The Angel of Haven

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part One

Malak walked around the grounds of the clinic slowly, in a deeply contemplative mood, as well as simply enjoying the weather and scenery. Normally, Aaron kept his wings in unless "on the job" or actually flying. However, he was usually in his alternate form when at the clinic, even for a quick visit. He was essentially on the job whenever here, actually, since both staff and patients were reassured by having someone with an angelic appearance being around.

Just now, he was traversing a walkway bordered by trees he had helped plant as part of the initial construction at the facility, over fifty years before. By then he was already aware that he would likely be around for a very long time, and making long-term plans. He'd made sure the trees and many of the other plants were all long-lived varieties, some of them not even native to the region. In spite of their expected life spans, a few had already been replaced through the years, for one reason or another. He stopped for a moment to contemplate a pine planted to restore a gap left when its predecessor was felled in the great storm of 1975. A sapling then, it was a big, healthy tree, now.

Hard to believe that tree is already approaching the half century mark, he mused.

He sighed, then realized what the time was. He turned towards the administration building and walked more quickly.

Suddenly, a cry rang out from high in a sycamore bordering the paved trail. A tree which was actually one of the volunteers among the deliberate plantings.

"Mannequin attacks angel!" yelled what sounded like a child.

Malak turned and caught a hurtling figure, which appeared to be a pre-teen girl, dressed for outdoor play. He held her under the arms, feet well off the ground, peering at her.

"Drat! The angel has defeated Mannequin's most formidable attack!"

"That was your most formidable attack?" said Malak, raising an eyebrow. "I don't think you're a Mannequin at all. I think you're a doodlebug."

"A doodlebug?" said the child, dubiously.

She gave a squawk of protest as Malak tossed her up a bit, with a half spin, again catching her under the arms as she came back down. With her now facing outwards, he began making slow sweeps.

"A doodlebug. Which way is it to the administration building?"

"Beep... beep... beep... Beep! BEEEEPPP!! Beep! Beep... beep..."

"Okay, you aren't actually a doodlebug," Malak admitted. "Since that's exactly the opposite direction."

Mannequin giggled, then squirmed free. She dropped to the ground, spun around to give Malak a quick hug around the legs, then spun around again and ran laughing towards the small playground nearby.

Malak watched her play for a bit with the handful of other children there, then continued on to his destination. Inside the administration building Malak found the chief of staff, who was on his way to the same meeting Malak was there for. The wide, high hallways here were partly a stylistic choice, partly to make transfer of patients in beds easier and partly due to Malak's wings.

"I honestly can't tell if Georgia is getting better or worse," said Malak, as they walked together.

"Better," said Dr. Bunker, firmly, nodding emphatically. "Definitely better. You can thank Dr. Browning for that. He had this idea to have Georgia reenact important parts of her childhood, in the process uncovering several sources of major emotional trauma. By having Georgia relive that age in a friendly, supportive environment - with appropriate gender differences where required - he's made huge strides in creating a foundation for rational adult behavior."

He grinned at the winged man beside him as they reached the doors to the meeting room.

"Fortunately for Mannequin, modern psychiatry considers someone with an active sense of humor to be in the normal range."

* * *

"I hear you're having a special visitor today," said Sarah, through the open doorway to Melody's office.

She looked up, a bit startled. Absorbed in her work, Melody had absently noted the change in office sounds as someone passed by her open doorway, but this happened often during a normal workday and she hadn't realized there was someone actually standing there until Sarah spoke.

"Aaron Labelle," said the seated reporter, expertly covering her surprise. "It's a combination interview and reunion."

"You sure it's not something more than that?" said the office matchmaker.

"Yes, Sarah," said Melody, with a grimace. She wasn't about to explain why that would have been awkward on multiple levels. Or that neither of them was attracted to the other, also for multiple reasons. "Just two people talking. Trust me on this."

The other woman laughed knowingly as she walked away. Melody scowled, but her irritation was minor and short-lived. She resumed preparing for her interview.

Nearly a year had passed since the swearing-in of President Duff, which Melody considered the finale to the events which had begun with the discovery of the plot to frame a group of empowered for a horrible crime. Unfortunately, there were still doubts on the parts of some individuals and groups - doubts which usually involved large amounts of willful suspension of disbelief - that the right people were left in charge in the aftermath of the plot's unveiling and dismantling. Supporters of the guilty, in particular, were causing grief in numerous ways.

Initially after the revelations, the new President had been able to reduce the legal controls on empowered individuals and groups. Unfortunately, following that first bloom of freedom, influential people had supported - through local, state and eventually federal legislation - acts which would have added even more restrictions than had previously existed. President Duff had worked hard against such measures on the federal level, but some of them had enough support to pass despite his veto. As well, some things he supported were voted down in Congress. The courts - including state and federal Supreme Courts - were likely to be busy for years. Interestingly, as elected officials supporting the conspiracy came up for reelection, they usually failed. Leading to repeated calls for the suspension of elections until the "criminals" had been arrested.

The governments of several other nations had also experienced such plots, a few of which had succeeded. However, only three of the new regimes which had been established through these efforts still stood, and two of those appeared to be on the way out. In large part these failures were due to the schedule of the plotters being advanced because of the discoveries of those who had uncovered the plot in the US. From that viewpoint, the good guys had won.

Melody Gunderson had moved on, mostly. She still wrote about the plot, in all its aspects. She and others were still uncovering facts about what happened, though the frequency of significant revelations was currently in rapid decline. Most of those in charge of the criminal effort, and those under them who had performed clearly illegal acts, had been arrested, and many had already been tried and punished. Many were dead, some by their own hands. However, there were many still awaiting trial, and some still unaccounted for. Melody occasionally found herself subpoenaed as a witness. Both prosecution and defense had learned to avoid certain questions about her experiences during that period. The last time she had seen Aaron had been for one such trial, just a month and a half before.

Bizarrely, the owner of her former apartment building had reported several visits from men claiming to be government agents. Every time, they demanded to know why Melody wasn't still living at the destroyed property. That was the address they had for her; that was where she had to live. They had even made vague threats against the owner, trying to blame him for the fact that Melody was no longer there. She and the owner had both filed injunctions with federal courts against the harassment. In response the feds had denied the visits had occurred. Not that the men weren't valid federal agents; rather, that the visits - and threats - were inventions of those filing the complaints.

Since these visitors strongly resembled - in both appearance and demeanor - the men who had kidnapped Melody and burned the building down, she was very worried about this activity. Melody had sent change of address forms through the Post Office, so presumably the valid government agencies would know where she now lived. She just hoped these men didn't find out.

She also still found herself promoting empowered civil liberties. Not so much because she wanted to be a champion of anyone's civil rights as because she was called upon to do so. Often by her own conscience. Repeatedly, she had to point out that while the few empowered who committed blatantly illegal acts had a huge impact, they were a tiny fraction of the total population of those with powers.

Today she actually had an appointment with Aaron. When she arranged this she was surprised to realize the visit would be the first time he had been to her office. She'd made sure to tell the security desk in the atrium of the building to expect him.

* * *

Several of the passersby on the street outside the skyscraper which housed The New York Glory gave Aaron strange looks as he walked from an alley to the front entrance of the building. While they did not recognize him they definitely noticed him. With his rustic dress and friendly smile and nod to everyone he encountered he was quickly labelled as some sort of country bumpkin and dismissed. Though those who gave him more than a cursory glance saw something more. The unusually perceptive saw something much more.

They knew who he was, of course, at the New York Glory. Not just the security personnel, either, and not just because Melody had told them to expect him. Even without the events of eight months previous involving their publication - and closely involving one of their star reporters - those working at the paper would have recognized Aaron Labelle. Though some might have identified him only after prompting.

The security guard took his name and who he was there to see, gave him a visitor's pass and directed him to the elevators. Then called the Editor in Chief.

A middle-aged black man in a nice suit intercepted Aaron as he exited the elevator. He extended his hand to Aaron, and spoke to him in a voice nearly as deep and smooth as the older man's. Several people paused in their usual work activities to look on in curiosity, but none felt a need to seek further information; at least, not just then. Word of Aaron's visit had quickly spread, as Sarah's earlier visit to Melody had indicated. While they were curious - indeed, that was one of their job requirements - they had other priorities.

"Good afternoon. I'm Carl Gadding, Melody's boss. We've met a couple of times."

"Yes, I remember," said Aaron, with a nod and a pleasant smile as they shook hands.

"If you don't mind, I'd like a word before you see her."

"Of course."

Once they were in his office Carl offered refreshments, which were politely declined. Aaron made no effort to hurry him, but editor had the distinct impression the empowered man wanted to get on with the purpose of his visit.

"Melody is doing much better these past few weeks," Gadding said, as he took his seat. "She's writing again, and I mean writing the way she used to; which is very good."

"I am glad to hear that," said Aaron, nodding. "She went through some seriously stressful times last year."

"Her recovery has been remarkable," said Gadding, pointedly. "Some might even say... miraculous. I'm wondering if it's a real recovery, or if she's simply hiding her problems."

"What most people don't realize is just how many of the lingering mental effects of many traumatic events have physiological roots," said Aaron. "Even battle fatigue - what most physicians today call traumatic stress disorder - often includes physical damage to the central nervous system. For example, the effects of repeated nearby explosions can affect the brain severely, on multiple levels. Something which wasn't even detectable by conventional medicine until recently. Melody was... brutalized. Thanks to several empowered healing her that damage was corrected. Something we have done before for traumatized people. We have decades of experience in this field, in fact. Such repairs do nothing for the purely psychological effects, of course, but we have experience treating those, too."

"She hasn't been going to that clinic of yours for months," said Gadding, pointedly. "I'm worried that she isn't getting any additional help."

"Ah, I see," said Aaron, nodding and smiling. "You're worried about her, but she is irritatingly reticent about personal matters. Well, she still has a long way to go but she is, indeed, seeing a local therapist. Someone familiar with the methods we use at our clinic, and who is keeping us apprised of Melody's progress. I can't tell you any more, at the risk of violating the confidentiality between patient and therapist."

"Well, I am very glad to hear that," said Gadding. He gave a wry chuckle. "She is, indeed, far too private with some things. Please, don't hesitate to let me know if you think there's anything I can do to help her. I like to think of those who work here as family."

"Of course."

They stood, shook hands again, and Gadding escorted Aaron to the door of his office. He stood there, thoughtfully watching as the empowered man walked down the hall and turned the corner.

More talking heads, I'm afraid. This novel will have a slow build to action.

Part Two

Melody looked up as Aaron approached her open door, seeing him even before he knocked on the frame. She rose, smiling, to welcome him.

"I am very glad to see you. I've tried to keep up with what's happening to you and your town and clinic, but you people are all pretty quiet."

"I think that's understandable," said Aaron, as she escorted him to a seat, "even without the problems we have from bigots. I have also - as you can understand - been busy. When I got your request I realized it would be a good opportunity to catch up. In both directions. Though I suspect you have something specific to ask about."

"I knew you were doing a lot more about problems in this world than most people realize when you organized that brain trust so quickly," said Melody, plunging straight in as she dropped into her chair. "They're all contacts you access regularly, aren't they? Along with many of the others who responded to the call for help."

"Old friends and new, united in a desire to make the world a better place."

"Just... What is it that you do? Why doesn't anyone know about you?"

"Many know about us," he said, addressing the second query first. "Including many governments. However, our efforts work better on the QT."

He sighed and favored her with a tired smile.

"Doing something extraordinary once is generally easy if you're empowered, and you'll probably get away with it, though there may be problems afterwards. Do it twice and various bureaucracies sit up and take notice. Start to do it a third time and there will be significant efforts to block you if you haven't already made, shall we say, arrangements."

"That sounds all too familiar," said Melody, just as wryly.

"There's also the matter of where best to apply our limited resources," said Aaron. "Which are limited, despite having many empowered involved. As for what we do... As just one example, in any war, many more civilians die of privation than all the direct casualties of military action. We send relief missions into combat zones, which provide food and medical care and evacuate those who are most endangered. These missions will have empowered along, to help in multiple ways. Including reducing the likelihood of someone trying to prevent the relief group from doing their work."

He looked off, into the distance, his plain but strangely compelling features displaying both an ineffable sadness and inhuman patience.

"People are always dying. The question is not 'Do we save them?' or even 'Who do we save?' but 'How do we save as many as possible?' Money which might bring relief to hundreds now can be used in preparations which will save thousands in five or ten years. Not interfering in a particular ethnic cleansing might make the new government which forms after the violence settles more accepting of future efforts which prevent far more tragedies in that entire region over the next few decades. Not even empowered geniuses can say for certain which is the best path, even when they can accurately predict which course of events will follow which decisions. So much of what we choose to do depends on experience and judgement, and nearly every choice is difficult to justify. However, compassion must pay a part. Cold equations are cold comfort to the cold and starving."

"There are those who say that you empowered could make the world a paradise, if you were only bolder in your actions," said Melody, somewhat reluctantly playing devil's advocate.

"What would they have us do? Overthrow dictators? That wouldn't last long. Not only are there always more potential dictators waiting, but other governments don't like people displacing their allies and puppets. Even most governments have learned not to do that."

"I remember, there were empowered who intervened like that in the past," said Melody, quietly. "Back in the Twenties and Thirties, then a few more in the Fifties. They stopped very quickly. All of them. Some were never heard from again."

"Yes. After one or two dramatic, decisive actions, either they were killed, or they received credible threats against loved ones. Not always from totalitarian rulers, either. Even legitimate governments get worried when someone starts killing national leaders. I believe that concern is valid. Once someone decides that killing a tyrant is justified, how much longer until they decide that someone honest but politically disagreeable to them gets the perhaps literal axe? Most active empowered will also try to discourage such behavior. Out of enlightened self interest, if nothing else."

"I can understand that... but what about taking action against people like the Butcher of Uganda? The government he operated under was overthrown by locals and replaced by a - unstable and corrupt, but still internationally recognized and gradually improving - democracy, and he escaped into exile. Won't someone make him pay for his crimes?"

"He only committed crimes in Uganda," said Aaron, sounding downright weary, "and as far as we know he only operated as an agent of his government. A government whose actual leaders were all killed or captured during the revolution, with many of those captives later executed. He was banned from entering several countries, but there were never international warrants against him. He is protected by the government of the nation he sought shelter in, which has no extradition with Uganda. Largely due to him making substantial contributions to the ruling party there for many years before the regime he worked for fell. He is living out what is left of his life - in luxury, admittedly - in an isolated mansion, where he's not hurting anyone. Those of us in this group you are so curious about focus on improving the world, long term, rather than extracting vengeance for things already past. We leave that to the government agencies concerned about such people."

"You are entirely too complacent about that situation," said Melody, angrily.

"Melody, I was declared a war criminal by the International Court in the Fifties," said Aaron, suspecting she had some personal connection to that situation. "That declaration was never rescinded, but it has almost always been ignored. I am still banned from several nations, though I doubt any would act against me if I went there and saved multiple lives. Well, not until afterwards. There are even active international warrants against me, though from countries few take seriously in such matters."

He shrugged.

"One man's devil is another man's saint."

The reporter shifted uneasily in her seat, obviously brought down a bit but still wanting to make a point.

"Okay, here's something you should take more personally," she said, angrily. "The recent use of chlorine gas against civilians in several civil wars."

"They get away with that once," said Aaron, tone dire. He sighed, and when he resumed his voice was normal. "In fact, we have prevented several first applications. Once we know someone will do that, we take special pains to make sure such attacks won't be repeated, and in some cases not made even the first time. Through whatever method we think works best for the specific situation. Sometimes simply by replacing the chlorine with something innocuous. The problem is knowing ahead of time. We aren't fortune tellers."

"It's just... with all the power some of you have... you could be doing so much more!"

"No-one is all powerful," said Aaron, pointedly. "Remember, even the Supreme Socialist - arguably the most powerful transformed on record, and certainly the most powerful one in Nazi Germany - was brought down by a military coalition of Great Britain, the Soviet Union and the US, with no empowered directly involved in his death. So, we pick our fights carefully."

"Okay... I can see that," said Melody, though with obvious reluctance. "What sorts of things are you actually doing, though? You've given a few examples, but they're vague. I want details; at least some."

"Even just helping victims of famines is complicated," said Aaron, with a weary, humorless smile, not answering her directly. "For decades, hunger has been primarily a political problem. There's plenty of food, in large part thanks to efforts by several of the earliest empowered savants, who created fantastic plants and methodologies for improving the sustainable production of food. With modern communications and means of transportation, learning about a drought or insect plague or storm and collecting food for a relief effort have become relatively easy and quite quick. Unfortunately, many governments have little motivation to help their citizens. In some cases, powerful individuals feel they have valid reasons to harm those they are supposed to represent; or at least to put their own benefit first."

"As a reporter I know about things like that," said Melody, nodding. "Though none of my assignments have been on any of them, so I guess I'm short on details."

"Even when governments are officially committed to the purpose of providing relief, there can be problems," said Aaron, spreading his hands in a semi-shrug. "Often due to the individual foibles of someone in power. In the late Forties there was a famine in a region of the world where the primary religions were Buddhism, Hinduism and Islam. One politician here in the US had the perfect solution: Ship them the Spam left over from the war."

"Wait," said Melody, startled. "Those all..."

"Yes. Even after this was explained to the man he waved the objection away, saying 'They get hungry enough, they'll eat it.' Unfortunately, despite this and several similar gaffs he continued holding office for nearly two more decades."

"God..." said Melody, astounded. In part that she didn't already know about this.

"Exactly," said Aaron, with an impish smile. Which quickly faded. "There was another, more recent case - one in which we empowered became involved - where a huge storm caused mass hunger and privation. There was a combination of crop damage, loss of shelter and the inability of medical aid and supplies to easily reach the area. We organized the relief, obtained the food and other supplies and moved them quickly to that nation. Unfortunately, we handed them over to the local government agency for relief; admittedly at that government's insistence. The head of that agency delayed distribution for two weeks until he could relabel all the containers with his name and personal logo."

"God..." Melody repeated, eyes wide with astonishment.

"We have learned to act as quickly and quietly and directly as possible, then get out... but to keep an eye on the situation. In some cases no-one outside the area we aid even knows we were involved, beyond vague rumors, until much later. However, I expect the biggest case we're working on currently will be an exception.

"Thousands of endangered people will be moved very quickly and thousands more in several countries are invested in helping them resettle. We just finished overseeing the construction of the villages where the refugees will be housed until they can find their own places."

"Are you talking about the relocation camps in Libya?!"

"They're death camps, actually," said Aaron, sourly. "Trust me on this. In the two years since the new regime took over, they've not only forced huge numbers of 'undesirables' into several isolated camps, they've deliberately starved the occupants. Physical and emotional abuse is rampant. It's only a matter of time - and not much of it - before the overt massacres begin.

"Diplomacy and even economic sanctions have had little effect; those in power want these people dead, not helped or even evacuated. So some of us empowered have decided to take direct action. We'll be moving the occupants of those facilities into several smaller camps in neighboring nations which have agreed to help. Most of the infrastructure - including food and other supplies - is already in place. You'll understand if I don't give any further details. Even this much should be kept confidential until the operation is completed.

"Since the new regime has declared all these people undesirables, if they do complain about the evacuation they will be exposing their own hypocrisy. Though I doubt that will keep them silent."

Melody remembered that Aaron - not always as Malak - had rescued many thousands from Nazi death camps and other such institutions through the decades. She also realized, with a start, that whatever his other reasons for revealing all this, he was also looking for her approval. The awareness that he didn't just trust her, but respected her opinions on his activities was rather... humbling.

"How did you get so many different governments to agree to take those refugees?" said Melody, recovering after a moment.

"We paid them," said Aaron, flatly. "Not necessarily in money - though that did happen - but we bargained in various ways for refugee camps to be prepared and guarded. As well as for the effort needed to find permanent homes later. All of this providing a significant boost to the local economies. We also made clear that while some redistribution of resources was tolerable, most of what we brought was for the refugees."

"Where did you folks get that sort of money?!"

"Just because I prefer a modest lifestyle doesn't mean I don't know where and how to get funds." said Aaron, firmly. "There are many groups willing to fund such work. There are also many treasures which were hidden by people who are no longer around to collect them. Many of these caches were simply lost in antiquity, through storm or war or disease. While I will not apply such things as melted-down dental gold from Nazi victims to such efforts, and will return stolen property to the rightful owner when I can, that still leaves a great deal available. Also, I am far from the only individual willing to fund this effort. Several very wealthy people feel a need - for one reason or another - to help others. However, they prefer doing so quietly, for what I feel are good reasons."

"So why are you telling me this?" said Melody, pointedly. "Also, why now? Why not after you've succeeded?"

"While we normally prefer to work sub rosa that won't be possible with this current effort. It's just too large. We want at least some of the press informed ahead of time, to get a jump on the enemy's propaganda."

"There will be propaganda against the effort and those involved," said Melody, nodding. "If only because it will highlight the neglect of those who are supposed to be acting to help in such cases."

"This will be one of the largest operations we have ever carried out," said Aaron, quietly. "As well as one of our boldest. We want representatives of the international press present at the refuges and our command center as we perform the rescue."

"Not on the operation itself?"

"No. Not only will that be too dangerous, we have very little margin. No-one will be involved who isn't strictly necessary for the operation."

"I can understand that," said Melody, leaning back in her chair and fiddling with her pen. "I am also very definitely interested. Though you better have good security at the refugee camps to keep the reporters from getting in the way. Simply from trying to get closer to the action."

"Of course," said Aaron, with a tired smile.

"What do you call this group, anyway? You keep saying things like 'we' and 'we empowered' but I'm pretty sure only a small percentage of the empowered even in the US are involved and I bet there are non-empowered helping with your projects."

"We very deliberately do not give ourselves a group name," said Aaron, straightfaced. "We also avoid giving information on who is involved. Well, that is all the news I had. Since you are interested, I will personally contact you when the time for our evacuation approaches. So unless you have further questions..."

Melody shifted position, leaning forward again, elbows on her desk.

"Oh, yes. While you're here, I'd like your help with a concern of mine."

"Ask away."

"I tried to contact Blackpool, but they said he doesn't work at the Empowered Matters Agency any more," said Melody.

"A bit of dissembling. He's on detached duty, overseeing the destruction of the chemicals stored at that repository. He's actually living there, currently."

"Why doesn't anyone seem to know this?! Is it secret, or something?"

"Since the federal government still hasn't officially acknowledged that the repository exists, they won't tell anyone that he's working there," said Aaron, sounding amused at this useless deceit. "So, yes; it's secret. At least officially, if not in reality. If you want, I can get word to him. That will be easy. He is allowing the group I mentioned previously to use part of that facility for another project, one in which I am also involved."

They spoke for a while longer, of world affairs and mutual acquaintances. Soon, though, Aaron announced he needed to be somewhere and said his goodbyes.

Melody walked with him to the elevator. As she returned to her office she idly speculated on how long he'd wait; how far he'd walk and to where before changing and flying away, most likely invisibly.

Angels are immortal beings who can move among humans without being seen or felt, she thought, remembering the folklore Arielle - gentle, mighty Arielle - had told her. They can pass through any barrier without hindrance. They can heal the wounded and cure the sick. They can understand and be understood in any language. They can travel at incredible speed.

All that and more had shaped Aaron Labelle's form and psyche during his empowerment. Most of it coming from stories told to him by his French immigrant mother. Melody felt a brief surge of gratitude towards the woman. She might have - completely innocently - created a monster if the tales she had told her son had been different.

Part Three

As he rose invisible into the sky, Aaron was tempted to fly the slow way back to Haven. The weather was that nice. With a resigned sigh, he flew high enough to be above airliner traffic and applied his quick travel power to head west.

* * *

Melody was sitting, staring unseeing at the far wall of her office, when her boss stopped by later that afternoon.

"You look busy."

"I am, actually," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Deep in thought."

"Hey, you reporters aren't paid to think," said Gadding, with a grin. "You're paid to write."

She had to laugh at that. Then she motioned him to come in. Melody definitely noted that he closed her normally open door on the way. Even before her kidnapping, she had preferred that freedom of access; the open door helped her cue in on the general mood of the office. These days, having her boss and friend close the door gave her a flash of claustrophobia. Fortunately, he got right to the point.

