Part Seven

The next morning everyone at the repository was still buzzed about the rescue. Including the federal employees working to destroy the chemicals, even though they hadn't been involved. Melody managed to get several interviews with various participants in the operation, as well as updates on how the refugees were faring. Then she just hung around the computer room, where the performance of the new device in planning the operation was being evaluated.

She was a bit puzzled that Blackpool and Aaron were absent for this. Especially Aaron, since he was closely involved with both the rescue and the computer project. Neither did anyone she spoke with think them both being absent just then was at all odd. Melody suspected that the two of them were working together on something, but had no clue as to what that might be. Of course, she knew they were both busy; maybe they actually were busy on different things.

Melody found that Professor Bright was still trying to impress her. That seemed to be the only form of flirting he was capable of. She wasn't above using that to gather information, of course. However, he seemed irritatingly insistent on discussing things of interest to him, apparently certain they would also interest Melody. Or maybe he just thought those were things she should be interested in. For the most part he was right, but even when he spoke of things she wanted to know about, they weren't always what she wanted to know about right then. Still, she knew to be patient.

Just now, he was on a kick where he was trying to rationally explain empowered flying. Especially Malak's.

"He's far more aerodynamically reasonable than the majority of empowered who can fly," said the Professor. "We say, half joking, that most flyers stay in the air through an act of sheer willpower. Even those who appear at first to have a reasonable method of propulsion often - on further examination - reveal this was just an illusion. There was one empowered inventor in the Thirties and Forties who wore a rocket pack which had the exhaust running straight down the center of his back. The only time someone else tried to use it - a villain's henchman, fortunately - he lifted a small distance into the air then pitched over and spun rapidly for several rotations before crashing. He also severely burned his posterior and the backs of his legs. Not that he was in any condition to complain about those injuries. Or anything else, ever again."

"Ow," said Melody, wincing in honest empathy.

"Malak's wings are actually big enough to generate the lift necessary for his weight, and attached low enough on his back for him to be roughly balanced. He's also superhumanly strong and might be able to generate enough power to fly. The details still just... don't work out."

"He wasn't even demonstrably superhuman in any of his physical capabilities until a few years after he became empowered," said Melody, smirking. "He was at the limit of human ability right after his empowerment, but that was it. He still flew just fine back then. Of course, even when he first got them, his wings were stronger than his other limbs. That's why he could hit so hard with them."

"Well, of course he..."

"Ninety-eight percent!" shouted Corn-Fed.

There was general cheering.

"Well, that is reassuring," said Professor Bright, nodding. "Though I still insist that if we went to a purely causative form of analysis it would be higher."

"Excuse me," said Melody. "Blackpool just arrived and I need to ask him something."

"Well, you've had a busy few days," said Blackpool, as Melody approached.

"Busy is good for reporters," said Melody. "That's actually what I wanted to ask you about. Me keeping busy - or at least up to date - on what is happening here. This place is hard to get to, and phones just aren't enough. How do I find out what is happening here more easily?"

"I can help with that. I'd be willing to meet with you - at your convenience - to brief you on events here. However, I'd want something in return: Help me find a new apartment."

"You sure you want something in New York?" said Melody, laughing. "I only found my own new place a bit over month ago."

"I'm willing to take my time. Since you have that recent experience you should be able to help."

Melody glance over at Professor Bright, who had said something which sent CornFed storming away. He seemed not only unconcerned at offending a coworker, but perhaps even unaware of her emotional state.

"That man has no sense of introspection or of empathy," Melody said, with a sigh.

"No argument."

Aaron did arrive shortly after this. He was quickly briefed on the evaluation and seemed pleased. However, Melody could tell he was distracted by something. She decided not to press him just then. She'd ask him later, in private.

* * *

Later on this, her last full day at the repository, Melody indeed made a point of again seeking out Aaron. Through the remainder of the morning and most of the afternoon she had no luck. He simply wasn't around, and no-one seemed to know where he was. Fortunately, she was able to sit with him in the commissary for supper that night.

"Good evening," he said, smiling. "You're leaving tomorrow, I believe. The place will be a bit quieter and less bright without you."

"Why, thank you," said Melody, with a slight laugh. "You old charmer, you. I have enjoyed my visit, but I need to leave before I overstay my welcome. Or lose my job."

"Well, I'm glad we got to say goodbye. I won't have any free time tomorrow until well after you leave."

