Masks XVII: Part One

by

Rodford Edmiston

Fallout

This story is partly a catch-up with folks and events in the Masks universe following the War and partly the culmination of a subplot which has been brewing for several years in both real and story time. There will definitely be more on this in later stories.

Part One

I could have parked closer, but I wanted to get a good look at the place before going inside for my appointment. Foot traffic flowed both ways around me as I headed towards the blocky building, mostly busy people in a hurry barely noticing me. This area saw enough tourists that someone walking slowly and looking around was not unusual.

The old Lafayette Theater had barely changed since I first saw it as a kid in the Thirties. Oh, the marquee had been updated several times since then, and was currently a computer-driven - and rather garish - LED display. The windows on the upper floor were modern double-pane replacements. The ticket booth was also new, and set further back from the sidewalk. I remembered how hot that got in the San Francisco Summers and figured it was at least more comfortable, now.

I could no longer see the ancient air conditioning equipment or the greenhouse on the roof. Even the plank fence which had long shielded the top of the building from view was gone. The brownstone was also a lot cleaner, now, the exterior practically glistening. Overall, though, it was the same since being converted from a mid-Nineteenth Century hardware store into a theater about a century earlier.

I took a deep breath, and smiled. Among the scents was food from a really good Chinese restaurant just a block and a bit away, towards Chinatown. I was glad they were still in business, and still making good food. I made a mental note to have lunch there. If I felt like eating after this.

I noticed some damage to a tall building in the distance and turned contemplative as I continued walking. Folks were still trying to untangle what happened during the War. Despite modern communications much went undocumented. Much which was documented was so thoroughly documented that people were still sifting through the multiple videos and photos and blog reports. That some of the things posted supposedly showing events of the War were obviously faked - including scenes from movies - wasn't helping, especially since many folks couldn't - or wouldn't - realize they weren't real. Also not helping was the flood of people taking things others had posted and passing them off as their own work.

So many questions still unanswered... Was the literal repulsion of the invaders from Australia really the work of long-vanished heroine Gravitas, or some secret weapon of the Aussies? Who were the multiple Radio Stars who fought in different parts of the Southeast? I shook my head and sighed. If I was resorting to thinking about super heroes I was deliberately avoiding the present situation. My purpose for being here today was connected to something which I did before the War...

The alley I turned down wasn't quite as clean as the street out front, but it was by no means filthy. I dodged around a couple of dumpsters and a pile of shipping pallets, then turned the corner and headed for the rear of the brownstone.

The most obvious means of entry was a pair of garage doors - modern, overhead, industrial loading dock types, rather than the old, wide swinging wooden ones - but my target was the human-sized entrance at the far end of the wall. It opened at my touch. No surprise; I was expected.

Inside I walked to the door at the bottom of the enclosed stairs, opened it and started up. I had to grin at the memories this exercise brought. The place had been rigged to deter unwanted visitors. More than one person - on reaching the top of the stairs - had opened the door and stepped back out into the ground-level garage. In large part thanks to a couple of professional magicians the owner had met while working in sideshows and in part due to some engineering students who had helped make their trick work.

When I opened the door at the top I entered a small cloak room. The door at the far end of that opened into a large loft. I stepped out, noting in the process several of the owner's cats lounging around. The thick, old wooden beams under the modern flooring still squeaked slightly from my weight in a familiar way as I walked into the open area, admiring again the artwork on the walls, the beautiful furniture and the hand-woven rugs. Framed paintings, photos and posters and other items were placed around the area in a tasteful display. Though there were people who would have considered some of the art objects to be in very poor taste. Over there was a gold-plated, skillfully engraved presentation Thompson submachinegun on a plaque. Not far from it was was a similarly decorated - though not plated - presentation Colt Monitor II, the lightweight version with the pistol grips and bipod, rare forty round magazine in place. The history of this place! I could actually see faint paths worn in the tough wood flooring from long use. Much of it by the current owner.