"Did you get what you wanted from your interview?" said Gadding, as he settled into the chair on the other side of the desk from his employee.

"On multiple levels," said Melody, nodding.

"Anything you can tell me about?"

She gave him the digest version of what Aaron had related to her, though for the upcoming Libyan project she only noted that the group had "other things in the works."

"Excellent. I expect you to produce several articles from all this. If you think there's more going on than you can cover, feel free to let some other reporters in on things."

"You don't have to go easy on me, Carl," said Melody, flatly. "I can do the work, and I can judge for myself when to call on others for help."

"That's better," he said, smiling and nodding. "Well, get on with it, then!"

Again, she had to laugh at her boss' comment.

"He's remarkable, even for one of the empowered," said Gadding, after a few moments of quiet.

"Did you know that as a child he knew people who had been slaves?" said Melody, softly.

"No, but I'm not surprised. He was born in the South in 1895."

* * *

"Good morning, Mannequin," said Dr. Carver.

"Good morning!" came the cheerful reply.

The psychiatrist frowned at the little boy as he climbed into the chair opposite him.

"Could you take an adult form, please? If for no other reason, so I can look you in the eye."

"Sure," said the boy. He grinned, and expanded. In seconds, the therapist was confronted by a tall, leggy, stacked brunette in leggings and a - for Mannequin - modest blouse. "How's this?"

"Well, I can look you in the eye," said Carver, with a slight smile. "If you don't mind my asking, why the frequent gender changes? I can understand experimenting, but you've had your powers for years."

"Why should I deny myself access to half the population?" said Mannequin, smiling and practically purring.

"I see. You've said before you enjoy sex, but this seems to go beyond that."

"Oh, definitely. I guess I'm a sensualist. I enjoy experiencing not just sex, but many forms of pleasure, and not just with different physiologies, but different viewpoints."

"What about other explanations?" said Carver, definitely looking her in the eyes while speaking casually. "Can you think of other reasons for your, well, desire to be so flexible in your sexual adventures?"

Mannequin squirmed uncomfortably for a bit, then sighed and nodded.

"I am... complicated," said Mannequin, with a tired smile. "Before my empowerment I had a Y chromosome, was intersexed and bisexual... only no-one knew all that, including me. Everyone thought I was a girl, which was fine because I liked boys. Then, when I was fifteen, my parents found out I liked girls, too, and took me to a doctor for my first really detailed physical. Yes, they are the type who think being anything other than straight is a sickness, and that only sinners get sick and need doctors. I'm surprised they even bothered with my vaccinations.

"Anyway, when the doctor tried to give me a pelvic exam she realized there was a problem. Things went rapidly downhill from there. Somehow - according to my parents, anyway - it was all my fault, including being misdiagnosed as physically female at birth."

Dr. Carver hid it, but he was surprised at the extent of this revelation. He'd already known most of this - had even heard some of it from Mannequin - but to have all this related in one go, almost casually...

"You are definitely not alone in having parents like that," said Dr. Carver, sympathetically. "Or even in having that assortment of problems."

"Yes, but I believe my parents' reaction was at the extreme end of the spectrum," said Mannequin, dryly.

"They didn't notice your breasts weren't developing? That you weren't having periods?"

"Well, yes," Mannequin admitted, uneasily. "To the former, anyway. My mother isn't all that well endowed, but that lack was part of the reason they finally had me checked. As for menstruation, that wasn't discussed in polite company."

"So they were legitimately concerned that you weren't developing properly," said Dr. Carver, pointedly. "However, you believe the primary reason your parents were concerned about your health was that you weren't 'normal.'"

"Yes. Then they decided to 'make me normal.' So, without consulting me, they and the specialist on intersexed children they were sent to decided on surgery to remove all my internalized boy bits. I didn't even know what the surgery was for until later; they said it was to help with my urination issues. Which were actually minor, and which I told them about but they ignored the matter until the first doctor mentioned that might be a problem. Then they criticized me for not telling them! My protests that I had told them just confirmed that I was a rebellious teenager who had to be taken in hand!"

Obviously upset, she took a moment to sit back, tug her blouse straight and take a few deep breaths to calm herself. When she continued she was rather smug.

"Fortunately, the hospital was using a new relaxant in the pre-anesthesia IV which has since been banned because it turned out to be a trigger chemical. Before the anesthetist could gas me, I was higher than any of his previous patients. Literally."

"That's one way to find vindication," said Carver, nodding, and even smiling a bit.

Mannequin looked startled.

"You know, I never thought of it that way."

She smiled. A bit vindictively.

"Let's see," said Carver, flipping through his notes. "You've tried both genders, with both same-sex and opposite sex partners. You've tried multiple ages, ethnic types..."

"Exactly! For that matter, why should I limit myself to humans?" said Mannequin. Her expression turned wistful. "Have you seen that golden retriever of the Director's? I'd love to have his puppies."

She held the pose of longing for a moment, then relented and laughed.

"I see," said Carver, smiling uneasily. "Well, humor has many uses, including providing a safe venue for exploring otherwise forbidden topics. However, I recall your comments on bringing children into the world in its current state."

"Actually, Aaron pointed out that the world is usually in 'its current state,'" said Mannequin, a bit sadly. "He also keeps emphasizing how each of us needs to choose our fights. So, no worries on that issue, for now I am definitely reluctant to father or mother a child. Even a human one."

* * *

Getting permission to visit the chemical repository was neither quick nor easy. It still officially didn't exist, despite being shown briefly on live television. Inquiries to various government agencies had resulted in polite letters which basically said nothing. Fortunately, Aaron had relayed her request to Blackpool. The response to that had come two days after his visit, in the form of a telephone call.

Arranging transportation was almost as difficult, and nearly as time consuming. Aaron and Blackpool were both too busy to act as taxi. However, Melody had finally worked out an arrangement with Blackpool where he would send an innocuous government vehicle to the closest commercial airport. That still left a three hour commute by road after her flight. Even then, Melody was only able to make the trip because Blackpool agreed to put her up in a VIP room at the facility for a week.

As she exited the car inside the compound, most of those Melody could see were strangers to her, many of them wearing the bland, non-descriptive uniforms of facility workers. A few were known to her, with most of those being empowered. Despite his claims that he was too busy to give her a personal lift, Blackpool was one of those on hand to welcome Melody to the facility. In fact, he was front and center as the dusty sedan pulled to a stop inside the walls.

"I'm glad to see you again," said Blackpool, his smile visible through his full-face mask as he took Melody's hand. "As well as that you're finally getting to see what we're doing here."

"I'm just as glad I'm finally getting to see this place in person," said Melody, with a slight laugh. They held hands a bit longer than strictly necessary according to protocol. When they finally released Melody was surprised to find she had enjoyed the contact. Even through his gloves.

"I suppose knowing that Aaron and his team are using some of our facility for a major project increased that curiosity," said Blackpool. He showed no reaction to that slightly prolonged welcome, naturally.

"Yes, but I wanted to see this place, anyway," said Melody, wondering if she had imagined what they seemed to have shared. After greeting the others there to welcome her, she continued more quietly as he escorted her inside. "I'm also glad to see you. You've been sequestered here for months. So thoroughly that I didn't even know you were here until recently."

"Yes, Aaron told me about his visit. Well, let me give you the tour, and you can meet him later."

The place was larger than she expected, mainly due to so much of the construction being underground. This first tour was brief, just to give Melody in idea of what was there. She also wasn't shown everything on this initial tour, since some areas were unsafe to enter without donning protective gear. Naturally, there were others areas which simply weren't mentioned.

"Here's your quarters," said Blackpool, finally. The door was open and the lights on. Melody's luggage was already on the bed. "This suite of rooms is used by visiting officials and experts, but none are here right now. There's a good-quality deadbolt lock on your door, and the windows latch securely. The key for the door is on the dresser, there."

"Thank you. I'll grab a quick shower and change of clothes and... Where do I go from here, anyway?"

"It's lunch time," said Blackpool, his smile again slightly visible through his mask. "If you don't remember the way to the commissary, there's a printed map beside the keys."

"Oh. Right, then. Thank you. I'll be there shortly.

* * *

When Melody got to the commissary she saw that "lunch" seemed to be mostly over, but there was still plenty of food and many people eating. Blackpool wasn't there, but to her pleased surprise she saw Aaron sitting alone at one of the tables, staring at an unopened bottle of soda. She slid into a seat across from him. He nodded towards her absently, and continued staring at the bottle. Melody didn't want to interrupt whatever train of thought was occupying him, so she stayed silent. Instead of speaking, she idly wondered if anyone would ever develop a plastic bottle which could meet all the requirements which had ended every previous attempt to replace glass.

She was just thinking of how glass bottles were overall sturdy but could break into dangerous fragments under impact, when the lid blew off the bottle!

"Well," said Aaron, with an embarrassed laugh, "that reaction was rather more energetic than I was expecting!"

"What the Hell were you doing?" said Melody, grabbing napkins from the dispenser on the table and wiping at her clothes.

"Probability manipulation. Or, as some call it, reality shaping. I was trying to get the cap to come off. In a controlled manner."

"Like AmberMite," said the reporter, startled into momentarily stopping her dabbing and staring at the empowered man. "I didn't know you could do that!"

"I got some tips from Mannequin," said Aaron. He gave her a tired smile. "I'd offer to use it to remove the pop from your clothes, but I'm worried about how that could go wrong."

"Yes, please, refrain, at least for now," said Melody, with a nervous laugh.

"This actually fits in with our long-term project, here," said Aaron, leaning back a bit. "Working with probabilities. It's... Well, there are others here who could probably explain it better."

"You said the other day that you were working on some sort of computer."

"It is definitely that!" said Aaron, with a wry laugh. "We started over thirty years ago with Adam. Then came Betty. Then Colin. We're up to Harriett by now."

"You alternate between male and female names."

"Helps us to keep track of where we are," said Aaron, sitting back in his chair. He looked sad. Even tired. "Anyway, I apologize for not being here when you arrived. I heard about someone who had been buried in a landslide on the west coast. I flew out and helped find them. Unfortunately, they had already been dead for some time. If there had just been an air pocket..."

Melody decided to get him onto another topic as quickly as possible.

"Blackpool has been giving me - as folks used to say - the nickel tour," said Melody, smiling. "However, even the others working on your group project here have told me that you're the best guide for that."

"I think Blackpool and the others were leaving it to me to determine how much to trust you with," said Aaron, with a shrug. "If I'm not mistaken, he didn't even show your our research facilities, also leaving that to me."

"Well, before we start lunch I need to visit a restroom and try to get some more of this off. I'll be back in a bit."

Once she left, Aaron looked back at the mess on the table. An odd haze formed around the bottle, and suddenly all the soda was back in it and the cap back in place. Aaron stood and casually moved to the trash, where he disposed of the bottle. He had been a fast learner even before his empowerment, and in the century since...

Melody would later note that her clothes had dried more quickly than she expected, and subsequently needed less cleaning.

Part Four

After lunch they talked as they walked, neither in much of a hurry. Most of their conversation was about recent developments affecting the empowered. Their voices - like their footfalls - echoed eerily in the bare corridors. Melody noted to herself that this complex was one of the most institutional facilities she had ever been in. Away from the residential building and administrative offices, the facilities - even those above ground - were bare concrete, inside and out. There weren't even rubber walkways, though all the interior concrete surfaces appeared to have been treated with some sort of sealant. The lighting for both hallways and rooms was harsh fluorescent. She recalled Blackpool mentioning that the sparseness of furnishings made cleanup easier in case of a leak of toxic chemicals.

"It's amazing how many different conspiracy theories are out there about what happened here last year," said Melody. "Not only do many of them contradict others, but the same people often support contradicting stories!"

"I am well aware of that situation," said Aaron, seeming disappointed. "Some of the same people who previously claimed we were planning to release the chemicals to make more empowered are now claiming we're destroying the chemicals to prevent the creation of more empowered."

"What..." said Melody, confused.

"They're saying those of us who are already empowered don't want the competition. After earlier saying that we were plotting to create reinforcements."

"Insane," said Melody, flatly.

"Some are saying that we're hogging all these chemicals for our own use, to increase our powers," said Aaron.

"Wait... That wouldn't work, right? Once someone is triggered, that's it. They can improve their powers, but only through training."

"Essentially true," said Aaron. "Some trigger chemicals are powerful narcotics, and some of those can induce an altered state of consciousness which allows breakthroughs in powers. That is assuming the empowered person is close to a breakthrough, and can withstand the toxic effects. So, while in a very specific way that makes sense, in practical application it's very limited and rather unsafe."

"I did not know that," said Melody, startled.

They turned a corner and approached a pair of armored doors Melody remembered passing during her first tour. There were multiple clues that the chamber beyond had been repurposed. Including places where signs had obviously been removed.

"When evaluating our effort, you need to keep something in mind," said Aaron, as they paused in their advance while he opened one of the two heavy doors. "We are not a military force. We are not a police force. We are not authorized by any government, or even formally organized as a business. We do have bylaws, though. Guidelines. We are a club, of people with something in common. That common goal being to improve the Earth and the situation of its occupants. We haven't done badly protecting our world, but as you and others have noted there is so much more we could do. We are agreed on that as we are agreed on the need to do those other things. What you are about to see is one tool we are building to help with our self-imposed tasks."

The room beyond the doors was a single, large chamber, with concrete all around and windowless, though it was aboveground. Aaron explained that it had previously housed pallets of canisters with low-level trigger chemicals inside. He assured her that the place had been thoroughly decontaminated after the canisters - under Blackpool's management - had been removed for just as thorough incineration.

It now contained equipment for manufacturing and testing what those working on the project claimed was the most advanced computing device in the world. The walls were lined with benches and heavy tables full of objects and devices, most of which Melody had never seen the like of before. Considering what they were designed to produce, that lack of familiarity was not surprising.

However, the first thing Melody noticed upon entering the room was the flickering cloud of light trails overhead, just under the high ceiling. She was so distracted by that she almost missed Aaron introducing the researchers.

"...and this is Professor Edmund Bright," he finished.

"Pleased to meet you," said Melody, quickly, extending her hand. Part of the reason she had allowed herself to be distracted was that she already knew some of these people. However, the Professor and a few others were new to her. She looked back up, at the patterns of flashing lights above. "Is that...?"

"The actual computer is in that box, there," said Professor Bright, a tall, handsome man in early middle age, smiling as he made a casual gesture towards a sturdy wood table with a breadbox-sized container on it. Said container was hooked to multiple other devices by several types of cables. "That up there, though, is the hologram we use to monitor its activity."

"It's... beautiful," said Melody, craning her head back to look in astonishment at the glowing patterns displayed above. "It's almost like a brain."

"You have excellent perception," said Professor Bright, beaming. "The device is, indeed, patterned after a simplified model of the neuronal structure of the human brain."

"It's not... alive, is it?" Melody said, a bit alarmed.

"No," said Aaron. "The organizational features which lead to sapience would actually make the device less efficient for pure computation, so we had no reason to include them and several good ones to exclude them."

Melody looked at him in surprise. She knew, of course, that he counted as a super genius on the human scale but he was so good at fitting in with normal people that she had rarely seen this side of him expressed.

"People have been trying to invent electronic computing devices since the early Twenties," said CornFed. "They had problems. Even figuring out just what those problems were was difficult, but that was part of what led to the development of quantum theory."

Melody had met her several times before, and remembered that she was a specialist in sociology and social analysis. Her academic credits and real world accomplishments were both legendary. Though she still dressed like a stereotypical sexy farm gal. Like Aaron, she also didn't seem to age.

"We had to invent an entirely new language just to describe what we needed to do," said CornFed. She looked tired but satisfied. "Aaron's knowledge of Navaho was especially useful for that."

"We also had to build the case out of inertium, to cut down on interference," said Professor Bright, who might have been trying to impress Melody.

"Our master crafter, Hubertus, is away, just now," said Aaron. "He took his empowered nickname from the patron saint of smiths. He's one of the few people who can make and work with inertium."

"That must have been expensive," said Melody, startled.

"Yes, but necessary," said Professor Bright. "With several billion qubits crammed into such a small space the device is extraordinarily sensitive to interference. Inertium even reflects those neutrinos which are most likely to interact with matter. Since it's a sealed case, when we have to make a physical change - fortunately that's rare these days - we get Malak to pull out the works."

"I thought inertium was impervious to phasing, too," said Melody, a bit - though not much - surprised.

"After the inventor used it on him and several other empowered in 1921 he learned how to get through it," said Bright, offhandedly. "He needs a bit of concentration, but it's not a major problem."

He was trying to impress her. While trying to minimize the contributions of the others involved in the project, even cutting Aaron off. Melody found this amusing, but kept her expression neutral.

"Technically, making inertium is illegal most places," said Aaron, mildly. Melody realized, with a bit of a surprise, that he was trying to pull Bright back a few notches. Was he protecting her, or simply trying to keep everyone on track? "Of course, just being empowered is illegal most places, so that synthesis is considered a relatively minor offense. Making inertium is therefore generally ignored, unless it is used for something illegal. Fortunately, quantum computing is so new they haven't gotten around to making it illegal. Yet."

Okay, definitely trying to get the conversation back on track.

"I'm still not sure I understand the difference between quantum and regular computers," said Melody.

"Quantum computers aren't just faster than electronic computers," said CornFed, also working to get them back to what she saw as the topic. "They allow a different type of computing."

"How so?" said Melody, who barely knew anything about even electronic computers. She noted - with a bit of relief - that Bright had broken off to respond to something one of the technicians has asked him.

"The primary difference in the case of our experimental unit is that it thinks like Aaron does," said CornFed, looking triumphant. Meanwhile, Aaron appeared a bit embarrassed. "It's a true neural net, emulating - though in simplified form - an actual brain, while operating much faster. With Aaron's thought processes being what we're trying to emulate. I've been around him enough to know that when he makes a big decision he considers the impact it will have on the whole world, through time. Will it help humanity overall? Or harm it? Short term is balanced against long term, as well. Harriett - finally, after years of failed, unsuccessful and not quite successful attempts - does the same thing. Several of us made sure we got that function, largely through using metalaw and advanced game theory, plus other algorithms we invented specifically for this project. It actually makes value judgements, balancing factors even Aaron can't consider. Then it chooses the right action. Or, in most cases, the least wrong one. That is what takes both so much computing power, and quantum operation."

"To determine the best application of your resources," said Melody, quietly, recalling an earlier discussion with Aaron. She also remembered that he had authored several books on philosophy and reason.

"The best we can manage," said CornFed, with sigh and a tired shrug. "I'm not claiming it's perfect. In fact, it is definitely a work in progress. We're always trying to improve things. So is Harriett; it's a learning machine. It is already a big help. It has even made useful suggestions for its own improvement."

"I'm a bit... unclear on how you can devise a... a machine with judgement."

"Because the device is very much like a brain," said CornFed, enthusiastically. "It balances immediate literality with metaphorical reasoning the same way the human brain - pretty much any properly functioning animal brain - does. By the way, Professor Bright is a very left-hemisphere sort of person. He doesn't understand why the device has to have any sort of contextual evaluation capability, when literality is all-important. According to him. So, the fact that he can't completely explain what's going on inside that box doesn't surprise me. He keeps trying to get us to remove the right-brain emulation capability, claiming it's not only superfluous but interferes with proper computation. Fortunately, he's easily distracted."

That bit about living brains piqued Melody's interest. She decided to get the good Professor's view on that dichotomy. She meandered over to where he was discussing something with one of his assistants, waited for him to finish, the broached the subject of literal vs. metaphorical. Very much not to her surprise, he did not directly answer. Instead, apparently still trying to impress her, he too-casually took the conversation in another direction.

"It is impossible, of course, to know enough about, well, anything to make completely accurate predictions," said Bright, with a shrug. "If nothing else, the physical effects outlined in Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle prevent that. However, part of the beauty of a quantum computational system like this is that it automatically compensates - to varying extents, depending on the situation - for this lack of complete knowledge."

"One of the tricks it uses for making decisions is what we call fuzzy boundary transfer logic," said CornFed, butting in.

"Another of its more useful tricks is being able to start with an effect and work backwards to the cause," said Dr. Dulle, assuming this was a general discussion and happily joining it. "That's of huge benefit in figuring out why something happened."

"Which includes who is guilty," said CornFed, with an impish smile.

"Our first practical use of the device is to plan the timing of our upcoming detention camp rescue," said Aaron, now also joining the group. "It is able to make a split-second plan which is also flexible, but still practical."

"You could also provide hints to people who are trying to solve crimes," said Melody, pointedly. "It wouldn't have to be proper evidence. Just let them know where to look."

From the way the brains in the room looked at her, they had never thought of that. Melody felt a bit smug.

"Just a thought."

* * *

Yeah, it's a Skiffy quantum computer. :-)

Part Five

They were walking in roughly a half acre of grass and young trees. There were picnic tables, permanently emplaced grills and even a small gazebo. This was on land which was part of the property belonging to the chemical storage and disposal project, but outside the walls of the compound. It also all looked very new. There were a few other people in the area, and almost uniformly they were smiling.

"This is beautiful," said Melody. "Like a city park. It will look even better once the trees get bigger. I have to wonder, though, if these plants are... out of place."

"This was Aaron's idea, and I assume he knows what will grow here," said Blackpool. "He said it would greatly improve morale, and - as usual - he has been proven right. Yes, keeping all this presentable is a challenge, and will be a bigger one in Winter. We may just put a greenhouse around it if the facility stays open for several more years. There's already talk of moving chemicals here from elsewhere for disposal. The effort would be worth it for the psychological benefits. Especially given the isolation and lack of vegetation in the rocky terrain around here."

He smiled and pointed.

"I occasionally find him - Aaron - sitting in the gazebo, with a distant, peaceful expression on his face. He told me, once, he was remembering the city park in Baton Rouge which he used to frequent. How, when he was a child, his parents would take him there for music and picnics. Later, in his teens, he would buy big, soft, salty pretzels, still warm from the vendor, and a mug of locally brewed beer, for himself and his date, as they listened to bands and singers."

"Sounds wonderful," said Melody, a bit surprised at the lack of craving from the mention of beer, but still finding the image this account evoked inviting. She favored her escort with a smile. "When is some empowered genius going to invent time travel?"

"According to everyone I've asked who should know, it's impossible. You can alter your rate of passage through time, but must always go forwards. Or sideways."

"Sideways?" she said, puzzled.

"Into alternate timelines. Aaron claims to have done that, as have a few others. However, none of those journeys have been documented, so they currently remain in the realm of tall tales which might just barely be possible."

"Speaking of sideways..."

Melody stepped a bit away from him and made a slow turn.

"I'm surprised at how much leeway you were given in running this place," said Melody. "Do your superiors even know there's an empowered research group working here?"

"I don't think they want to know. As long as the work is getting done safely they prefer plausible deniability. Remember, officially this place still doesn't exist."

"Don't dissemble. I know about plenty of secret and 'secret' installations, and they're all a lot more strictly controlled than this."

"One of the conditions from the feds for letting the empowered use the facilities here," said Blackpool, more seriously, "is that they help me recruit and teach more empowered, with the hopeful end result of convincing them to apply for federal law enforcement service."

"Everybody has a price," said Melody, philosophically. "Either for what they want, or what they'll do."

"Even Aaron," said Blackpool, nodding. "Though his price is... different from most."

He gave her a lopsided smile. It occurred to Melody that she and Aaron were probably the only people in the area who knew what he looked like under that mask. Which helped her visualize exactly what his expression was.

"Anyway, I'm glad you're getting along well here. Right now, though, I have some other duties I need to attend to. I believe you also have a scheduled activity coming up."

* * *

Michael Schmierer was a successful Los Angeles businessman. So successful that he had a private secretary/receptionist out front for his otherwise one-man operation. It just happened that his business was getting into other peoples' business. He was also empowered, something he didn't hide but didn't brag about. He figured those who needed to know that would.

Unfortunately, some of those who needed to know were employees of the Empowered Matters Agency. That didn't normally include Blackpool, but both Michael and his receptionist knew him.

