There's something under the ice!

There's something under the ice! Some...THING!

How many heroes is it going to take to deal with this latest crisis? Tricorne, The Intrepids and The Assembly?
Is Energia going to get munched by whatever is behind her on the cover?

And did someone mention a wedding?

Masks XXIII: The Obscenity in the Ice

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part One

Summer, 2016

Laurie felt great. In fact, she had risen from bed that morning feeling twenty years younger. She thought she even looked better in the mirror. Maybe this was all due to the excellent weather, but she had a suspicion. A hope.

Her brother kept accusing her of being wild and undisciplined. He didn't understand that she had plenty of discipline; her priorities were just different from his. In this case, those priorities meant taking care of the animals on the estate, then getting her own breakfast before doing a few other things which should not be put off. After finishing her morning chores, she left her home in the old carriage house and hurried with renewed vigor towards the trail to the marsh. Laurie reflected with dry humor on how many people - including the new owners - incorrectly called this part of the property "The Swamp." Oh, there were trees all around the multi-acre area where she was headed, and it did segue into a true swamp to the southeast. However, the specific part where she now headed was actually a marsh. As well as being much, much more.

Even as she crossed the vague boundary between solid, dry land to increasingly wet and inconstant terrain, she felt the difference. Which grew as she approached that vague border. Someone following her would have been puzzled, as they pushed through some overhanging willow branches and saw nothing ahead but standing water with damp ground in a few raised areas, but no Laurie. For she was no longer on the Earth proper.

With her brother Hiram long gone and Laurie cut out of most of the family fortune by his manipulations, the old mansion and its property had been threatened by several forms of development over the past few decades. Those had all failed, for multiple reasons. The entire estate was eventually bought by a wealthy older couple who loved nature and had turned the wild area - forest, marsh and swamp - into a private preserve. They continued their work, now living far beyond their expected lifespans. They suspected this was partly due to the property, itself. The previous owners had reputations for long, healthy lives and unusual vigor. Hiring Laurie as caretaker and remodeling the old carriage house as a home for her had certainly not hurt their lifespans.

As for why no developers had carried through on buying the land, perhaps it was considered too expensive to drain. Perhaps there would have been too much fuss from conservationists. Perhaps there was too much history for even the financially ambitious to ignore. Or perhaps...

For centuries, those who had dared the wet areas of the region had spoken in awe of the strange creatures there, claiming that many of them were supernatural. That some could even speak and understand speech. Then there were the tales from those who ventured even further. Of seeing a pair of barefoot elven maids, dressed in silken gowns which somehow remained pristine despite the muck and mire, who would laugh and dance lithely and lightly away, leaving their clumsy, merely human pursuers sinking in the wet, heavy soil. As if it were some living thing, protecting them...

Of course, there were also tales of those humans who didn't return...

All those, however, came from events which had happened decades or even centuries before. Well before the time of Laurie and her brother, who had often promoted the tales to keep their playground private. Then had come the rupturing, thanks to her brother's greed... The years after had been bleak for Laurie, but she had learned to make do.

Now, though, things felt the way they had back then. Laurie wondered if this revival had anything to do with the vague news accounts of demon invasions. Or perhaps her brother had done something right, for once.

Laurie took her shoes and socks off and left them on a surprisingly familiar bit of raised ground covered in a glorious mix of wild plants, many of them flowering. Standing there, she took a moment to look around, and smiled.

An enormous, solid black cat - so black even her whiskers seemed to be made of glittering ebony - lay comfortably on a branch of one of the last, stunted trees before the true marsh.

"Midnight Mamma!" said Laurie, delighted.

The big feline cat-blinked affectionately at Laurie, and her purr was audible even from where the girl - no longer an old woman, but a girl - stood.

Some of the ancient cat's descendants still lived on the property, mostly around the carriage house. Through many generations, their eerie, near-total blackness had made them popular with local cat aficionados, but Laurie never sold them. If one of the cats took a liking to someone, the human was welcome to take the feline home. Such a lack of concern for monetary matters being part of the reason for her brother's scorn for her.

Laurie turned and looked in another direction.

"Peter Paul Mound!" she exclaimed.

The lump of wet earth stirred, opening eyes and looking at Laurie. If its welcome was more grudging than that of Midnight Mamma, it was just as miraculous. As with the cat, the strange, earthen creature was far older than the names Laurie had given them when she was a child, but they answered to them.

There was one final check. Laurie raised her hands and felt her ears. They were topped by points, as she had hoped would be the case but until then had feared would not be.

Laurie laughed and laughed...

She laughed for the pure joy of knowing that the magic was back. Then she scowled. Because this also meant her brother was back. Well, Heaven - or less welcoming places - help him if he tried any of his nonsense here. Not now. Not with the magic returned to her.

* * *

May, 2019

The wedding of Vic and Melissa took place in a local park, not far from the college and their shared apartment, in the early afternoon of a beautiful day. Their actual marriage had been performed through a civil ceremony at the Justice of the Peace that morning; this event was mainly to let their friends help them celebrate the union. As part of that, all attendees were told that costumes were welcome. Many who were not supers dressed in various non-traditional ways because of this. A surprising number - of multiple genders and orientations - were in drag. Some of the passersby were obviously confused. Both subjects of the ceremony were in gowns, with Vic wearing the long fall Michelle had given her.

The event offended many, though the reasons they took offense were varied. The offense came partly from the fact that both of those getting married were women. Part of it came from the fact that Vic, the person performing the ceremony, one of the bridesmaids and several in the audience were supers. Part of it came from the fact that those offended couldn't find enough others also offended - at least, over the same thing - to get a good protest going. Later, a few of them complained to the Press that they hadn't been given enough notice by those responsible for the heresy to mount a proper reaction. As well as that some misinformed people were there protesting the wrong things.