"You've been unusually busy lately," said said, her tone mildly accusing. "By which I mean unusually busy for you."

"There is a family problem I'm working on, on top of everything else," he said, with a sigh. "Yes, it's personal and I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh. Well, there is one other thing I wanted to ask you about."

"Shoot."

"I finally identified that song you keep humming and whistling," said Melody. Her tone and expression softened. "'Daisy a Day.' You still miss her."

That was a statement, not a question. He still answered it.

"Of course I do," said Aaron, with a gentle smile. "Louise was a wonderful person, and part of my life for over seventy years. I think it's safe to say that everyone still alive who knew her misses her."

They ate in silence for a while after that. When they did resume, they spoke only of lesser things.

* * *

Melody was the last reporter to leave the chemical repository, by a couple of days. Even so, she was reluctant to go; this was where so much interesting stuff was happening! However, she had to get back home.

It wasn't like the week here had been a vacation. Melody had been writing and even sending in articles. She borrowed a word processor from the facility's equipment and wrote multiple articles. These had been sent to her office via facsimile machines, over the phone lines. This was a slow process, and she was far from the only reporter using it. Fortunately the facility had multiple phone lines. Still, it wasn't the same as writing at her own desk, on her own machine, and there were other things in the world to write about. Melody also found herself missing the feedback and other interactions from her coworkers and boss.

She got back to New York late in the day, well after normal office hours, and so went straight to her new home. She stopped by the building superintendent's office, then continued to her apartment. Thanks to the laundry at the repository she didn't have a lot to wash, and decided that could wait. Instead she opened mail and listened to phone messages. In part because of the time zone difference, she got to bed a bit late, but still managed to rise with her alarm.

The next day she was actually early to work. Melody was busy revising a preliminary draft for a column when Sam stopped by.

"Boss wants to see you in his office at ten," the older man relayed. He grinned. "Don't worry; I'll be there for moral support."

Melody rewarded him with a short laugh. She had missed this sort of interplay.

She also got there early, actually beating Sam, though only by a few seconds.

"I'm glad you're back," said Carl, as they took their seats. "For more than the usual reasons. Damn federal agents have been here over and over, insisting we tell them where you are, then refusing to believe us. A different batch each time! Probably not even all from the same agency..."

"My super says they've been at my apartment building, too," said Melody, sourly. "He's threatening to evict me."

"The craziest part is that when we told them where you were they insisted we were lying, because that place doesn't exist!"

"Well, it's policy," said Sam, mildly. "They have to say what their bosses want them to say, and they tell their people what their bosses say. Some of those at every level even believe it."

"I've already been talking to our lawyers. We might just be able to get an injunction to stop this nonsense. If not, we should at least be able to make them tell us what they want with you!"

"God..." said Melody, tiredly. "I had hoped all that black project paranoia was behind me."

* * *

"This is interesting," said Blackpool, when he met Aaron in the facility's commissary during lunch the next day. He was going through a printed report from the Empowered Matters Agency, and currently held up a single page from the folder. "Not exactly in my mandate, but something which I think needs looking into."

"Eh?" said Aaron. He peered at the paper, but the back didn't provide much enlightenment, even for his enhanced vision. If there had been a bit more illumination on the other side he would have been able to read it in reverse, but no such luck. He was also having trouble keeping his mind on what the other was saying. The commissary had just putout a really good batch of fried chicken, and to Aaron's nose the aroma was very distracting. "What do you mean?"

"This man says he has discovered the source of our powers," said Blackpool, handing the document over. He smirked through his mask. "Aliens."

Aaron suddenly realized that though Blackpool was frequently in the commissary, he had never seen the man eat anything. He wondered if that was so Blackpool could keep his mask fully on.

"While I wouldn't completely discount that concept, the idea was examined several times in several ways already," said Aaron, as he perused the note. "There was never any convincing evidence to support the contention."

"Read on. This guy not only claims he has proof, but is putting together a museum to display it."

Actually, Aaron had completely read the page in just a glance.

"Hmph. Well, even with the obvious, blatant commercialism evident in his effort, you're right that someone should still check this out. Though it seems unlikely there could be anything meaningful in this."

"I agree. I also think we could both use some figurative fresh air."

"'We'?"

"Yes, us two," said Blackpool, a bit ungrammatically.

"If two known empowered are seen at his museum..."