On what would otherwise have been a pretty ordinary business day, Michael's phone rang, with a call from the reception desk.

"Michael?" said Charlotte. "Blackpool is here to see you."

The PI sighed, and nodded to himself.

"Send him in."

Michael had become a licensed private detective because he liked to solve puzzles. Unfortunately, Blackpool presented an enigma he wasn't allowed to try and solve. As a super registered with and licensed by the Empowered Matters Agency, Michael depended on their good will to continue his operations as a PI.

"Good morning," said Michael, as the all-black figure entered. "Have a seat?"

That last was deliberately phrased as a question; almost as a challenge. Because Blackpool's visits were usually very short. If he did take a seat, that meant the visit was likely going to be long, and potentially serious. Michael gritted his teeth as the other actually did sit.

"You're early."

"This isn't the scheduled inspection," said Blackpool.

That threw Michael.

"Why are you here, then?"

"Michael, you need to do more with your life," said Blackpool, leaning forward a bit. "You have incredible potential. I won't say you're wasting it, dealing with domestic problems, pursuing and recovering runaway minors and providing 'incentives' for others to behave. I'm saying that with the right application of your abilities you could contribute so much more to society."

"You mean, become a fed, like you? No, thanks..."

"There are other options. For example, I know a group which is offering to teach empowered how better to use their abilities. There's no charge, though they hope students will in turn volunteer to teach others what they know."

Again, Michael found this completely unexpected. However, the offer was also attractive. He now leaned forward, a bit.

"All right. Talk to me."

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the chemical repository, Melody was getting ready for one of the main reasons for her visit. Once appropriately clad, she was shown around the disposal room by a pair of similarly garbed technicians.

"Sorry for the awkward outfit," said the female tech, who had helped Melody get dressed in the protective garments. "We make everyone wear them, even those immune to toxins. Just to make decontamination easier if there's a leak."

"So far we haven't had even one leak, though," said the male tech, quickly, in a reassuring tone.

In truth, the disposable coveralls, hood, gloves and booties and the gas mask weren't all that uncomfortable. Melody had actually worn worse - and likely less protective - gear for an article on a heavily polluted abandoned lead refining site a couple of years before. Still, she had no reason to prolong the tour and accompanying demonstration, and asked few questions during it. Saving those for later.

The actual incinerator did not reveal much, at least from external appearance. The room containing it was surprisingly small, and empty except for the incinerator, the exhaust scrubbers beyond it and the track in the floor. This brought the containers of dangerous chemicals through the airlock and to the mouth of their doom. The entire room was kept at a slight negative air pressure during operation, with any liquids or solids left after incineration drawn into holding tanks where they were tested and - if necessary - neutralized.

One reason the construction of this rig had been technically difficult was that the containers for the various dangerous chemicals came in many different sizes and shapes. The solution was to put them on uniform wooden pallets, tied down with braided carbon fiber ropes. Smaller containers would be inside sealed uniform carbon fiber drums. Larger ones had to be reinforced individually.

The small tramway brought the pallets to the lip of the incinerator. An arm then swung down and pushed on the pallet, moving the load inside, leaving the trolley on the floor. The arm then swung back up, the trolley withdrew, the door swung closed, and hydrogen-oxygen jets of flame filled the refractory material of the incinerator. Everything was cooked to vapor, molten metal or ash, including the pallets and ropes.

The techs ran through a demonstration, using an empty pallet, though the furnace would not be activated while they were in the room. Melody was impressed with the results. Especially with how quickly each batch was completed.

"Depending on what's going into it, sometimes we need to clean out a residue from the incinerator itself," said the male tech. "Mostly, though, anything not completely burned goes out through the grates in the bottom. All that is analyzed to make sure it's completely free of toxic substances. Sometimes that requires a chemical treatment, on top of the incineration. We actually recover a small part of our costs from recycling steel and aluminum and sometimes other materials. We've actually recovered platinum! Our best guess is someone used a noble metal container for something corrosive."

Most of the technology here had nothing to do with empowered geniuses, being merely larger versions of incineration equipment used in some laboratories. What little empowered tech they did use was mainly add-ons, intended to make sure everything which went into that furnace was rendered harmless.

"Finally," said the male tech, indicating a large cylinder downstream of the furnace, "the still-hot exhaust runs through this catalytic converter. Not unlike those found on most road vehicles today, except we preheat it and add a bit of extra oxygen. Safe, clean and effective."

"The next room over is basically one giant filter, starting with a water shower to cool the exhaust and trap particulates," said the woman. "Then come sheets of HEPA filter material. The gasses are analyzed coming in and going out, just to make sure we don't release anything dangerous. The water goes into a settling tank and is reused, and both it and any residue are analyzed after shutdown.

"Nearly a quarter of the material stored here has already been destroyed," said the female tech, proudly.

* * *

As she tried - as it turned out, in vain - to get her hair back under control in the women's section of the locker room, after the tour was over, Melody mused out loud.

"Makes you wonder why this wasn't done decades ago."

The female tech - who was also brushing her hair - said nothing. She likely knew there had been influential people working against that. People who had vague plans for the chemicals, plans which required them to be stored indefinitely, rather than destroyed. Most of those influential people were long retired, in many cases dead. Some were currently fighting to stay out - or get out - of prison.

The locker room and showers had originally been men-only. As had the entire facility, misogyny being just one more sin added to the tally of those in charge. Interestingly, the place had been built with two sets of lockers and two showers - as required by federal regulations - though the twin facilities were paired in one room. All that was necessary to accommodate women was the addition of signs and one short wall.

Once reasonably presentable, Melody was escorted to the control room for the incinerator. She was pleased to see that Blackpool - back from his errand - was joining the group. This room was very clean - even sterile - in appearance, and the people in it very professional.

Melody watched as the personnel completed the demonstration burn. They explained in more detail than she really needed what was happening.

"Once everything is set up for a specific chemical, we run continuously until that is all gone," said Dr. Velter, the man in charge. He had PhD (or, as some joked, a PHd) in chemistry and experience in cleaning contaminated sites. Which was appropriate, since some of the drums stored here contained tainted soil. "We had to make a thorough inventory first, though, which is part of what took us so long to get started. Then we - very carefully - began with those storage containers which appeared damaged in some way, or were otherwise considered fragile. Some simply due to their age."

"Some of the containers had been just sitting around for decades," said Blackpool, elaborating a bit. He was obviously critical of the situation he had found himself in charge of. "Many were in such poor condition they had to be reinforced before they could be moved."

"Thanks to that inventory," said Dr. Velter, "we were able to identify several containers which needed immediate attention. Those occupied us for the first few months of operation. Once the damaged containers were safely destroyed we moved on to incinerating items based on age."

"Well, it looks like you're making good progress," said Melody, with a charming smile. "Congratulations. I just hope things continue to run smoothly."

"Next on the list, is a meeting of those participating in the upcoming rescue mission," said Blackpool, quietly, to Melody, as he escorted her from the control room. "Aaron insisted you be part of that, so if you're ready..."

"Lead on!"

* * *

This chapter is a bit short, largely because I didn't want to overdo the account of the technical process. The chemical repository and the disposal methods were largely inspired by - and partially based on - the storage and destruction of chemical weapons at the Blue Grass Army Depot. Which is something like a hundred miles east southeast from where I sit, typing this.

Part Six

The Friday afternoon gathering was held in the largest of the underground storage rooms so far cleared and cleaned. There was even a table of refreshments, though when Melody and Blackpool arrived those had barely been touched. The reporter wondered if that were due to the former use of the room.

Melody was astounded at both the number and variety of types of people present. They ranged from very normal looking - which included her, of course, apart from her currently untamed hair - to individuals who looked in no way human. There were a few whom Melody wasn't even certain counted as biological! She quickly learned that even many of those of normal appearance were actually empowered. Aaron chief among them.

She already knew several of those in attendance, though some only by reputation or news photos. One of those was someone she kept her distance from, at least for now: Lady Dragon. More than her reputation made the reporter feel a bit of a chill in the tall, dark woman's presence. Where Aaron's demeanor was warm and comforting, she seemed to radiate a cool aloofness. Still, she had a record of helping others, though sometimes only when pressured by people like Aaron.

In fact, except for exchanging pleasantries, Melody kept quiet for now. She instead observed the interactions between those present. Especially how the different "ranks" of empowered treated each other. Melody felt grateful that none of the - sellouts might be too strong a word, but she felt it was appropriate for most of them - empowered celebrities were present. None of those here sought the limelight, though some did little to actively avoid it. Most of the empowered attendees were not officially registered, though some were.

Take Zoomer, for instance. He was registered with the Empowered Matters Agency as a messenger. He wasn't a publicity hog - more than once saying he already had more paying job offers than he could fill and no desire for fame - but didn't avoid the news media. He was also famous for helping out in emergencies. Which he apparently did seek out, since he was involved with them far more often than mere chance would allow. Just now he was part of a subgroup among those gathered in the large room, members of which were enthusiastic about participating in the upcoming rescue. Though some of those standing nearby, looking on, were not so clear about their intentions.

"What about you, Dragon Lady?" said Zoomer, turning his famous grin in her direction.

"That's Lady Dragon," she said, her tone icy. "Yes, I'm in. Though I'll mostly likely be held in reserve in case you need to stop an army."

Well, she might be egotistical or merely supremely confident. Either way, her history confirmed that she was indeed formidable in a fight. This and other interactions told Melody that the meeting was mainly to confirm who would be participating in the rescue, and bring them together to get to know each other.

"I get the feeling she doesn't like you," Melody joked, though quietly, to Zoomer, a little later.

"Yeah, well, if she can't take the heat..."

"Why is she even here?" said CornFed, obviously not happy about the other empowered woman's presence.

"Only two people have ever beaten the Caspian Sea Monster in single combat," said Melody, indicating a direction with a nod. "They're over there, talking."

CornFed, puzzled, looked in the indicated direction, and saw the reporter was referring to Lady Dragon and Aaron. Who were having a quiet and very serious conversation.

"Oh..." said CornFed, weakly.

"I still haven't heard when you'll begin the operation," said Melody, casually.

"You won't," said CornFed, grinning, actually - and pointedly - cutting off Zoomer. "Not until just before it starts. Partly due to security concerns. Partly because we're still looking for the optimum time."

She sighed, and suddenly looked tired.

"People are suffering, but if we go in at the wrong time we could get a bunch of innocents killed. We have to wait."

"Just keep me in the loop, please," said Melody.

* * *

Ramzi made sure his little sister was in her bunk and would stay there. At fifteen he had been forced into the role of head of family. He had no idea where their parents were, or whether they were even still alive. Doja was only a year and a half younger, but had regressed, acting like she was a preteen. Part of the reason for her odd behavior was simple hunger. She kept wanting to scrounge for something to eat, and had to be watched. To make sure she stayed inside after curfew, that she didn't steal from the wrong person, that she didn't eat something hurtful.

She wasn't alone, in any of this. No-one in the camp got enough to eat. Even most of the guards were hungry all the time. Not like those they watched, but enough to ensure that they would steal from their charges. Of course that also meant they could be bribed with a bit of food. Ramzi's stomach hurt from giving most of his day's rations to a guard to prevent him from taking Doja away for "interrogation." He cried silent tears of suffering and privation and despair. He didn't know how much longer he would have the strength to protect her.

The odd disturbance began just after lights out at the camp. As people in one of the large but cramped and unfinished buildings settled in to a sleep made difficult by hunger, illness and worry, a quiet but very attention-gaining voice spoke. Not only in the local language, but the idiom of those in the building.

"Do not be alarmed. If you wish to leave this place we have prepared a refuge for you. Please, quietly gather your belongings and be ready to move quickly. Those of you who are able-bodied please aid those who aren't."

Several other voices - some of them known to some of those listening - also spoke. Confirming what the first said, and encouraging the prisoners.

Ramzi quickly rolled out of his bottom bunk. He shook Doja awake, made sure she was actually getting up. Then he piled their meager belongings onto the filthy, worn blanket on his bunk and rolled that into a bundle.

"What is it?" said Doja, as reluctant to wake to this harsh reality as she had earlier been to go to sleep.

"Help is here."

He didn't know that for certain, but whatever was coming had to be better than what they had... Right?

* * *

The strange announcement was repeated in each ramshackle building, then at each makeshift tent. By the time the last group had been alerted, those in the first shelter were busy moving through the strange circle which had appeared in one wall.

Some were skeptical, but hope dies hard and many of those here still hoped for rescue. They could see illuminated buildings on the other side of that circle, with people like them calling, smiling and motioning them on. They moved, a bit hesitantly at first but with gathering momentum.

On the far side of that disc they faced another camp, similar in some ways to what they had left but in most ways vastly different. The compound was open, there were no armed guards, everything looked new, clean and well built, unlike the crude hovels their previous shelters had started as. People already there urged them on, into gatherings away from the circle, to make way for those still coming through. With the first building emptied - and checked, quickly and thoroughly by empowered with appropriate skills - the circle blanked for a moment, then moved to the next group of refugees.

Ramzi blinked at the additional lights which now came on. Before the illumination had been low, partly to avoid blinding those being rescued, and partly to avoid attracting the attention of their captors, back at the detention camp. There was a rapidly rising babble, augmented by cries from people awaiting those just rescued. Many of those already there were calling out to someone they knew among the newcomers, and responding cries of relieved recognition came from them.

Suddenly, Doja yelled with happy excitement. She grabbed her brother's arm and pulled him towards one of those calling out. Now, no longer dazzled by the lights, he recognized their father's younger brother!

"Uncle Moha!" said Ramzi, giddy with relief.

They came together in a fierce, three-way hug, as more and more people hurried through the circle, into the light.

The more alert among the refugees were startled to note the presence of the press, held back by sawhorses. There were no fences, no armed guards, just new buildings, smaller in size but greater in number and much nicer than those they had left.

Slowly, even the most skeptical began to relax. To smile. They were welcomed, and told where they could find a place to sleep, or wash, or get hot food.

Meanwhile, the rescue continued.

* * *

Melody was not at the refugee camp. Instead, she remained at the repository, at the rear of the room where the events were being managed. The new communicators Aaron and his people were using helped greatly with that work. As did several empowered with communication abilities. She arranged for a phone line out, and what Melody said was not only recorded by her paper but went out live on one of the New York State university radio stations. Melody didn't learn until later that some parts of her report were also carried live by the network the station was an affiliate of.

She stood at the back of the room holding the phone, on a low platform which let her and the few other reporters present look over the assembly. Things were frantic, but thanks to preparation, powers and skills serious problems were few. The rescue had started a little after 1:00 PM at the repository. Personnel actually participating had been quietly moved to the empty destination camp and had made themselves ready. By the time they started, it was late enough at the refugee camp that most of the guards would be asleep and those still on duty starting to get groggy. Hopefully.

Finally, a surprisingly short time after the operation started, word came from the death camp that all the prisoners had been rescued and the tunnel closed. No casualties. A cheer went up. Melody joined in without reservation.

* * *

Multiple celebrations began not long after. One of them was at the repository. Melody found herself mingling with numerous giddy people, many of them empowered. Some of the participants returned to the repository under their own power. Others employed the same method used to rescue the refugees to get back. Still others stayed to celebrate with the rescuees, or simply to rest. While she gladly witnessed - and mentally documented - the celebration, what Melody really wanted to hear about were the problems. Because no matter how smooth and successful it all went, she already knew there had been some. Finally, she was able to corner Zoomer. This was a bit ironic, since his speed usually made him hard to catch.

He at first simply echoed the mood of the celebration, gleefully if tiredly telling Melody how glad they were all had gone well. Once she got both of them seated in a corner in folding chairs, however, he admitted not everything had been perfect.

"There were a few people who needed more convincing than the rest," he noted, mood finally sobering. "Malak convinced them, yeah. Better believe it! There were also a few elderly or disabled who had to be helped. A few children hiding who had to be found. All that we pretty much expected. There was one thing, though..."

"What?" said Melody, eagerly, as he paused.

"We were just about to pull the last of our people out of the last shack - including Malak - when we heard shouting," said Zoomer, speaking quietly but rocking back and forth a bit. "Malak and I hurried outside and saw a family of five running towards the building, the father carrying the youngest. Keep in mind these weren't the healthiest of people. They looked pretty desperate. Anyway, there were guards just starting after them. Those men didn't know what was going on, yet; just that these people were out after curfew, running and making noise. Malak and I intercepted the family and while he shielded us with his wings I helped them inside. However, I saw that the warp tunnel was starting to collapse. I called the problem out to Malak, and he ghosted ahead of us and braced himself in the opening on that end, somehow holding it open! The family and I made it through just before it collapsed.

"That left him on the other side, but, naturally, he had no trouble leaving."

"I didn't know he could do that," said Melody, frowning. "I didn't know he had any sort of warping powers."

"He's been doing a lot of new things, lately," said Zoomer, looking at her at for least two seconds straight for emphasis. "You should see some of his sparring sessions. He's even figured out how to make a big shield, for extra protection."

He gave a tired smile, but that soon faded. Zoomer leaned towards her a bit, and lowered his voice.

"There's something I realized, recently - maybe because I can spend more relative time thinking, maybe just because I work with him so much - that I think is important. Something few others seem to realize. Aaron is one of the oldest known empowered, yes, but there are dozens - maybe more than a hundred - at least as old. They have all - well, the ones still around - become far more powerful through the years than they were early on. However, as far as I've been able to find out, he's the only one whose main goal has been to actively improve himself. In an unselfish, altruistic way."

"Not just to become more powerful," said Melody, nodding slowly as she considered his words. "To become better."

"Exactly. So, how does that translate into what he can do now? As well as where he's going with that?"

"I'm... actually reluctant to think about that," said Melody, shifting uneasily in her seat. "Worse, what happens when he decides we mere humans - empowered or otherwise - aren't worth the trouble?"

"What I'm worried about is what happens when he decides that we need to be better?"

* * *

After the party ended - which didn't take long; even those who had stayed at the repository were exhausted - Melody decided to speak with Aaron privately. She learned he had left the party at some point before it broke up. Asking around, she learned he had mentioned something about needing a shower.

Melody went to the locker rooms and heard both a shower running on the men's side and someone singing. Several someones. Not all of them male. It sounded almost like a choir.

"Hello? Is Aaron in there?" she called out, feeling unusually embarrassed.

"Just a moment!" came the familiar voice.

She was astonished when Aaron came out of the men's side alone, in just a towel. He gave Melody a friendly smile.

"Sorry I didn't speak with you at the celebration. I was tired, dirty and feeling a bit pressed by the crowd."

She realized some of that was dissembling; he'd been there as Malak. To get clean all he had to do was change back. Or had he showered in his angelic form and changed? Melody wasn't certain how that worked. However, she did not follow him as he walked back into the men's side to his locker.

"Who else is in here?" said Melody, confused.

"Just me," said Aaron, his voice echoing a bit. "Why?"

"I thought I heard people singing."

"Oh, that was just me," he said, actually sounding a bit embarrassed. "I was... celebrating a bit. I like to sing when I'm happy."

"I heard multiple voices!"

He looked at her around the end of the wall dividing the two sections, smiled and shrugged. He now appeared completely dry and nearly finished dressing.

"Are you telling me," said Melody, slowly, as he again ducked out of sight, "that you can sing with several voices at once?"

"I didn't tell you that."

Melody shook her head and muttered under her breath.

"Did you want something?" He stepped back around the end of the wall, now fully dressed.

She gave him an "I will get back to this, but later" look.

"You didn't tell me that your quantum computer could affect reality!"

"That's still theoretical," said Aaron, with a careless shrug. "Even if it can, it would only affect things on the quantum level."

"Little things lead to big things," said Melody, ominously. "'All for the want of a nail.' and all that."

"More generally, anything anyone does affects everything," said Aaron, quietly. "The whole 'butterfly flapping its wings' concept. Don't worry; we're being careful."

"I do worry! Everyone should worry!"

"About everything," said Aaron, nodding. "Most can't be bothered."

He gave her a tired smile.

"I hope you'll excuse me, but I need to get to the after-action report. Then back to Haven."

"Am I allowed to hear that report?" said Melody, eagerly.

"Sorry, no. People will be talking about things - including powers - which need to be kept between members."

"Oh. Well, then, you owe me an interview about the rescue."

"Deal," he said, grinning.

* * *

Hours later, back at his office in a building beside the city hall of Haven, Aaron found much work waiting for him. There were stacks of mail, hand-written messages from his staff and recordings on his answering machine. Most of this could be - should have already been - handled by his assistants. However, they tended to forward anything which they had doubts about to him, often with extensive notes. Those at least showed the assistants had evaluated the matter. Generally, they knew what to do and let him know their recommendations, but left the final decision to him.

Aaron gave a tired, aggravated sigh and began sorting. One item which attracted his attention was an invitation to attend the 75th anniversary celebration of the D-Day invasion. However, soon after reading that he noticed a flagged letter which had gotten buried in the pile of less personal messages. Aaron's youngest son, Richard, was worried about his youngest child, Louis. Fortunately, the date on the flag showed it had just arrived the day before.

Aaron read through the letter carefully. Richard was not someone to worry needlessly. Neither was he the sort of person who casually put what he saw as his duty onto someone else, due to a strong streak of independence. The fact that he was asking his father for help with a family matter was significant. Aaron finished the letter, and sat, frowning, for a very long time. Then he reached for his phone.

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!"

Part Eight

His name was Hiram Ledbetter. His wife Constance was also his chief partner in this project. Blackpool and Aaron already knew this, as well as that she was his largest source of investment. Though there were many other investors, some of them rather surprising.

"The most telling of the items are in the vault," said Ledbetter, ushering all of them in that direction. "That's one reason I rented this building! This stuff is valuable and needs protection!"

The vault was actually roomy enough for the four of them to stand without crowding, largely because the safe deposit boxes had been removed. There was a smaller, stand alone safe against the far wall. It seemed to be of the same late Thirties or early Forties vintage as the large vault. It didn't appear to have been moved since that time, despite having wheels, since those had sunk into the flooring. Ledbetter deftly worked the combination, then brought out a padded tray with a strange object on it.

"I found this out in the woods," said Ledbetter. "The cream of the crop! It was in a crater, which is perhaps centuries or even millennia old, but still showing signs of burning. Which means the fire must have been really intense!"

He held up the irregular lump of dark material.

"Meteoric iron," said Blackpool, guessing.

"Ah, but it's not! Analysis says this is actually a sophisticated titanium alloy, similar to those used in the aerospace industry today!"

He let them handle it. It was, indeed, extremely light. On close inspection it appeared to be some sort of technical device in a case, which had been telescoped by an impact and exposed to great heat.

"I also found several smaller pieces there, plus I have since collected a few others from around the world. They're all in the safe. Some of the things I found the owners wouldn't part with, but I have a list and photos and certificates!"

"The location where you say you found this in your documents is downwind from the Wright-Patterson test facility," said Aaron. "This probably fell from something they launched."

"No, this was thousands of years old!" said Ledbetter, insistently. "That fits in with the other evidence I've found! This includes not only physical artifacts but ancient writings, including the Bible! All of it indicating that aliens came to Earth thousands of years ago to plant their seed here, so we will eventually become worthy of joining their stellar federation! So even if this is more recent, it's got to be from one of the UFOs they studied there in the Fifties!"

"There are a few verified instances of apes - chimpanzees, gorillas, and so forth - becoming empowered," said Aaron. "If these aliens have only been working on empowering humans for a few thousand years, how do you explain those?"

"Why do you care about that?" said Ledbetter, honestly not seeing the problem.

"Why would these mythical aliens bother also altering our distant relatives?"

"Who knows?! Who cares?!"

"There have been investigations of the possibility of aliens intervening in human evolution before this," said Aaron. "None found any supporting evidence."

"Yeah, but they haven't uncovered the things I have!"

He started talking about the "correlations" he had found between concepts and descriptions of events from religious writings and folklore around the world, tying each into his hypothesis of alien visits. He apparently had a very good memory, not needing to produce any written references to quote his sources. However...

