Part Ten

Later, as they lay together after their lovemaking, Melody put a hand on John's chest.

"Does it bother you that I still think of her?"

He took her hand, pulled it to his lips and kissed her fingertips.

"Honey, I still think of her. She's the kind of person who is difficult to forget."

"You're very good at that," said Melody, amused.

"Eh?"

"Speaking the language of a man trying not to offend a woman."

"Heh."

She settled in closer to him and closed her eyes.

* * *

Melody was actually curious about what Aaron had been doing in New York. Over the next few days she left several messages with his service in Haven; finally he got back to her. As before, they agreed to meet in her office. This time, she closed the door.

"Can you tell me anything more about why you were in town the other day?" she said, after the greetings were over.

"Not much. I was primarily asking people to help with transportation."

"Transportation?"

"I can't do much to fight a wildfire directly, but I can transport those who can," said Aaron, giving an example which seemed to be on his mind. "Something I did during those fires out west last year. I also worked to help individuals - mainly by healing those who were burned - while Zephyr calmed the winds and Hydra (I really wish she'd get an appropriate codename) encouraged the clouds to drop rain where it would do the most good."

"I read about that," said Melody, nodding. "Some of it. Though not that you were the one who had brought those two to the fires."

"We definitely need both better alert systems," said Aaron, "and better transportation. The former is being addressed in large part by our development of Harriett and our new radios. Because of that success, we're now working even harder to arrange better transportation."

He sighed and shook his head.

"For so long after Haymarket, we - not just the empowered but everyone - assumed that both types of problems would be solved by either powers or new inventions. To some extent that has come true, of course. Because of that assumption, though, we made do with less than we needed - less than we could have had - waiting for the miracles. We were certain that someone else would soon solve the problems. However, having me fly people where they were needed was never enough, and it is even less so now. Regardless of how much some people enjoy the trip."

"You know," said Melody, wincing a bit as she recalled the tragedies behind reasons for the flights, "I do not remember much about either of the times you flew me somewhere."

"I'm not surprised," said Aaron, quietly.

"It's just that... I was carried by someone who can fly, and I don't remember any of the details. I barely remember the second trip, and don't remember the first at all. It's rather... aggravating."

"I'll make a point of taking you on a flight some time, then," said Aaron, grinning. "Maybe carry you up high enough to see the curvature of the Earth."

"I'd suffocate! Not to mention freeze!"

"No more than you did before. I share my ability to adapt to such environments with those I carry."

"Something else I didn't know you could do," said Melody, startled. She shook her head. "Riding with Blackpool is disappointingly boring. Just a brief bit of formless darkness, and there we are."

She grinned.

"Maybe you'll take me to the Moon, some day."

"Unlikely," he said, laughing. "That's a pretty significant trip, even for me."

There was a short moment of quiet, which Aaron broke.

"Melody... I know you want more than an interview or background. Are you upset with me for some reason? Surely not over me discovering that you and John are lovers?"

"I... Yes? I mean, not only are we not married, but I... I thought you might feel I was betraying... Arielle."

That last word was said very quietly.

"I don't. I didn't object to your relationship with Arielle, and I don't object to this. I'm also certain she would want you to have companionship, to be happy. As for sex outside marriage, that is actually a fairly modern shame, at least to the degree it currently officially is. Though it was already considered scandalous when Louise and I met. Despite that, we were lovers for over a year before we married. We were just careful."

"Wait... You and..."

"I think she enjoyed wrestling with an angel," said Aaron, a twinkle in his eye.

* * *

Finally, between Aaron asking President Duff to check and Blackpool's efforts and the efforts of the paper and its lawyers and reporters and a federal judge, the New York Glory learned what it was that certain federal agents wanted of Melody. However, this information was delivered to her boss in person, by a federal agent demanding both anonymity for himself and that Gadding not tell anyone else the reason. Including Melody.

"Absurd. I'm doing this on her behalf. Of course I'm going to tell her. There's no reason not to and a very good reason to do so. How else will she make up her mind whether to cooperate?"

"This doesn't require her cooperation!" the man snapped. "Just her expertise!"

"You have a lot of gall, saying that," said Gadding, with a snarl. "You want her to help you, but you can't just ask. You bully and intimidate and sneak around, and wonder why she - all of us - are suspicious."

"The less you know the less you can spill," said the man, angrily. "I know reporters."

"It never occurred to you that she would have good reason to be suspicious of men in suits who pretend to be government agents?" said Gadding.

"You reporters are far too paranoid," said the man, with the hint of a sneer.

The Editor in Chief looked at the man with a long, piercing gaze.