The vows were co-written by Michelle and Vic, with some help from the friends of both. They were poetic, short, to the point and beautiful. Doro performed the ceremony, with Brade's blessing. "You may kiss the bride." was about the only traditional part of the usual ceremony they kept in. Both Melissa and Vic obeyed.

Energia - except for her mask and gloves dressed like the other bridesmaids, of whom there were twice the usual number, due to both partners being brides, with no groomsmen - very deliberately did not catch either bouquet. Vic's sister Joline did, to her obvious own surprise. There was no garter worn by either partner.

"I am so glad the Press wasn't here," said Energia, to the happy couple, at the wedding reception. She glanced at the few who were shouting and waving signs, who were being kept well away by park security. "I just wish those idiots weren't here, either."

"Well, same-sex marriage isn't nearly the news these days it used to be," said Template, one-arm hugging Colossa. She glanced in the same direction. "Just be glad there are so few protestors. Probably for the same reason."

The aunt and niece supers - in very different types of costumes - began wandering around. They congratulated Vic's and Michelle's family members, while enjoying a very good if non-alcoholic sparkling white grape juice. The cake had been cut and the gifts had been opened and there were plans afoot to spirit the newlywed couple away for their honeymoon. Neither Template nor Energia were part of those plans, and not the least bit bothered by that.

"Still, I think we all got off lucky, especially with such a public event," said Energia, nodding. She stopped and clinked glasses with her aunt. "Anyway, here's to a happy marriage!"

"I'll drink to that!" said Template, laughing.

Rapscallion came sidling up to the pair.

"I thought sure Constantine would be here," he said, peering around. "Don't see him, though. He's not very good at disguise, either. One typical mastermind ability he doesn't have."

"I think that older woman over there in the very nice dress is the head of his Boston embassy," said Template. "I'm not sure, but..."

She trailed off on the realization that the Intrepids' team joker was already gone.

"Oh, I hope he doesn't cause an international incident," said Energia, laughing.

"At least Constantine does have a sense of humor."

* * *

May, 2019

In contrast, the Master's Degree graduations of Vic and Energia a few weeks later were almost an anticlimax. They had both been through the full ceremony for their Bachelor's Degree graduations, so that was entirely understandable.

Nevertheless, they participated in the full ceremony, with friends and family in the audience, and there was a group celebration later. One person not there was Doctor Gadgetive. Due to an unfortunate coincidence, she was getting her sheepskin this same day.

Oh, well; Tricorne was getting together as a full-time, official hero team in a couple of weeks, with Vic already scheduled as a special guest. There would be a mutual party for all the graduates then.

* * *

Summer, 2019

Now that she was working for the Bureau of Special Resources full time as an official federal agent, Vic made a special effort to know and be known by local police. Especially those whom she would actually be aiding or asking for help, whether on the street or in the local precincts.

"I hear you're working for the FBI, now that you've graduated," said Sergeant Berkowitz, when Vic made a stop at the front desk at the main police station on her way out.

The martial artist super fed was wearing her armor, having just helped the local SWAT team capture a wanted criminal. Thanks to her, he had been taken alive, despite stating flatly and repeatedly before and during the event that he wanted to die in a police shootout. He had been wounded, though, and taken to a local hospital. None of those who stopped him had been seriously injured. Vic had subsequently come to the main police station to give her report. On the way out she stopped - helmet in hand - to speak with the desk sergeant.

"No, I'm still with the Bureau of Special Resources," said Vic, idling watching the comings and goings in this late afternoon period. Things weren't very busy right now, which was why she had decided to do more than just wave on the way out. "Working full-time for them, now. I'm the only super agent they have in this town, though there are some non-super field and office agents. They were the ones who relayed the city's request for super help with that SWAT team action. Their office is, naturally, in the local federal building, where the FBI is based, but that's true for several other federal agencies, as well."

"Huh. Looks like my source misunderstood."

"Whoever it was wouldn't be the only one. People see me there - especially when I'm in my armor - and 'FBI' pops into their heads, for some reason. Anyway, I wanted to check on that DUI arrest my friend Energia is connected with."

"Yeah, you're both pretty behind on that, but given what's happened with the case that's not surprising," said the Sergeant. He sighed and shook his head. "Speaking of nutcases, after doing everything he could to delay the preliminary hearing, the guy is now trying to have the charges dismissed because Energia is a 'lying Jew.'"

"Wait, what?!" said Vic, startled and outraged. "Her teammate, Gadgetive, is a non-practicing Jew, but I'm pretty sure Energia isn't. Even if she was, how would that discredit her?! Even if it did, most of the evidence against the guy comes from other sources! He blew over point-one blood alcohol, and that was after delaying for more than an hour."

She remembered that Sergeant Berkowitz was Jewish, and wondered if he were just venting to a friendly ear.

"Hey, bigotry isn't rational," said the desk sergeant, philosophically. "Why should bigots be?"

"Incredible," said Vic, slowly shaking her head. "What's the judge in the case say?"

"Well, after the guy's attorney quit in disgust, Judge Walker gave him a week to get another one. When he said he'd represent himself the judge said either get a lawyer or change his plea to guilty. The guy then demanded the judge recuse himself, due to being 'a Jew lover.' Witnesses say the guy was probably drunk in court."

"Oh, my God..." said Vic, stunned. She shook her head again. "I hope they throw the book at the guy for pulling that crap."