"Actually, you have 'uncovered' nothing new," said Aaron, firmly. In fact, for him, he was being downright blunt. Blackpool wondered if he were upset at the man for attributing several biblical miracles to his aliens. "Neither is your 'analysis' of what you've uncovered new. Unfortunately, neither is your willful ignorance of the evidence and logical analyses of same which disprove your contentions. All you have which actually supports your claims is belief in your ideas."

"You're a fine one to talk about belief!" Ledbetter yelled, red in the face.

"Could you please just shut the Hell up?" said Constance, tiredly. "Every time you open your mouth the average IQ in the room drops."

Ledbetter spun around and stomped off.

"I'm sorry," said Constance, with a much-put-upon sigh. "When he gets rolling he loses all sense of proportion. Now, what were your questions?"

"First and foremost," said Blackpool, "where is that crater where he found these items?"

* * *

Unknown to all in the bank, the building was under observation by definitely unfriendly eyes. A small office in the third floor of the building across the street was empty of furniture except for a card table and some matching folding chairs, and a folding cot. Plastic bags full of trash were piled in one corner, holding the remains of many takeout meals. The windows were painted, except for one small area of one pane which had been scraped clear. A spotting scope on a mount peaked through the clear spot. A man with a radio sat in one of the folding chairs, looking through the scope. Though he currently couldn't see anything, he also listened to one of the bugs planted in the bank. He paused for a moment to respond to a radio query.

"He's in the bank, but he's suspicious. He's in his human disguise. He also brought Blackpool with him."

"We're not set up for Blackpool," said the team leader, sounding worried, over the secure radio link. "We're not set up to take Malak in the bank. He must go to the site! He has to!"

"Hold on. It sounds like they're leaving. Okay, now I can see them entering the alley. Blackpool stepped into the shadows and disappeared. Malak just... disappeared. I suspect they're on the way to the site."

The man on the other end of the conversation was obviously not happy that both were coming. What could he do, though, except wait for an opportunity?

* * *

The two empowered men tramped through the woods for nearly an hour before finding the location. They were starting to suspect the tale was entirely fictional, but when they finally found the site it was obvious. Not only were there the remains of a crater with signs of burning around it, but someone had obviously dug extensively in the crater.

"No way that's even a century old," said Blackpool.

"We could check to see if we can correlate his discoveries here with anything which happened at Wright-Pat within the past couple of decades," said Aaron, shrugging.

"I'll forward that to my superiors at the Agency," said Blackpool. "I think I've wasted enough of my own time on this."

"Well, I have a suspicion about Mr. Ledbetter," said Aaron, frowning, speaking in a low voice. "I suspect someone sold him a bill of goods. Someone with powers."

"Do tell."

"You have asked before about the difference between what I do and mind control," said Aaron, nodding. His tone became increasingly formal. "He has all the symptoms of mind control. Of course, some mental illnesses also cause that sort of distorted view of reality. So can simple greed. However... call it a familiarity with all those things, but I think he was influenced."

"If so, who did that, and why?" said Blackpool, showing anger which was a fraction of what Aaron was containing.

"So far I only have supposition. I suspect one of the empowered wanted to promote the belief that humans are the recipients of alien genetic manipulation. With the resulting empowered being their designated rulers of the world."

"Not the first time I've encountered that idea," said Blackpool, nodding. "Some of those responsible for spreading that rumor actually believe that is the 'secret' behind empowerment. Many of them were non-empowered who wanted someone else to fix their problems."

"Whoever did that to him," said Aaron, his tone promising dire consequences, "wanted someone to believe he believed it."

"I do need to get back," said Blackpool, though there was some regret in his tone.

"You go on. I want to check a few more things." Aaron grinned at him. "If nothing else, I'm enjoying the peace and quiet."

"I know what you mean," said Blackpool, as he stepped into shadow. "What marvelous woods for a walk."

Aaron was enjoying himself. He had spent a large part of his early life - from his childhood into his teens - in the woods. He found many things there he couldn't find in civilized surroundings. Once more, the urge to simply fly away to some isolated area and live the life of a hermit came to him. However, right now he was not looking for something which was far from civilization, but rather something which was very uncivilized.

First, Aaron made a more thorough examination of the hole and its immediate surroundings. Then he began spiraling outwards, looking for more potential pieces of "alien technology." At first, he didn't find anything obviously artificial. However, after nearly half an hour his attention was suddenly attracted by a flashing light. Curious, he moved closer. As he approached, the flashing became a rapid pulsing, changing color and growing larger to produce a pattern. Aaron stopped a few feet from it and stared, seemingly entranced.

Suddenly, a net sprang upwards from under the leaf litter where he stood. It closed rapidly and yanked Aaron into the air. He grabbed the net, and found that it was actually made from small links of inertium.

Men swarmed around, quickly lowering the net and wrapping it in rope, neatly packaging Aaron. He only offered token resistance.

They covered him - net, ropes and all - in a tarp and carried him for some distance through the woods. Actually, thanks to Aaron's passive sonar and innate navigation sense, he knew exactly how far, and even the route. It occurred to him that a half dozen men carrying a large bundle through public woods was almost as attention-attracting as carrying a man in a net, but he was actually counting on these henchmen not being very bright.

They tossed him roughly into the back of a nondescript van. Two went in with Aaron, to keep an eye on him... so they weren't completely stupid, or at least could follow orders. The rest climbed into the front and off they went. Aaron was not oblivious to the similarities with Melody's kidnapping of the year before. Hopefully, his capture would have a better outcome.

* * *

Blackpool wasn't worried. Aaron had clearly implied that he wanted to follow a lead. Then, after Blackpool had returned to the redoubt, the other empowered had sent a signal which meant Aaron was voluntarily going off the air. Presumably so his radio wouldn't be detected.

Blackpool considered the device in his hand. The new coms were a marvel. They had a range of hundreds of miles, excellent security, and while they were bulkier than the ear buds would relay to and from those while being carried in a pocket or purse. They also connected to a set of covertly placed repeaters which covered most of the Northern Hemisphere and much of the Southern.

No, Blackpool wasn't worried. Though he made a mental note to check on Aaron in a couple of hours. Just to be certain.

* * *

The van ride was long and circuitous. Eventually, the vehicle entered a structure. Still bound and wrapped in the tarp, Aaron was carried into an elevator, which went deep under the ground. Finally, he was roughly thrown onto a concrete floor, in what Aarons's sonar told him was a small room inside a slightly larger one. His captors quickly exited what he quickly realized was a cell, on the way out slamming shut a barred door which seemed like something from an old-fashioned jail. The entire rest of the room containing the cell was concrete, as well, except for a steel security door to the hallway outside.

Aaron, still in the tarp, bound by rope and inside the net of tiny inertium links, was still able to note that his captors were wearing uniforms of the sort workers at a utility company might wear. After this much time around them, Aaron could also tell that they also had some sort of ear plugs. Presumably to keep his persuasion from working on them. They laughed and jeered. When Aaron didn't respond most soon left. However, two of the men remained after the steel door was secured.

"I suppose you're very pleased with yourselves," said Aaron, after a few minutes of silence.

The two men jumped, obviously surprised he had addressed them.

"Oh, yeah," said one of the men, smirking, as he replied to the muffled voice. "The big boss will be down here soon to decide what to do with you. I think he wants to end you personally."

"The person who runs this organization is here?" said Aaron, surprised. "In this building?"

"Well, yeah," said the first man, though the second tried to silence him. "This is our headquarters."

"Thank you," said Aaron, rising up through the net and rope and tarp.

Before they could react he stepped out, grabbed each of them and pulled them naked into the cell. As their empty uniforms collapsed, he again stepped out of the cell. Not even turning to look back, he left the room and exited through the closed door, vanishing in the process.

Part Nine

Malak needed little exploring to find the control room for the operation. It was the second largest chamber in the building, after the internal garage. While most of the building was nearly empty, this place was full of people busy doing things which at first glance would not have been out of place in any modern office. At the far end from the double doors of the main entrance was a large desk, on a low dais. There sat someone Malak was surprised to see. Though he was not nearly as surprised as the occupants of the room were when he became visible.

The subdued murmur common to any large office quickly died to silence.

"Well, well, well..." said Malak, actually smiling, as he looked at the stunned General Conyers. "I swear I read about your funeral. Now, I want you to just keep sitting right there..."

His smile vanished. He looked around the control center at the others there.

"The rest of you GET OUT," he said, snapping his wings wide for emphasis.

In seconds, only the General and Malak were left.

"How did you break free from the effects of our device?" demanded Conyers, sounding personally offended.

"Did you think I wouldn't recognize Doctor Oblivion's Hypno Ray? Please. I helped defeat him or put paid to him by myself several times."

Which didn't directly answer the question, but at least provided a solid clue.

"I'd love to know how you got it, but that's something to leave for later."

Malak walked to the General's desk, changing to Aaron on the way. His intention was to sit in the chair in front of the desk and simply talk to the man, but the General had other ideas. He leapt to his feet, drawing his sidearm as he moved.

"You were a fool to change back," Conyers yelled, as he opened fire.

Aaron simply watched, astounded, as the man emptied his gun. The slide locked back and the disgraced General just stood there, confused, when the empowered man didn't otherwise react to what should have been lethal force.

"The bullets... They had no effect!"

"Well, you put some holes in my clothes."

"But... but... You have no powers in this form!"

"If this form is powerless, how do I change?" said Aaron, disappointed. "Seriously, I'm about as resistant to damage like this as I am with wings. Now, sit down. We're going to talk."

"Your mind control powers won't work on me! My will is too strong!"

"I guess it's a good thing I don't have mind control powers, then. Now, sit."

He sat, but warily, watching Aaron closely as the empowered man also took a seat.

"It doesn't matter what happens to me," he said, defiantly. "You freaks are on the way out! The people are on our side! Your lies have been exposed! Once the laws we have coming up in Congress are approved, you'll all be rounded up and exterminated!"

"Just like the Nazis tried with the Jews," said Aaron, angrily, trying to get the man to see the evil of his bigotry. "They failed, ultimately, though their attempt cost millions of lives. Just as you will fail. Hopefully with far less damage"

"There aren't nearly as many of you!" said Conyers, almost screaming. "We can stop you now, before you grow in numbers!"

"I had hoped to talk with you. However, you aren't willing to talk. Only spout dogma and prejudice. So, I will pass you on to other hands."

He reactivated his long-range com and called Blackpool.

* * *

The discussion of Aaron's adventure and the subsequent cleanup by the Empowered Matters Agency was far from secret. However, at the meeting where he formally related the story to some of his allies there were only five people... though one was Mannequin, in their accustomed androgynous, pale-skinned form, so perhaps that counted as more. Most of the empowered at the repository were too busy with their own projects to be more than casually interested and most of the government employees at the facility figured it was none of their business. Even Blackpool's government-issue secretary.

"This talk of his about bills before Congress..." said Blackpool, frowning, after Aaron finished. "That actually has me worried."

"I am also concerned," said Aaron. "However, I am already working on countermeasures."

"That still doesn't address the folly of this man's philosophy in regard to the empowered," said CornFed.

"My dog has a better philosophy than that," said Mannequin, dismissively, "and I don't even have a dog!"

"What's the old saying that against human folly even the gods struggle in vain?" said Blackpool, looking expectantly at Aaron.

"In his novel The Maid of Orleans Friedrich Schiller wrote that 'Mit der Dummheit kämpfen Götter selbst,'" said Mannequin. "Which roughly translates as 'Against [human] stupidity the gods themselves contend in vain.'"

The others stared at Mannequin.

"What, you think Aaron is the only one here who has read a book?"

"Well, barring divine intervention," said Aaron, with a slight smile and a nod at Mannequin, "we must use purely mortal tools."

"I actually feel a bit sorry for Ledbetter," said Zoomer, quietly.

"I've already made arrangements to have him helped, psychologically," said Aaron. "The effects of the Hypno Ray are known, as is what to do to remove them. As for the financial commitment of the Ledbetters, most of the money was his wife's with the rest coming from the group who set the trap. The latter came through various channels under various names. The couple should be able to recover the majority of their investment simply by selling the uncompleted properties. Whatever social harm they have experienced due to pursuing this delusion I'll leave for them to deal with. Meanwhile, I need to use my own social contacts to deal with this other problem."

"The strangest part of this," said Blackpool, "is that not only has the news of the raid on that group of anti-empowered already leaked to the press but some news agencies are claiming that it's a hoax. A few say that their sources in the US Army have flatly declared they've never had a General Conyers. Others are claiming it's a hoax because the military says Conyers was buried in a public ceremony months ago. Some are even saying it's a hoax because, come on, aliens?! Oddly, most are reporting various aspects of the events around the scheme as true with others being unverified, which is actually the truth."

* * *

Aaron stayed behind after the others left. That was not uncommon, but this time the reason was.

"Have you uncovered any news about my grandson?"

"He has not attracted the attention of the Empowered Matters Agency," said Blackpool, reluctantly. The irony that with all the resources at his disposal - including many provided by Aaron - he wasn't able to help his friend definitely did not escape him. "Nor do the equivalent foreign organizations with whom we are on speaking terms have any recent information. I was able to confirm that he did, indeed, sail to the Bahamas on a friend's boat; he used his passport there, and two of his credit cards. He then used the passport and one card a few days later to reserve a plane ticket to the Philippines. He again used his passport to enter the country and his credit cards there for a few days, but not since. That is the last trace of him I could find."

"Thank you. At least now I know where to pick up the trail. I'll have to leave the project to some of my other contacts for now, though. I need to prepare for my speech."

* * *

The joint session of Congress was unusual in several respects. It was being held at the request of President Duff, but the purpose was to allow an individual outside the usual political circles to address the members. Someone without the actual authority to call such a meeting but who nevertheless had something important to say. Something which President Duff felt Congress needed to hear. He did not conceal that this person was Aaron Labelle. He and Aaron both knew that would guarantee that everyone able to attend would do so. If only to challenge what the empowered man said.

The day and hour and minute came. President Duff made his brief opening speech, then turned the session over to the entirely mundane appearing Aaron. Who was unaccustomedly dressed in a very nice, modern, three-piece suit.

"I am here to respectfully ask that you not do something," he said, calmly, once the murmurs had died down following his introduction and welcome by some of the members. "That you not take actions restricting the rights of the empowered. That you not shut down my clinic and use eminent domain to take over my town. That you not keep us from feeding the poor. That you not keep us from healing the sick. That you not keep us from providing shelter to the homeless. Unless you are willing to take up those tasks yourselves."

"What have you ever done for the people of the United States?" came a shout. "All your good deeds are overseas, helping foreigners!"

"Demonstrably untrue. As you, yourself, know, Representative Montrose. You were criticizing both my clinic and my town just last week."

"I'm talking about the big things!"

"Do you mean things which help the wealthy and powerful?" said Aaron, raising an eyebrow. "Rather than the poor and disadvantaged?"

"I mean things which help the nation as a whole!"

"Do you have any idea how many world-threatening menaces I have put paid to?" said Aaron, quietly. "Either alone or as part of a group?"

"You don't get to joke about that!!" screamed Representative Montrose.

"Do I sound like I'm joking?" said Aaron, almost snarling. "In any one year since my triggering I have saved at a minimum thousands of lives, and I have been empowered for many decades! However, my purpose for being here today is not to brag, but to point out that any effort - legal or illegal, open or covert - which interferes with my work endangers hundreds of lives at least. That's for every day the interference continues.

"I respectfully ask that those of you who value life and freedom carefully evaluate how legislation you are about to vote on might affect myself as an individual and as one of the empowered, as well as what effect there would be to aid to those in need if the institutions I have helped create are removed or restricted. To think carefully and deeply about how projects you can choose to support or oppose or simply ignore likewise affect the welfare of the nation and its citizens. All of its citizens.

"Thank you."

He turned and walked off the podium.

* * *

"Well, that's one way to address Congress," said Gadding, dryly.

"The appropriate response by them should have been 'Sir! Yes, sir!'" said Sam, smirking. "Y'know, he could have used his persuasion on them, but that would have been futile since it's short-term only. You can tell he was actually keeping that carefully in check, and sticking to facts, reason and emotional appeal. All while staying as emotionally neutral himself as he could, to avoid accusations he was unduly influencing them. I don't doubt that some will spin that speech against him, but those are folks who would never be for him. He just might have made a good impression on those on the fence. Or at least let them know just how much work they'd be in for if they ever did manage to stop him and those working with him. Here's hoping."

* * *

Something else Aaron had asked of President Duff was to find out what those federal agencies seeking Melody wanted to talk to her about. So far they were all denying trying to talk to her. Blackpool, meanwhile, had confirmed that at least three federal agencies were trying to get Melody to come and speak with some small branch of their operation. Often without the upper brass of their organization even being aware of these attempts. This appeared to be due to deliberate, long-term policies used to create plausible deniability on the parts of those in charge. The newspaper had also been unable to obtain a blanket court order forbidding such attempts. However, the federal court their attorneys worked with on the matter had instead issued an order that those federal agencies wishing to "interview" Melody should contact the paper, explain why they wanted to speak with her and arrange a mutually agreeable meeting. The result had been a complete cessation of the attempts, and a repetition of the denials that the attempts were being made.

One evening a few weeks after her visit to the chemical repository Melody was working on her exercise bike when she heard a polite tapping on the glass door leading to her balcony. Looking around, she was mildly startled to see Aaron. She was not surprised that he would be the one tapping; she actually didn't know that many people who could fly. The surprise was that he would be at her place at all, especially without calling ahead. Puzzled, Melody dismounted and headed for the sliding glass door.

"Good evening," she said, as she opened the door and motioned for Aaron to come in, genuinely pleased to see him. "To what do I owe the honor?"

"I was in town for something else and just thought I'd check in with you," said Aaron, smiling. "I also haven't seen your new place."

"You found it easily enough," said a new voice.

Aaron needed a moment to recognize the dark skinned man in casual clothing. Then he smiled. Melody had the distinct impression that he hadn't laughed only because he knew it might be taken wrong.

"Hello, Blackpool. Or should I call you John when you're not in your working clothes?"

Left unsaid was that he had inserted himself into the scene just in case something sinister was happening. None of them needed that explained.

"John is fine. I heard Melody talking and came to see who her visitor was. I had no idea you were even in town."

"That was deliberate. I was meeting with several fringe empowered here in New York City. They insisted on complete anonymity. The only reason I'm telling you this now is that we've already finished and dispersed. Some further than others..."

"Even with your rapid travel ability and superhuman speed," said Melody, shaking her head, "you remain one of the busiest people - empowered or not - on the planet."

"You've probably heard the old joke," said Aaron, his smile turning sad, "about the man who said 'God put me on Earth to accomplish certain tasks. Right now I'm so far behind I can never die.'"

He looked pointedly at Blackpool - or John Adams Parker - then back at Melody. Who squirmed a bit.

"He's bunking here until he can find a new apartment."

"It that what you kids are calling it these days?" said Aaron, with obvious if quiet amusement.

"We're both adults," said John, pointedly. "I don't think we need your approval."

"I am not being disapproving. I'm actually happy for both of you. Well, since you two obviously have plans for the evening, I'll cut my visit short and simply wish you a good night."

He let Melody escort him to her balcony, where he smiled, waved and vanished.

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.

Part Eleven

"Can you go back to just before he landed?" Melody asked the projectionist, before turning around to again face the screen.

"You can't see anything," said Horvat, irritated. "It's all backlit by the fires started in the first part of the attack. Our best film processors and analysts have already been over and over it, trying to extract more information. There just isn't any."

"You wanted me here for my insight. Well, I have one. Just go back to that, please."

Horvat was obviously irritated at the waste of time, but had the projectionist rewind and find the scene, then go forward from there. The figure landed and folded its wings.

"See that? He folds his wings, then seems to ignore them. They're just held out of the way, rigidly, like a prop."

"Do you think they're artificial?" said Horvat, startled.

"He may just be new to them." Melody let the rest of the movie play out, then leaned back and looked at him. "Watch the way Malak moves, especially the way he moves his wings. They're part of him, as much so as his arms. They're never just held rigidly still, but are always moving, changing position and shape, though usually only by small amounts when he's not using them to fly. I've even seen him use them to reach further than he can with his arms, to push something or block someone. You can learn to read his moods just by observing his wings. This guy... his wings are still something extra. He's learned to fly, but they don't feel natural to him. They aren't part of him."

"So he's newly empowered."

"Or just new to his wings. Anyway, I think that's all I can give you based just on this."

She was openly hinting that she might be able to provide more help if they had more to show her. However, either they had nothing more, or didn't want to show her anything else, or simply missed the hint.

"Well, thank you," said Horvat, seeming a bit relieved. "You've actually given us a lot of useful - and unexpected - information. I don't know how much any of this will help us, yet, but at least you've kept us from going down the wrong path."

"Any time," said Melody, not sure she meant it. They had obviously wanted her to confirm their own biases, instead of telling them something new. They might have even wanted to turn her against Malak. In spite of their stated reason for having her here - their justification for all the harassment - they were actually irritated she had told them something different from what they already believed. "Just make sure the other government people trying to get me to help them know about this, so they can quit bothering me!"

"What other government people?" said Horvat, who appeared to be genuinely puzzled.

* * *

Melody was not going to write about that meeting. At least, not yet. Not beyond making notes while her memories were still fresh. They might later want more information from her, which would provide more opportunity to get inside information from them. However, she definitely told her boss and Sam.

After finishing, Melody sighed and briefly rubbed her eyes, before looking up at her coworker.

"In spite of the damning revelations about several of the anti-empowered factions this past year, sentiment and actions against the empowered among many groups have actually increased. These attacks aren't helping things. Especially with the attempts to keep them secret. What little has leaked just confirms the beliefs of the anti-empowered. Who keep on carefully selecting what events to believe and ignoring anything to the contrary."

"Of course they do," said Sam, voice dripping sarcasm. "That reaction is part of the mindset. Since reality has proven them wrong, they have redoubled their efforts to deny reality. That's how the prove they are true believers."

"I agree you shouldn't write any articles about that meeting, at least not yet," said Gadding, nodding. "Feel free to tell the story of the attack on the relief camp they showed you, though without attribution. Also, I want both of you to work on finding out everything you can about that and other attacks."

He sat back a bit and gave a humorless laugh.

"Ironically, that same mindset also works in our favor. Many people want to believe that some 'dark government' is running and ruining their world. They're reading the articles critical of government handling of things as validation of their suspicions. Which means we can use that distrust in government to get the truth out to them."

"Gotta love the news business," said Sam, grinning.

* * *

"So according to her it's not Malak," said the official, finishing his in-person report of Melody's evaluation.

"She's lying, of course," said his boss, harshly. "Covering up for her friend. Lay off her for now; let her think she got away with it. Then pressure her again. Keep it up until she confirms he's the culprit."

"Yes, sir," said the official, completely unconcerned that these orders ignored all the evidence.

* * *

Of course, Melody told Blackpool about her meeting with the feds. After conferring with several others, he took her to the repository. There she got together with Aaron, CornFed and some other members in the empowered brain trust, and gave her account of the meeting firsthand. They were all interested in and distressed by the attack on the troops and refugees. Even moreso by her educated guess that it was only one of several.

"There are only a few people - and groups - who could be behind this," said Aaron, frowning. "Some well known, some confirmed to exist but otherwise largely unknown, and some who are less than rumors. However, I suspect that of all those, this is the work of members of the Emergent."

"The which, now?" said Melody, quickly noting that name.

"They are a group of elitist empowered. The group has been around for over thirty years, though some current members were only recently empowered. Most of those who join take code names from various mythologies. Though I admit I have no foundation for objecting to them on those grounds. They support each other and express distaste for both the unempowered and those empowered who treat mere humans respectfully. Their primary rule is that it's them against the world. That includes giving no criticism for anything any of them do against normal humans.

"Fortunately, most of them are more annoying than dangerous. However, members of the subgroup which refer to themselves as the Anunaki advocate treating humans as chattel. They also state that any empowered who don't share this view deserve whatever they - the members of the Emergent - deign to do to them."

"That... Why haven't I heard of them before?" said Melody, worried.

"Most of them are citizens of other countries," said Aaron. "Even those who are from the US prefer to operate in areas where civil rights are already largely ignored and those who hold power believe that might makes right. In spite of their beliefs in their own right to rule, the governments in those regions have learned that the easiest path for them is to curry favor with the Emergent, rather than try to use force against them."