"So, you somehow missed the events - the federal crime - where she was kidnapped and tortured last year," he said, in a carefully neutral tone. "By men in exactly the sort of suit you are wearing. Behaving in exactly the same high-handed way."

Neither resemblance was exact, but close enough.

"Of course not. However, we are legitimate government agents. Not criminals hired by rogues."

"Well, until you figure out what you're doing wrong, or your bosses realize you're just too stupid to do so, you will stay away from her. I have already notified the judge who issued the previous ruling in regard to your harassing actions of your continued attempts to meet her without her consent or a court-issued warrant, and have also sent an official letter of protest to several important people in the federal government. I will now send an updated copy of that to the head of your agency."

The stranger actually laughed. Then leaned forward in what he obviously thought was an intimidating manner.

"You don't know who I work for. You don't even know who I am!"

"You're Harvey Dudelange, Special Agent for the Foreign Intelligence Agency."

He just stared. Then jumped to his feet.

"You think you can play games with the FIA?!"

"For someone who is supposed to be keeping a low profile, you do a piss-poor job of it," said Gadding, mildly. "It's more like you're playing games than we are. Well, this isn't a game, and our job is uncovering the truth. You tell your bosses that if they want to speak with Melody they need to approach her openly, with an endorsement from the President - whom she trusts - or someone provably speaking for him. Now, get out of my office and out of my building."

Dudelange got out of the Chief Editor's office, all right, storming through the door with the intent of heading straight for Melody's office. However, he immediately encountered several very large and determined-looking men in security uniforms, blocking his way. Steaming, he found himself guided to the bank of elevators and escorted out of the building.

He was still steaming as he plotted his revenge, later. Since his entire agency was prohibited from conducting activity inside the US he knew he had no legal recourse. Of course, they had other resources...

* * *

That evening, when Blackpool arrived in the shadowed spot Melody left in her apartment for him, he was doing some steaming of his own.

"They're pressuring me to have you agree to an interview," said Blackpool, telling her this first thing, before he changed out of his work clothes. "They won't even tell me what the interview is for! We're both lucky they don't know about our living arrangements. They just know we meet often at the repository."

"They have yet to even bother asking me," said Melody, sourly. "They just send people after me. Then don't seem to understand why I avoid them. However, my editor finally found out they want me to look at a piece of film and give them my analysis of it. He says getting that much out of them was like pulling his own teeth. There's no warrant or other legal document involved. I'm just supposed to do what they want, no questions asked!"

"Do you want me to tell them to go fuck themselves?" said Blackpool. She knew by now how to read his expressions through that full-face mask and could tell he was smirking. She sighed.

"I'd rather not be that abrupt. They're already making vague threats about an IRS audit. No telling what they'd do to you."

"I doubt it would ever go that far, but you might be right that we should try diplomacy. If we can actually get them to accept anything we propose."

"Tell you what. I'll come up with a list of terms and you give them that. Then we'll see."

She didn't mention that her boss already had the same list. If her terms were accepted, let both men take the credit.

* * *

"I am so glad you finally agreed to meet with us," said the intelligence analyst, a distracted-seeming man named Horvat. "I don't know why you didn't want to help us."

He exhibited an almost childish petulance while saying this. Melody bit back on a sudden surge of anger. Besides him, there was an unidentified man the reporter had tagged as Horvat's boss, who was keeping mostly in the background; a projectionist; and two Secret Service men, one of whom Melody knew from previous experience. With those last two here she felt safe enough to actually participate, instead of fight to escape. The projectionist was an innocuous looking fellow who was manning a currently silent and dark piece of equipment.

"No-one told me you wanted to consult with me until three days ago," said Melody, her tone almost civil. "They just showed up and told people they were looking for me. No explanation of why. Only barely identifying themselves. Naturally, given what I went through with people who pretended to be feds kidnapping me last year, I evaded them. Now, what, exactly, is it that you want from me?"

"Oh," said the man, looking confused. "Well, we need you to watch some film and give us your opinion of what is happening."

Melody gritted her teeth; that much she already knew! Without waiting for her consent, Horvat signaled the projectionist. The room darkened and the movie began.

There was sound but the volume was low. From what Melody could hear there wasn't much of importance in the audio. Not that what she could see was all that informative, either. The flickering images showed a typical newsreel sequence of UN and non-governmental personnel helping people. Melody thought it might have been part of a recent effort to aid those in an area of western Africa where a severe storm had hit. She had read and heard there were problems involved with the work, but no details. That lack of information alone had been suspicious, but most people - Melody included - felt the situation involved UN troops botching something.