"That's the way it's looking. The judge said that if the guy didn't get a properly certified attorney - and he can definitely afford one - the city would just change his plea to guilty and go directly to sentencing. Oh, and that would probably require him to go to rehab."

"Ow. I sense several appeals in the future. Though hopefully the guy gets sober."

"Amen."

* * *

Thanks to her work with police, Vic got home a bit late that evening.

"Hello, Mrs. Peltior!" Vic called out cheerfully, as she entered their tiny apartment.

They had discussed multiple, important subjects before their marriage a few months earlier. One of those was what their married names should be. Vic was surprised when she learned that Michelle wanted to change her last name to be the same as Vic's. She said that "Peltior" was so much more elegant than "Smith."

"What's another word for thesaurus?" said Michelle, as Vic locked the door behind her.

"What?" said Vic, confused, looking over to where her roommate was sitting on the couch, working a crossword puzzle.

Michelle sighed, and put the paper down firmly on the end table, pen on top. Vic noted that she was already dressed for going out.

"I thought we were going to Wok on the Wild side," said the beautician, pointedly, as Vic quickly stripped off her armor.

"Sorry," said Vic, undressing on her way to the too small bathroom. She gave Michelle a tired grin. "You knew my hours would occasionally be unpredictable on my job. Welcome to the world of the working superhero."

"We're going to be late. You know they get busy..."

"There's time."

"You need to get cleaned up and dressed."

"I'll hurry."

"Don't skip the makeup this time!"

"I don't need makeup," said Vic, as she deftly peeled out of the unitard she wore under the armor, leaving her in just athletic socks, a sports bra and panties.

"I want my wife to look pretty," said Michelle, pouting.

"I am pretty!"

"With a little help from makeup and the right clothes!" Michelle called after her. "You act so boyish you need all the help you can get!"

"Hey!" said Vic, ducking back into the living room and playfully pointing to her now bare midriff. "Don't argue with the girl abs!"

"Thanks to me helping you with your workouts, I'm getting some of those, myself," said Michelle, smirking. "Oh, and for trying to change the subject, I'll do your makeup and pick your outfit."

"That's fine!" Vic called, as she entered the bathroom. "You're faster than me with that stuff, anyway!"

As she closed the door, Michelle could hear Vic singing "Hey, babe! Take a wok on the wild side!"

* * *

"I'm still not used to wearing dresses," muttered Vic, blushing, after the waitress took their order.

"That's a skirt, with a nice blouse and sheer stockings," said Michelle. She smiled. "That last to show off your kicker's legs. So, how was your day?"

Vic responded chronologically, talking about her training with Trujillo at the college - those lessons still paid for by the Bureau, under the heading of Continuing Training - then the call for help from the city as she was returning to her car. She finished with the news about the drunk driver Energia had stopped. Michelle was suitably outraged.

"So, how was your day?" said Vic, smiling.

"Oh, mostly routine," said Michelle, too casually. "I guess the highlight was that I finally found us another nice apartment. This time I made sure I was dealing with the actual landlord. We can go look at it tomorrow."

"Fantastic!" said Vic, with a laugh. "I'll be so glad to get out of that cramped place we have now!"

Part Two

That same evening, in their main meeting room, the Assembly was having a special discussion about a more serious matter: The death - murder, actually - of John Gaughn.

"You don't think Constantine did this, do you?" said Champion, leaning back in her chair and looking thoughtfully at the glow panels in the high ceiling, though addressing the team brain.

"Certainly not personally," said Dr. Gorgeous. "Probably not at all. If he had handled the matter himself he would have used his powers, rather than a gun. For example, by dropping Gaughn from a great height, so he'd have time to reflect on his choices. Alternatively, Constantine might have hired someone to get rid of Gaughn, but that seems too petty for him. Also, there have of late been a few other shootings which match the characteristics of this one."

"So far, there don't seem to have been any actions against the others involved in the theft," said Thunderer, focusing on the immediate topic.

"There probably won't be," said Gorgeous, absently playing with her pen. "Generally, it's considered adequate for the leader of a failed operation to be disciplined, as an example to the troops. We should watch for that, anyway, of course."

"So," said Maciste, "who else might have it in for the people behind the treasure theft?"

"Most likely, it's the people behind those people," said Dr. Gorgeous. She put her pen down and shrugged. "They failed in their task, after all. Sources say that Mr. Gone was on the outs with US organized crime and short on personal resources, after that debacle eight years ago. He probably made a deal with someone like the Russian mob or one of the Mexican drug cartels who are wanting to branch out. Perhaps to get a foothold in Grand Larceny and other non-drug crime in the US."

"Well, that sort of investigation sounds like it's far more suited to conventional law enforcement than super teams," said Champion, actually a bit disappointed.

"Definitely," said Dr. Gorgeous, nodding. "Though we should just as definitely keep our contacts on the alert for more information. However, the fact that someone used a mundane weapon to kill a non-physical super probably indicates that the hit was by a mundane killer. Someone without powers, but who is either very skilled or just got lucky."

"Considering that masterminds like Mr. Gone tend to be complacent about mundane dangers," said Thunderer, "they might not even have needed to be all that lucky."

"A good point. Still, there could be super involvement, if only from Mr. Gone's friends and allies in the super community." Dr. Gorgeous frowned a bit. "Yes, so, use our contacts among them, as well."

"Let's just hope there's not a war between criminal organizations," said Thunderer, with a grimace.

"Is there any other business?" said Champion, sitting up and looking around. "Okay, good. Let's hope for a quiet week."

"I'm glad we finished early," said Maciste, grinning as the team members stirred themselves. "I want to try that new hot tub. The one with zone control, so tough folks like me can actually feel the heat."