"This contradicts what you told me about activist empowered being constrained by governments."

"The Emergent not activists; many of them are criminals, but generally only in minor ways," said Aaron. Was there perhaps the slightest note of envy in his tone? "They have divorced themselves from mainstream society and are little influenced by it. They aren't interested in directly challenging governments to do more for their citizens. Or in doing anything for those citizens when their governments won't, thereby showing up those officially in power. Instead, they largely keep to themselves. They also have little concern for any non-empowered family or friends. As well, despite their voiced distain for non-empowered, they frequently do favors for corrupt governments in exchange for favors. Which includes having places of refuge."

Aaron sighed, and gave Melody a tired smile.

"Much of their immunity comes from simply being willing to perform immoral or illegal acts to prevent others from acting against them. Such as probability manipulation and mind control. We're not sure, but we think most of the former is coming from their leader. He is known only as Hanuman and refers to himself as the 'First Among Equals.'"

They spoke for a while longer before finally agreeing they had adequately covered what was known about the Emergent by those present. Aaron and CornFed promised to use Harriet to look for more information.

When the meeting ended, Melody moved quickly to speak quietly with Blackpool.

"I have something I need to ask CornFed. I'll meet you in your office later."

Blackpool obviously had something to say to her, but instead hung back. However, as Aaron started to leave, Blackpool stopped him.

"I don't like the fact that Mannequin keeps hanging around here," said Blackpool, scowling through his mask.

"When Mannequin stares into the Abyss," said Aaron, sagely, "the Abyss quickly looks away, mumbling excuses about how it has something important to do elsewhere."

"Which is exactly why I don't like Mannequin around."

"Mannequin keeps us not only honest," said Aaron, pointedly, "but open-minded."

He saw that Blackpool still had objections, and sighed.

"Mannequin's therapists and I agree that what Mannequin needs most right now is socialization. That includes involvement with larger affairs, which means encouraging interest in world matters, especially those that impact the empowered. We need to teach Mannequin to become interested in others, if only out of self defense. Mannequin's and ours."

"All right," said Blackpool. He jabbed a finger at Aaron's chest. "I warn you, though, the first time I find Mannequin interfering with the important work we do here, he or she or whatever is out!"

"Understood."

* * *

Days passed with few significant developments in world affairs. Still, just because there was a lull didn't mean that people weren't working on existing problems and even potential ones. Blackpool managed to get clearance to gain access to the information several federal agencies had gathered on the Emergent. That included reports from foreign intelligence services. The consensus of the more reliable informants was that the Emergent were arranging a significant meeting. Working with his own empowered resources, Blackpool confirmed this. He then discovered that the Foreign Intelligence Agency was planning to spy on that meeting using one of their satellites. He arranged for the feed to also be sent to the repository. This was not easy; the FIA at first even refused to admit the satellite existed. Fortunately, Blackpool had friends in high places who agreed that the Emergent were an empowered matter.

The day of the meeting of the Emergent, Blackpool and several of his allies - empowered and otherwise - were in the control tower of the repository, waiting for the image to be relayed to them.

"Our automated spy is actually a military reconnaissance satellite the FIA shares access to," said Blackpool, as they gathered to watch on the large, fine texture display in the control room at the top of the tower. "In a few minutes it's due to pass over where we suspect the Emergent are currently gathered in western Egypt."

The communications tech in charge of the feed was more used to handling internal messages and talk between the base and the Empowered Matters Agency than she was to linking with a satellite. However, she'd been instructed on how to access the data stream. She actually already had the live image on her console's display. At Blackpool's direction, she also put it on the main screen. The view was currently mostly ocean, with the west coast of the large continent on the edge of the frame.

"Good. That should be it coming up."

"Thats a heavy overcast," said Aaron, frowning, as the camera slowly swiveled to keep the desired area in view.

"Odd. The forecast for the area is clear skies. That's why we picked this time."

"It looks like something else is coming up, too," said the comm officer, startled.

Those watching in the tower stared in disbelief as - image by image at the low frame rate used for fine texture viewing - a section of the menacing black and dark grey cloud seemed to rise above the rest. Like a tentacle, it extended up, and up, and up, getting closer and closer to the the satellite until it filled the view. Which suddenly went black.

"It's... dead, sir," said the comm officer. She worked her controls. "No signal. The satellite station I'm linked to says the satellite is completely non-responsive."

"I can honestly say," said Aaron, as stunned as the rest of them, "that I have never seen that before."

* * *

Blackpool was not in a good mood. His big reveal had been ruined, and while it wasn't his fault - it wasn't even his project, he was just piggybacking on something the Foreign Intelligence Agency and their military allies were doing - he still felt the failure made him look bad. So when he came upon Mannequin - in what was apparently their base form, pale, lean and androgynous, though for a change wearing coveralls and a work shirt - in the main hallway below the command tower he was already disinclined to give the other empowered any slack. The fact that Mannequin was currently painting a colorful mural on the wall - completely equipped with several open cans, trays, drop cloths and long-handled brushes and rollers - pushed him past the limits of civility.

"Who authorized that?" roared Blackpool, pointing at the actually quite innocuous pastoral scene.

For once, Mannequin actually looked startled. Then uncomfortable. Looking around, the source of the outburst was quickly spotted. Still behaving atypically, Mannequin actually seemed apologetic, even acting guilty. Mannequin futilely hid the long-handled paint roller behind their back. Paint dripped down onto Mannequin's cap, which was ignored.

"Well, these bare concrete walls are so depressing. I just figured the place could use some color."

"No," said Blackpool. "Not this time. You don't get to do this. Clean this off, now!"

Now Mannequin became defiant. Which was exactly the wrong thing to do with Blackpool, especially just then. The pair began yelling at each other, and this soon escalated into a physical confrontation.

* * *

Aaron was first on the scene. Well, first after everyone who fled the scene. He found chaos. Most of the fluorescent lights were out, many of the fixtures actually hanging by their wires, some still swinging. The air was full of dangerous fumes and powder from the broken bulbs, as well as electrical smoke. There was paint everywhere. As far as the actual fight was going, Blackpool and Mannequin appeared to be attacking each other with various paint cans, rollers and brushes. If they hadn't obviously each been trying to harm the other the scene would have been laughable; there were colorful splotches of paint everywhere, including on both of them. However, for those who knew what either of the empowered in this fight was capable of the scene was quite concerning. Aaron transformed as he hurried towards the pair.

"What are you doing?!" roared Malak. "Don't we have enough enemies already without you two trying to kill each other?!"

The fight came to an immediate halt. Even without Malak deliberately applying his enhanced charisma, having an angry angel yell at them was very disrupting.

"We're just... sparring," panted Blackpool.

Mannequin nodded mutely.

"I won't have any 'Who struck Billy?' here. If I catch you 'sparring' like that again you'll both have me to deal with!"

He gave his wings a loud snap for emphasis, then spun around and marched off. The other two looked at each other.

"Truce?" said Mannequin.

"I don't think we have much choice," said Blackpool.

Part Twelve

"I hear you've been taking lessons," said Melody, raising an eyebrow. Thanks to Blackpool providing transportation, she was currently spending several hours a week at the repository. This wasn't helping her writing productivity, but the inside information she got - even just what she could share - was invaluable. Right now, she was in the small office Aaron had recently been assigned at the repository. "Couldn't you find a better teacher than Mannequin?"

"I found several," said Aaron, calmly. "Besides working with Mannequin and AmberMite, I've been to the Hermit of Mink Hollow, as well as to see Harrison in his cave on Kei Ṭū, plus reading the works of many others. They all had something useful to teach me. I've learned enough - for now, at least - for me to progress on my own."

He gave her a self-satisfied smile.

"I've long been a student of philosophy. I just never saw much reason before this to apply it to physical matters."

"How do you make a physical application of philosophy?!"

"Perhaps 'esoteric physics' would be a more apt term. The idea that mind can affect not just matter, but the path of reality, itself."

"Like Harriet," said Melody, quietly.

"We do everything we can to supervise Harriet's interaction with reality," said Aaron, firmly, realizing his friend's concern. "We have multiple sources of information feeding into her continuously. She currently knows nearly as many languages as I do. We also have several quick-thinking empowered working in shifts, to provide context and analysis. We are already reducing that supervision, and eventually Harriet will know when to ask for help to understand something."

"I just am not comfortable with the idea of anyone or anything being able to alter reality," said Melody, shifting uneasily.

"Neither am I. However, it is already happening. Has been for decades. We take what precautions we can. In the meantime, Harriet has allowed us to not only be more aware of problems in the world more quickly, but has made connections which we did not see ourselves, but have now verified. Like those attacks on relief efforts you mentioned to me. They fit into an overall pattern of behavior by the Emergent. Especially the Anunaki subgroup. Yet we were previously unaware of them because important details were kept secret."

"Does this mean you're going to take action against those who are attacking refugees and the people helping them?" said Melody, eagerly.

"It does, indeed. Thanks to Harriet, I now even have a very good idea of where this Ninurta will strike next."

"Ninurta?" said Melody, still eagerly, her reporter senses fully active.

"A Russian-born empowered who is a part of the Emergent. His description matches what you saw on the film. He is one of those in the Anunaki subgroup, who feel they need to make the point that human lives are insignificant to them. Though they put a lot of effort into hurting people they brag aren't worth their concern."

"I hope he's stopped soon," said Melody, looking worried. "I also hope whoever stops him is careful. I played him down a bit to the feds, but from what I saw in that newsreel he's dangerous. In that he's both powerful and ruthless."

"Don't worry. We're not taking him - or his allies - lightly. Right now, though, I am helping with bringing aid - including emergency power generation - to a part of India hit by a powerful cyclone."

* * *

The war had displaced thousands. Here and now, hundreds were braving the rain to file through gates into a relief camp, which was protected by UN troops and serviced by several governmental and private agencies. The recent attacks by the mysterious winged figure had encouraged disparate groups to combine their efforts, in the hope of both helping the needy and preventing their own people from being slaughtered.

Their hopes evaporated as someone pointed to the sky and gave a cry of alarm. The soldiers quickly confirmed a winged figure heading their way, rapidly, at low level; something both visible and now showing on radar. The non-combatants dove for cover as the strange apparition began circling overhead. Soldiers aimed their weapons but waited, holding action as per their orders.

The winged figure raised its hand. A brightly-glowing bolt of lightning formed, flickering eerily. The stark, rapidly changing illumination lighting his features made reading them difficult. However, he seemed to be smiling. Before this thunderbolt could be loosed, though, a spear with a tip burning magnesium bright shot in from ahead and to his left. It struck him in the chest and exploded. The figure screamed and lost control of the bolt, which erupted in his hand. He dropped. Fortunately for both him and the refugees, he fell into the mud outside the camp.

He lay insensate, all six limbs spread awkwardly in the mire as the rain poured down, steam and smoke rising from his still form. A grey-winged angel flew out of the dark clouds above and landed nearby.

"You are under arrest," said Malak, in Russian, as the other stirred. "I am operating under the authority of the UN relief agency in charge of this operation. Your days of murder, rape and rampage are over."

The first winged man was dazed and on his back but not out of fight by any means. With an angry cry and a thrashing of his wings he surged clumsily back to his feet, spattering mud. With the two of them now standing not far apart, the differences between them were obvious. The most notable one at the moment being that the attacker's wings were smaller, straighter and darker, his clothing more modern. He shouted in Russian.

"I am Ninurta! You dare put me in the shit?! I am your doom!"

He formed another lightning bolt and hurled it at Malak. A massive shield - tall and curved, resembling a larger version of the scutum, as used by ground troops of the Roman Empire - formed, and the bolt spent itself harmlessly on it. However, Ninurta was not done. He threw himself at Malak, screaming in rage.

"Race traitor!" he cried, as he charged through the gluey mud. "Betrayer of empowered! My name will be sung for ages by the greatest of us to celebrate my bringing your death!"

With that last word he slammed into the shield... and kept going. Malak was not there to support it and it simply collapsed, then vanished. Ninurta staggered, nearly fell, caught himself, then spun around, trying to find his opponent. He opened his mouth to release more invective. Malak appeared in front of him.

"Last chance," said the angelic figure. "Surrender or die."

"You will die!" screamed Ninurta, raising his fists. "Then all here will die, except for those few I choose to spread word of my glorious victory!"

He threw himself again at Malak. Who swatted him aside with a wing. Ninurta fell and rolled, his own wings folding awkwardly around him. He lay a moment, then abruptly revealed another power by generating a blinding flash. Immediately afterward, he hurled a lightning bolt from where he lay. Malak - already using his sonar and only slightly inconvenienced by the flash - still barely manifested his shield in time to block the attack. Even as the crack of thunder was echoing away, Ninurta slammed into the shield. This time there was someone behind it. Malak slid backwards from the impact, his sandals digging twin trenches in the mud, but he kept his balance. The pair of winged men slowed and stopped. Then Malak shoved hard, pushing Ninurta away. The shield abruptly vanished. Malak leaned forward, and both of his wings swung around, catching Ninurta's head between their elbows. There was a muffled crack, and the rogue empowered dropped. Malak quickly moved in to lay hands on him.

"That's the problem with fighting someone you know little about," he muttered, in English, as UN soldiers approached cautiously. "You can never be sure how physically tough they are. He has a fractured skull. I'll heal that, but leave him unconscious. Handle him with care, in both senses of the phrase. Oh, and you should report that he didn't survive. You don't want his allies mounting a rescue."

"Yes, sir," said the Major in charge of the soldiers, rather deferentially. "We have a doctor here who is experienced with treating empowered. He should be able to keep Ninurta unconscious for a good, long time."

"Excellent. Now, what else can I do for you?"

* * *

The meeting was an informal one between Blackpool and Aaron, in the former's office at the chemical repository. Mainly they were just keeping each other informed about what was happening. Both at the repository and the world outside.

"I'm not certain telling them to say Ninurta was dead was the right decision," said Blackpool, frowning, after hearing Aaron's account of the capture. "They'll almost certainly be coming after you, now."

"Better me than UN troops protecting refugees or NGO workers trying to feed and heal them, or the guards at the prison where he's held," said Aaron. He shrugged. "Besides, the Emergent have a long history of acting quickly as individuals and never as a group."

"There is that," said Blackpool. He eyed his friend suspiciously. "I just hope they don't attack your town or clinic. Or here, though we're far better equipped for defense than either of those places."

"Neither my town nor my clinic are as undefended as they appear," said Aaron, confidently.

"You're drawing them out," said Blackpool, nodding as his suspicion was confirmed.

"The problem is finding them," said Aaron, tacitly acknowledging the other's statement. "Harriet is helping, but is still learning. Meanwhile, some of the Emergent continue to blatantly flout both laws and morality, then use their powers to prevent anyone from finding them."

He scowled, shaking his head.

"It's astounding how many of them are already wanted for questioning or something more serious, including by INTERPOL. They act like naughty children, bragging and acting out, then avoiding confrontation with the adults. If they truly believe what they claim about being superior to non-empowered humans, why not own up to their actions? Go to court and try to prove, legally, that they are right. I suspect they know that wouldn't work."

"Even when one of them is successfully captured," said Blackpool, also scowling and perhaps speaking from personal experience, "one or more other members quickly free them. So maybe you took the right course."

He shook his head, now, deciding to change the subject.

"Anyway, the incineration is currently ahead of schedule. We've actually moved to focusing on the most dangerous chemicals remaining, rather than the most damaged containers. What's left is all in safe, stable storage so damage potential of the contents is the priority.

"The training program isn't doing as well as I had hoped, but we still have enough students and qualified volunteer teachers to make the project worthwhile."

"Excellent; I'll do more to spread the word about it," said Aaron. He heaved another, greater sigh and gave Blackpool a sloppy grin. "We are, in most cases slowly, bringing improvement to the world."

"Has there been any update on your grandson?" said Blackpool, quietly.

"I confirmed that he was last seen in the Philippines. He apparently planned to help some acquaintances with raising crops and getting them to the market."

"So he takes after you," said Blackpool, his grin showing through his mask.

"In some ways. He does have some low level enhancements, and he likes to help people. However while no-one has come right out and said it, I suspect the 'crops' included home distilled whiskey and processed marijuana."

"That... could be trouble."

"Which he is definitely no stranger to," said Aaron, with a sigh and another shake of his head. "At twenty-four he's the youngest of my grandchildren, and in many ways the biggest free spirit."

* * *

The head of the Foreign Intelligence Agency looked at the man standing before him. That individual was officially in charge of a minor branch of the agency. Which was actually true. It just happened that the minor branch was cover for the FIA's "unofficial" domestic intelligence gathering arm.

"You assured us - me, personally, in fact - that Malak was the responsible party in these attacks on refugees," said the FIA chief. "We based policy and planed actions on that evaluation. Now we have a report from reliable sources that he, instead, stopped the person who was actually responsible."

"I got bad information from the person who interrogated that reporter," said the man, calmly. He was in a risky business, and used to being called on the carpet. He was also used to diverting blame to others. "He told me she was obviously lying when she said it was someone else. That made sense, since she's romantically involved with Malak."

"She isn't," said the chief, scowling. "Why would you think so?"

"She keeps defending him!" said the man, startled. He didn't seem to realize he was engaging in circular logic.

"I think you are going to be reassigned to a less demanding position," said the chief, flatly. "Some place where your analyses will not mislead us."

"But..."

"That is all."

The man ground his teeth, but knew better than to protest. He still had many good years ahead of him. He would work his way back up. He nodded in acknowledgment, turned around and left the luxurious office.

Part Thirteen

This section of the Pyrenees mountains was isolated and rarely visited. The moreso in the past few years, due to a certain element moving in.

Hanuman kept his distance as Strike! vented his grief and anger. He felt glad the area was mostly barren; the Emergent were the true inheritors of the Earth and should not waste any of its resources, including vegetation. In his tantrum, the other empowered man shattered boulders, started small avalanches and in general rearranged the mountain landscape for a surprising amount of time before his energy was spent. As a final act he struck a projection of rock, barely marring the surface. However, his emotion was still strong; he leaned against the rough surface, sobbing as he slid to the ground. His skin, of course, was unharmed by this abrasion.

"All that potential, gone..." he said, finally.

Now Hanuman moved in. He place a gentle, reassuring hand on Strike!'s shoulder

"Your friend will be avenged." He actually wasn't certain of that, but knew this was what Strike! needed to hear, just now. "We are already working on a plan to bring that murderer and traitor to justice. You will be involved, but later. For now, rest, recover, and train. Grow strong, to be better able to balance the scales."

* * *

The project to use the chemical repository as an empowered training center had been only moderately successful. That moderation was mostly due to suspicion; many empowered felt that there was something... wrong with a government black project facility which had been part of a plot against empowered being used for empowered training. Especially since the security - including machineguns in the guard towers - for the facility was being handled by non-empowered. That it was also hard to get to was only a deterrent for some empowered. The reluctance was slowly fading as word about what was actually happening there spread, but currently the training facility was underutilized. However, a few empowered did make use of both the training and the specialized equipment available in the former storage building set aside for the project.

"How do you like our exercise equipment, Mr. Schmierer?" said the trainer, as the workout session ended.

"It's pretty nice," the detective responded, breathing a bit hard. "I just wish that last machine you had me on had better padding."

"That 'padding,'" said the man, grinning, "is carved and sanded oak."

"Oh..."

He looked around the sparsely occupied room, feeling glad he had come. Not only was he making connections he would not otherwise have made, not only was he getting some important training, he was learning a lot about his own capabilities. He had repeatedly surprised himself.

Mike had been very pleased to learn that he was even stronger and more resistant to damage than he had thought. He was also faster and more agile, and some of the tests indicated he might have some sort of warning sense. That would explain the "hunches" and "corner of the eye warnings" he sometimes got. All this made him feel rather buffed. Though all this also made him feel a bit guilty. Had he been coasting? If so, for how long? Well, he was here for a week, with an option to return later and advice for training on his own. He was going to make use of the opportunity and stretch.

* * *

"I am doing this under protest," said John, as they walked into the huge store.

"You need new clothes," said Melody, tone insistent. "By which I mean more that just three costumes, and the t-shirts and jeans you wear under them. As well as just about everything else. You still haven't replaced what you lost when your apartment burned!"

"I agree. I just don't see the need for a special... day-long expedition to do all the shopping at once."

"Would you rather go on several trips over the next few days?"

"Good point," said John, with a sigh.

Despite his protests, the morning was a productive one. Melody even found some things she needed for her own apartment and wardrobe, all in the first store. They stopped at the store's delivery counter and arranged for their purchases to be sent to Melody's apartment. Then, off to another store.

On the way they walked past a bus stop nearly covered in advertising posters. They both stared with distaste at the image of a muscular empowered celebrity who had changed his "stage" name to Big Beef to become the spokesman for a roast beef sandwich franchise. With synchronized sighs, they continued on to their next destination.

This establishment was an old and famous department store which had recently come under new management. The current owners had remodeled the multifaceted business in a retro fashion as a publicity gimmick; even the employees were dressed in modern interpretations of historic store attendant uniforms. The old-style features included a full-service soda fountain, complete with sandwiches hot and cold. Melody was looking forward to an old-fashioned lunch of cheeseburger, French fries and chocolate milkshake. Even John seemed enthusiastic - well, he was showing as much enthusiasm as he ever demonstrated - about the situation.

"Just as long as they aren't also old-fashioned about who gets to sit at the counter," he muttered.

Before they could reach their next destination, however, John subtly changed course and increased speed.

"Message coming in?" said Melody, quietly, and a bit eagerly.

"Sorry. Private," was all John said, as he found an isolated spot where he could listen and talk without attracting attention.

Melody scowled in frustration. She didn't have one of those special, new communicators and resented that. Only members of Aaron's "group" got them. As best she had been able to find out, each was handmade by one or two empowered geniuses.

"Trouble in Central Park," said John. "Sorry."

"Now, just..." Melody began.

John, smiling mischievously, backed in between clothes racks, ducked into the shadows and vanished.

Melody immediately turned and headed outside, to the taxi stand. Lunch could wait! There was no way she was going to be left behind on something like this!

* * *

There was far more trouble in the world than what John had been called on to address. Even just counting the actions of the Emergent, there were multiple situations suddenly developing.

Chicago's city government was thrown into chaos as people in office after office in their main administration building suddenly were overcome by their greatest fears. Some hid. Some ran screaming. Some fought back, only there was no-one and nothing tangible to fight. There had already been several suicides. In Los Angeles a wedding reception dissolved into panic as small, flying devices at first mistaken for birds began stinging the attendees with electric shocks. In Denver clouds moved in against all forecasts and completely blocked the Sun. In Atlanta a "ghost" was spotted in several places around the capitol building... Only, this apparition was kidnapping people! At Greater Cincinnati Airport several airliner crashes were narrowly avoided when the computer system was taken over; subsequently, the entire airport was shut down. Then there was New York...

* * *

Sam knocked on the doorframe of his boss' office, then hurried in without waiting for the OK. He held a bundle of teletype paper in his left hand.

"Boss, the wire services have multiple reports of attacks by rogue empowered," he said, shoving the paper at Gadding. "What's weird is that most of the targets seem to be low level. A wedding party attacked, vandalism in Central Park, right here in New York..."

Gadding quickly glanced at the bulletin lines, then read a few of the details.

"Get Melody on this disturbance in Central Park, right away."

"Uhm, she took the day off to go shopping," said Sam, half smiling.

"When does she take time off for anything not life-threatening?" said Gadding, startled. "Much less shopping..."

"I think she's got a new guy."

"Ah. Argh. If only portable telephones weren't restricted. Okay, get Paul Corvey on it. Send the next staff photographer in rotation with him."

"Right, boss."

* * *

The cab stopped a couple of blocks away. Not because of the police cordon - visible further down the street - but due to a jam caused by people leaving Central Park in a hurry, who were running into people trying to see what was going on. Melody paid the cabby and exited.