"Welcome," said a high, clear and definitely feminine voice.

"Jeez, Fen," I said, mock-teasing, as I looked for the source of that voice. "you shouldn't leave your doors unlocked. Anybody could walk in."

She entered the large den from the kitchen, all 147 (when she stood flat footed, as she was now) centimeters of her. She didn't look pleased. Even folks who judge her by her size would have definitely not wanted to mess with her when she had that expression on her fuzzy face. She currently bore an uncanny resemblance to an irritated timber wolf.

As always I was struck by her appearance. For several decades in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries she worked as a sideshow freak, earning a good living thanks to it. The best short description I have for her is "midget werewolf." The long description could fill pages. Volumes, if you included the biological differences between her and a human. Bluegrass Elves are one of the other intelligent species on our planet... well, the few other naturally evolved ones. They're New World primates, only distantly related to the Great Apes. I'm always astounded when confronted by people who don't know this. It's been common knowledge - at least for some groups of people - since the late Thirties. Ever since Fen's trial for punching out Senator Kriegharne for calling her a chimpanzee.

"Let's sit," she said, dropping onto a low couch and gesturing for me to take the higher one. The one for humans.

We sat in uncomfortable silence for a few moments, staring at each other across the antique cherry coffee table. Which still had a noticeable dent from where Kriegharne's head hit. Well, I was uncomfortable, facing that predator's gaze. Actually, she probably was feeling uneasy, too. Fen is a pretty upbeat character, most of the time, and doesn't like calling someone on the carpet. Make no mistake, though; that's exactly what was happening.

I decided to take the initiative, rather than subject myself to that look any longer.

"Before we start," I said, "be advised that I can't take direct action against Gaunt."

I told her of my deal with the bad doctor, and why I'd made it. She frowned for a moment, then nodded.

"You did what you had to do. I can't fault you for protecting your friends. We'll handle any actual activities against him which might be necessary. However, I still need to know what you know, and what plans you have to deal with the situation if Gaunt goes against the agreement."

Who "we" might be I wasn't sure. Knowing her, some of the most powerful mages on the planet. Only a few of whom would count as human.

I gave her as much detail about Gaunt and his recent activities as I could, as well as a word-for-word recitation of our agreement. There was another long silence. Then she shifted herself and resumed.

"Well," said Dr. Freysdottir, somehow managing to look down on me despite being much shorter. "This is a nice mess. Dr. Gaunt is making rapid progress turning his recently acquired properties into a physical and mystical fortress. What he'll do when that's finished is as yet unknown. Law enforcement can't do anything because the records show the property was legally transferred to a holding company with no connections to anything illegal. They have no evidence Dr. Gaunt is the new owner. With the family and the company left in chaos by the death of Louis Carstairs this was actually easy for Gaunt to arrange, once he had those documents you provided."

"I did consult with you ahead of time," I said, unable to avoid sounding a bit petulant; like a little kid. Which was understating our relative ages. One reason I don't stress too much over potentially outliving most people is folks like Fen. I'm still an infant compared to her, and she's far from the oldest member of her species. "I also talked to several human mystics, including Dr. Piano. You all said this would keep Gaunt busy for a while and to go ahead."

"We also advised caution."

"You still said it would be a good idea."

She scowled a bit, then sighed and relented.

"To be honest, I didn't think you'd be successful. Always before the fates themselves seemed to conspire to frustrate the mad Doctor when it came to that piece of land."

I shifted into an elf form I had created decades before, after meeting more of her people. I thought she'd be surprised that my clothes changed too, but she didn't bat an eye.

"That's better," I said, smiling. "Now we're on equal footing. And of equal height."

"At least you didn't turn into me, this time," she muttered.

"Hey, I only did that once, when I was a kid. Now, I am concerned about Dr. Gaunt, regardless of what you think about my precautions or lack thereof. So, let's conspire."

We spoke for nearly two hours. I won't say that taking the form of a Bluegrass Elf makes me smarter, but with a different brain structure I definitely think differently.