"I think I'll join you," said Champion, rising She looked around. "Anyone else?"

In the end, only Sharma and Dr. Gorgeous didn't indulge.

* * *

The Assembly was far from the only group concerned with that murder, in large part due to several others with similar modi operandi. Teams and individual heroes were working on the problem, seeing it as something to worry long-term, like a particularly tough bone. Indeed, even weeks after the event some were still following leads. A few of which took longer to track down than others. As a certain east-coast city settled in for the night, one local was suddenly alert to the approach of a non-local.

The motorcycle was well muffled, but he still heard it coming. He thought about fading away, into the night. However, he knew the vehicle, and the rider; this was someone who would not give up easily. He stayed where he was, just inside the mouth of an alley, waiting to see what she would do. She might not even be coming for him.

She was. The custom modified - actually, this version had been built from scratch by Gadgetive and several gadgeteers and vehicular engineers she knew - motorcycle stopped in the empty parking space nearest the alley. Blue Impact casually put the kickstand down and got off; she even fed the meter. The Black Badge realized she knew he was there and was deliberately presenting a calm presence. Still, he didn't move.

Finally, she walked towards the mouth of the alley. She stopped there, staring at him.

"Where are your friends?" said the Black Badge.

"They dropped me off."

Which meant they were nearby, in that silent flying machine of theirs.

"So, what do you want?"

"Did you have anything to do with the death of Mr. Gone?"

"No."

"Inspector Charles Devine?"

"No."

She asked three more names of people who had recently been murdered, all in very similar ways. He denied any involvement in all of them.

"Those deaths all have the same MO: a single shot to the head from a .357 Magnum, from the front. Some people overheard the killer saying 'You're arrested.' Some people saw a masked man in a generic police uniform on the scene or actually performing the act."

"I changed my costume not long after the last time we spoke. Mainly due to the old one being damaged. This one is similar, but there are differences. I'm also far from the only cop or former cop with grudges against people who abuse the system. This could even be a perp trying to frame a cop."

"The few descriptions of the fake policeman aren't detailed enough for the differences in costume to matter."

"I don't use a gun," said the Black Badge, firmly. "I don't need to."

Blue Impact stared at him for a moment, then relaxed.

"All right."

She turned and walked away.

The Black Badge watched her leave with a sense of relief. Blue Impact on her own might have been more than he could have handled, or even escaped. With her teammates somewhere nearby... He was very glad she had believed him. He hoped she had believed him.

* * *

"I love this place," said Vic, as she paused after collapsing another unloaded box to look around their new home. "I can't believe we got it so quickly. There's a lot of people hunting for apartments in this city. Though I do wish it had been a bit cheaper."

This apartment was not only roomier than their previous two, it was more cheerful and looked almost new. It even still smelled of fresh paint. Apparently, the landlord had made a substantial effort to clean and refurbish it before putting it on the market. The only drawback Vic could see - besides the price - was that it was unfurnished. Their stuff was suitable for just a bit over half the larger space. Well, given time and money, that would be corrected.

"We had a smaller deposit on the last place because that was a scam," said Michelle, pointedly, from where she was organizing the stuff Vic took from the boxes. She smiled. "Oh, and to find this place I was calling multiple times a day for over a month. So, yeah, a bit of luck, but also a lot of work."

Vic leaned over from where she was kneeling and kissed the sitting Michelle.

"Sorry I wasn't more help with that. Things have just been a bit crazy, with school and the Moldarian jewel theft, us getting married, the rush before graduation, and then me starting work for the Bureau full time..."

"Oh, I'm not blaming you for having a career," said Michelle, after a moment of kissing back. "I know..."

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"I swear, I'm going to paint that doorbell button fluorescent fuchsia," said Vic, joking, as she rose smoothly from the freshly cleaned carpet to her feet without using her hands. "Maybe that's the Welcome Wagon."

"I don't think that's even a thing, any more," said Michelle, grinning. "Though I guess is could be some of the residents satisfying their curiosity through the pretense of welcoming us to their community."

The person knocking was a very scruffy - even dirty - man. Who was also very angry.

"Hey, bitch, where's Joey?" he said, shifting nervously. He definitely gave the impression of someone who was very on edge.

"I don't know a Joey," said Vic, instantly on full alert but being courteous and appearing relaxed. "If you mean the person who used to live here, the landlord said he left town."

"You gonna tell me where he is, bitch!" the man yelled, shoving Vic in the chest. "He owes me!"

Vic slid one foot behind her and didn't move. The man seemed vaguely surprised.

"Remove your hand."

"Yeah?" he said, grabbing a handful of Vic's t-shirt. "You gonna make..."

By that time he was turned around and heading face-first for the hallway floor, already in a secure arm lock. Vic was merciful and eased him down the last bit, so he didn't lose any teeth or break any bones or even cartilage on touchdown. Once certain he was not going anywhere, Vic looked up at the three other scruffy - and rather startled - men in the hall.

"You with this loser?"

Their answer was to leave. Quickly.

"Michelle, call 911."

"Bitch! You call the cops on me I'll mess you up so bad no man will ever want you!"

"Now how are you going to do that when you can't even get loose?" said Vic, reasonably.

He tried. He tried so hard he dislocated one shoulder and gave himself several contusions. He didn't seem to feel the pain.

"Yeah, he's high," said one of the EMTs who responded.

"No surprise," said one of the uniformed police officers who had preceded the ambulance. He turned to Vic. "This apartment used to belong to a drug dealer."

"Great," said Vic, with a heavy sigh. "So, I assume that's who Joey was."