She moved laterally to another, smaller and less crowded street and continued toward her goal. When she arrived at Central Park Melody still found herself fighting against a flood of people who had been forced from the park by police. No-one seemed to know why the evacuation had been ordered, including the cops. She deftly found a way past the cordon into the park and began searching. The place was huge, of course, but if there were some threat it should be obvious. Only it wasn't.

Not only did she not see a threat, neither could she find any sign of Blackpool. Even the police were absent. Had he lied to her about where the problem was?! Well, there was definitely something odd going on here. She found a pay phone kiosk, and fed coins to one phone to call her office and another to call Aaron's service, going back and forth between them and occasionally talking on both at once. The people at the paper knew little more than she did, but they confirmed some empowered person in a costume was making a very public affair of vandalizing features of the park. The service said Aaron was busy with another emergency. Melody left a message with the service saying the park had been evacuated and that she was trying to learn why. She let both phones time out and hung up.

Melody began an ordered exploration of Central Park. She kept to cover, but that was more because she was worried about the police making her leave than due to any menace. She simply didn't see anything which seemed dangerous. At least at first...

However, after several minutes of exploration Melody walked behind a statue, and saw to her astonishment that part of the rear of both the statue its pedestal were missing! The gap implied a perfect sphere of something had taken the material. The edges were flawlessly cut, as with some impossibly large and sharp curved knife. Only there was no sign of the removed material. Further along she saw where the shore end of the boat dock was gone. This was very recent; pond water was still filling the hole this had left.

Right, thought Melody. Something or someone - likely an empowered person - is removing semi-spherical chunks of stuff. Who, though, and why?

Resolving to be even more careful, she continued. Quietly.

Part Fourteen

Malak flew down towards the green of the roof garden on the Chicago City Hall. He was planning to land where he could see many emergency responders waiting on the cordoned-off street. However, the sound of breaking glass diverted him. He saw a fire axe come out of a window on the top floor of offices, which was shortly followed by a woman. This was definitely not the Mayor; in fact, the window was on the county offices side.

Malak swooped to intercept her. She was badly cut - oddly, the injuries did not seem to be from broken safety glass - and as he brought her to the closest paramedics he healed her. He set her down and took off again, not saying a word and not seeming to notice people shying back from the storm of dust his wings raised. Malak could now see many broken windows, and felt both sadness and anger at what that implied. He flew into the building, ghosting through the wall to one side of where the woman had come out.

His intent was to find and stop whoever was causing this disturbance. As he entered the room, however, he was suddenly flooded with nightmare thoughts.

He had to do something, but every option was a bad one... including doing nothing! People were dying and he couldn't help them! Malak solidified and staggered, as he was bombarded by the fear of making a mistake, of failing, of being inadequate. A woman began laughing. She stepped out of shadows, revealing herself now that she was sure her prey was helpless.

She was strangely dressed, in her own version of fetish gear. This included a collection of short whips and knives, and spikes on her black leather clothing, including her hood. What little skin she showed - around her eyes and between the seams at her neck and wrists - was as dark as her costume. Still laughing, she drew a knife in each hand and approached the apparently helpless Malak.

"So, the mighty angel is brought low by his own fears! Yes! No-one is immune to my power!"

Malak suddenly grabbed her wrists, skin to skin, and took them both desolid. All her belongings - including her outfit - stayed behind.

"Really, Twilight," said Malak, outraged at her crimes and trying to reach her psychologically. To make her feel that what she had done was wrong. "Unreasoning fear is for animals."

Her eyes went wide, and she tried to pull away. Her power flared manically, but had no discernible effect on Malak. Panic was rapidly growing in her expression. She screamed.

"Ah," said Malak, gently. "I see. Your greatest fear is someone you can't control through fear. I'm sorry."

"Wh-what... I don't..."

"I assume you were supposed to render me incapable of resisting and either hold me here for your allies, or take me where they are waiting."

"I ain't sayin' nothin'!"

"There goes the accent," said Malak, nodding. "Well, we are leaving here now. If your compatriots come here I will return for them. Otherwise, they will have to wait for later. There are other Emergent who are causing serious and immediate trouble which needs to be addressed first."

Again she tried to pull free, more frantically this time.

"I'm taking you someplace where you can't hurt anyone," said Malak, gently. "Where you can get help."

"NO!!" she screamed, trying again - and again in vain - to pull away.

Ignoring her struggles, Malak gathered her in his arms. Invisible and intangible, they flew out through the roof.

* * *

As Private Investigator Michael Schmierer approached the police cordon he was calm on the outside and irritated on the inside. He had worked with the Los Angeles police before on matters involving empowered who were causing problems. That normally meant being hired as a consultant. Sometimes he was also asked to find and have a - usually stern but non-violent - talk with the offender. This time, though, he had simply and brusquely been ordered to the scene of a disrupted wedding reception.

"What can you tell me?" Mike asked Detective Andrews, his on-scene contact.

"Woman, mid- to late-twenties, wearing jeans, western style shirt, hat and boots and a long coat. She disrupted a wedding party, starting about seventy minutes ago," said Andrews, barely glancing at Mike before returning his gaze to the park pavilion he'd been staring at when the PI arrived. "She's armed with a swarm of some sort of small flying machines. They shock people, and at least some can blow themselves up."

"Ow..." said Michael, now noticing a destroyed park garbage can. "So, have there been any negotiations?"

"The only thing she'll say is that she wants 'that traitor' Malak."

"Yeah, that makes sense. Sort of. She's part of a group of rogues. Malak recently killed one of them in battle, protecting refugees."

"We tried contacting him, but his service says he's busy with another emergency. Apparently, several of these nutcases are acting out all over the continental US. What really worries me is that they seem to be holding back, saving their real attacks for him."

"I'll go in," said Michael, with a sigh. "Maybe she'll listen to another empowered."

"That's what we're hoping."

He straightened, absently tugged at his clothes and drew his sidearm. With the muzzle pointed in a safe direction, Mike flipped off the safety and press-checked his faithful HP-35 to confirm it was ready to go. He had an aftermarket 15-round flush magazine in the well, plus a cartridge in the chamber. He also had several known reliable spare magazines secreted about his person. All his ammunition was a proven dependable commercial load with jacketed, hollow point bullets.

Safety on and gun back in holster, Mike turned and walked between two of the police cars into the park. The Sun was high and warm, especially since he was wearing a jacket. The grass was tall and soft, the air still and a bit fragrant. He kept his hands in plain sight and approached the pavilion openly, walking slowly.

"Hello? I'm here to tal..."

A small object came whirring in from his left, having apparently been hiding in a nearby bush. Mike dodged, but the thing came back around, and there were now more on the way from the original direction. He drew, flipped the safety off, aimed and fired in one smooth motion at the first of the drones. It exploded with a palpable bang. There was no time to celebrate.

Mike needed five shots to get the four remaining approaching drones. Only, there were now more streaming out of the pavilion. Worse, some were heading for the police cordon. The LEO weren't helpless; some even had shotguns. However, skeet don't normally dodge. Mike felt honor bound to protect the police, since his approach seemed to be what triggered the assault.

He entered a fugue state, aiming and firing incredibly fast, smoothly reloading when the slide locked back and continuing. Some distant part of his brain felt glad he had modified the gun to cycle faster, even though that made the slide stiffer to rack and required full-power ammunition to work properly. Several times he somehow knew there was a drone approaching, without seeing or hearing it. Each time, Mike spun, verified the target and fired. A drone coming from behind him while he was shooting one about to dive on the police almost got too close; he dodged and managed to wing the device, and it went whirring off out of control, to strike and total a lamp post.

Under the cover of the pavilion, Gizma was growing increasingly desperate. She knew she was superior! How was this man - an unknown, not even her target - doing so well?! The Emergent were as above the other empowered as those were above mere humans! Their philosophy ensured this!

"Would you just die, already?!"

Mike could hear the woman shouting in agitation, demanding that he die. Again came that feeling of threat, this time ahead and to the left. Another quick turn, to spot the drone, aim and fire. The slide locked back. The woman screamed "Now! Attack!", and the drones hovering, waiting their turns, plunged at him.

Mike dropped and rolled, reloading as he bounced back to his feet. Several of the drones impacted the ground where he had been standing and exploded, leaving smoking holes in the turf. Three more shots and two more drones were out of action, with the miss harmlessly striking high on the side of a nearby building.

Gizma had run out of tricks. All she could think of to do now was to swarm the man. Which meant she wouldn't have anything left for Malak! With a growl of fury, she stepped out to confront the stranger, raising her arms to open her coat and loose all her remaining drones.

Mike could tell the woman was getting increasingly angry and frustrated and even frightened, though he could only get brief glimpses of her. Until she suddenly stepped out from cover and threw her arms wide. Dozens of drones flew out of her open coat. Mike took the opportunity to snap one shot at her center of mass, then began dodging and shooting drones. After a frantic few seconds he was still alive, though panting and sweating. The drones were all gone, shot or impacted into the ground or a lamp post or a mail box or whatever. The woman was also down, and moaning.

Mike took stock. He had three rounds left and his attacker was still alive, though apparently out of action, laying on her side. Keeping the HP-35 pointed at her, he warily approached. Her eyes were open, staring at nothing. Mike was startled to see that there was no blood. In fact, he found the expanded bullet embedded in the fabric over her stomach. Apparently her clothing acted as light body armor. He was glad his bullet had hit over the solar plexus, where the transmitted impact had stunned her. He was not entirely certain that was due to luck, which was as scary as any of her attacks. Mike quickly and deftly ripped the duster off her, tossing it aside. His caution seemed warranted, as there was a buzzing sound from the coat, and it began emitting sparks and smoke.

He put the safety of his weapon on but didn't holster it yet; it was too hot. Instead, he put it on the grass within reach, then knelt and held her hands behind her back and looked around. Slowly, cops began coming out from where they had sought cover.

"She needs to be cuffed, then strip-searched, then given medical attention," said Mike, to the closest cop. "I emphasize the strip search. She definitely had weapons hidden in her coat."

As this was being done - the strip search by a female officer under a hastily deployed cover - Mike simply sat on the grass, beside his still hot pistol. Andrews approached.

"Good work. Very good work, in fact. However, you're under arrest for having illegal magazines."

"You know very well that I'm a licensed Private Investigator and have permits for everything," said Mike, tiredly.

Andrews laughed, and clapped him on the shoulder.

"You need to get something more modern!"

"Yeah, yeah..."

* * *

Malak circled the area invisibly, taking a good look around. He was frowning, just a bit. Georgia's capitol building wasn't much older than him, and even as a child he had thought the rotunda and dome were too small for the rest of the structure, throwing the proportions off. Though he did like the statue of Miss Freedom on top of the dome. He was actually riding an updraft, making the flying easier. He had the amused thought that the thermal must be due to residual hot air from the legislature previously being in session, but quickly quashed that. This was a serious and potentially lethal situation.

There were no overt signs of damage at this site, but police, ambulance and fire vehicles and personnel were gathered around the building, along with a large number of press and rubberneckers further out. He thought about landing on the walkway around the cupola and looking in through the windows to see if he could spot the trouble. However, he also realized this was simply a held over desire from his childhood. Maybe another time.

This time Malak did land at the collection of emergency vehicles, as he had planned to do in Chicago. He was quickly directed to a police captain and the head of capital security, who were working together on this most peculiar problem.

Fortunately, there did not seem to be any rivalry between the man and woman. They occasionally interrupted each other, but more from distressed excitement than from trying to one-up each other. The gist was that a strange man had appeared in the rotunda, and begun grabbing people and disappearing with them. He had literally laughed at the security forces when they tried to stop him.

"If this is one of the Emergent," said Malak, nodding, "it must be Ekimmu. He can go out of phase and take objects - including people - with him. The description of his fuzzy grey outfit also fits."

He asked questions, and the other two answered as best they could. Malak thought hard as they discussed the situation; what was the best approach with this man?

Suddenly, a pair of hands appeared out from nothing, reaching for the man and woman he spoke with. Malak had no idea what it would do to them to wrestle to keep them in this phase of reality, but thanks to his speed he didn't need to. He instead grabbed the intruding wrists and pulled their owner into the physical world. The captain and security chief squawked in surprise as the stranger suddenly appeared, his body actually shoving the woman aside a bit as Malak pulled him forward.

"Ekimmu, yes?" said Malak, scowling his disapproval. "The others you took desolid had better be all..."

The Emergent man reacted suddenly, unexpectedly yanking free and going desolid. However, as he turned away from where he had reached for the man and woman he found Malak already there, behind him in the same phase dimension as himself.

"Are you trying to lead me somewhere?" said Malak, with a slight smile. "Wherever you go, I've been there before you."

Unlike the previous Emergent Malak had confronted, Ekimmu was alarmed but not frightened. In fact, he was more wary even than alarmed. Around them, those people he had already brought into this grey plane were noticing - and reacting in various ways to - Malak's presence. However, Ekimmu's attention was almost entirely on the winged empowered man in front of him.

"You got a choice," Ekimmu said, backing away, smirking. "You can stop me, or you can take these people back before they wander off. Like I said: Your choice."

He gave Malak a smug grin. However, there was no hesitation on the part of the older empowered man.

"There's no debate," said Malak, turning from him. "You can wait for later."

He spread his wings, addressing the others there.

"May I have your attention, please! You need to gather around me so I can take you back where you belong!"

This was not a foolish maneuver on the part of Malak. He could sense Ekimmu's position and movements even from behind, thanks to his passive sonar. The Emergent man did wait for a bit, perhaps even considering an attack, but eventually turned and hurried away. Which was fine with Malak. The other could, indeed, wait for later. Right now, Malak had to determine the best method and order for returning these people to the plane they were accustomed to.

* * *

Melody had finally tracked the person responsible for the damage in Central Park to a storm sewage structure on the edge of the area. The clue had been that one of the chunks taken out of the ground by those bizarre holes had exposed a sizable storm sewer running under the park. Marks in the loosened earth on the edge of the hole showed that someone had descended into the tunnel after the hole was made. Since exploring the rest of the park had revealed neither the culprit or Blackpool, Melody on a hunch moved at ground level in the direction the current trickle of drainage flowed. She found a concrete bunker surrounded by a thick row of hedges. The door was locked but she could hear muffled sounds from inside. Including what sounded like someone talking.

Melody had never covered anything about the New York sewage system - or any sewage system, for that matter - but she remembered reading and even hearing that there were often large underground chambers involved. "Flood control structures" she thought they were called. Or was that something for a river? Well, never mind. The echoing sound confirmed that there was likely a chamber inside and below, which was much larger than what showed above ground.

Picking the lock was easy. That was there to keep kids out of trouble, rather than to prevent theft, after all. Thanks to the tall shrubs the door - most of the structure, actually - was in shadow, though she still eased it open the bare minimum and immediately closed it after she slipped through. Melody fumbled a bit in her purse before finding her light. She smirked as she recalled this gadget was made with two products invented by empowered, which had - reluctantly - been allowed on the market a few years before. The power cell was good for decades of use and the light source somehow converted electricity directly into light. All this in a package easy to hold and as bright at maximum as a theater floodlight.

Melody planned to turn it on at the lowest level. However, even as she dug for the device she could already dimly see light from somewhere below. She peeped carefully over the railing which ran along the edge of the short walkway leading to the stairs. The interior of the structure - as she had expected - was mostly under the ground, though it wasn't as large as she had envisioned. The odor in here was unpleasant but not nearly as bad as she expected. Below, amid the pipes and wiring - which included bare bulbs hanging from suspended cables - was a man in black and silver, pacing as he spoke on some sort of communicator.

"No, he still hasn't showed. Yes, I'm in the chamber, where he can't maneuver. I'll go back out and try again in a bit. I left clues as to where I am. If he ever shows he should follow them right to here. I will be ready, have no worry."

From his accent he was English. Probably middle class and well educated. While he was distracted by his conversation, Melody carefully began making her way down the stairs.

She reached the bottom before he noticed her. She had her press pass out, and was holding it in plain site. She had the flashlight ready to blind him, if necessary. The strange man saw her, stopped pacing and talking and just stared.

"Melody Gunderson, New York Glory!" she said, boldly. "I would like to interview you."

"I'll call you back," the man said, before putting the device away. He stared at Melody for a moment, then smiled. "Oh, yes. Malak's pet."

That was actually not a bad start to interviewing a hostile and potentially dangerous subject. He was dismissing and underestimating her, but still willing to talk, if only to tell her how hopeless she was.

"Are you a member of the Emergent?"

"Of course I am, you poor, dim thing," he said, airily.

"Are you trying to bait Malak here, to ambush him?"

"Again, this is obvious."

"So... You don't think that your plan will also be obvious to Malak?"

Still smirking as he opened his mouth to snark back at her... and froze. He was busily contemplating the implications of her question when another voice spoke up.

"Of course it is, you poor, dim thing," said Malak, materializing between the stranger and Melody, facing him. "You can surrender. You can flee. You can fight. Your choice."

The man at first backed away several steps in surprise, but then recovered quickly. He smiled, and held out his hand. A tiny ball of... something formed above his horizontal palm. Despite being black, it was surrounded by a distinct shell of light, which twisted in odd ways. The ball rapidly grew larger.

"Normally, I don't bother with anything more than the basic," said the man, still smiling. "However, I believe you deserve my best effort."

"Do something!" said Melody, peering around Malak's left wing.

"All he's done so far is..."

Before Malak could finish, the man blew on the ball. It shot across the room, directly towards the winged man.

Malak quickly threw a spear, intercepting the strange attack. The ball swallowed most of the blast and continued on undeterred. Melody cried out, reflexively covered her ears and backed away at the bang, but managed to keep watching.

Malak dodged. The eye-itching sphere curved up and around and headed back towards him. He blurred across the room and put the man in black and silver between him and the ball. The man screamed in wide-eyed terror as the projectile hurtled towards him.

Realizing the man either couldn't or wouldn't stop his attack in time, Malak moved them both out of the way, barely pulling his left wingtip clear as the thing shot by again. Space was tight, as the stranger had intended for his trap.

"Stop that thing!" Malak shouted. The man screamed and struggled to get free. "If you won't stop it, how do I?"

"You can't!" the man shrilled, as Malak dodged the two of them out of the way again. "It doesn't stop until it is sated!"

Part Fifteen

"I have him!" shouted Blackpool, materializing from one of the many shadows of the unevenly lighted room.

Malak snarled and threw his attacker towards his ally. He quickly turned away from the ball and flew upwards, out of the underground chamber, ghosting through the top of the chamber. The ball followed, eating a hole in the steel-reinforced concrete of the roof. Out in the open air, Malak lunged toward the nearest building. He phased through a roof corner, then briefly climbed higher before spinning around to check on his pursuer. The ball had taken a distinct bite out of the roof of the brownstone and was still after him, but now looked a bit smaller.

Malak flew backwards, the ball closing more quickly than he could move this way. He threw spear after spear, each taking a little more out of the bizarre sphere. As it came too close he dodged again and focused for a few seconds on gaining more distance. He then resumed throwing spears. The sphere shrank and shrank until - with a final spear strike - it vanished, letting most of the charge from the final spear dissipate in the air with a bang.

When he got back to the storm drainage chamber under the park the man in black and silver had been thoroughly bound by a man in black.

"Good," said the federal special agent, as he saw the angelic figure return. He gestured towards his prisoner. "Tinkles, here, is in no shape to do anything but wet his pants and whimper, just now."

"How do we make him safe for normals to handle?" said Malak, his calm, deep tone belying that he had just been in a fight for his life.

"Put his palms together?" said Melody, whose tone was full of nervous relief.

"An excellent suggestion," said Malak. He sighed, and shook his head as Blackpool did that. "As God is my witness, I thought he could stop the effect."

"He probably can," said Blackpool. "He just likely never needed to do so before and was too panicked to do that this time."

The two rescuers turned to glare at Melody.

"I think I speak for both of us," said Malak, sternly, "in that we waited in the vain hope that you would leave and we could handle this man more elegantly."

"How was I supposed to know that?!" the reporter demanded. "I was doing my job. If you don't inform me of your plans, don't blame me for accidentally interfering with them."

Malak started to reply, but then he and Blackpool were suddenly distracted by something. They both listened for a moment to a message Melody couldn't hear, then looked relieved.

"Greater Cincinnati Airport security managed to find the person causing the problems there, with the help of some local empowered," said Malak, for Melody's benefit. "They captured him, and have him on the way to a federal prison which specializes in holding empowered. They have regained control of their air traffic management system, though they are testing it thoroughly before resuming operations."

"What about the rest?" said Melody, eagerly.

The two empowered men briefly related what had happened with each of the other attacks, saving Denver for last.

"It was a low priority, since it appeared to be just frightening clouds," said Malak. "Those might have dropped enough rain to cause problems, but weren't given the time. I have received word that three local empowered cooperated in finding the source and, ah, convincing him to surrender."

* * *

"Interesting," said Hanuman, smiling slightly, as the last of the reports came in.

"'Interesting'!" said Strike!, loudly. "He handled three of the six threats alone, one with help, and the other two were handled by empowered we never heard of but who are apparently allies of Malak's! There's a lot more going on here than just him."

"We knew he had allies. This gives us an idea of who they are."

The other members of the Emergent who were present eyed Strike! warily. However, while he was angry, he was in control. After a moment, he nodded. Reluctantly. Hanuman smiled and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Yes. He is turning out to be a worthy opponent. So, we should pull back and reconsider. We'll wait a few days - until the mortals lower their guard - then free those who were captured. Meanwhile, we must all plan and train. This will not be a trivial effort."

"You could take him now," said Strike!. His tone was a mixture of confidence and challenge.

"Could I? Perhaps. I make no claim to omnipotence, and he is very powerful. If Twilight had held him I would have gone to her to help contain and transport him for trial. If DarkForce had injured him I would acted similarly. If either had killed Malak then the problem would be solved. None of that happened. No, if we want Malak to pay for his crimes we need a group effort."

"This whole thing was you evaluating him," said Gilgamesh.

"I hoped we would catch or kill Malek with this effort," said Hanuman, seriously. "However, I am not surprised we didn't. Given his normal reluctance to kill - with Ninurta being a blatant exception..."

He paused for a moment, frowning in thought, then shook his head.

"Well, I knew that whatever the result, we would be in a better position after gathering more information. It's strange that Malak's supposedly angelic group is so secretive that we still don't even know their collective name."

Hanuman turned towards what he called his display table. The group was assembled in a large cavern which was part of a cave system deep in an isolated area of the Pyrenees mountains. He was amused by the fact that all the experts in the world - including those of Malak's group - thought the Emergent had no established meeting place. He waved his hand over the table, and an overhead view of downtown Washington, DC appeared.

"He is known to have an emotional attachment to this place. Which is understandable, given his history. When we are ready for him I will lay clues which draw him there. Clues far more subtle than those used by DarkForce. We will lay our trap, and it will be inescapable. It will also demonstrate that we can act whenever and wherever we wish. Even in the capital of the so-called free world."

* * *

"I really need to speak with the empowered who solved the problem in Denver," said Blackpool, at Melody's apartment, late that afternoon. Dealing with the police, convincing them to let Empowered Matters handle the man - he had no ID and "DarkForce" was all they could get out of him for a name - then waiting for people from the local office to arrive and briefing them, and gathering the initial statements from witnesses had taken hours. "The others I know well enough to meet with on my own, but the three in that group are strangers to me."

"I believe they would be reluctant to go to the chemical repository," said Aaron, thoughtfully. "They might even be reluctant to meet with you alone."

"If you know them that well, you should arrange something."

"Bring them here," said Melody, eagerly. "I'll schedule a time when we're all free to meet."

To her surprise, after some consultation the two men agreed.

"There's no need to bring them, though," said Aaron, smiling slightly. "Or to wait, since we are already here. They have their own means of transportation. If all parties agree, this can be done now."

"I am amenable to that," said Blackpool.

"Do it!" said Melody, almost gleeful.

Aaron went out onto the balcony to contact the empowered in question, returning several minutes later.

"They're on their way."

"Excellent," said Blackpool. "While we wait, why don't you tell us what you've been up to today. Before you arrived at Central Park, I mean. I already have your account for that."

