Masks XXVIII: Old School

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Two

Vic put the case with the bulk of her armor in its usual place near the door. The new helmet - which didn't fit in the case yet, though it hopefully would after some modifications to the latter's padding - was plugged into the charger. It still had some power left, and had helped at the substation, but now was almost exhausted. Vic was glad the batteries had lasted long enough. She then moved to the couch and sank onto it with a grateful sigh. She was mildly amused when, just a few seconds later, the ShagShark robot sweeper finished its cleaning, and sang its "Happy Little Robot" song as it plugged in to charge.

Wonder when I'll get armor which will do that?

"Dinner's ready," said Michelle, poking her hear around through the doorway into the combined kitchen/dining room.

Vic's wife saw that she wasn't responding, and came all they way in from the kitchen, where Michelle had just finished making their evening meal. This evening it was supposed to be Vic's turn for chores, but doing the paperwork involved with the call to help the Denver Police Department at the substation had required her to get home late. Actual work took precedence over chores, even when it was just bureaucratic record keeping. Michelle had finished her own work at Curl Up and Dye while listening to the situation at the substation unfold over their recently-acquired police scanner. After a bus ride home Michelle found a message from her wife that Vic was at the Bureau's office at the federal building, finishing the follow-up tasks for the action and arrest. Vic was almost an hour late leaving work for home, thanks in large part to that.

"Just let me get changed," said Vic, rising with reluctance from the couch. "I'm wearing one of the armor's bodystockings under my clothes."

"So this guy at the substation..." began Michelle, following as Vic ambled to their bedroom.

"Allan Cuvier," said Vic, as she stripped. "He's being transferred to the closest Bureau holding facility. In fact, he's already on the way. The paperwork for that move is one reason I'm late. He was completely unknown to us before this, in spite of using his powers at his job for several years. At least, according to him. The follow-up investigation will find out if he's telling the truth."

"So, he was upset over being a super in a civilian job and not getting credit for doing super stuff. So he used his powers to act out in an obvious way to get attention, then sat down to wait for you."

"Not me, specifically," said Vic, as she pulled on fresh panties. Vic noted that she needed to shave, and smiled in anticipation, since Michelle usually helped her with that. The panties were followed by slacks and a t-shirt. No bra. No socks. Michelle sometimes complained about how rough the bottoms of Vic's feet were, but Vic still hadn't found shoes which were fully comfortable. That was one of the problems with having prehistoric feet. "Someone from the Bureau. I pointed out that if he had a grievance about his employer he could have simply filed a complaint. He hadn't thought of that."

Michelle Peltior was much darker of skin than her wife, with a full head of curly hair, though with dark eyes similar to those of Vic. She was a bit taller and curvier than Vic. She appeared to be a several years older than her spouse. In fact, they were very close in age. Michelle was definitely enjoying the show her wife was giving.

"You were also saying you would soon have some news about the theft from the property room, when you called at lunch," said Michelle, as the pair finally headed for the kitchen. "I want to hear more about that."

"Oh, yeah. Well, while none of this is classified, please don't repeat it. The FBI did a quick check of the property room and the secure vault inside it. Turns out the current, computerized list omitted a bunch of stuff which people remembered logging in or just knew was there, and which now can't be found. I don't have any details; this is mostly FBI stuff. There's also an old, hand-written list which no-one even realized they still had, until one of the older employees finally remembered it and thought to look for it. Much of the stuff on that old list is now gone. They think. Special Agent in Charge Dianne Colby told us that they plan to do an actual, thorough, physical inventory to check."

Vic and Michelle took their plates to the stove and began filling them.

"The current computer list also showed things as still present which we now know were taken out and sold on the black market. Like that ballistic vest which was assigned to me and was used by someone involved with a robbery. So, a lot of items are now thought to be missing, but they aren't sure, yet. Unfortunately, two of the people who were in charge of the property room are also now missing."

"How old was that written list?" said Michelle, as they sat at the table, bringing their plates. Their tumblers already had ice, and there was a pitcher of fresh-brewed tea on the table.

"About eleven years. It was last updated right before the computerized inventory was considered reliable enough that they could print that out if they needed a written record. They were just lucky someone found a copy of the old list. That is enough time for a lot of stuff to have 'disappeared.' Those same two guys were working in the property room that whole time."

"Well, I'm glad you're in for the night," said Michelle, as she gathered spaghetti on her fork. "The forecast is for rain for the next few days."