"Hey, nobody said anything about that when we looked at this apartment!" said Michelle, defensively.

"Something you should definitely take up with the landlord," said the cop, sympathetically. "Who, by the way, is already under investigation for taking payoffs from Joey and a few other less than law-abiding renters. Oh, and since addicts aren't known for keeping up with current events you can expect more visits like this."

"Great," said Michelle, sourly.

* * *

Template met the guest at the main dock for the island the next morning. She looked around with appreciation as the boat pulled towards her; the day was sunny and warm with just enough wind to be interesting. She might have believed the island was showing off if such weather weren't common, here. No wonder Pine had picked this location to make his home. She stayed back while the professionals secured the boat and pushed the gangway across, then stepped forward to greet the visitor as he reached the dock. Mr. Samuel Insmouth was a well but not expensively dressed man, perhaps in his early forties.

"I'm very glad to meet you," he said, smiling as they shook hands, skin to glove. "I know what I'm proposing has little or nothing to do with your school, and we don't really need your permission. The group I work for could just buy up property and move in. However, we want to be on good terms with our neighbors. I also want to make use of your knowledge of the island for picking our site."

"I know some of the people who moved into Elysian Fields," said Template, nodding as they began walking to the parking area on the shore end of the dock. There waited the golf-cart-like vehicle she had borrowed for the tour. It was electric, powered by advanced batteries invented by some previous students at the school. It was also capable of a much higher speed than the typical golf cart, and had a few other interesting features. "I never thought of having a super retirement center here, but it does make sense."

"We're a lot more than that," said Insmouth, nodding, as they climbed into the little vehicle. He noted the way Template made sure to tuck her cape behind her, so it wouldn't flap in the breeze while she drove. "As I mentioned in my call, one of the reasons we want to build here is that super hospital you folks recently opened. I especially appreciate you arranging a meeting with the chief of staff there."

"Many people - including some of Pine's employees - have retired here on their own," said Template, as they set off. She grinned at him. "It's an island paradise, after all, even if it was artificially created. However, I don't think anyone has even thought about putting an official retirement facility here before. Especially one for supers."

"It's not just for retirees," said the man, with the conviction of someone who had seen the concept work. "It's for any supers who can no longer take care of themselves. For whatever reason."

"Hence your interest in the hospital," said Template, now nodding, herself. "That does fit pretty well."

She showed the man briefly around the school, then took him to the hospital. They spent more than a hour there, mostly in a meeting with the head of the facility. Dr. Nief seemed to find the subject of super gerontology fascinating.

After a quick lunch at the hospital's cafeteria, Template showed their guest several areas on the island which were for sale and might be suitable for a "retirement and etc." center for supers. She deliberately saved the best for last.

"This," said Insmouth, as he climbed slowly out of the cart and looked around the hilltop where they had parked.

The little vehicle had barely made the top of this elevation where they now were. The "road" up the slope was little more than a rough track, and the cart's ability to handle such travel was limited. Twice, Template almost got out and carried it. Still, here they were, and Insmouth was obviously taken with the view. Despite the volcano smoldering dourly in the distance.

"It's a bit... isolated," said Template, who was - unusually for her - considering ground access rather than air.

"Perfect. The facility will be self-contained for power and water, so the isolation isn't a problem. I assume they'll buy enough land so that we can build an access drive to the nearest existing road. Or perhaps just acquire an easement. Yes."

He looked around, smiling.

"Yes. Looks like it's mostly rock up here, so we can build without disrupting much plant growth. We'll keep as much of the trees and such as we can, and landscape everything we buy which is not actually used for a building. We'll make sure it looks better than it does now, if admittedly more managed. There's plenty of room for what we have planned, too. It's ideal, or very close."

"There's no other development in this area," said Template. "No plans for anything, either, at least that I know of. You're well away from everything, in fact."

"Well, this island isn't all that big," said Insmouth, smiling and completely undeterred by this information. "Nowhere on it is far from any other part. However, this looks isolated, while still having pretty quick access to the rest of the facilities, including the docks. At least, once we get the access road built. Yes."

He looked towards the west.

"I bet the sunsets are fantastic from here, too."

* * *

The ship was waiting just west of Greenland, but far enough from it that all those aboard could see was ocean. A few minutes after reaching this station, their radar picked up something coming down from orbit. Soon, those outside could see the cargo pod descending on its parachutes.

"Looks like they're right on target," said one of the deck hands, as the pod grew closer.

"I just hope we're not the target," said another, which brought a bit of a laugh.

"They're not that accurate," said the retrieval boss.

The ship wasn't the target, just waiting near the intended landing area. Soon they could see the pod drop into the ocean a safe distance to the north of their ship.

The retrieval ship revved its idling engines and turned towards the radio beacon and radar corner on the cargo pod. Soon they could also see the blinking light beacon on the top of the blunt cone of the entry pod, clearly visible in the growing dark. The ship pulled past the bobbing pod, and with direction from those on the now-open fantail backed carefully towards it. All those working directly on the retrieval were wearing survival suits. Despite the season the water was still dangerously cold.

"Okay, go to station holding mode," said the guy in charge of the retrieval, over his headset. He turned to those working on the pickup. "Get that hook on the parachute lines!"

The lines were hooked, and the pod then winched aboard.

"Any idea what the cargo is this time?" said one of the hands, as they secured the cargo pod to the inner deck. The door started closing. Nobody watched that; it was routine and they were preoccupied with the pod.

"Probably more foamed titanium."

Moments later a scream came over the intercom.

Part Three

"I'm starting to hate that doorbell," said Vic, as she walked quickly to their new apartment's door in response to said bell.