Aaron agreed, breaking off just after relating how he had let Ekimmu get away so he could focus on recovering the empowered man's victims. The interruption was due to a trio of people appearing on Melody's balcony. She rose to let the new guests in. Introductions were made and refreshments brought out. The casual setting was obviously somewhat surprising to the new guests. Melody was glad she had found a loft with a large central area, hang the expense. It had plenty of room both for her exercise equipment and parties. Just how it was holding her and five empowered, with little crowding. Though that might have changed if Aaron had let his wings out. She had never met any of the newcomers before, though she had heard of Three Dollar Bill. The others were the twin sisters Aura and Rainbow. While the girls wore tights in pastel colors, Bill had on a green three-piece business suit and bowler hat, all with black markings which vaguely looked like those on US paper currency. From the way the twenty-somethings interacted, Melody had a sneaking suspicion that in spite of his nom de guerre, Bill was bedding both the twins.

The three newcomers seemed a bit intimidated by Aaron and Blackpool. Melody did her best to make them feel welcome, encouraging them to take seats in the various chairs she had put out. Once they were settled, Aaron resumed his account, noting that getting everyone Ekimmu had displaced back to the correct plane had taken time and effort.

"So you can understand why I was a bit late responding to your call," Aaron said to Melody.

"Astounding," said Blackpool, shaking his head.

"This whole thing was an exercise in futility on the Emergent's part," said Melody, dryly.

"I suspect their intent was to tire me out," said Aaron. Melody noted that he actually did look a bit tired, but that could have been more emotional than physical. "Have me fly all over the country and fight several Emergent, before facing someone formidable whom they expected to kill me. Which very well could have been the case if things had gone a bit differently. If I had been more tired, or DarkForce more experienced, for example. Which wasn't the case thanks to the efforts of people like our three visitors."

"Like I said," said Melody, smirking. "Futile."

"While your faith in me is flattering, I am far from invincible," said Aaron, firmly. "I also realize I have made several mistakes, lately. Part of my recent training has been to help me recognize those and improve my procedures. Today's events simply add to that tally."

He sighed.

"I underestimated them," said Aaron, wincing. "I wanted to draw them out, and they used that as an opportunity to draw me out."

"Fortunately, they also underestimated you," said Blackpool.

"As well as several other empowered!" said Melody, laughing, and glancing at the trio of newcomers.

Aaron gave her a stern look.

"You really need to be more careful. Not only in the risks you take but in the information you reveal to others. Pointing out to DarkForce that I would realize his actions were a trap might have led him to harm you and alter his preparations to make them more effective against me."

"Why would he take anything your pet said seriously?" asked Melody, with a charming smile.

"I don't think you're going to win this one," said Blackpool, grinning through his mask. He turned to the younger trio. "So, how was your day?"

* * *

Melody stood in the teletype bulletin processing room as she finished reading the last of the news items she was after, which had just come in on the wire. She tossed the small stack - already processed by the staff in here, whose job it was to separate the sheets as they came out and sort them by subject - back into the basket with a snarl. She turned and stormed out of the processing room and into the noisy teletype room, to check for updates just coming in. One more item was read line by line as it was mechanically typed, about how the empowered person who had attacked the Cincinnati airport had vanished from his cell. That bulletin was only the most recent of several notifications from several different sources telling several variations of the same story.

While Melody was far from the only reporter at The New York Glory behaving in this way, she had a closer personal connection than most to the specific incoming news items she sought out.

All the Emergent who had been captured in the recent public efforts to draw out Malak - though most officials and editors hadn't realized yet that was the purpose - had been freed. All of them so deftly that in most cases their absence had not been noticed until the next morning! Even at Aaron's clinic! She wondered if Malak had it right; that the only way to prevent them from harming others again was to simply kill them. The thought made her uneasy...

By the time she reached her office Melody was calmer, and therefor more reasonable. No, most of their offenses did not merit death. Some of these six had been annoyances rather than threats to the lives of those they had menaced... though that may have been due more to how quickly they were stopped than their actual intent. Maybe they'd spread the word among the other Emergent to leave Aaron/Malak alone. As well as innocent bystanders.

* * *

Reading Blackpool was not easy, and not only because of his mask, but Aaron could tell he was furious, sitting there behind his desk. Mostly this fury was due to the damage the Emergent had caused, and the nose-thumbing, casual manner of their escapes. However, there was also something else at stake.

"One reason I was given so much leeway running this place was because I am expected to use these resources to help stop such behavior," he said. His elbows were resting on the top of the desk, his fingers laced together. Blackpool sat rock still, even his mouth barely moving under his mask. "Instead, we've had a distinct escalation of rogue empowered activities! Apparently, many empowered have been encouraged by these incidents to act out."

"I doubt that will continue for long," said Aaron. "Pretty much every law enforcement group in the world - including the Empowered Matters Agency - is currently on full alert. I also believe that the Emergent are treating the situation as business as usual for them, when it very much isn't. They could find themselves under significant pressure by law enforcement agencies. Though, given their demonstrated ability to avoid those, that seems unlikely. What is more likely is that they will lay low for a while, as they have before."

"Which could mean that when they come back - and they will come back - they will be better prepared for whatever it is they plan to do."

"Yes. However, we should also be better prepared." Aaron's gaze drifted to the wall above Blackpool's head, seeing into an immaterial distance. "This is a crisis, on multiple levels. We need to plan and train and make ready in every way we can."

"Now you're scaring me. As well as motivating me, which I guess was the intent."

"It's not all bad news," said Aaron, nodding and coming back into focus. "As I implied, our analysis is that they - the Emergent - are so used to having things go their way with little struggle that they don't seem to have realized yet that this situation is different. However, I do believe we should call in additional help. Especially if it is from outside our group."

"Do you have someone in mind?" said Blackpool.

"A potential ally," said Aaron, with a sad smile. "A man who lives in a world filled with warm statues. Zoomer and I are among the few who can directly interact with him. Fortunately for his mental health, he is a loner by nature."

"All right, let's get to work."

"Frankly," said Aaron, scowling as he rose, "I'll be glad when this Emergent nonsense is settled. It's taking time and energy which could be more productively spent.

"One more thing in our favor, though, is that the media attention brought to the previously little-known Emergent is gaining them many new members. Which means they're busy vetting these applicants. That gives us an opportunity to slip someone on our team into the group. Carefully."

* * *

Aaron actually already had more measures in mind to take than contacting his fast and loose friend. At the clinic that afternoon, Aaron made a point of catching Mannequin alone. The pale, colorfully dressed, gender-neutral character looked at the shorter man expectantly as Aaron approached.

"I have a favor to ask."

He laid his proposal out. Mannequin frowned, with pursed lips.

"I'll have to think about it," said Mannequin. "While I have frequently disguised myself as a particular person, I am not an actor. I truly am not certain I can pull off what you want."

"Please do consider this carefully," said Aaron. "We need inside information."

* * *

Meanwhile, others were also plotting and planning without the knowledge of their allies.

Strike! saw the isolated cluster of buildings in the distance, and smiled. Thanks to Twilight he had a good idea of the layout, inside as well as out. Though she was so upset by her defeat, capture and treatment here that getting that information out of her had been difficult, and required patience and care. Neither of those things were among Strike!'s strengths, but he had risen to the occasion.

Hanuman's plan was to draw Malak out by threatening a place of value to him. Well, the clinic was important to Malak. He was either already there, or would come running as soon as there was trouble. It was one of two neighboring facilities Malak had established decades before, but the other one was not being considered as a target by Strike!. He would have felt bad about attacking a small, rural town; it would have been too much like kicking a puppy which was just trying to be friendly. This place, though, coddled neurotic humans and held empowered against their wills, trying to make them "normal." Twilight's current unsettled state being a prime example of what happened when they were allowed to do that. It deserved whatever happened to it.

Strike! leapt, planning to plunge down through the roof of the largest building.

He was intercepted just past the peak of his arc by one of Malak's flaming spears. The explosion was not strong, but it changed his course enough that he landed in the lawn to the south of the building complex. Strike! looked up to see Malak diving at him, another spear ready to hurl.

Strike! dodged the spear, to Malak's astonishment. Then Malak dodged Strike! as he leapt. This time the Emergent member kept the arc of his jump shallow, and he landed running, deftly reversing course back towards the pursuing Malak and dodging as he ran.

They were now in a wheat field, already harvested, with just stubble and ground cover left. Only a few people were around and they were running for shelter, but there were buildings and equipment present. As well as livestock. Malak threw another spear, putting more into it this time. Strike! again somehow managed to dodge, but the explosion made him stumble. Malak tried to take advantage of this by swooping in for a wing hit, but Strike! parried that and responded with a blow to Malak's body which sent him tumbling into a fence between the field and a feed lot. Cattle, mooing in panic, crowded away from the disturbance, eyes wild.

Strike! knew he was in the wrong place. Inside a large building or even in a built-up area of a city - where he could maneuver better than Malak - he would have been much better off. Still, this was the battlefield he had. He would make do.

He stagger-stepped towards his opponent, increasing speed faster than most cars could accelerate and moving far more irregularly. Malak straightened and charged three spears at once, but had to dodge forward and left before he could throw them. Strike! still managed a hit to Malak's right wing, but could tell it did no damage. He tried to change course again and close, but Malak spun around, going with the impulse of the punch, and beat his wings, producing a strong wind which slowed and nearly stopped Strike!. This also pushed Malak up and back, giving him both distance and altitude. He was still holding those charged spears, and looking like he meant to use them.

The fight wasn't going well, but Strike! was nowhere near giving up... though he was considering an exit strategy. He ran along the fence, grabbing and throwing fenceposts as fast as an automatic grenade launcher. Planks scattered like leaves in a fitful wind.

Malak threw his spears in a spread then went desolid to avoid the fenceposts. Only one of the spears came close to Strike! and that barely interrupted the big man's throwing rhythm. Strike! knew Malak could throw spears while desolid, but also knew this was much slower than doing so while materialized. He kept up the barrage to the end of the fence row then ran for some farm equipment sitting in a lot between the field and a large barn.

He lifted a bailer and with a grunt of effort hurled it, but not at Malak. Instead, Strike! sent it flying in a high arc towards the closest barn. He had seen farm workers heading there for cover and figured - rightly, as it turned out - that his opponent would act to protect them. Malak quickly threw a flame-tipped spear at Strike! and then rammed the bailer. It was too heavy for him to stop, but he changed its course enough for it to land in an empty field. Meanwhile, Strike! dodged again.

Malak turned just in time to see another piece of farm equipment heading for him. Since this was already on course for the same field, Malak simply went desolid to avoid the impact. He moved to one side and, invisibly, once more became solid. He waited to see if his opponent would attack again, or hopefully assume Malak was laying injured underneath the destroyed machinery and head that way. The next attack didn't come, though. Malak heard only cries from the cattle and worried calls between the workers, as well as wild barking from a couple of dogs. Of Strike! there was no sign.

Still invisible, Malak flew higher and looked for his opponent. However, Strike! had vanished as thoroughly as Malak so often did. Scowling, the winged empowered began flying a search pattern to try and find the man. This was cut short as he heard cries for help. Malak quickly moved in for rescue and healing work.

The entire battle had lasted under twenty seconds.

* * *

Strike! watched the grey-winged man from inside the large culvert he had found, scowling. He could have continued the fight indefinitely, but so could his opponent, and Malak had the advantage, here. As much as Strike! hated to hide like this he knew that continuing would have been futile. Hanuman was right; Malak was far too potent to defeat so casually. He would have to find a way to get an advantage over the winged empowered. At least he had gathered important information his team could use against the man.

* * *

"All right," said Mannequin, catching Malak alone at the clinic, shortly after the fight. "I'm in. If these maniacs are going to threaten this place of healing, I'll learn how to convincingly hold a form long term."

"Are you certain? It will be risky."

"As long as the Emergent are running around loose it's also risky to do nothing. Even I can see that this place is important. I want to protect it."

"Then let us plan..."

* * *

Aaron reported the fight to John and Melody in person, later that evening. Afterwards the trio just sat on her apartment couch in silence for many long minutes. Aaron from obvious exhaustion; the other two in sympathetic lack of energy. Finally, Melody spoke, turning to Aaron.

"How long has it been since you slept?" she said, firmly.

"About sixty-eight hours."

"Okay, you need sleep. Don't even bother flying home. Use my guest bedroom. Now. No argument! I know you can go without sleep, maybe even indefinitely, but right now you need it. The world will still be here when you wake up and will still need you to help it. Go. Sleep."

"Yes, ma'am," said Aaron, with a tired smile.

He did spend a few minutes in preparation, but soon was soundly asleep atop a comforter on the small but comfortable bed in the small but comfortable guest bedroom.

"I just hope we don't disturb him," said Melody, quietly, as she eased the door closed.

"I doubt he'd wake unless one of us called for help," said John, grinning, in a normal voice. "Stop fussing and let him sleep."

"Well, then, I just hope he isn't interrupted by an emergency call."

John impishly held up one of the new coms.

"I don't think that's an issue."

"You picked his pocket?!"

"Would you excuse me for a moment? I need to make sure folks know he's safe but temporarily unavailable."

Part Sixteen

Aaron slept for nearly ten hours. When Melody rose with her alarm the next morning both Aaron and John were gone. Both had left notes which were reassuring but provided no information on where they were or what they were doing. John's note did inform her that there was breakfast in the refrigerator. There were also dishes in the sink, rinsed but not washed. Melody scowled at being left out - and being left the cleanup duty - but there didn't seem to be any major and urgent emergencies in the US or even the rest of the world just now. After a quick - and admittedly delicious - breakfast she focused on getting ready and to work.

Even there the wire services were reporting a slow day. However, few at the offices of The New York Glory were relaxing.

"It's like we're all waiting for something big to happen," said Sam, speaking with Melody in the break room mid-morning. "For the other shoe to drop. Something's coming."

"That doesn't mean it will get here any time soon," said Melody. She sighed. "That's the way to bet, though."

* * *

The same sensation of delayed tension was being felt by the Emergent. Even several days after Strike!'s failed attack the group was still collectively laying low and licking its wounds. Of course, the Anunaki subgroup was even more strongly affected. So many defeats in such short order - especially since many of those had been at the hands of empowered who had previously been unknown to them - had together dealt them a severe blow. One which affected both their logistics and their morale.

Though Strike! was not a member of the Anunaki, after dutifully delivering the report on his fight with Malak, he began avoiding his fellow Emergent. This made things a bit more difficult for Hanuman, since he was missing one of his best lieutenants. Still, he made do. Right now, Hanuman was evaluating several of the newcomers who were trying to join empowered. As well as the problems caused by one particular new member.

"I swear, Happy Jack does these things deliberately," said Chrome, as they took a break from their membership considerations.

"Of course he does," said Hanuman, smiling. "It's part of his raison d'être."

"More like an idée fixe," said Chrome, in a stage mutter.

Hanuman laughed.

"Why do you tolerate him?"

"A) He makes me laugh. B) He presents a mystery. C) I suspect - though I have no hard evidence to support this suspicion - that he is a plant."

Chrome sat up straight, startled.

"Then why let him in our group?!"

"Because I'm not certain. Also, as things currently stand I can keep an eye on him. If he is a plant - and I reiterate that is not certain - and we get rid of him, they might send someone we wouldn't spot."

"Who is this 'they'?" said Chrome.

"If he is a plant, he's probably an agent of Malak's group. Still, even if he is - and I don't want you doing anything to let him think we suspect him - he still injects a valuable tone of levity into our activities. That has been sorely lacking of late. Too many of the Emergent - and I count myself among that number - take themselves too seriously. However, even if he is valid, it would not be improper for us to omit new members from our more secret plans. Or even for us to allow them to misunderstand those plans."

"Understood."

"Besides, he knows the magic words."

"'Please' and 'thank you'?" said Chrome, grinning.

"'I can fix this,'" said Hanuman, with another laugh. "He is one of the best assistants I've ever had, with a wide range of skills, and a talent for persuading others to do what is asked of them."

"So, if he is a plant," said Chrome, smirking, "you're using our enemy's resources to help our group."

"That is definitely one way of looking at the situation."

* * *

Upon waking that morning Aaron found several disparate clues coming together in his mind. He had no doubt this would have happened eventually, but thanks to Melody's insistence that he get some sleep it had happened sooner rather than later. After a quick but filling breakfast with Blackpool, Aaron had headed off on his own to check something.

Later that day, in an isolated, hilly region of the Philippines, Aaron walked out of the forest and onto land which was just recovering from being burned. There was even some scent of burned wood and other materials remaining. He walked through the damp ashes and new growth, towards a cluster of burned-out buildings.

Animals as well as wild plants were already starting to occupy this land. Or, rather, re-occupy it. Aaron could tell it had been cleared with axe and fire not long before it was burned again. He scowled. This had all the earmarks of an illegal farm, even without the signs he saw of marijuana.

He spent hours there, combing through the wreckage. In that whole time no other humans approached the destroyed farm. Aaron did find several clues that his grandson had been there. As well as that whoever had burned the farm had taken prisoners. He also found a series of graves. Proper burials had been performed by someone, complete with makeshift crosses, all of which had names painted on them. That they were undisturbed confirmed Aaron's evaluation that the damage had been from one attack, with no follow-up from the attackers but some scavenging by the previous inhabitants. Despite the grimness of this scene, he felt hope. He recognized the handwriting on two of the crosses.

"So," he said, quietly, as the examined the painted names, "he's alive. Or was very recently. "

He produced a hunting knife and used it to shave a flat spot on the side of a tree, facing the graves. In that flat spot he carved a simplified pair of wings. That was all he could do, just now. He looked at his work, sighed, and vanished.

* * *

"The Emergent are definitely laying low for now," said Aaron, in yet another meeting with Blackpool, two days later. "The reason given by their leader is that he wants to pull back and reevaluate their policies. However, I suspect that is dissembling. If anything, their psychological evaluation shows that - as often happens with fanatics - they will change tactics but hold to the same goals."

"Hmph," said Blackpool, scowling under his mask. "Where are they hiding? They have to be somewhere!"

He didn't ask how Aaron had acquired that information. Just as he often didn't go into detail about how he had acquired some juicy clue.

"Given how easily many empowered can travel, most of them are likely staying separately in their favorite spots." Aaron shrugged. "Anyway, for now, they are a less urgent problem than many other things happening in the world. Thanks to Harriet, we know more about where to apply our efforts, now. She should also warn us of any renewed activity by the Emergent if we miss it."

* * *

The break room on Melody's floor at The New York Glory was both busy and no stranger to heated arguments. It just happened that in this instance both the two people involved in the discussion agreed in general, but had different views on the background.

"Why the Hell does Congress keep bringing up bills to restrict the empowered, then burying them?!" said Melody, almost spilling her soda as she threw her arms wide. "Why bring them up at all it they don't have a chance of passage?! All they're doing is encouraging hate groups!"

"It's an old tactic," said Sam, with a tired shrug. "Many folks in Congress get money from groups or individuals who... let's say, disapprove of empowered. By introducing bills they know won't pass the Congresscritters maintain that support while avoiding the consequences of success. In other words, business as usual."

"That is a very dangerous game," said Melody, tone ominous. "All it'll take is one too many idiots supporting one of these measures and there'll be empowered in concentration camps. Quickly followed by an empowered insurrection. We've seen what happened in other countries lately when they went through this sequence. None of the governments involved survived, but it was mainly the citizens who paid the price. Especially the empowered citizens."

"You're saying nothing new," said Sam. "Just keep mentioning the bills in your articles. The boss has already told the folks who write the political columns to mention them."

* * *

"You wanted to see me?" said Aaron, as he entered the computation chamber.

"We're having a very strange problem with Harriet," said CornFed, motioning him over to where she and Professor Bright were examining printed documents spread out on a large table. By her attitude, she seemed to half suspect that the computer was causing the problem just to annoy her. "We were testing her predictive capabilities and this showed up."

CornFed handed over a printed document. To Aaron's eye the contents looked more like freeform poetry than a direct communication.

"She keeps telling us things which turn out to be right, but they're phrased in ways which make what she means inobvious until after the fact!"

"A not uncommon problem with oracles," said Aaron, absently, as he paged quickly through the stack of sheets CornFed had handed him. "I wonder if that is because a specific answer might cause us to take actions which would prevent the prediction from coming true. Phrasing the message in this way prevents a prediction paradox."

"If we would just move to a purely deterministic computational algorithm we could avoid the vagueness!" said Professor Bright.

"The problem with that approach, Edmund," said Aaron, patiently, as he continued his review, "is that reality is not purely deterministic. Living things even less so."

Bright stalked off in a huff.

"He's going to be trouble," said CornFed.

"Now, now," said Aaron, gently. "Don't assign malice just because he has a different opinion."

"Oh! No, that's not me saying that. It's in some of Harriet's predictions."

"Any details in those predictions about him?"

"Very, very few," said CornFed, sighing.

* * *

"Louis?" came a voice from the other side of the dirty blanket covering the otherwise open doorway of the hut. The whole place was dirty, actually, looking like it was just barely not falling down. "You... have a visitor."

The man trying to nap on the crude cot inside came instantly awake, and to full alertness. The heavily accented voice belonged to someone familiar and trusted, but such an uneasy announcement might mean the speaker was being coerced by someone. Louis pulled the automatic rifle from under his bed and sat up, aiming at the door.

"I'm presentable," he said, in the same local Filipino dialect. "Send them in."

The blanket was pulled away, and Aaron stepped through.

"Grand-père!" Louis gasped.

The younger man quickly but carefully pointed the rifle up, flipped the safety on, put the weapon's butt on the bare dirt floor and leaned the flash hider against the wall. Then he rose to greet his grandfather.

For a long time they simply hugged. Then Louis silently invited Aaron to sit at the rickety table.

"Well," he said, finally, voice choked with emotion, "to what do I owe the honor?"

"Your father was worried about you. After checking into your situation I was worried about you."

"I saw the carving," said Louis, nodding. "I assume you got the clue I left."

"An interesting choice of bible verses, but I understood the message."

Louis realized they were both speaking Cajun French. Well, that was fine. They were both fluent in it, and this could keep anyone from eavesdropping. He trusted some of the people here with his life, but not everyone.

They spoke for a long time. First about family, then what Aaron/Malak had been doing, then world events. When Aaron mentioned working with Melody, Louis became upset.

"Is she the one who got my aunt killed?" said Louis, his tone bitter.

"No," said his grandfather, flatly. "She is the one your aunt sacrificed herself to save."

That actually made an impression on the boy. Seeming a bit embarrassed, he changed subjects, asking about the work at the repository and how Harriett - whose name he didn't know but whose existence he guessed - was doing. His grandfather told him but with few details.

Finally, Louis began relating his own exploits.

"After the raid on the farm, I moved here with the other survivors and what we could salvage," the younger man finished.

"You have no hard evidence of who the raiders were."

"Like I said, they wore nondescript outfits and bandanas on their faces. They could have been government troops acting covertly on orders, troops gone rogue or members of one of the local drug cartels."

Aaron leaned towards his grandson a bit.

"What were you growing that would have so many groups after your hide? Marijuana?"

"No, that's not it," said Louis, with a brisk shake of his head. "Well, there was some, but that was partly a side product to raise money and partly a cover for our actual work. We're growing a new type of plant which contains one of the safest trigger chemicals known."

That was startling! As were the implications.

"You're planning to flood the Philippines with empowered."

"Not flood. Just... create enough to help this poor country get a leg up in the world."

"Is this really what you want to do?" said Aaron, showing concern as multiple ramifications ran through his mind.

"Yes, Grandfather. This isn't my dream alone. I didn't even start all this. The person who did is dead, murdered by the government six months ago. There are thousands of us who believe in this and are working to breed and distribute the plant."

"All right. Just remember that if you need help I am available."

"Thank you, Grandfather."

"Now I need to go and talk to your father," said Aaron, with a sigh, "and explain why I didn't forcibly carry you home."

The boy had to laugh at that.

"Tell him I've put on too much weight to carry. He and Mother are always fussing that I'm too skinny."

* * *

The preparations among the Emergent for the next action against Malak were proceeding well. However, not everyone agreed with those plans.

"Why Gil and not me?!" demanded Strike!, who had finally reappeared. Ironically, the information he had earlier provided on his own lack of success was instrumental to those plans.