* * *

"More rain," said Cal, sourly, looking out the only window in the office shared by all the local Bureau of Special Resources workers. "This is turning out to be the wettest Winter on record."

"My farmer grandfather likes to say that no matter how much rain you have now, you're only three weeks from a drought," said Vic, her tone philosophical.

Their boss picked that moment to walk into the medium-sized room. Since all five of the people whom he managed were crowded into this one room, everyone in the Detroit office of the Bureau of Special Resources knew he was there and would soon know what he wanted. At least him actually coming down the hall like this meant that whatever it was couldn't be too serious, or he would have called the target of his attention to his own, small office.

"Vic, the FAA called. They finally finished examining the wreckage of Lightning Wire's plane. They'll present their findings in the warehouse where they have it stored at three this afternoon. I want you there."

* * *

The old airport hangar was at least out of the rain and wind, even if it did produce odd echoes from what the weather was doing. It had previously been used for storage, and all the items displaced for the reconstruction of the crashed aircraft had been stacked in the rear third of the space. The pieces of the plane in which Lightning Wire and their pilot had died were laid out on the concrete floor, arranged in a physical relationship close to what they would have had before the accident. Nearly the entire aircraft had been recovered.

There were several other people there besides Vic, from three other federal agencies and the local police department. All were known to each other except for the FAA tech, who was a specialist from out of town. He introduced himself, then started straight into the official explanation of what had happened to the plane.

"It was negligence, on the part of the aircraft owner," said the tech. "There was a known problem with the wings on this model of plane. The FAA sent out a bulletin about this, detailing the approved fix, five years ago. The change was not made to this plane. So one of the wings came off in flight."

"We were told they must have hit something in the air, to leave that dent," said Vic, confused.

"I don't know who told you that," said the FAA expert, "but we only just finished our examination of the wreckage. No, the only thing they hit was a sudden wind shift of some sort - probably a downdraft - and the wing came off. The dent came later, from impact with the water."

"Our investigation..." began the police Captain.

"Should not have started until we finished ours!" snapped the FAA tech. "To reiterate, this model of aircraft had a known problem, a problem which was not corrected in this specific plane. They lost the outer part of a wing, outboard of the port engine nacelle, because of that problem. The pilot had time for one, brief Mayday call, then likely lost consciousness due to the g-forces involved in the plane spinning out of control. The bent prop tips and wing dent are the result of hitting the water."

"So there was no plot," said the Captain. He frowned. "Unless someone loosened the nuts..."

"There were no signs of tampering," said the FAA man, firmly. "Also, the parts were riveted together."

"Or someone somehow knocked the plane out of the sky with a gust of air..."

"The weather was known to be gusty, and there was nothing on radar which hasn't been accounted for. Why are you trying to make this more than some sort of tragic accident?"

"People hate accidents," said Vic, with a sigh, when the Detroit police captain didn't reply. "We're all going to be accused of covering up the real cause of the crash."

"I've been through this before," said the investigator, his tone now sympathetic. "You're right; people want a direct cause and effect. Saying that the crash was caused by the owner's negligence of proper maintenance and unwillingness to spend money to fix a known problem won't satisfy them. It's still what happened."

* * *

"Wow..." said Blue Impact, as the three members of Tricorne looked around the main room of the Operators' lair a few days later. Vic didn't find it strange in the least that two of her three best friends wore masks in public.

The place was much better lit than during Vic's first visit; the current property owners had been cleared to use the lights in the concealed rooms, and even the plumbing. The old lair was not part of an actual museum, yet, but that was coming. The reconstruction project for the property was still in progress. This meant that the plans for this entire floor had to be changed with the discovery of the lair, but that work was almost completed. In just a matter of weeks this would be a small museum, entirely focused on the Operators. Meanwhile...

"They are nearly finished with the renovation," said Vic, as the members of Tricorne continued to look around. "They even drained and relined the old railroad tunnel to Canada, under the Detroit River. That means that a customs inspection station had to be installed at each end, which the respective governments didn't appreciate having to do. Oh, and you landed on the new helicopter pad on the roof, so you know about that being added."

Blue Impact nodded as she walked over to the radio table.

"You know, Operator 3 was supposedly a gadgeteer, specializing in early forms of electronic communication. This gear supports that."

The four of them had entered through the "Emergency Exit" into this largest room of the lair. The hole in the wall through which Vic and Detective Wight had originally entered had been expertly turned into a large window frame by the contractor. There was no Plexiglass in it, yet, but that was coming.