This time the caller was a clean but scrawny man perhaps in his mid-thirties.

"Hey. You changed your WiFi password," he said, with no preamble.

"No, it's the same one we've always used with this router."

"Then why can't I get on?"

"Well, you shouldn't be able to. Our WiFi has always been private, even before we moved in here last week."

Vic was deliberately giving hints she hoped the man would pick up. Vainly, as it turned out.

"Well, change it back!" he snapped, in a very snarky tone.

"As I just said, we haven't changed the password," said Vic, with exaggerated patience. "We only recently moved in. If you used to get Internet access through an unprotected WiFi in this apartment, it wasn't ours."

"Yes, it is! Joey said it was all right!"

"Joey doesn't live here anymore," said Vic, tiredly.

"I don't give a flying fuck about Joey!" the man yelled. "I want Internet!"

"Our WiFi router is ours. It's not for public use."

"Just change the fucking password back!"

"Considering that the guy who used to live here was a drug dealer and involved with multiple other criminal activities, he was probably monitoring your access. Looking for blackmail material."

The man paled. Then turned red.

"Are you threatening me?!"

"No. I'm just explaining that you should be very careful about using 'free' Wi-Fi. Which ours isn't. Good night."

She closed the door. Firmly.

"Dear God in heaven," said Michelle, who had witnessed the entire exchange from their couch, "why are they so stupid? Also, don't they ever listen, especially after asking someone a question?!"

"I don't know. After this, though, I'm going to be checking into updating the security on our Wi-Fi."

* * *

"Well, that's interesting," said Vic, later that evening, smiling as she looked through the TV listings.

"What is, dear?" said Michelle, from where she sat beside her spouse on their couch, watching the local news.

"One of my friends from Ramsey is the special guest on tonight's Friends of the Wild TV show."

"I've never watched that show, and I don't think you have," said Michelle. She reached for the remote, which as usual was on the coffee table between the couch and the TV. "I'm assuming you want to see what your friend is up to, though."

"Sure. Not much else on. Besides, you're right; I'm interested in how she's doing."

Soon, the program's host was seen and heard promising a special treat for viewers; their guest for the episode was raptor rehabilitator Angela Florello!

The camera zoomed out. Well out. Because blond Angela was standing beside the host with her golden wings fully spread, smiling. Vic realized she was showing off for he camera. She had told the martial artist more than once that holding her wings like that was a bit of a strain and rapidly became very tiring. Sure enough, she quickly folded them, and stepped closer to the host.

"Wow, she's gorgeous," said Michelle, obviously smitten. "I'd love to groom her wings."

"It's 'preen' for birds," said Vic, grinning. She was very familiar with the effect Angela had on people. "Also, she's straight. Very straight."

The program indeed covered raptor rehabilitation; this particular group of bird helpers was actually headed by Angela's father. Who had no problem with his daughter being the public face of their work. However, the announcer also managed to ask Angela a considerable amount about her personal life. This included how her powers had been triggered. She described - briefly - her time at Ramsey Technical College and some of the other supers she had known. She didn't mention any names, but Vic recognized nearly all those Angela referenced. Including the "boyish girl who was a karate expert."

"That's to be expected, I guess," said Vic, stretching a bit as the credits rolled. "They still did a good job of explaining what the group does and what help they need from the public."

"I'd definitely like to donate," said Michelle, smirking. "However, we're both tapped out right now. With the apartment and all."

"I think Angela would understand," said Vic, smiling as she remembered the young woman from their time together at Ramsey, obviously fondly.

"Well, what else is on?" said Michelle.

"Inept is on cable in a bit," said Vic, sounding hopeful.

"It that the R-rated TV show you like about the female super whose costume keeps getting torn?" said Michelle, suspiciously.

"Well, that's one way to describe it," said Vic, innocently. "The character is played by a real super, too. A low-level physical, whose abilities they augment with special effects."

"I guess we can watch that."

Unfortunately, just as the couple was settling in for the next show, there came a pounding on the door.

"Open up! Police!"

While Melody quickly turned the TV off, Vic vaulted over the back of the couch and hurried to the door. She made sure to grab her badge holder on the way, and put it in her shirt pocket so the badge showed. Thanks to her sense of perception, as she neared the door she realized there actually were several police on the other side. She thought she even recognized the one knocking.

"Yes?" said Vic, opening the door.

"It is you!" said the lead cop. He looked first startled, then embarrassed. "Damn."

He sighed and shook his head.

"Can we come in and look around? There was a 911 call that someone here was calling for help."

"We're both still decent. Come on in."

The half-dozen cops - most of them in full SWAT gear - entered. Vic quickly explained what was going on to Michelle, and they watched as the officers swiftly and efficiently searched the apartment.

"Okay, that's done," said the officer in charge. He looked at Vic and Michelle and sighed again. "Like I said, there was a 911 call. We have to check those out."

"Can you give us any more details on the call?" said Vic.

"The caller said there was a brothel being run in this apartment. That they heard a loud argument, where one customer was refusing to pay and the employees were refusing to let him go until he did. That he was yelling for help and claiming he was a prisoner."

Well, that eliminated someone overhearing the rehabilitation center asking for financial help on the TV.

"That didn't happen here," said Vic, firmly. "Neither have we heard anything like that."

"Looks like somebody swatted you, then," said the officer, uncomfortably. "I'm just glad some of us had heard you moved in here."

"I've been told a drug dealer used to live here," said Vic.

"Too true. Well, again, I'm sorry. There's nothing here requiring our attention, so we're gone."

"Good night."

"Mr. WiFi?" said Michelle, after Vic closed the door and securely locked it.