"It isn't open yet. We'll keep things quiet, just go have a discussion with this guy and ask - politely - to see his evidence. If he later uses this visit to claim we support his museum that will actually give us more press attention for revealing whatever it is we find."

"If you insist." Aaron's tone was neutral, but Blackpool could tell he was intrigued. "Tomorrow afternoon?"

"About two O'Clock. We both have a couple of hours free then. I'll make the arrangements."

"If true," said Aaron, slowly and thoughtfully, as he returned the page, "this would be like finding the Holy Grail, clutched in the bony fingers of the skeleton of Judge Crater, with said skeleton being draped over the Ark of the Covenant."

He shook his head and grinned.

"Anyway, if you'll excuse me, I need some fried chicken right now."

* * *

Meanwhile, in central Ohio, at a private office complex, a rather more sinister meeting was taking place. The building was actually the headquarters of an orphaned black project, now funded by private sources determined to end the ruinous influence of the empowered.

Several men gathered in a windowless meeting room. They shared a common purpose, though they often disagreed on how to achieve it. Just now, though, they were receiving vital information handed down from their superiors through a member of the group.

"I just spoke with our advisor," said the tall man at the head of the table. "The plan is a go, and all arrangements are underway. He warned that we must not let Malak get into the air. He's as at home there as any bird, and if he has room to fly then containing him will be just about impossible."

There was a murmur of acknowledgement from the others.

"The trap is ready. All we need to do is get into position and wait for him to take the bait."

This time the reaction was more positive. Even joyous.

* * *

As it turned out, the museum was still very much under construction. The lot was newly developed, from what had been a plot of woods in an area of mostly farms. However, there was no construction happening when the pair of empowered men arrived. Even the main building was only partially completed. A large, new sign bragged that this was the future home of the Center for Free Thought. It appeared to be the only thing on the site which was actually finished.

"There's nothing here," said Blackpool, scowling under his mask. "No contractors, no staff, no heavy equipment, nothing except some piles of building supplies and a barely-started structure."

"This place is as dead as Heaven on a Saturday night," said Aaron, nodding. He gave the other empowered man a lopsided grin. "Trust me on this."

"Har. Har."

"Your contact told you to meet him here?"

"Not exactly. I just thought I'd stop here first and see what was happening before we got a presumably guided tour. We're supposed to meet them at the project's offices, in Dayton."

"I wonder if they're having funding problems..."

The duo went by their separate ways to a landmark in Dayton which both knew. From there they walked the remaining short distance to the offices. Unfortunately, many people on the streets of the city noticed them, and some of those recognized one or both of them.

"So much for a low profile visit," said Aaron, softly, as people pointed, and one driver almost hit the rear of a car stopped at a red light ahead of him.

"If you had been familiar with that alley I suggested we could probably have made it there without anyone seeing us," muttered Blackpool. "Just keep your wings in."

The building at one time had been a bank. The front windows were papered over and there were signs on the doors telling visitors to go around to the side. Once the duo went through what had formerly been a fire exit, more signs directed them towards the lobby. There they saw that many of the features from the previous use were still present; including a walk-in vault at the rear of the large room. Unlike the museum site, this place was full of people. Busy people.

The lobby had been cleared and outfitted with makeshift tables of plywood on sawhorses. Some were being used for constructing various items. Some for examining plans. Around the walls were chop saws, drill presses, pipe benders and other such equipment.

As the two empowered men entered a moment was needed for them to be noticed. Then a wave of quiet spread across the room, with worker after worker stopping what they were doing and looking up to see what was happening. Finally, the disruption of activity caused by their entrance attracted the attention of a well-dressed middle-aged man and woman sitting at what appeared to be one of the few remaining original bank worker desks. These were at the rear of the large area, near the vault.

"Mr. Blackpool!" shouted the man, beaming, as he bounced to his feet. He hurried over to greet the newcomers, vigorously shaking the federal agent's hand. "I'm so glad you accepted my invitation! Now, who is this?"

"Aaron Labelle," said Blackpool, without embellishment, as the man - recognizable through photographs in the documents Blackpool had shown Aaron of the person in charge of the project - took Aaron's hand.

The man needed a moment to parse the name. Once he did, he froze, mouth open, staring, still holding Aaron's hand. Aaron smiled gamely.

"I believe you have some evidence to support your claims?" said Blackpool.

"Oh! Of course! Let me introduce you to my wife, first. This way!"