD, the Department of Defense, and since his contacts had kept him informed who was still running the show at Area 61, that meant the good ole boys in the blue, the Air Force. Well General “La Big Feet” had gotten canned after his screw up, that had killed everyone Alan had ever cared for, growing up. That meant that it was, more than likely Doc, and some other blue suited zoomie, who were trying to ruin his day.

Undoubtedly, this fem fatale was going to step out into traffic, and he was supposed to save her. Alan had to force himself not to shake his head. Jeez, they had even put her in a red dress. Who did they think he was, John Dillinger? Yeah, as soon as they saw him step outside, they started their little show. One of the Fed tanks started forward, just as the Lady in Red began to cross the street. Well, maybe he’d give them a clue that it wasn’t going to happen.

Alan raised his hand and whistled, “HEY, Lady watch out!”

The black truck screeched around the woman, proving that whoever was running this operation wasn’t totally incompetent. On cue, she fell, but Alan could tell she hadn’t been hit ,and it hadn’t got past him that another Fed, tank-like, SUV was blocking traffic, making sure no overly aggressive Carolina drivers accidentally, really hit their honey bait.

Deciding he’d go on playing his part, he snapped out his phone. Instead of calling 911, he called Susan his office manager. “Susan, call 911 and report an accident. If anything happens to me, please do what I discussed with you and John in case of any old ‘friends’ of mine showing up. Alright?”

Her concern for him showed in the lilt of her soft, southern accent. “No problem on number one, honey, but I can call John, and he’d have the boys out front lickity-split. You know they all can handle a little scuffle.”

He could hear her phone’s tones as she dialed emergency services. The Feds, seeing their charade had failed, were charging forward as if he was a wanted criminal. Maybe he was, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell them that! Alan then saw a face he hadn’t seen in over 30 years. Damn, this was serious if Doc Mac was here in person.

“No Susan. Just follow my instructions.” He said, and closed his phone. This wasn’t going to be pleasant. No siree, not very nice at all. Thank you ma’am.

Alan raised his eyebrows as a mixed salad of black suited Feds, and Air Force Security ‘Cops’ jumped out, with their hands on their weapons.

Taking another sip of his coffee, he did his best to ignore them, despite all the bad memories. The thought did cross his mind about perhaps calling his lawyers, but he decided against it. Doc Mac was the big Head Cheese. The Feds would never have let him out here if they could help it. Nope, whatever they wanted from him, they were determined to get it, and bringing in his own legal goons, more than likely, wouldn’t help matters. All-righty then, play it by ear it is.

As he suspected, the uniformed goons kept their distance. They wouldn’t do anything until after Doc Mac made whatever demands he had in mind. Of course, they would use those dart guns he’d noticed they were all carrying, when he told Doc just what he could go and do with himself, because he had no intentions of going along with anything they wanted.

Alan judged the man walking up to him with different eyes than the ones he’d had at age 14. Not as tall as he remembered, and a whole lot less hair, but he certainly didn’t look the near 70 he had to be. More like a well preserved 60. Of course, the ever-present white lab coat was missing, replaced with a conservative gray suit.

Doc Mac had always treated him and the rest of The Rocketeers more like adults, than the prisoners Air Force goons did. However, it never got past any of them that Doc had something in the back of his eyes that was downright freaky. None of them ever forgot that, maybe friendly bumbling Doc Mac wasn’t nearly as nice as he made himself out to be.

That didn’t even count the fact that every time they got zapped by that damn giant ray gun, it was Doc Mac pulling the trigger. Yeah General “La Big Feet” might have given the orders that had killed the only family he’d ever known, but he’d never forgotten that kindly Doc Mac had built the frakking damn thing, and had pulled the trigger. Knowing what to look for, Alan saw, ‘Yeah, it was still there.’

Plastering a fake smile on his face, he greeted Doc as the scientist walked up with his escort of bodyguards. “Hey Doc! Long time no see. Did you ever get those Christmas cards I sent you?”

Without missing, a beat Alan turn to the Lady in Red who was right on Doc’s heels. “Hey there! Nice dress! It really goes with those shoes, but a little early in the day, ain’t it? I’m Alan Glenn, but seeing how you’re with Doc Mac, you already know that don’t you?
 