"I'd bet good money on that."

* * *

The Greenland Coast Guard sent a helicopter at first light the next day, after the retrieval ship missed several scheduled reports and then did not respond to radio calls. Those in the helicopter saw no signs of life, and there was no place for the helicopter to land. However, a Coast Guard ship was already on the way. The helicopter orbited the recovery vessel for a while, at a safe distance; then returned as the new ship approached. Contact was quickly lost with that craft, as well.

In response to the second loss of communications a large, amphibious, Danish military helicopter was sent out. Those aboard saw that the Coast Guard ship and the retrieval ship were tied together, drifting with the current, neither showing any signs of life. Neither were there replies to radio calls or loudspeaker hails.

Suspecting toxic gas from the cargo pod, the soldiers put on gas masks and the helicopter descended. The copilot and two of the soldiers felt something. They also noticed that the others aboard were acting strangely.

Pretty much everyone on Earth was wary of mental domination since the Five Great Powers had used their device. The two soldiers and the copilot reacted quickly and appropriately to the situation. While the former kept the other troops from trying to interfere, the copilot took control of the aircraft. He turned the large helicopter away from the two ships and dove to gain speed. Within minutes, they were over the horizon and those who had been affected were recovering.

Now the supers were called in.

* * *

Bowman - the current chair of the Intrepids - opened the special briefing that afternoon with an announcement of an emergency in progress. At his gesture, the Black Mask addressed the base's AI.

"Bunter, would you please show the area of interest?"

"Of course, sir."

Bunter took control of the main display in their conference room. A map of the Davis Straight between Greenland and Baffin Island appeared. In the center of the image was a blinking green light.

"We have a formal request from the Danish Center for Super Activities," said the Black Mask. "It appears that a menace one of our founding members helped end has returned."

"Founding members?" said Solange, startled. "What's going on?"

The Black Mask related - with the help of additional images on the main display, also provided by Bunter - the problem involving the ships off Greenland.

"Those on the second helicopter said it definitely felt like a living mind was attacking them. At first they suspected this was something which had ridden down from the space station on the cargo pod," said the Black Mask. "However, checks there showed no problem. Also, the pod's course - even while descending under parachute - was appropriate for the expected load. Then someone remembered being told about something dangerous in the western Greenland ice, decades ago. A quick check showed that the ice in that coastal area had recently - within the previous few days - broken up and fallen into the ocean."

"Right now, the ships are drifting," said Bowman, resuming control of the meeting. "The currents there go south and west, then south and east. At first the Danes asked openly for super help directly, especially from US teams. The US government soon intervened, though, saying that all this had to go through them. However, it's being handled by the State Department, not the Bureau of Special Resources. That particular agency taking charge was apparently due to inquiries into what had been in the ice triggering security alerts in several US government agencies. The US Army finally confirmed there was a connection to a military project of theirs in Greenland in the early Sixties, and that they would send people to brief all super teams in the eastern part of North America. Especially the US teams."

"Hold on," said Solange, raising a hand. "By hopper, it would take someone from the Guardians - all the way out on the west coast - just a few minutes longer to reach those ships than anyone on the east coast. So why brief only teams in this area?"

"Ask the government," said Rapscallion, smirking. "I can guarantee that not only does this make perfect sense to some middle manager, but that they thought long and hard about the situation before deciding on this course of action. That even if you pointed that same, inconvenient fact out to them, they'd defend their decision, based on something none of us consider relevant."

"For now," said Bowman, again regaining control of the meeting, "the ships are being tracked by satellite and all other vessels are being kept well away."

"What does all this have to do with one of the Intrepids' founding members?" said Jet Jaguar.

"None of us here now were on the team then," said the Black Mask. "Hell, most of us weren't even born. I was told this story by people who lived through those times. That Kid Dynamo arrived to save the day when US Army Engineers uncovered something dangerous which was buried in the deep ice.

"Kid Dynamo was a founding member of the Intrepids," the Black Mask continued. The display switched to an image of a young man in costume. It would continue showing all the supers he mentioned over the next few minutes. "He vanished after a few years of activity. In the middle Sixties the much younger Dynamic Kid appeared, and also joined the Intrepids. He looked very different and had different powers and claimed he chose his nom de guerre in honor of Kid Dynamo. However, I was on the team by then, and it was soon apparent to me that not only was he, indeed, the same person, with an altered form, but that neither of those mask identities were his original form. I confronted him over this. He confessed - bragged, even - that he had possessed multiple identities over the previous twenty years.

"That included being in boy band. Then a girl band. Then she was a top model. Now he was a costumed hero, again. Dynamic Kid left a couple of years after that conversation. A few months later Generator Girl appeared, and she asked to join the Intrepids. Just to satisfy my own curiosity, I quickly verified that she was, indeed, the same person. She was rejected - for other reasons than her multiple identities - and continued her brief but impressive solo career for about another year. Today he is apparently a middle-aged businessman.

"When I confronted Dynamic Kid back then he claimed his abilities were due to an alien artifact he found as a young man, the power of which he eventually absorbed."

The Black Mask sighed and shrugged.

"The vetting process for members of super teams was much more relaxed back then."

"Wow," said Solange, who had been through one such change, herself. "Did he say whether he did that to himself voluntarily, or...?

"I got the impression he was easily bored," said the Black Mask, dryly.

* * *

"Do you loooove me?" shouted Vic, not for the first time. "Noooowww... that Iiiii... can Daaannnce?"

"Dear, you were a good dancer when we met," said Michelle, rolling her eyes as Vic cavorted around the room. "Now finish getting ready. That retrocamp music festival you are so eager to attend starts in just over an hour and we still have to drive there."