"Not so early," said Gadgetive, also affected by their environment, but more analytical and aware of the history of technology. "They already had many commercial AM radio stations, facsimile machines which worked over the telephone lines, teletypes, even primitive TV..."

"I'm just glad we weren't the ones who had to do the initial exploration of this place," said Energia, cutting her off. She grinned at Vic.

"Hey, I was part of that, and we didn't encounter anything dangerous," said Vic. "Well, outside the armory. Which we expected to be dangerous."

"Yeah, and you just know that if we had been called in there would have been some sort of super confrontation."

"Maybe," said a grinning Vic, who was well aware of the troubles Tricorne had experienced in previous explorations. "Though that giant, stone, shrunken head in the trophy room was more than enough confrontation for me, thank you. Especially since it has a surprised look frozen on its face. How did it get that way? How did they even get it in here?! There's nothing in the journals about it!"

"Ooh, ooh, I want to see that!" said Gadgetive, suddenly eager.

"It's on the tour," promised Vic, her grin widening.

The four of them went from room to room, with Vic playing guide. All parts of the lair had been put back in order by the conservators, based on the videos, still images and notes made by the initial explorers. This work was necessary, due to the place being vandalized/searched by persons still unknown. The only things now missing were the team journals and the contents of the arsenal. All of which had fortuitously been removed before the place was tossed by the felonius searchers. Replicas of the notebooks and weapons would be put in place before the museum opened, but that was still at least weeks away, even though the official opening of the renovated Michigan Central Station was in just a few days. Once this floor was ready the public would still not be allowed inside the lair. Instead, they would look through new windows in the thick, reinforced concrete walls of the Operators' headquarters. Most of those windows were currently being cut into the walls. Like the hole into the lair which had bee accidentally opened by the workmen during the demolition phase, they would be evened and framed. Though that would remain the largest.

After the lair was ready to serve as part of a museum, only caretakers and the occasional scholar would be allowed inside. This preliminary tour of Vic's was therefore a rarity, cleared by the owners of the building and the State Archeological Society.

Tricorne found the entire lair worthy of examination, but the trophy room garnered the most attention. All the items were still in place, though they had received some preliminary conserving. This mostly consisted of a light dusting.

"We need a trophy room!" said Gadgetive, suddenly both inspired and envious.

Energia was staring at the multi-tonne stone shrunken head Vic had mentioned, speechless.

"So, that hatch leads to the train yard and the subway?" said Blue Impact, pointing to the round door in the floor of the room.

"Yeah. Both now derelict."

Vic opened the hatch and showed them the long drop. Which she hadn't seen before, either, but had been told about. Like the other original doors into the lair, this would be fitted with a secure lock before the museum opened. For now, the only security was alarms in the access tunnels below, and the impressive climb. Plus a steel bar which prevented the handle of the floor hatch from turning when in place. A bar which Vic made sure to replace once the curiosity of her guests had been satisfied.

"The Operators never had an actual team vehicle," said Vic. She suddenly remembered something. "That reminds me. Is there any chance you'd sell the Bureau your small apergy vehicle?"

"Sorry, no," said Gadgetive, flatly.

"It's a prototype," said Blue Impact, more sympathetically. "It takes a gadgeteer to keep it running."

"Rats," sighed Vic. "I cover a large area, and only have ground transport. Well, keep our need in mind if your team ever needs money. Maybe you could build one just for us."

"You have a car and a bicycle," said Blue Impact, smiling. "Maybe you should add a motorcycle."

"Still only ground transport," said Vic, sighing again. "This is a big city, and there's just me - with some help from Lady Green - to cover it."

She resumed the tour. The members of Tricorne were suitably impressed. Especially with the large bathroom.

"One big one instead of several small ones," said Energia, thoughtfully. "Hmmmm..."

"I'm glad you could spare the time to show us all this, especially on such short notice," said Blue Impact. "It means a lot more, coming from someone we know."

"Well, I am your official liaison," said Vic, grinning. "I'm just glad you could stop by on the way from helping with that supervillain attack in Chicago. Lady Green and I are the only masks currently in this town. So having someone else in the business to talk to - even just for a little while - is something I value."

"You don't wear a mask," Gadgetive pointed out.

"Well, we better get back to the flyer before the meter runs out," said Energia, with a grin at her literal-minded teammate.

"You aren't flying back on your own?" said Vic, looking at Energia.

"Not today. Weather's too nasty."

"I can understand that," said Vic, nodding. She looked at Blue Impact. "Which is another reason why the motorcycle idea is out. I already have a hardtop car."