*          *          *
 
Courtney picked herself up, fuming. That moron driving the SUV had come close to actually hitting her. It that wasn’t enough, it was unbearably hot in this hick town, and the pavement, where she’d so dramatically fallen, had literally burned her.

Well, that either answered question of if whether or not Alan Glenn was a supra-human, or if he was still stupidly heroic. ‘Take your choice’ she thought, as she stormed across the street. She had looked liked a fool, since he had done nothing. The Air Force security detail formed up around her, blocking her view, but she had come too far to let Doctor McClellan upstage her.

Forcing her way past the circle of faceless muscle, she caught up with her project leader, just as he and the subject were exchanging greetings. She disregarded the comment he made about her dress. Determined to play this out to the end, she stuck her hand out at him, “Doctor Courtney Hathaway. I’m so happy to finally meet you.”

Giving him a smile that never reached her eyes, she gave him a critical look over. He was a bit on the short side for her taste, standing about 5’7”. His longish hair was still coal black, and didn’t have that monotone look of dye. Even in this heat, he was wearing a worn leather jacket with a number of racing related patches. The rest of his clothing was bulky as well, no doubt hiding a ‘middle age’ spread, she judged. Still he didn’t look the 48 years his file claimed. ‘Perhaps late 30’s’ she thought.

More annoying, her Esper sense couldn’t get a good read on him. Normally she got emotions clearly, and often times words, and thoughts as well even without probing. It was all part of what made her a very effective psychiatrist.

Yet she could read Dr. McClellan quite well, but couldn’t read this washed up, ex-teenage superhero. Inwardly she sighed. There were those who she couldn’t read, and he just happened to be one of them. It was of no consequence. She would still get what she wanted. It would require playing on his ego.

“I have all of your Team’s books. It’s such an honor to meet you in person. She gushed, “I can’t wait to begin working with you.”

Alan Glenn jadedly answered her, “Yeah, right. Hey Doc! Would you mind telling Doctor…”he trailed off, as if trying to think of her name.

Despite his bad boy smart mouth, she could still feel his gaze on her breasts. Just like any male, as long as you controlled what he looked at, you controlled him. Perkily she spoke up helpfully, “Hathaway, Courtney Hathaway, Doctor of Psychiatry.”

He gave her a sarcastic smile. “Hey Thanks! Hathaway, Courtney Hathaway, Doctor of Psychiatry, all that comic-book crap was propaganda, and I would rather have her give me a Brazilian wax job than work with her, or any of you.”

Dr. McClellan spoke calmly, ignoring his outburst, “Hello Alan. It has been a long time. I never got any Christmas cards, but I understand that I have you to thank for that Special Senate investigation committee subpoena I received.”

Alan smiled replying, “No hard feelings Doc? After all, I had to thank you somehow, for making me glow in the dark for most of my childhood. Oh, I forgot. You were just following orders. But hey, bygones are bygones.”

Courtney didn’t miss the hardening of his eyes when he continued, “Speaking of which, nice to see you. Sorry to see you have to go so soon. Bye, and please stay gone.”

Her boss shook his gray head, saying, “Alan, you know it doesn’t work that way. We are reactivating Meridian, and we need you.”

Alan’s eyebrows shot up as he guffawed, “Oh that’s rich Doc! Here I am almost fifty, and you’re trying to irradiate me again? Wasn’t it enough what happened to The Rocketeers?”

“You misunderstand Alan,” Dr. McClellan explained. “We are going to recruit another team. You’re going to train them.”

The auto repair shop owner just started laughing, ignoring the horde of armed men surrounding him. “Doc, I thought you said you were going start zapping kids again! That is so damn funny. Hey, let’s not forget that Meridian was shut down by an act of Congress. And, what about the whole project being illegal by international treaty?”

Laughing so hard he bent over he gasped out, “You know what the funniest part is Doc?”

Courtney was getting the feeling that this wasn’t going to plan, but that Dr. McClellan wasn’t surprised by Alan Glenn’s reaction. The old scientist shook his head.

Waving his hand at all the armed men about him, he looked up. “That all of you expect me to go along with any of this. The mighty Air Force dumped me like last week’s garbage when I wasn’t of any use to them any more, after keeping me as a virtual prisoner for 4 years. Oh I wasn’t going to mention my Team, and the only family I ever had, that the boys in blue here managed to get killed, but since you’re talking about ruining another group of kid’s lives, I will.”