"One other thing," said Fen, as I - back in my base form - prepared to leave. "I'm relieved you haven't revived that super brothel of yours."

"Too many bad memories," I said, with a grimace. "In retrospect, while it made a lot of money for the participants it brought too much of the wrong kind of attention to a certain subset of supers."

"There are other ways of helping people."

"Yeah," I replied, nodding, "but no one way gets everyone."

She gave me a thoughtful nod.

* * *

The two attorneys strode confidently into the small, windowless room and sat opposite their client. He was a lean, athletic man of average height, mostly Caucasian but with a hint of Mediterranean somewhere in his lineage. The younger of the two attorneys was thin and wiry, and wore glasses mounted well out on his nose. The other man was plumper and looked tireder. Brief introductions were made.

"I am very glad to see you," said Gilbert Harkner, aka Smoke. He leaned forward across the table and looked around warily before resuming in a quieter but more earnest tone. "These people are crazy!"

"Well, you can say things like that in private," said Seymour Lewis, the senior of the pair, "but be careful about such inflammatory statements where others can hear you. Now, the Bureau of Special Resources has agreed to have us represent you because you did graduate the basic training program with good grades and have expressed an interest in joining when the hiring freeze is lifted."

"That's great," said Gil, relieved. "I couldn't afford an attorney on my own and the guy the city appointed wanted me to plead guilty!"

"Okay," said Mark Louis, opening a folder, adjusting his glasses even further down his nose and making a show of reading material he already knew. "According to this, you interfered with a police hostage rescue and got several people killed, and more injured."

"No, they did!" he hissed, angrily. "I mean, I didn't interfere with them, and I'm not the one who injured the hostages. I was there, but all I did was look around!"

"All right," said Lewis. "Why don't you start at the beginning and take us through events as you experienced them."

"I was downtown, doing some business at my bank," he explained, tone and posture becoming more relaxed as he proceeded. "I was walking to the bus stop when I heard sirens. I changed direction to see what was happening. Just... simple curiosity,."

Gil explained that he had plenty of time, being unemployed.

"I was expecting to go to work for the Bureau of Special Resources, but given the budget cuts I barely completed their boot camp."

"Why did you enter the program?" said Louis.

"Up until my powers triggered in high school I had vague ideas about being a detective," said Gil. "I've always enjoyed solving puzzles, figuring out what happened and how things work."

He gave a tired laugh.

"No surprise I went into the engineering program at college. Then the government started those training programs to get ready for the Shilmek... I figured if nothing else they could teach me how to better use my powers, and I might be able to help defend the country. Since I already had an engineering degree I got in pretty easy."

"Then the War was over in just days, and within weeks the training programs were drastically cut back to use the funds for the reconstruction," said Lewis, nodding.

"Yeah. Even though they lost a lot of people in the War the Bureau had to put on a hiring freeze. So I figured I'd find a job to hold me until they were hiring again. Maybe even start on a Masters degree."

"Let's get back to the day of the situation," said Louis.

Exactly what the perpetrators of the robbery had intended was still unclear. They definitely wanted money. They might have intended some political statement, perhaps even a terrorist act. What was known was that they intended a quick in-and-out operation, but their ride didn't get back around the block to pick them up. Instead, the half-dozen heavily armed, armored and masked criminals retreated into the bank when the first police cars arrived and took hostages.

"I saw the cops just standing around doing nothing," said Gill, more than a bit angry. "Well, they were joking. Some of them about the hostages. Like it was their fault for being caught."

"So you decided to take matters into your own hands," said Louis.

"No! I decided to look the situation over. My powers make me good at stealth. If nothing else I could get recon for the cops. One of the other things I heard them talking about was how they didn't know the layout of the building or where most of the people involved were."

"Which you did without consulting with the police."

