Part Seven

Vic was back at the office - though still on restricted duty - the next day. She was almost fully healed; one of the benefits of regeneration. Her appetite was about back to normal as well.

"A lot happened while you were out," said Drake, once all the welcomes and expressions of relief that Vic was not seriously hurt in the incident were over. Once they were both at her desk, he handed her a sheet of paper which carried a brief report of an aircraft accident. "The most public event is that the plane carrying Lightning Wire was found, in Lake Saint Clair. The authorities tried to keep it quiet, but the press was asking questions in less than an hour. They're searching for more debris, but may have located all they're going to. However, from the damage they found to one of the wings, it's pretty obvious that the plane ran into something; there's a huge dent in the metal on the leading edge. The dent is a little outboard of the port nacelle, and the propellor blade tips for the engine on that side seem to have been bent over. Or maybe something ran into them. Anyway, the impact caused an immediate loss of control of the plane. It went into a wild tumble and came apart in the air. There's already speculation that your shooting was arranged by one or more fans of the band."

He sighed, and shook his head. Then looked at Vic.

"Some people are saying that you arranged for the band to have a plane 'accident' to stop the legal action against you, after they sued you to stop their - as they and their fans see it - persecution."

"Wow..." said Vic, shaking her head. "That's... not something I wanted to hear. Any of that."

She had vague memories of falling off a building after being shot but nothing beyond that until she awoke at the hospital. News of the death of the man who had presumably shot her did nothing to make her feel any better about the situation. She and Michelle has also very deliberately not discussed whether Vic would have also been poisoned if her wife hadn't been sitting at her bedside for those hours.

"Talk about conspiracy theories. I'm not even the one responsible for the charges against them. Oh, well; at least I'm not a suspect in the death of the shooter; I was unconscious in Recovery, being constantly watched, when that happened. What about Lady Green, though?"

"Yeah," said Drake, nodding slowly. "She was through with that fire when the shooter died, and unaccounted for. Like you, she was also being sued for defamation and false arrest by the band. We'll have to check her alibis for both the sniper's death and the plane wreck. If she has any."

"If she doesn't, how do we check if she was involved?"

"I don't care how tough someone is," said Drake, flatly, "getting hit by a plane and propellor like that would leave a mark."

"Ow, yeah," said Vic, wincing, "Though even if we clear her of that, that still leaves the sniper's murder. Uh, I hate to change the topic like this, but is there any news about my helmet?"

"We sent it off to the lab at the main office," said Drake. "They say you were hit with a bullet from a big game rifle, which matches what they recovered near the sniper. That was chambered in .458 Winchester, which is a very potent cartridge; it's considered quite adequate for elephants and cape buffalo. There are only a few commercial cartridges more powerful, starting with the .460 Weatherby Magnum. Which is the sort of thing you would use to hunt large dinosaurs. I'm not an expert on big game cartridges, but I think they go all the way up to 700 Nitro Express. Anyway, the bullet was too damaged to match it to the rifle, but we don't have any doubt about the weapon.

"Also, the main office said that you should be glad the rifle wasn't something chambered in Browning Fifty. They don't know, yet, if they can repair your helmet, or if they will have to make a new one. Either way, you will have to wear the one old helmet you still have for now."

"Yeah, about what I was expecting," said Vic, with a sigh.

"They did say that either way, they'll add more armor."

"Just what I need," said Vic, sourly. "A bigger head."

"Brade herself called me," said Drake, seriously. "She said the Bureau would put their tame mads on the problem. They'll probably make two of them for you, just in case."

* * *

"Look, the only significant bruise I have on me is from where Skip Calendar hit me," said Lady Green, that afternoon, in Drake's office. She had quickly arranged to see him after being asked to stop by the Bureau's local office. Since she was able to fly, flooded streets were not an impediment for her.

"Well, if you can get someone reliable to testify to that..." said Drake.

"Come on," said Lady Green, grabbing Vic's arm. "We're going to the ladies room."

"_Me_?!" said Vic, as the other super pulled her towards the door. "We should get..."

"Go on," said Drake, smiling a bit. "She's a consenting adult."