"You had your shot," said Gilgamesh, with a sneer.

"Because you are too invested in revenge," said Hanuman, trying to head off another argument between those rivals. "We need someone impartial, who will make a quick, clean kill, with as little collateral damage to our world as possible."

True, though diplomatically phrased to reduce the chance of trouble between those two. Even better, it worked. For now, at least. Hanuman leaned over his display table.

"Let us plan."

Part Seventeen

"Hints and rumors," said Aaron, with an aggravated sigh. "Freeze Frame hasn't helped much; he can't find the Emergent any more than we can. After several subjective years of effort he left a note on my desk this morning that he was moving on to other pursuits."

"Wait," said Blackpool, alarmed. "He was here?! In the compound?!"

"At my office in Haven, actually," said Aaron, a bit amused at this near panic. "I don't think he knows where the redoubt is. Though he could probably find it given sufficient motivation."

He left Blackpool muttering to himself, rummaging through technical documents, trying to find some inspiration on how to prohibit access to someone moving at more than a hundred times his relative speed.

Aaron didn't mention his undercover assignment for Mannequin. The older empowered man worried that Blackpool's reaction would be adversely influenced by his dislike of the empowered jokester.

* * *

Aaron was getting very, very tired of dealing with conflicts among his own people. Just now, he had been summoned to the computer room by a worried tech. He could hear the argument even before he opened the door to walk in.

"We are following the correct path!" yelled CornFed. "The balanced approach best reflects real-world situations!"

"You're sacrificing precision for accuracy!" screamed Bright. "The vague warnings we get provide no useful information until after the fact!"

"Of course the information is useful! We just don't always understand the messages except on reflection!"

"I have to agree with CornFed on this," said Aaron, in a normal tone. The other two jerked around, until then so occupied with yelling at each other they had missed his approach. "Harriet will learn, with our help, to produce warnings which are more easily understood beforehand."

"I quit!" screamed Bright. He turned and stomped off.

"How many times this month does that make?" said CornFed.

"I have a feeling this time he might mean it," said Aaron, sadly. He gave a great, tired sigh, and turned to CornFed. "I was planning to come down here, anyway, to check on something. What are these notices we're getting about government crackdowns on the empowered?

"Oh! Well, those aren't so much crackdowns on empowered as they are announcements of the institution of general regulations to prevent 'outside interference with our sovereign authority' by repressive governments who don't want any outsiders coming in to help with emergencies. Of course, they're aimed primarily at us."

"Because even admitting there's a problem is perceived as a weakness by those in charge," said Aaron, nodding. "All right. Let's call a conference for tomorrow at 9 AM local, complete with Harriet connection. We'll discuss which nations have emplaced new restrictions that might affect our operations, as well as measures to get around them."

* * *

That afternoon, Aaron briefed Blackpool on both the problems with Harriet and the meeting planned for the next day. He also brought materials to show why Harriet was still not completely ready for the big times.

"Look here," said Aaron, organizing the papers he had put on Blackpool's desk, before pointing to a particular line. "Part of the problem is that Harriet is still learning to communicate. She is effectively writing in her own language. Not too unlike young human children. Fortunately, I'm good at languages."

"Will that thing ever actually speak?" said Blackpool, after reading the confusing almost-haiku.

"It can now. However, if you think the printed communications are difficult to parse..."

"Point taken. Okay, interpret for me, here; what is it that Harriet says about the Emergent?"

"That there are signs they are scouting around Washington, DC. Most likely in preparation for making some sort of public display of power."

"I suppose putting the authorities on notice would simply scare the Emergent away. Or do you think that is part of their plan?"

"No idea. We're guessing what they're doing, they're guessing what we're guessing and planning for that, and so on. I say notify your contacts to be on the alert for possible illegal activity - with potential empowered involvement - in the DC area. I'll tell mine. Between us we might just catch them while they're busy working on their next clever twist."

* * *

Blackpool and Aaron both made certain to brief Melody on this, at her apartment, later that evening. She - personally and through her paper - had resources neither of them did. Mostly connections to individuals and even institutions who were not officially important, but often had significant information. As she had demonstrated before, these could be very useful. As could her insights. Melody did promise to check for unusual activity in DC. However, she also had an immediate suggestion.

"Get in there first and reconnoiter," she said, with a curt, firm nod.

"That... actually makes sense," said Aaron, nodding slowly in reply. "Have empowered with enhanced perceptions look around and get an idea of what is considered the current norm for that city. Especially at the tourist attractions, where the Emergent would likely stage any sort of public display. Then, when or if the Emergent begin their preparations, those should be more obvious to us. Even if the resulting changes would escape the notice of most people."

"I agree," said Blackpool - or John, just now. "Get the lay of the land, then watch for the enemy to intrude. Good strategy."

"There is no way you're leaving me out of this!" said Melody, emphatically. "Also, the sooner you get there, the better. They might actually have already started their preparations."

"It's a purely reconnaissance mission," said Blackpool, shrugging. "Three adults in normal clothing, playing tourist in DC... That's a lot less conspicuous than me going in costume or Aaron having his wings out. It's probably even less conspicuous than one man showing another around."

"Then it's settled! We go this evening!"

"It is?" said Aaron, playfully. He laughed. "Yes. It does make sense, and it also lets me show off a bit by sharing some of my knowledge of the city's history with you."

* * *

The evening sky over the District of Columbia was overcast, with a threat of rain for later but dry for now. The clouds made the approaching dusk darker than it otherwise would have been. None of that dampened Aaron's enthusiasm at being in the capitol. He told those with him of the presidents he had seen inaugurated, starting with Harding. Of new buildings added and old ones removed.

The three of them walked along the Mall, towards the Lincoln Memorial, taking their time and enjoying the sights. The trio was certainly far from alone in this, and far from noticeable to those members of the general public who were present. They stopped a short distance in front of the Memorial, and simply stood for a while, admiring the structure and the statue it contained, before Aaron resumed playing tour guide.

At the top of the steps he was in the middle of pointing out some bit of trivia about the memorial when a large man charged in from the Mall at tremendous speed. He skimmed up the steps and rammed Aaron in the back with a massive shoulder, catching the trio completely by surprise. John reflexively pulled Melody out of the way, and both stared as Aaron went flying into the Memorial. His impact actually cracked the engraved stone in the back wall beyond Lincoln's right hand. As he pushed himself onto all fours, trying to shake off the impact, people were already running, screaming. Which was a good thing. The large man moved with inhuman quickness to the other side of that magnificent sculpture and - with an effort - toppled it chair and all onto Aaron.

He stood there for a moment, smiling at his handiwork, before flashing away. He didn't seem to notice John and Melody.

"He headed southeast, across the tidal basin, towards the Jefferson Memorial!" shouted John, pointing. He held out his hand. "I bet his allies are there! Come on!"

"What about Aaron?" cried Melody.

"I can't move those big stones. He'll either have to get out on his own or wait for another super strong empowered or maybe heavy equipment. Come. On!"

Reluctantly, she took his hand. He guided her into a shadow. They came out in the deep evening shade of the trees beside the Jefferson Memorial. Somehow, John was now in full costume.

"When did you learn to do that?" said Melody, astounded.

"Later."

They had arrived after the attacker, and they could already hear a disturbance inside. Someone speaking in a deep, male voice, loudly proclaiming that he had crushed Malak. That made this a pretty good bet for the assembly point of the Emergent. As the pair cautiously circled towards the front of the Jefferson Memorial, Blackpool mentally kicked himself for bringing Melody along. Well, too late now. Time was likely of the essence. Besides, just then he couldn't think of a safe place for her except the repository. Perhaps not even there. A quick check revealed that his radio was receiving only static. Was it just being jammed, or was this part of a larger attack? Better to keep her where he could protect her. If he could protect anyone under these circumstances.

The tourists and Park Service personnel were obviously unsure what to make of the Emergent gathered under the dome. They were assembled in a loose group in front of Jefferson's statue. About half were in outlandish costumes, but even the members in more-or-less normal clothes were striking. Many of those in both groups seemed to be possessed of the same sort of enhanced charisma as Aaron, though to a lesser degree. Their leader was obvious, even if both Blackpool and Melody hadn't already seen photos of him and some of the others. Hanuman was not only overtly in charge, his charisma was even greater than that of the other Emergent present. For now, they were ignoring the mundane humans around them.

"Excellent," Hanuman was saying to the attacker. "We will go and finish him now."

"I almost hate to leave this place," said Chrome, the shiny one. He seemed fascinated with the statue of Jefferson. "The things he accomplished."

"Imagine what he could have done had he been empowered," said Strike!.

"Oh, humans can do anything we empowered can do," said Happy Jack. "It just takes them longer. Sometimes longer than they can live."

"Regardless, we need to go now," said Hanuman, turning towards the front of the Memorial, "before there is an interruption."

Blackpool took a deep breath and stepped into his path. There were several interesting reactions among both the Emergent and the non-empowered humans there. In fact, the latter began leaving quickly, urged by the Park Service personnel.

"Oh, it's you," said Strike!.

"You there. The quick one..."

"His name is Gilgamesh," said Hanuman, sounding irritated.

"Well, whatever he's called, he's under arrest for assault. I suggest the rest of you disperse before you are charged with creating a disturbance."

"You're bluffing," said Hanuman, nodding. "If you were able to contact reinforcements you would be waiting for them. Therefore, you are making a show in the hope you can delay us long enough for someone in your group to notice the communications blackout and come to the rescue. Well, that's not happening."

"What if he's already not alone?" said Chrome, staring at Happy Jack.

"Wh-what?!" said that individual, startled.

"No, dear," said Amiga, a lean, athletic woman in a stylized gymnast's outfit. "Over here."

She started walking towards Blackpool, shifting as she did so. The figure became taller and leaner and less obviously female, though also not male. The skin turned pale, though the smile stayed the same. Even the clothing changed, into something more colorful and less gender-specific.

"I mean, this has been fun and all, but one can ruin a joke by keeping it going too long."

"Mannequin!" said Melody, startled.

From the expressions on the faces of some of the men and women of the Emergent present here, the reporter suspected that "Amiga" had been busy relieving many of the sexual tensions among the group. Mannequin smiled at Melody.

"Hello, dear. I'm afraid I wasn't nearly as useful as Aaron hoped, though I believe I did serve a worthy purpose."

"There it is," said Hanuman, smiling and nodding. "That's the explanation. You were keeping a low profile while deliberately misdirecting attention to another."

"You clever boy," said Mannequin, smiling as well, moving beside Melody. "Now, shall we discuss your surrender terms?"

"This is not an appropriate situation for jokes!" shouted Gilgamesh.

"Mannequin is trying to disarm the tension with humor," said Hanuman, calmly. "Not a bad ploy, but futile in this case. Since you joined the Emergent under false pretenses, I formally remove your protections against actions by our members."

"I feel better already!" said Mannequin, arms spread and chest out, the image of someone enjoying themself.

"Seriously, you had the element of surprise at first," said Melody, to Hanuman, "but that's long gone. What can you possibly hope to..."

"BE QUIET!" said Gilgamesh, snarling.

"I will not be quiet!" shouted Melody, obviously surprising Gilgamesh. "I have a right to speak, and I will speak!"

"You..." said the big man, flushed and angry. "You have no rights except what we allow you!"

"Oh, my," said Mannequin, smiling nastily. "You really know how to sweet talk a lady!"

"You..."

"What a remarkable mass of walking ego you are," said Blackpool, as Gilgamesh turned on Mannequin, determined to continue tag-teaming him for as long as they could get away with it. "Aside from ambushing Aaron and possibly injuring him..."

"Killing him, you mean!"

"Considering what he has survived in the past, I doubt that," said Mannequin, airily.

Blackpool didn't know if Mannequin had twigged to what he was doing and working with him, or was just determined to annoy the Emergent as much as possible. Either way, it was working.

"He's probably watching and listening right now, checking out the scene before making a dramatic entrance," said Melody, based on past experience. She had definitely figured out that they were using a delaying tactic. Whether it was in hope of Malak arriving or some other salvation, she didn't know.

"We really need to..." said Hanuman, trying in vain to redirect attention back to dealing with Malak.

"Again; are you ready to surrender?" said Blackpool.

Unfortunately, this focused Gilgamesh too directly on Blackpool. The Emergent raised his fist and advanced towards the federal agent, who watched him without so much as a flinch. Then the big man suddenly paused, looking pained. A brightly glowing spot appeared in the center of his chest. Gilgamesh looked down at the strange apparition, then back at Blackpool without comprehension.

Someone was singing.

"There ain't no grave gonna hold this body down."

The voice was sad but triumphant, claiming victory despite great troubles.

Malak appeared behind Gilgamesh, as the spear he had thrust into the Emergent member's back dumped its charge into the big man, producing a muffled explosion. Gilgamesh dropped to the ground; alive and moaning but not in any shape to fight. Smoke was literally pouring from his mouth and nose. The winged figure looked around, evaluating the situation and the people. He finished his slow sweep with Hanuman. That worthy gave an aggravated sigh and steeled himself, apparently yielding to the inevitable.

Part Eighteen

Malak looked Hanuman sternly in the eye, letting the tension build before speaking again. Obviously hoping that by increasing the anxiety then offering a way out the members of the Emergent would be more likely to accept it.

"As far as I am concerned, this can end here and now," said Malak. "Gilgamesh, Twilight, Gizma, Ekimmu, DarkForce, The Academic, Storm Warning, Strike! and Ninurta were the primary villains in this. To my knowledge, they were the only ones who harmed or endangered others directly. They made their own choices; all the rest of you did was decline to stop them. You may go. Though I have no say over what law enforcement authorities may do."

"As far as you are concerned?!" screamed Strike!, starting forward, fists clenched. "You killed my friend!"

"No!" said Hanuman, raising his right palm towards Strike! but not taking his eyes off the winged figure. He stepped further away from the statue of Jefferson, moving towards Malak. "I will handle this."

He shrugged, and was suddenly in armor, with sword in scabbard on his belt. He drew the sword, which burst into flame. He pointed the weapon at Malak in a dramatic gesture. A stream of flame seemed to consume his target. The others there shied back from the sudden heat. The few remaining onlookers fled, most of them screaming.

When the flames faded, though, those still in the building saw that huge shield in the way. Malak calmly moved it aside. He was not only unharmed, but was now wearing his golden robes. A parting gift from a friend, one of the empowered geniuses who had left Earth decades ago. As well as a certain sign he was serious.

"If this is how you want it," said Malak.

Hanuman's reply was to leap upwards, obviously intending to attack from above. Only to find Malak intercepting him, using that shield to ram him higher than Hanuman intended. They slipped desolid through the stone roof of the memorial, and hurtled into the stormy skies above.

"Outside!" yelled Blackpool, straightening from where he had placed shackles on Gilgamesh and following his own advice, running towards the entrance.

Empowered and ordinary human alike hurried out of the building and looked up at the rapidly darkening sky. To find themselves watching a clash of titans. Only, these titans were so far above those watching - both literally and in terms of their powers - that what was there to be seen was both sparse and difficult to understand.

Malak and Hanuman were engaged in the air above the nation's capitol. Waxing and waning aurorae and bizarre flashes of light were accompanied by thunderous explosions and trailing screams of tortured air, like some sinister fireworks show. Pierced clouds let the night sky show through. The stars beyond the fighting pair first shimmered with distortion, then smeared and vanished as the effect became even more extreme.

The combatants soared and dove, moving repeatedly from just above the tallest buildings to the edge of space and back again. They whirled around each other, trailing sonic booms and coronae. Several military aircraft and airborne empowered tried to get close to the pair. Some were forced to retreat. Some were forced down, with multiple lives lost. Some were never found. Most were simply left behind.

"They're heading downtown!" shouted Blackpool. "Come on!"

Thanks to him - and the deep shadows resulting from the setting of the Sun - the trio of Melody, Mannequin and Blackpool made it to an area of federal government buildings in time to witness the denouement. They were quickly joined by multiple others. Some of these were federal law enforcement, which included several men and women from the Secret Service. A few of them knew Mannequin, Blackpool, Melody or some combination.

Finally, with a wrench of spacetime which those on the ground actually felt, it was over. There was a long, still moment. Then a grey-winged figure came gliding towards Melody, Blackpool, Mannequin and those with them. There was no sign of Hanuman.

Malak swooped in to land, wings held out rather than beating to cushion his descent. He touched down, ran several steps, stumbled, and went to his knees.

Melody ran to him.

"Are you all right?"

He nodded, but mutely, while biting his lower lip. He was obviously injured, and Melody wondered why he didn't heal himself... then decided he just didn't have the energy to spare. She put an arm around him and helped him stand. Blackpool and Mannequin quickly joined in the effort. Getting Malak upright was not an easy task given the added weight and size of his wings, especially as they were wet from flying through rain clouds, but together they managed.

Others were arriving, now, moving to help the three of them support Malak. Melody noted that there was no sign of the remaining members of Emergent. Presumably, they had faded into the night with the defeat of their leader. At least, Melody hoped he had been defeated...

"What happened to Hanuman?" said one of the Secret Service agents, as the rain finally came. In a sudden downpour, as if making up for its previous indecisiveness.

"He fell," said Malak, his voice sounding oddly normal, as if to spite his exhausted appearance. "I didn't see him hit, but we were over the Potomac."

"And that, my friends," said Mannequin, smirking, "is why you do not want to piss off an angel."

"We've got people scouring the river for him," said another agent, lowering his hand from his ear. "Come on; let's get out of the rain."

"Do you think he survived?" said Melody.

"Probably. Even so, if I may be excused for bragging, he won't be healthy. I gave him several opportunities to surrender or even flee, but he insisted on battling to the finish. I just hope it wasn't a final bow."

"We forced their hand, didn't we?" said Melody, feeling a bit guilty. The scouting mission had been her idea, after all.

"I think we forced Gilgamesh's hand," said Malak. "The others definitely weren't ready for us. For which I am very grateful. If they had been able to wear me down further before I fought Hanuman, things could very well have gone differently."

By the time they reached the portico of the nearest large building Malak was already looking stronger, moving more steadily. As they climbed the short flight of steps he was able to make the last part of the trip on his own. At the top, under the protection of the porch's roof, Malak stopped, turned carefully to avoid sweeping his helpers off their feet with his wings, and looked out over the drenched street. Melody saw his wounds vanish, and realized he had finally healed himself.

"What happened with the other Emergent?"

"Those who aren't in custody have fled," said the senior Secret Service agent present. "We were actually able to arrest several of them. I think mostly due to them being so demoralized."

"Then maybe this is over," said Malak, nodding. "For now, anyway."

"Stabbing someone from behind wasn't very angelic," said Mannequin, smirking.

"I'm not complaining," said Blackpool. "You might have saved my life doing that."

"A sneak attack for a sneak attack," said Malak, flatly. "Besides, that son of a bitch destroyed the Lincoln Memorial."

He sighed and looked into the distance.

"I saw them building that."

"You should see if any of your group can repair it," said Melody, relieved things had gone their way.

"I believe Mannequin and I can do that," said Malak, glancing at the other empowered. "If you agree."

"Oh, count me in!" said the jokester. "I am a great admirer of Adams."

"Lincoln," said Blackpool, firmly.

"Maybe we should get AmberMite," said Melody, laughing.

* * *

Some harshly criticized Aaron, of course. They claimed he had provoked the battle. Since every witness who saw the beginning of the fight testified that he was rammed from behind while playing tour guide, that didn't carry much weight with most people.

With the damage repaired - most of it by empowered with the talents best suited to the work - criticism was greatly reduced. The attack by Gilgamesh had been so quick and one-sided that only a few bystanders had been hurt, by flying debris. None of their injuries proved serious. The fight with Hanuman had been entirely well above the ground. Unfortunately, several deaths and some probables were caused by that, though those were all among people trying to join the fight. Still, those involved were held responsible by some for those losses.

The more objective decided the capital had gotten off lightly, in terms both of property damage and injuries.

Some people were dissatisfied with the fight for other reasons.

"That's all you can tell me," said Gadding, obviously irritated.

"I'm sorry, but most of the fight was up in the clouds," said Melody. She sighed. "Actually, from what the few who saw the fight more closely say I probably wouldn't have understood what was going on even with a good view."

"I suspect you'd need be in an advanced state of enlightenment to understand in any detail what those two did," said Sam, wryly.

"The police and security folk are giving Aaron and some others a hard time because they can't actually describe what happened in anything close to regular English," said Melody, with a shrug. "There are already accusations of a coverup. Of course, after hearing Aaron say things like 'Hanuman executed a causal loop in the mutable plenum. I captured it, mirrored the orientation and sent it back at him' they weren't certain they wanted to hear more."

"Ants watching elk clash their horns together," said Sam. Melody remembered that he was from somewhere in the northeast. Presumably a place which still had forests.

"Well, for now that will have to do," said the Editor. "Keep trying, though."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Hanuman sat on the peak of the mountain above his cave in the Pyrenees, staring into a distance which extended far beyond the physical view. The snow and ice and thin air meant nothing to him, of course. Despite his apparent distraction, he detected the visitor on approach, but did nothing. The winged figure circled lazily, enjoying the mountain view. Finally, though, Malak landed near Hanuman. As unconcerned with the hostile environment as the other, he crunched through the snow unhurriedly in his sandals.

"You should have told me Ninurta was alive," said the latter, finally turning to look at his visitor. "I suspected as much, but was not certain, and had to proceed as if he were dead. We could have avoided several actions which are now rebounding against us."

"Perhaps. We didn't have a method then for concealing him from you."

"The one you have now will not blind us for long."

"Of course not. However, people are already working on other methods." Malak smiled. "Not me. I'm too busy with other projects. So I can't tell you how to get around them. Not even by accident."

They were silent for several minutes, both recalling their fight over Washington. While witnesses saw the physical battle, and some of them the metaphysical, they could not hear what the two empowered men were saying to each other. That exchange was as passionate - and as significant - as their overt combat. Both made salient points, each trying to sway the other to his position. However, it was Malak who won there, too. All those decades of reading and writing about philosophy had paid off. However, while he had won that discussion, he hadn't converted Hanuman completely to his way of looking at the world. Or even significantly altered his viewpoint. This meeting, here, was a follow-up. Neither expected to convince the other they were completely right, but both hoped to at least shift the other a bit.

They spoke for hours, arguing points of fact and bringing up philosophical statements, both from history and invented in the heat of that discussion. In the end they were both left unmoved. However, they both agreed to take no action against the other unless there was action against them first. For now, Malak and his friends, allies and projects were off-limits to the Emergent. As they were to him and his. Malak rose from his seat to leave.

"I still believe that those of superior ability should rule," said Hanuman, firmly.

"Whereas I believe that those of superior ability should lead," said Malak, just as seriously.

He smiled, and offered his hand. After a moment, Hanuman rose, smiled a bit in return, and shook hands.

* * *

For a third time, Aaron LeBell was in the office of Melody Gunderson. This visit turned out to be the shortest so far, and was made with little warning. Aaron - actually, Malak; she could easily hear the difference in his voice - had given her less than fifteen minutes warning that he wanted to tell her something in person. She barely had time to notify security. Fortunately, as she assumed, he entered the building as Aaron.

The greetings were brief, but warm. Melody could tell he was in a hurry.

"So, what's the occasion?"

"I just wanted to assure you that you, personally, and the US and a few other areas are now off-limits to the Emergent," he said. "Much of the world still is at risk from their actions, and this doesn't mean that someone in the group won't act on their own, but that is being strongly discouraged."

"That's good news. I take it you and their leader reached at least a partial agreement?"

"Yes. Hopefully, that will be expanded, but for now this is all I could manage."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, before the empowered man sighed.

"I can't stay," said Aaron, with a tired smile. "There's been an earthquake and tsunami in Indonesia."

"I know," said Melody, with a nod and smile of her own. "Good luck."

"Thank you."

Perhaps it was a measure of how rushed he felt. Perhaps it was simply an indication that he had that much confidence in her reaction. Instead of going through the charade of walking away before turning invisible and transforming, he simply vanished. His security VISITOR tag dropped onto Melody's desk.

Melody wished him well. For all their sakes.