"I tried to! I activated my powers - which is all the costume I need - and went to the senior officer present and offered my services. He blew me off! I almost left, but as I walked away the mother of one of the hostages grabbed me and begged me to help. So I snuck off and found a back way in."

"What happened once you got inside?" said Lewis.

"I carefully moved through the building, making note of where everyone was and what they were doing," said Gill. He scowled. "Just like I was trained! I was carefully backing out of the upstairs room where most of the hostages were, just about finished with my scouting, when there was a big explosion."

"The SWAT team rappelled down from the roof and set explosives to blow the windows," said Louis, nodding.

"I figured that much out when they swung into the room," said Gill, sourly. "I was pretty shaken, though not as much as the hostages and robbers, due to me being almost out the door."

"Of the twenty-three hostages in the room, at that moment six died and six more were injured."

"Yeah. Those windows were safety glass, but the SWAT team used so much explosive that the blast alone hurt a lot of people. Bits of metal went flying through the air from the destroyed frame. Even some bits of the granite façade peppered the room."

"Our understanding is that the SWAT team thought the glass was armored," said Lewis.

"None of the robbers was seriously injured and they quickly rallied and retreated to a secure position, from which they opened fire," said Louis, looking further down his documents. "More hostages died, and two SWAT officers."

"They're blaming me for the injuries and deaths! They're even blaming me for the people hurt or killed when other SWAT teams came in at other locations!"

"It's a state law, here," said Lewis. "If a super is involved in a crime where someone is hurt or killed - even if they are not found guilty of violating the law themselves with their actions - they get charged. Also, to clarify, it's the city government which is blaming you; not the police."

"I wasn't committing a crime!"

"Technically, you were," said Louis. "Several, in fact, including trespassing. Still, those are technicalities and we may be able to persuade the bank's owners to drop their charges against you. That still leaves the law blaming supers for anything which goes wrong at a crime where they're using their powers. This law has been successfully challenged before. Usually with a plea bargain, accompanied by a threat to take the case to the state supreme court if they won't deal. The city's District Attorney knows that charging someone with a crime when they are trying to help is indefensible, whether the person has powers of not."

"I should have just left, after that blast," said Gill, voice choking. "No-one saw me. I could have snuck back out with nobody knowing I was there. Then they would only have themselves to blame. Instead I tried to help, and almost got shot and did get arrested."

"Oh, without you I'm sure the city would have found some way to blame the robbers or the hostages," said Lewis, tiredly. "Rather than taking the blame for their own mistakes. They keep trying this, even though it rarely works and hurts many innocent people in the process."

"I'm not going to plea bargain," said Gill, firmly, as he straightened in his seat. "Damnit! I was in the training program, did well, and then they cut the budget! If they didn't want supers helping, why did they even have the program?!"

"That's outside the scope of this case. However, we can use your volunteering for the program to show that you aren't just some hot shot trying to show off. That you are civic minded and did know what you were doing."

"So do I have a chance?"

"A very good one. We have statements from the LEO in charge that they were pressured by the city government to go in too soon. Also, the bank personnel the SWAT team spoke with about the windows gave them bad information."

"It's also the Mayor's Office which is pressuring the District Attorney to prosecute you," said Louis. "The current administration is de facto anti-super while the police department as a whole is super-neutral. So, we have a house divided against itself."

Part Two

President Livia Sievers didn't like going to a congressman's office instead of having him come to the White House. However, just now the latter site was undergoing a combination of needed repairs and urgent upgrades. Wyler's secretary escorted Sieves into the office, where he politely greeted her and gestured to the seat in front of his desk. Sievers wanted this to be just the two of them; the secretary left, going back into the outer office where the Secret Service escort waited. Once the door closed she got directly to the point.

"Why are you sponsoring a bill which will remove the rest of the federal aid to train supers?"

"We simply don't need them," said Senator Wyler, with a wave of the gold-decorated fountain pen in his right hand. He was actually just a couple of years Sievers' senior but had an affectation for the old fashioned. Something which was often revealed in his technical ignorance regarding modern matters.