As he stood straight, no longer laughing, Courtney blinked her eyes, seeing something she hadn’t expected. He might have been lusting for her body, but this redneck hick had iron, no, steel in him. He knew the men around him were there to bring him in, and he simply didn’t care. This man had once faced the most intimidating supra-criminals on the planet, and if it’d been long ago, the steel within was as strong as ever.

Meeting Dr. McClellan eye to eye he said softly, “Let me put it another way Doc. Hell frakking N, O, no.”

The old scientist said back just as evenly, “It wasn’t a request Alan.”

The tension ran wild as Alan acknowledged, “I know.”

Security fired the first dart at the Doctor’s nod.

In a smooth move, Alan avoided the dart and grabbed the Air Force sergeant’s arm. With a twist, he caused the hapless man to shoot one of his own men. He whirled the drugged man around as a shield, as the unfortunate man got hit by several more darts, as others fired their one shot weapons.

Courtney found herself in the unusual position of being surprised again. Her Esper power had given her no warning before Alan Glenn had erupted into action. In the space of only a second, two of their escort were neutralized. Three more stepped forward with handheld tasers, ready to subdue the unexpectedly difficult subject.

They had no more luck than their first two comrades. The first was disarmed, while the last pair tasered each other. Intently analyzing his performance, she decided that if what she saw wasn't supra-abilities, then he must be very, very good.

She directed the remaining security personnel to back away, out of hand-to-hand range, and to reload. Hurriedly she and the good Doctor got out of the way, leaving them clear to shoot. The next dart harmlessly hung in his leather jacket, and she heard Doctor McClellan telling them to shoot at his legs. The following shot would've missed too, but Courtney gave it a little telekinetic assistance, making sure this one hit the target.

He folded, as the fast acting drug took effect.

Standing over him, Doctor McClellan remarked, "I see you have gotten over that strange clumsiness of yours."

Just before he passed out Alan muttered, "I love you too Doc..."

Courtney asked, "Doctor, what was that? I thought Vroom's powers were super-speed.

Cleaning his throat he pointed out, "Indeed Vroom could run at near supersonic speeds, but what we saw here today was simply training. After he lost his powers and ran away from that foster home, he continued studying self-defense, and the martial arts, just in case any of the criminals The Rocketeers fought, came after him. He has black belts in any number of disciplines, as well as a concealed carry license." He inclined his head, as one of their security detail removed the automatic pistol from under Alan's jacket.

"I do believe you have several stops to make, picking up our candidates. We have much to do, and little time. However, I think since Mr. Glenn is unconscious, it would be a perfect time for an examination." The Doctor dismissed her, as Alan Glenn was loaded into a waiting ambulance.

Standing there for a moment, as the Air Force security men helped their roughly handled comrades up, she considered what had just happened. Clearly, she’d been underestimating Doctor McClellan. Her little red dress act hadn’t been the only test of Alan Glenn this morning.

The Doctor had definitely known how Alan Glenn would respond to news about Project Meridian. He had also known about the martial arts training. That fight had only been another test.

She looked back at Rocket's Speed Shop, at the faces there, watching what had happened. There were no real worries, for security would take care of those irritating things like camera phones and such. It seemed there was more to this than she'd suspected.

Courtney put aside that thought for later. She did have much to do. Without a second thought, she climbed into the waiting transport to the airport.
 

*          *          *
 
Susan, the office manager, stood next to John, the shop supervisor, as the last of the plain clothes security cops left. Blandly polite, the cops had taken the recordings of the fight from the shop’s security cameras, and given some vague explanation about national security concerns.

Neither had to voice what they were feeling. Working at the same place for twenty years had given them a closeness most married couples lacked. Giving each other a look, she said it first, "Damn them!"

He spat a wad of chew tobacco into the cup he carried in agreement. Jerking a grease stained thumb at the office safe he asked. "You ready?"

Together they opened the safe and took out the sealed packet. Inside were the letters giving them temporary control of the business till Alan could return. He had set that up years ago, in case of something like this. Someone else might have worried about them stealing his business, but not Alan. He trusted them, and besides the way he paid them, they probably came out ahead, letting him get the ulcers from stress of being the owner.