Soon the pair of females were in the closest women's restroom, which was rather small. However, there was enough room for the two of them to stand without touching. Lady Green pulled off her low boots and set them on the counter between the sinks. As with most super costumes, the socks were integral with the bodystocking.

"Keep that door closed!" said Lady Green, as she found the ZipStrip on her outer layer of costume and began pulling at it. "Don't let anyone else in here!"

"Anyone _else_?!" said Vic, scandalized. "What about me?!"

"Hey, we're all girls here," said Lady Green, blushing as she pulled the outer layer of her costume - which was much like a one-piece swimsuit - off and began tugging at the body stocking underneath. She had nothing on between the upper part of that undergarment and its built-in cups and her skin. "Yes, I know you like girls. Just... don't look any more than you have to, okay?"

Vic couldn't _help_ but look. Lady Green had a great body, and she was in very good shape. She definitely didn't need airbrushing to add the illusion of more muscles. Though the costume discretion had been applied in other ways.

"See?" Lady Green said, as she held the main parts of the costume in one hand. She gestured at herself with the other. The only clothing she currently wore were rather skimpy panties and her mask. "Here's the bruise where that guitarist hit me. There's a few other marks. All old. They think I have thorough healing, though not fast healing or regeneration."

A faded bruise ran diagonally from her right shoulder across her left breast. Which fit where Vic had seen Skip Calendar hit her. Despite her words, Vic could see no other marks on her perfect skin.

"Bassist," said Vic, reflexively. "Uh, you need to turn around, so I can see your back, too."

The hired super rolled her eyes, but complied.

"Seen enough?" she said, after a slow turn.

"Oh, yeah," said Vic. "Uh, I mean, I can definitely say you don't show any signs of being hit by a plane."

Which she told her boss, once Lady Green was again in her costume and the two of them were back in the office of Special Agent in Charge Drake.

"Excellent," he said. "Well, that's one suspect we can mark off."

"Only now we have none," said Vic, with a sigh. "That's just for the plane, too."

She looked at the super for hire.

"We still need to clear you for the sniper's death."

"I can definitely provide an alibi for at least three hours after the hotel fire was over," said Lady Green, blushing. "There was this fire fighter..."

"We don't need the details," said Drake, quickly, raising a hand. "Just a statement from him that he can verify you were elsewhere during the period when the sniper was poisoned."

"Shouldn't be a problem," said Lady Green, looking relived.

* * *

"Still thinking about Lady Green's strip tease?" said Michelle, grinning, that evening as they prepared for bed.

"There was no tease," said Vic, pulling the covers over them. "Trust me on this. She was just showing me the bruise on her body."

"Her tight, fit body," said Michelle, supplying plenty of tease, with voice and actions.

"You're pretty tight and fit, yourself," said Vic, kissing her.

"Mmmmm..." said Michelle, as she rolled on top of Vic. "Tell me again how... tight I am..."

* * *

Note for the next segment: Yes, I know Detroit doesn't actually have a subway system. However, it almost did. I wanted the Operators' base to have a subway connection. (All Thirties and Forties super team headquarters need a subway connection. That's part of the genre.) In 1920 Detroit Mayor James Couzens vetoed a bond issue to build a subway system, and the override failed by one vote. So just assume that the override succeeded in this timeline and the city did develop a subway system. There's therefore a subway station in or very near Michigan Station for this story. Though the subway is now defunct in this timeline.

"The archeologists finally opened that hatch in the floor of the Operators' trophy room," said Detective Wight, at a briefing in Drake's office the next day. The only people there besides him were Vic and her boss. "Below it is a vertical shaft with a ladder. That goes down to a basement tunnel. Which, by the way, isn't on any plans except as a much smaller drain. The tunnel leads to a sewer main one way - with a nearby connection to the old subway system - and to a drainage grate in the Train Shed the other way. The Train Shed grate, which is near the edge of the yard, is larger than the other storm drain grates in that area and has a hinged section in it."

"The stories about the Operators said their base had secret connections to the train yard and the subway," said Drake, nodding.

"It's interesting, though, that the building has all those hidden passages and rooms, even though it opened in 1913 and the super team formed much later," said Vic. "Makes you wonder what all that secret access was for. I mean, the whole thing was built before Prohibition, or even the subway."