"With all the disasters before the attack and the few we've had since," said Sievers, emphatically, "with all the help we need rebuilding, how can you say that?"

"I mean we don't need anything which might encourage supers to think they can help with law enforcement. Yes, the supers are useful, in certain circumstances. If we can just keep them from interfering with the proper enforcement of law I have no problem with them helping. They are untrained, after all, and we're both all to familiar with what happens when someone practices law enforcement without training or has the wrong kind of training."

"What about the Bureau of Special Resources? You specifically target that and it is a law enforcement agency dedicated to training supers for that job. You should be in full support of it, given what you just said."

"Eh?" said Wyler, looking briefly confused. "I think you misunderstand the function of that group. They're a civil rights agency. Since civil rights are for everyone we don't need an agency just for supers."

"I helped create that organization," said Sievers, giving him a stern look. "I can assure you they're primarily intended - from the start and still - for law enforcement work. Brade's nickname is even 'the Super Top Cop.'"

"Which just goes to show how those cop wannabes view reality," said Wyler, waving reality aside himself. "Give them any sort of authority and they think they're judge, jury and executioner."

Sievers realized that the man honestly couldn't conceive of supers validly working in law enforcement. Neither could he perceive that many already were, successfully. Some for decades.

"You're the one who railed against untrained supers causing harm while intending good. You even proposed making exemptions to the Good Samaritan laws so that supers who make an honest mistake can't 'get away with it.' I don't understand why you are against federally standardized and funded training. The rewards will repay the cost many times over. Multiple studies and real-world examples show this."

"You're missing the point!" said Wyler, angrily. "You know that I have been campaigning against the recent civil rights violations and excesses committed by law enforcement in this country. Just imagine the chaos if supers are sworn in! Their powers would make thing a hundred times worse!"

"What makes you think supers would be worse at respecting civil rights than normal humans?" said the President, so confused she didn't point out that over a hundred supers were already license-carrying federal law enforcement agents.

"I don't understand how you can't see this. If normal humans, given a bit of authority, along with guns and tasers and pepper spray, can yield to temptation and abuse and even kill citizens, what do you think the supers will do?!"

"The percentage of officers who abuse their power..."

"Even one is too many! That percentage will skyrocket if you give supers the protection of a badge. Their powers make such excesses too easy, and violations too easy to conceal."

The President sat there for a long moment, staring at the man. She knew he had a history involving unpleasant experiences with abusive police and even federal agents, only part of it due to being black. She had no idea until now that he was this obsessed with preventing such abuses. So obsessed that he would cripple normal law enforcement even if that impacted the majority who did follow the rules and act properly. He was paranoid about authority and its abuse. Now he was planning to use his authority to hurt others, completely unironically.

"I will veto your bill," said Sievers, finally. "We need supers now, more than ever. We especially need trained supers. We need as many as we can get who are trained specifically in law enforcement."

"Then I'll just delay it until you're out of office," said Wyler, smugly. "You haven't got long, you know. Another couple of years and a bit. I'll still be here and I'm certain the next President will be more reasonable. Good day."

* * *

"Momma! Momma! Momma!"

Little Roy came running into Randy's apartment office, overflowing with excitement, bare feet pounding the short-pile carpet, something clasped in his hands. His father looked up from the computer, and swiveled his chair around to face the boy.

"Hey, squirt," said Randy, grinning as he caught the youngster. "Which Momma do you want?"

"Momma Template!" said Roy, insistently.

"Sorry, Randy," said Karen, looking harried as she entered. "He got away from me."

"Well, if I didn't want to be interrupted I'd've closed the door."

Randy lifted his son into his lap.

"Okay, what is so important, and why do you want to show it to Template and not me?"