Then they came to the other sets of three letters. Each applied to different ways their boss came up missing. Taking the ones for being picked up by the government, they looked at the instructions he’d left for them. One letter went out airmail, with the usual office correspondence. Another was mailed by one of the guys in the shop, following John's orders to the letter, to drop it into a random mailbox. The last was sent FedEx by Susan's husband, who was wondering what was going on, that his wife made him make a special trip to the post office.
 

*          *          *
 
Chapter Three

Leavenworth, Kansas
September 3, 2008
ETWF: 19 Days

Joshua Dean decided the world sucked. He'd never been one of the popular kids, but still he’d been doing alright, surviving the hell that was high school the best way he could. He’d made it all the way to junior, and had just one more year to go. Then he had to mutate. The only obvious changes were his eyes, which had changed to a brilliant rainbow swirl. Then he had faded out of sight, while in the middle of class. Invisibility sounds like a cool thing until you start getting hard stares from the girls when you get too near their locker room.

What sucked was he hadn't even done anything! Now this, he thought, watching the three trolls stalk toward him. He knew what they wanted. Ever since those stupid cheerleaders had accused him of sneaking into the female showers, the dumb-ass trio had been after him to take a camera into the locker room to do just that.

What sucked even more was, if he just faded out to avoid these idiots, he would get in trouble for using his powers at school. Not that he had much of a choice. It was that, or let these knuckle draggers beat the crap out of him.

As he faded out of view, Joshua gave the angry trio a sarcastic wave.

From down the hallway he heard the vice principal Donner yell out, "Joshua Dean! My office now."

Yeah, his life sucked.
 

*          *          *
 
Dothan, Alabama

Malak Thorpe floated along, watching the fluffy clouds above. She mused it wasn’t all that different from last year, floating in their swimming pool back in LA, except of course she was a good twenty feet off the ground, drifting along just under the treetops. Lazily, she rolled, facing downward where her twin brother Malik was stomping though the forest shortcut from school.

Standing at near 6’ at only 15 years old, he already had a body builder’s physique, that he’d been working hard at since they were ten. A natural athlete, he’d started playing sports almost before he could walk. It didn’t matter what it was; baseball, football, soccer, or any other sport, he excelled.

Then the world came crashing in on them. Their father and mother had been killed in a robbery attempt at the bank where they worked. They’d moved from LA to their Grandma’s home in Alabama.

The shock of going from the big city to a very rural one was bad enough, but although they had visited often during the holidays, it wasn’t the same as actually living here. It didn’t help at all that they didn’t fit in at all. Mom’s family was lower income black, while Dad’s had been upper class white.

Growing up, they had heard the love story of how their parents had met and fell in love. He was a finance major, and she was there on a business scholarship. Granddad Thorpe had almost had a heart attack when Dad had asked Mom to marry him they’d been told. It was hard to believe the jolly old man who’d bounced them on his knee had ever been like that.

Still, they had seen racism, but really, it hadn’t been too bad. Their Mom had taught them how to cope. Look them in the eye, work twice as hard, and be four times better. Besides, there’d been lots of kids from all over the world at their school, so they didn’t stand out.

What neither of them expected, was the discrimination from the blacks at school here. Even before they’d mutated, the ‘brothers and sisters’ were calling them mutants because of their appearance. Dad had been a handsome red head, and Mom an African American beauty.

The mixing of the two hadn’t turned out too well, in her opinion. From their Dad they’d gotten their very pale skin. What didn’t help was, their very dark freckles gave them a peppered look. The red hair also came from Dad, but its kinky texture was all from Mom. They both also got their strong faces from their Mom’s side of the family. At least that is what she called it.

Malak hated the way she looked, even if she had to admit that, below the neck they had almost made up for getting the wrong everything for their faces. Her brother didn’t have much of a problem with it, but he didn’t have try and match makeup to her impossible shades.

It’d been hard, but they’d followed their Mom’s advice, and were making it work. Grandma Carter hadn’t been in the best health, but working together, they’d helped as much as they could. Then another disaster, within days of each other, they’d both gotten sick and mutated.