Suddenly, lightning struck from a nearly empty dusk sky. The view jumped, and for a while showed only the scattered clouds above. As the glow from the strike faded, Melody could see the camera operator frantically swinging the view back onto the scene. Though a bit unsteady - apparently, the camera had been removed from its tripod and was being hand held - the film now showed dead and injured troops. Suddenly, the view swerved again, to center on a descending winged figure. The person landed, wings working hard to cushion the landing. The flyer was backlit by the fire the lightning had started and the exposure was off, while the lens was also spattered with debris. Few details were visible beyond a featureless silhouette. The wings folded, the figure looked casually around, then raised a hand. Something long and thin and flickering brightly materialized, then was immediately hurled at a nearby Red Crescent truck. The resultant explosion knocked it off its wheels and sent the contents flying.

More of these attacks followed. The figure turned slowly, targeting whatever large object or group of people came into view. The camera operator, understandably, stopped filming as the turning figure swung towards the camera. The projector stopped and the lights came back up.

"The woman who made this dove for a ditch, fortunately taking the camera with her," said Horvat. "She was one of the few survivors, crawling through the ditch to a culvert, where she hid. While we don't have a film record of what happened afterwards, the testimony of the survivors and the physical evidence left behind are pretty damning. The attacker killed nearly every adult man and most of the children, and raped several of the women. So you can see why it was urgent that we learn what you might know about this event!"

He looked expectantly at the reporter. Not noticing the brief wave of nausea from the flashbacks that almost casual recitation of assaults brought her. Melody very deliberately turned her mind towards anger instead of terror.

"Hold on," said Melody, hotly. "You're implying that someone who has been empowered for a century would suddenly and completely change his behavior. Recall that this is someone who, through that entire time, has consistently demonstrated benevolence, generosity and forbearance. Someone who was just recently honored in France for his role in the success of the D-Day invasion.

"This is also someone powerful enough that such an alteration in personality would very quickly be blatantly obvious. Even if he suddenly changed in that way, how would he conceal his subsequent actions? Would he even bother to try? Malak is not just 'I can beat up your tank' empowered but 'I can beat up your army' empowered. There would be a lot more damage than a few UN vehicles destroyed and dozens of troops and refuges dead and injured."

"Maybe it just finally got to him. As for concealing his crimes..."

"I don't buy it," snapped Melody, cutting him off. "Maybe right after Ari... his daughter died. Not now, though. This isn't him. By which I mean, whoever did this is literally not him. I admit, what I could see of the person and their application of powers resembles Malak, but they aren't identical. As just one example, he throws a spear with a flaming tip, which explodes on contact. This person is literally throwing lightning bolts."

"You're saying," was the slow, cautious and very worried response, "that we're dealing with someone on the same power level, but without Malak's morality? That's actually scarier. Instead of a period of weakness during which he commits several acts he might later regret and never repeat, you've got someone unknown but extraordinarily potent who is committing these acts. Perhaps in a deliberate attempt to frame Malak."

Melody hid her surge of triumph at his accidentally revealing that this was just one of several such attacks. Maybe that was why so many different agencies were trying - however ineptly - to get her to help them!

"They're probably not at Malak's level. I mean, if they're trying to frame him that means they're worried he'll stop them. They wouldn't need to be as powerful as him to do what we just saw, either. If someone set things up ahead of time, or was the front for a group, they could easily look more potent than they really are. Of course, there have been other empowered as powerful as Malak or even more powerful. Not just in the past, either. Though the rate is low these days - thanks in part to so many trigger chemicals being identified and banned - new empowered do appear somewhere in the world every few days."

"You aren't the only one to give Malak the benefit of the doubt," said the official standing to one side, speaking for the first time since brusquely acknowledging Melody when she was escorted into this room. He seemed more upset over having his certainty of Malak's guilt rejected than he was over the deaths and injuries. "Polls show that nearly seventy percent of the US population believe he is incapable of such actions."

"Why does this surprise you?" said Melody, angrily. "Not just about Malak, either. Popular entertainments repeatedly portray empowered as power-hungry megalomaniacs who are so corrupt and undisciplined they kill their own henchmen on a whim. That darkly comic exaggeration and the fact that in the rare instances when some empowered person has actually made a major power play that they have been quickly brought down by other empowered makes these fictions such obvious lies that most people don't connect them with actual empowered or the events around them."

The man looked startled. Melody took advantage of this to catch her breath, and emotionally steady herself.

"That..." He gave his head a quick shake. "Well, that explains why some of our forecasters have been so consistently wrong."

Melody realized he was significantly surprised, and distressed. He was covering that, but not well. She wondered if the conspiracy theories about the government "persuading" writers and producers to portray empowered in a bad light were correct. However, there was something she wanted to check, something she had noted in the film. Melody turned her attention to that. For now.