The boy had mastered the art of separating his parents' public and private identities surprisingly early, though he did tend to treat the masked identities as different - if connected - people from his parents' civilian IDs. He never called Randy Template or Karen Colossa when they were in civvies. He called Randy Daddy and Template Momma. He called both Karen and Colossa Momma. However, he normally wouldn't even refer to Template or Colossa as "Momma" unless they were present in costume. This was an unusual gaffe.

"This," said the boy, suddenly shy.

He teasingly showed Randy what was in his hands: A Template action figure.

"Oh!" said Randy, startled. "I forgot about those!"

"Yeah, with the War and everything..." said Karen. "I saw that when we were out shopping this afternoon and got it for him."

Randy took the figure in his right hand and slowly examined it, smiling. It was part of a series of figures of costumed people from the school, the rights to make them sold to generate funds. The money was secondary, though; the main reason was to publicize the school and humanize those working there.

"Here you go, sport," said Randy, handing the toy back.

"I want to show Momma Template!"

"Okay, okay," said Randy, laughing. "You need to go over there, though. Unless you want to be a girl."

"Don't want to be a girl," said Roy, firmly.

He jumped off Randy's lap and hurried over to Karen, getting behind her and peeking around her legs.

Randy stood and moved away a bit, smiling. He held his arms out.
"Shazam!"

Randy changed to Template and crouched down, arms held out. Roy ran to her.

"Momma!" said Roy, joyfully, as he held out the figure.

"Oooh, it's me!"

Karen grinned as she watched the pair interact. She also felt a twinge of envy. Roy called her "Momma" but he didn't act with her the way he did with his birth mother. Not even the way he did when she was his father. So far none of their new neighbors had noticed anything unusual, though.

While the school had daycare they didn't have preschool or grade school... yet. Karen and Randy had taken this apartment stateside in order for Roy to start school the next year. They chose this specific city because of the nearby location of a newly created - and carefully hidden - elevator to the Subterran tunnels. This was one of many constructed during the post-war rebuilding, which were often incorporated into hidden corners of structures old and new. These made commuting to and from the island - and many other places - quick, convenient and secure, as well as discreet.

There were plans for a grade school on the island, but it would not open for another couple of years, if then. When it did open Roy would attend as the child of Karen and Randy - both of whom had a long history of supporting and working for the school - rather than of Colossa and Template. Since few humans demonstrated powers before their early teens Roy and his classmates would all be expected to behave as normal children. What Randy and Karen would do later, if he did develop powers, they weren't sure about yet. For the next two years, though, the youngster would be in a good - if mundane - grade school in this super-friendly city, which was not far from the new Intrepids Mountain. Since both parents were officially working for the team in the rebuilding of the destroyed base, that just made sense.

"How goes the job?" said Karen, as she took Roy. She smirked. "Any of them."

"Busy, but no major problems," said Template. She surprised herself by yawning. "Ugh. Like I said: Busy. Oh! I have an appointment with the engineering team on the island at three, their time."

"I got it," said Karen. She grinned down at the squirming Roy. "Or him, rather."

* * *

"Is that the new Champion costume?" said Susan, as Paula entered their shared quarters carrying a bundle.

"Yep," she said, grinning as she ripped the package open. "It was waiting for me when I came on shift. Had to exercise all my will power not to take off early. It's that new blend of WonderCloth, too. They managed to get some despite the disruptions from the War."

Paula held the body stocking portion up for inspection, then glanced back at what remained in the wrap.

"I'm gonna go put the whole thing on."

With an armload of costume components, she started for the bedroom.

"Where are you going?" said Susan, with a smirk. "We're all girls, here."

"You sure you didn't turn bi when you got empowered?" said Paula, teasing.

"Look, we're two women living together. Go change in private if you're shy. I'm just saying it doesn't matter to me one way or the other."

Paula changed course and put the costume on the couch, then began taking off her security supervisor uniform. If her partner had any interest beyond casual curiosity, she hid it well.

"Did you decide about whether to stay on second security shift?" said Paula, as she finished stripping.

"Yeah. That suits me and lets us have days together."