Outwardly, nothing had really changed, except if you looked hard, their eyes had gotten even darker. Inwardly was another matter. Malik had gotten stronger and tougher. His muscles and bones had changed into something stronger than mere flesh and blood. Even his skin was more resilient.

Malak might have changed even more than he, because she could fly! The doctor that had examined them thought she might be tapping into the Earth’s magnetic field or something. What she knew was she could fly though the air, almost as if she was swimming. She loved being able to soar.

For Malik though it was a total catastrophe. No school, no league, no team would let him play. Even his hobby of weight lifting had lost its appeal. Even the heaviest set he had was easy for him to lift now. Once he’d dreamed of going pro after school. A dream that’d been crushed. Without the outlet sports gave him, he’d grown moody, and she worried about him.

There’d been incidents where the bullies at school were pushing to see just how far they could go. Didn’t the morons know her brother could turn any of them into paste? Well she knew they weren’t all that bright, and suspected that the smarter others were egging them on just so she and Malik would get in trouble with ULTIMATE. As if that wasn’t enough to worry about, all this had put even more stress on their Grandma. Malak knew the old woman was worried. What would become of them if anything happened to her?

Inwardly she repeated her mother’s mantra, work twice as hard and be four times better. Approaching their Grandma’s house, nestled back in its grove of tall southern pines, she saw them first. A black SUV was parked out front. She had a bad feeling about this, but saw no need to let her brother know just yet. Malak was learning why some said ignorance was bliss.
 

*          *          *
 
Augusta, Maine

Waiting in the cafeteria line, Amanda De Winter brushed her dark hair from her face, as the light breeze teased it. She did the best she could to pay the snickers behind her no attention. She couldn't believe that her former friends would turn on her so quick. It wasn't her fault that she was a mutant.

They'd been friends since the first grade, and now, nothing. Other kids had mutated, and had a hard time fitting in too. But these had been her friends! Now the only time they talked was to make her life hell. She had even had to change her cell phone number, because of all the nasty text messages.

She knew she should be thankful that she didn't change into something that didn't even look human, like some mutants did. Like others, her eyes had changed dramatically. Her blue eyes were now a stormy gray, but her sandy blond hair had darkened to a dark blacker than black, mass of curls.

Her powers made every thing worse by continually causing a breeze near her making her hair dance in response to her moods. People were always aware something was different about her, as the breezes swirled about her, even when inside. It wasn't fair!

A sharp shove from behind almost made her fall!

"Move it Breezy, you’re making all the food grow cold" A voice haughtily demanded, as her ex-friends stepped around her.

Amanda felt her face burning in embarrassment and anger. The unfairness and the scorn from her turncoat friends pushed her across a line. So, they’re worried about their food being cold?

In front of her, they were busily scooping what passed in the high school cafeteria for food, onto their plates. Behind Amanda was a different story, as the students saw her hair stop its playful dance to flow out behind her as if she stood in a storm. Lunch forgotten, they got out the way, not wanting to be caught in whatever was going to happen next.

Ashley felt a chill creep up on her. She knew it had to be that mutant bitch that had pretended to be a real person. She was going to turn around, and threaten it, until she saw her, once steaming, mashed potatoes sparkle with a covering of icy frost. In disbelief, she watched as all of her friends trays got the same treatment.

She screamed as she touched the frozen potatoes, and her finger stuck to the subzero, cold lump. The icy stuff burned like fire!

Amanda's head slumped forward. She knew she was in trouble. When she had been evaluated by ULTIMATE, she had been warned about using her powers. She knew it would be useless to say she’d been provoked. It just wasn't fair.

She just stood there in sorrow, as the lunchroom monitor hurried to the emergency.

Amanda couldn't think how her day could get worse, trudging home. The school headmaster had sent ULTIMATE the official notice that she had used her powers, and another student had been injured. Give her a break! That skag Ashley had only gotten a tiny spot on her finger frost-burned.

The sky above was cloudy and overcast, the usual for the great state of Maine. With a thought, the clouds thinned and the sun started to shine though the holes. There she thought. “That’s better.” At least it looks more cheerful. Feeling a little more upbeat, her mood lasted until she got home.

There was a big, black SUV parked in front of her house. Curious, because they never got visitors, she looked closer. Seeing the license plates, her heart fell. It had gotten worse. She might only be sixteen, but she knew nothing good ever came in a government vehicle.