"Old buildings used by the public often have secret passages like that," said the Detective, shrugging. "If only so important people can come and go without getting attention. If I remember correctly, there's a hotel in New York with a secret subway station in the basement. Franklin Roosevelt used it, decades after the hotel and its subway station were built, so he could be wheeled in under cover rather than having to walk in upstairs. All the Operators may have had to do was modify existing features.

"Unfortunately, all these secret entrances makes controlling access difficult. The anthropologists are complaining that someone got into the lair sometime shortly after the archivists removed the journals!"

"Uh-oh," said Vic, suddenly worried. "I hope it was just someone curious, and not someone trying to steal something."

"The investigators reported that the remaining materials on the shelves in the main room were disturbed," said Wight, seriously. "Also, someone went through all the desk drawers in the quarters, turned the beds over, ransacked the closets and left the door open to the armory. No prints; whoever it was - and we don't even know how many were involved - wore gloves."

"Good thing the armory was the first room emptied!" said Vic, with feeling. She became thoughtful. "There was some dangerous stuff in there. Wonder if that's what they were really after... That they hoped to find some mastermind's captured super weapon."

"At any rate," said Wight, "since apparently nothing was taken - including mastermind super weapons, fortunately - this is a matter for the local police and the property's security department. Though you and I may become involved, if only as witnesses to what was there and the condition it was in."

* * *

Drake and Vic were in the auditorium of the federal building where the local offices of the Bureau of Special Resources were located. They were on the stage, while the "audience" was all reporters and their support staff, such as camera operators. One of the activities require by her employment which Vic least enjoyed was the press conferences, even though she usually just stood by, wearing her armor, while Drake made the statements and handled the questions. At least for this one - which covered several subjects, including the loss of Lightning Wire's plane - the newscritters acted professionally. That is, until the topic of placing a group statue of the Operators in Roosevelt Park at the end near the old Michigan Central Station was brought up. Vic wasn't paying much attention to the event, so she wasn't certain how that happened. The statue was something the city was doing, not the feds, but some of the reporters didn't seem to realize this.

Drake left no doubt that he was in favor of the city placing the statue.

"The Station is private property, and the new owners are going to turn the entire floor with the Operators' old headquarters into a museum about the team," said Vic's boss, when someone asked about the statue. "It is very appropriate for the city to honor its first superhero team with a public monument on public land. With a plaque explaining the history of the Operators in an objective, non-commercial manner."

"Even though they were known racists!" said one reporter, emphatically. This was Candace Ornoth, a woman known for sensationalistic reporting. She seemed to always be looking for the next scandal.

"Racists?!" said Vic, startled, stepping forward when Drake seemed at a loss. "Voo Dude was black. He was born in Haiti."

"Black," said the reporter, blankly. Quickly, her accusatory, aggressive nature came back. "Says who?"

"Voo Dude," said Vic, flatly. "He revealed his ID - and his face - after he retired. He also wrote a book about his family, and how they came to the US."

"That's all... How do we know what color _you_ are, inside that helmet?!"

"Might as well show them," said Drake, tiredly.

Vic opened her faceplate. This was her old helmet. It strongly resembled the ruined, newer one, though it had fewer technological features.

"Satisfied?" she said, before snapping the thick, multi-layer polymer composite closed again. "The only one here worried about skin color is _you_!"

Drake made clear that the press conference was over. He and Vic turned to leave the stage.

"Tell me you got that," said Candace, turning to her cameraman, after Vic stomped away.

"Sure," said the camera man, who was Black and seemed unconcerned about these events. "So what? She's made a lot of public appearance out of her armor. Usually they involve her testifying in court about cases she's worked. You're the only one who didn't know she's White."

He was a bit worried about saying that last bit, but only a bit. Candace usually paid little notice to what "employees" did or said. Sure enough, she stayed true to her nature.

"White?! Didn't you see her face?! She's Chinese! I bet she's a spy for China! Working for the US government!"

The cameraman rolled his eyes and sighed. "Candy" was off on another tangent, looking for another scoop. No matter how far from reality her pursuit took her. The cameraman longed for the day of mature, responsible reporters. Of course, there had always been sensationalists in the news business...