Paula frowned at the one-piece, unitard-like undergarment which was the foundation of the outfit. The instructions were clear that this was supposed to be the only thing worn under the rest of the costume, but there was nothing on how to don it.

"With Thunderer and Jade Eagle already well-fitted into the team adding a new member shouldn't cause much trouble. Especially one who has worked in the field with the team before. How do...?"

"Turn it around. Yeah, solid part in front. I'm glad you're getting back into the saddle. It suits you a lot better than staying here and fretting when team members are in the field. Are you still going to work third shift supervisor?"

"Until we get Roger up to speed," said Paula, as she pulled the garment open and peered inside. She stepped in and pulled the lower part of the garment snug.

"What was the grimace for? Too tight in the crotch?"

"Uhm, no. Still not used to having so little in the crotch."

"You weren't that well-endowed," said Susan, laughing.

"Hey!"

"Sorry, dear. Atana's 'retirement benefits' didn't include enhancing your manhood. No reason to, actually. You were perfectly adequate. Especially since your experiences without it gave you insights in how to better apply it."

"At the time I was just glad to get it back," said Paula, distractedly, as she finished slipping on the body stocking. "Though my package actually was a bit larger than before, and I mean proportionally larger."

Susan manfully refrained from making a snide remark.

Soon the pull-over tunic, the utility belt, the athletic shoes and the cowl were in place and properly secured.

"Now I realize I should have used the bedroom," said Paula, looking down at her costumed self and running her hands along the new costume. "I need the full-length mirror in there."

Paula turned in that direction, Susan rising from where she had watched the process to follow close behind. Soon the new Champion - who had been the original Champion - was examining her reflection. She was definitely pleased. In fact, Paula was obviously admiring herself in the mirror.

"Not bad," she said, smiling and posing.

"You are such a girl," said Susan, with a smirk.

"Oh, shush."

"I haven't heard you say anything about your breasts this whole time. A guy would have been 'boob' this and 'tit' that and 'cleavage' the other, non-stop."

"Har, har..."

The new Champion costume followed the pattern of the previous ones, with some new touches. Paula had decided on minimal padding for this one, most of what there was being used to hide the built-in armor. That plus strategic airbrushing helped disguise her figure. The designers had actually managed to make her look slimmer than she normally did. One of the ways Paula had developed her powers was to strength train, which made her look quite distinctively muscular in her civilian ID, so that illusion would definitely be handy.

"I'm surprised you went for a full cowl with chin piece, instead of just a mask," said Susan.

"As one of the shift chiefs of Assembly security my face is available to the press and law enforcement. I need the extra cover."

Susan smirked and struck an exaggerated version of one of Paula's poses, then altered herself to look like Paula.

"If you'd just practice shapeshifting more..."

"I practice," Paula - or Champion - replied, a bit defensively.

"Not enough to hold another shape for any length of time," said Susan her tone chiding as she shifted back to normal. "Or in spite of distractions."

"They said we'd develop different power sets, depending on our individual physiologies and personalities. You're not nearly as strong, fast or tough as I am."

"Well, if you don't learn how to hold another form when severely distracted, I'm going to have to be the man in our relationship."

Champion froze, then turned her head towards Susan.

"You wouldn't."

"Don't task me. I'm willing to give you pointers, but I'd rather have a heterosexual relationship. Even if I have to go convex to get it."

"Well, there's no accounting for taste," said Champion, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

Seeing how uncomfortable she had made her partner, Susan stepped closer and hugged her from behind.

"You know I'm kidding," she said, giving her a kiss which was a bit more than sisterly. "I'd like to try sex as a man just to see what that's like, but I'd never insist on you being my victim."

"I know that," said Champion, quietly. She turned, now nose-to-nose with Susan. "I love you."

"How come you never said that as a guy?" said Susan, teasing. This time the kiss was on the lips, and definitely not platonic. "I love you, too."

Paula had intended to wear the costume some to break it in. She wound up quickly taking it off... for quite a while.