The air swirled about her as she went inside, knowing she wasn't going to like what she found inside.
 

*          *          *
 
Baraboo, Wisconsin

William Riegel kept his head hunched down as he heard the bikes coming up fast from behind him. It'd been bad enough to be teased all his life about being fat. There was no use telling anyone it was genetic. Everyone from his little sister, to both sets of grandparents, were 'heavy boned' as his mother kindly put it.

Then one day in school, his hand had slowly lengthened, stretching all the way to the floor. It had scared him so badly that they had to sedate him. When he woke up, his dad and mom told him, he had become a supra-human. He was like Grandpa Fred, who could ignore the coldest weather, and had endless stamina. His powers were stretching, and not to worry, he would learn to use them quickly.

They'd been right. He'd quickly caught on how not to accidentally stretch, but learning to use them when he wanted to was something else. The best part was, he wasn't fat anymore if he didn't want to be. His body was fully pliable, and he could look like anyone. All he need a mirror, and a picture.

He had discovered that accidentally one day, while looking at some magazines. His mom would kill him if she ever found them. Bill had wanted so much to be able to touch one of those, so beautiful women, but it wasn't enough. He wanted to be one too.

Then suddenly, he was her! Shocked, he'd just stared at the centerfold model that he'd become. She was so gorgeous that he didn't want to change back! Realizing that had scared him so bad, he hadn't dared to try it again for almost two whole days.

Then he had broken down. Bill just had to try it again. There was shame and embarrassment. He was a boy right? Big, bad and mean, and not scared of anything. Wasn't that the way it was supposed to be? How come it didn’t feel that way? Looking at the undeniable feminine figure in the mirror, it just felt so right.

Bill found himself experimenting with becoming different women while mixing and matching their different features. It was so fascinating that he couldn't stop. He wanted to tell his parents, because he knew they were aware something was up. But, how do you tell them, anyone, something like this?

Then he got careless, and someone from school saw him change. Bill never did discover who, but somehow word had gotten around. Being fat had been bad enough. Then he was a mutant and things had gotten worse. Now things had hit rock bottom, with him being called a sissy, and faggot.

He didn't know what to think about that. Having discovered girls, he was pretty sure he wasn't gay. Bill liked girls. He liked them a lot. It was just that he want to be one too. Not that it would do him a whole lot of good to explain that to the bullies after him right now. The good news was, since he was so pliable, physical stuff mostly just bounced off. Mostly, because he'd found that, if it was really cold, it still hurt. This was Wisconsin, it was always cold!

"Why couldn't they just leave me alone?" he thought, as a tear fell.

He fell forward as the boot kicked him in the back.

Austin, one of the nastiest bullies at school, rode by on his bike, with a cigarette dangling from his lip. A heartbeat later the rest of the teenage hoodlum's wanna-be gang breezed by.

Sliding to a stop blocking his way, they laughed at him, sprawled on the sidewalk. They were laughing at him.

Stone-Cold Austin took a drag on his cigarette, feeling on top of the world. He'd shown that mutant sissy who was boss. “Hey, why had everyone stopped laughing?”

His victim was back on his feet, but there wasn't any of the expected fear in his eyes. Those black eyes showed only hate, and the anger of someone who wasn't going to take it anymore. Crap, maybe he had misjudged the pansy!

That was his last thought, as a fist snapped at him from 6 feet away, sending him into unconsciousness.

Bill knew he shouldn't have fought back. No matter what he did, he was going to end up in trouble. Still it had felt good to get some of his own back on his tormentors. Seeing the black government SUV in front of his house, all of his satisfaction disappeared, as his stomach turned into knots.

He knew his mom and dad had been talking about sending him to a special school out east somewhere, but what did the government have to do with that? Walking in, and seeing the two well-dressed representatives with their brochures and pamphlets, he knew this wasn‘t good.

“Honey,” His mom greeted him. “You know that school for students like you, we were talking about? Well they are representatives from another one, that has tuition assistance for families like ours.”

 

*          *          *
 
Boston, Massachusetts

Unhappily, six-year-old Elizabeth Tyree hugged her stuffed bear, Mr. Ted E. Bear. It wasn’t her fault! She didn’t mean to break those things. It was just that things broke all the time now. Sniffing, she knew she was in trouble this time for making Jeffery stop bothering her and the rest of the girls while they’d been playing.

He was always making fun of them, and saying bad things. This time she’d made him stop. Now everyone was mad at her! Her teacher sent her to the principal’s office, and her mommy had showed up too.

She’d been scolded about scaring Jeffery, and told she could’ve hurt him. Lizzie didn’t mean to. It had all gone wrong a few weeks ago, and her Mommy and Daddy had taken her to the hospital. They said she was one of the youngest muta-somethings they had ever seen. All she knew was, she was accidentally breaking all her toys, and getting in trouble all the time.

Her door opened, and Mommy came in with another woman.

Wiping her eyes, and trying to be a good girl, she timidly stood, still clutching Ted E. Bear.

“Elizabeth,” Her mother said, “This is Miss Hathaway, and she is going to be your new teacher. You’ll be going to a special school.”

Lizzie didn’t hear the rest of what Mommy said. As the tears began to fall again, she knew she was being sent away because she’d been bad. Crying, she begged them not to. She would be good, and not break anything ever again, but no one listened.
 

*          *          *
 
Chapter Four

Area 61
September 4, 2008
ETWF: 18 Days

Alan woke on an uncomfortable examination table. Grimacing at his headache, he sat up. Glancing down at the medical gown he was wearing; he guessed Doc Mac hadn’t wasted any time probing where he wasn’t wanted. There were guards at the door and, looking around, he recognized the room, Area 61.

Shaking his head, it figured. His brother, when he’d blown up, had been topside. All the underground stuff had been built to take a nuclear blast anyways. Hell, most of this place was buried anyways. He shouldn’t be surprised it survived. Disappointed, but not surprised.

His clothes were neatly folded on a nearby chair. Well, nothing for it, he wagered. Slipping off the bed, he started a warm up, tai chi form. It was just thing to help him judge if anything had been done to him. Gracefully, he flowed into the deceptively slow motion art. Quickly he found the places where blood had been drawn. Harder to find was the spot on his back.

A slow spin in the mirror, which he knew was two way, revealed the slight discoloration and the bump of an implant.

Some dogs just can’t learn new tricks. Some thirty years ago they had stuck trackers, monitoring devices, and all kind of other junk just under the skin of him, his brother, and their friends. Not just to keep an eye on them, but to control them. Just before he’d run away he’d performed a little surgery, and yanked that damn thing out. Much harder to get rid of had been the injected chemicals that would've allowed him to be tracked. All of it had been extremely unpleasant.

Alan guessed that this was more of the same, although it did bear thinking that this most recent device might have some truly nasty things in it. Plus, they put it somewhere difficult for him to reach. Taking a deep breath and centering himself, he didn’t sense anything else.

Right, it was time to get dressed. He just finished taking inventory of his belongings, not surprised to find his phone and weapon missing, when the welcoming committee barged in. In front was some blue uniformed type, with his hat covered in the ‘scrambled eggs’ embroidery reserved for general officers. Trailing ‘Eggs’ was the usual entourage of lower ranking ass-kissers and go-fers.

Doc Mac was hovering at ’Eggs’ right, with his own flock of hanger-on’s following him, looking like a flock of geese in their white lab coats.

“Hey Doc,” Alan greeted. “I remember this place. I thought it had all been blown to smithereens, but no such luck. Too bad.”

Doc Mac didn’t say a thing, deferring to the uniformed Air Force General trailing the usual entourage of aides and guards.

“Still the loose cannon Glenn? Where were you for the 14 years, after you left the Project?” Grated ‘Eggs’ at him.

Alan stared at the General before the name came to him. Widening his eyes in mock surprise. “Hey it’s Lieutenant ‘Lying-To-Me’ Laramie! They made you a General? Our military must be in worse shape than I thought.”

Ignoring the shock of the lackeys at his disrespect, he continued, despite the dangerous scowl on the General’s face. “Do as you‘re told and your families can visit,’ or do you remember ‘if you’re good, you can go home for Christmas?” He mocked the man in blue.

Raising his voice in a growl the General warned, “That will be enough of that Mr. Glenn. The question stands. You disappeared without a trace from 1975 to 1989. We looked for you because of security concerns. Where were you?”

Alan raised his eyebrows. Laramie would have a coronary if he ever found out, but as attractive as that thought was, some secrets had to be kept. “Security concerns? Are you slow? I told everybody I could! That’s why this joint got investigated by a Senate Committee. Not that it did any good, but by Gawd I tried.”

Laramie’s face twisted sourly, as he remembered that unpleasantness. Changing the subject, he got back to business. “We have a situation warranting the reactivation of project Meridian. You have been brought here to train this new batch of candidates. For your time and efforts, you will be very well compensated.

Sarcastically, Alan rejoined, “What could possibly justify putting more kids’ lives in jeopardy? What’s more, what right do you have to kidnap me? All of this is forbidden by the ULTIMATE accords. I’ve done well for myself, and my people, and I don’t need your money. There ain’t a single reason in the world for me to go along with this!”

Not backing down an inch, the General got in Alan’s face, “You are wrong Glenn. First, you don’t have a ‘need-to-know’. Second, you’re not covered by ULTIMATE since you lost your powers.”

“Third, the subjects are wards of the Federal government, and so bypass the directive against supra-humans working for a national government. Fourth, in case it has escaped you, the IRS is a Federal agency. I’m sure they could find some tax irregularity in your business, if they looked hard enough, Glenn.” The General spat out, like a man holding all the cards.

“Lastly we are going to try other techniques to augment your protégés abilities first. We have learned a lot in the last thirty years. You are our resident expert in teenage supra-teams. Get them to cooperate, and get with the program, so they show progress. If it works, we’ll have no reason to use our fallback plan of using Z-ray 13.”

Self-satisfied, he pulled out a cigar from his pocket. His aides fell over themselves lighting it for him. “We know of your martial arts instructor background, as well as your business and history degrees. You are qualified.”

Puffing smoke in Alan’s face, he demanded, “So, shut the hell up and do your job. I will have Meridian ready when it’s needed, no matter what it takes. Are we clear?”

Blinking at the foul smoke, he knew that he did not have a choice. Alan glared back, “Crystal, Sir.”

“For the duration of the training, you’ll go by your old code name, Vroom. Until a tactical commander is chosen it’ll be Captain Vroom, since you‘ll be nominally in charge.” The General chuckled, amused at his own cleverness. “Captain Vroom. I like the sound of that.”

Secure in his own omnipotence, he turned on his heel, leaving his boot-lickers gagging on the foul smelling smoke, and struggling to follow. A few of Doc Mac’s civilian gaggle, with lesser constitutions than their military counterparts, were throwing up in the corner from the stench.

Alan sarcastically smiled again, “Good ole Area 61. Just like I never left, eh Doc? Captain Vroom? Someone should tell that idiot that I lost any powers I had, 34 years ago.”

Doc pushed up his glasses, and tried to reason with him. “Alan, I know, better than most, that you have cause to be angry and upset. There are good reasons why Meridian is back, and the new techniques have every potential to achieve the project’s goals.”

Quirking an eyebrow he replied, “So do my job of convincing these kids, who have been all but kidnapped, to do what you want or you’ll zap them like you did to us? Excuse the hell out of me Doc, but that‘s a load of crap.”

Alan jerked his thumb at the General’s receding smoke trail. “It sucked wind when Lieutenant Lying-to-me did it to me, my brother, and our friends. He must think it’s a hoot, trying to force me to do the same things he did to us.”

Looking Doc in the eyes, he said, “I got news for everyone. I’m not lying to these kids. Oh I’ll do the best I can, if for no other reason than to keep you from making them glow in the dark.”

Looking hurt out from over his glasses Doc Mac replied, “Alan, I’m not the villain here. At one time we used be friends, regardless of our age difference. All we’re asking is that you do your best. Even if you were to fail, the newest Z-ray 13 is much safer than the old Z-ray 9. We have run countless computer simulations that give a high degree of confidence in its operation.”

Picking up his jacket and heading for the door, Alan looked over his shoulder at Doc, “You have no idea of how warm and fuzzy that makes me feel. Never mind giving me the tour, I know the way.”

Without another word, he walked out past the guards.
 

*          *          *
 
End of Part 1