"I could use my lights and siren," said Vic, playfully.

"We both know you won't do that. Now, get dressed!"

The concert was advertised as retrocamp, but it was actually a classic rock and doo-wop event, mostly played straight. There was music from the late Sixties back to the early Fifties. Some was played by tribute bands imitating the groups which had made the specific songs famous; most performances were by generic classic rock bands; a few were by the actual bands - or bands with at least one of the original members - which had made the songs famous. The age range among both performers and audience was quite large.

Michelle and Vic had a good time, as did nearly everyone there. Knowing that her regeneration would purge the alcohol from her system quickly, Vic drank several beers during the first two hours, just to keep a slight buzz going. Unfortunately, the quick processing of this also meant she had to make frequent visits to the restroom.

Finished with her latest trip - and silently fussing about how awkward the process was for human females - Vic opened the restroom door to see a man pointing a large revolver at her face. She spun away, knocking his forearm to her left. The gun fired, the sound deafening in the tile-lined confines of the restroom. Vic ignored the pain in her ears and grabbed the man's hand in both of hers. She bent his wrist and swung his hand up, over and around, putting a hard twist in his entire lower arm, making him drop the gun.

He was definitely not out of the fight; the man threw a left-handed punch at her face. Vic twisted away again, a bit awkwardly. Maintaining her grip with her left hand, she swung her right around and back and delivered a hard uppercut to his solar plexus. That ended the fight.

Part Four

Shaking her head in a vain effort to get the ringing out of her ears, Vic pulled her badge holder from her left back pants pocket, opened it and clipped it to her blouse pocket. Vic noted that the hallway outside was unsurprisingly now completely clear of crowding, though she'd had a bit of a wait to get in here. Her ears were still not working right, so she took a moment to look around. There were several other women in the restroom, all frightened, some screaming. The bullet, fortunately, had hit the far wall tile just past the last stall. Vic looked at the wall, winced and wondered what was on the other side of that. Hopefully, nothing important.

"I'm a federal law enforcement officer," Vic shouted, pointing at her badge. "I'm calling the local police. Please be quiet. The danger is over."

She wasn't actually certain of that. There could have been more hit men or even women waiting to act if this one failed. All the more reason to call quickly for backup. Though she did take time to pat the gunman down and flex-cuff his hands behind his back. Besides the usual, which she left in place, she found a concealed holster and a couple of speed loaders, filled with .357 JHP. The speed loaders and his folding knife were placed with the gun, on the floor against the wall, inside the restroom and beside the door. Where she could see them. That done she pulled out her cell phone.

Her regeneration still hadn't finished with her ears, but by now she could hear well enough for a call. Vic hit the speed dial for the closest precinct. When the operator answered, Vic asked for a cop on night station duty shift there whom she had worked with before.

"Cal? Vic Peltior. I was involved in a shooting at the Call of the Wild nightclub. No fatalities - at least, not that I know of - the only injured person I see is the gunman, and he's just stunned. I need cops and paramedics at the women's restroom just off the left side of the dance floor now."

While she waited for him to forward that information to the appropriate people, one of the women in the restroom tried to push past her.

"Sorry, no," said Vic, pushing her back; being very careful about where she touched the woman. "You need to wait for the police to take your statement."

"I have to go!" the woman said, emphatically.

"There's an empty stall right over there," said Vic, deliberately misinterpreting her.

"No, you idiot! I mean I need to 'go' go!"

"After you give your statement. If you leave now you will be regarded with suspicion. Maybe even considered a suspect."

"I had nothin' to do with it!"

"The you won't mind wai..."

"I don't want to get involved!"

"Too bad. You're already involved. You can wait, or be... Yeah, I'm still here."

That last into her phone as the detective got back to her. Vic almost absently blocked the woman again, as she tried again to squeeze past the martial artist.

"That's good. The witnesses are getting antsy. Okay. Thanks."

She hung up and looked at the frustrated woman.

"Five to ten minutes."

She then stood in the doorway, blocking all the other women from leaving and anyone from entering until the first uniforms got there.

* * *

"Babe, what took you so long?" said Michelle, when Vic finally rejoined her.

"Someone took a shot at me," said Vic, as quietly as she could and still be heard. She looked curiously at Michelle.

"Didn't you hear it?

"No," said the beautician, looking worried.

"Well, it's all over now. Suspect is in custody, nobody hurt. Let's dance..."

"Are you sure?"

"Well, I don't want to ruin your evening, but if you want to head out..."

"No, I'm okay. Like you said, let's not let this crap ruin our evening."

* * *

"Okay, the guy was definitely after you," said the Detective Vic spoke to the next day, at the station which was handling the case. "He's denying everything - including that he even had a gun - but we've verified that there's a bounty on you. Again."

"So was it Banpresto or Rokuro behind this?" said Vic, frowning. "Or even Abraham Stone? Or maybe someone else?"

She felt a bit distressed at how many enemies she had made in the past few years. Of course, she had also made a good number of powerful allies... Still, she was starting to understand why most supers who worked in law enforcement wore masks. Especially the freelancers.

"Okay, this guy is denying he was there for a hit," said Detective Grimwaide. "He says you attacked him. However, besides witness accounts and security video from the hallway outside the restroom supporting your statement, we've managed to access his phone and home computer. He was hired - and paid - anonymously. Obviously not for the first time, either."

"So he didn't even protect the data trail proving he was hired to kill me."

"He did, actually. We found out right away that his phone and computer were encrypted. Knowing you were the target, we started working with the FBI on the case; especially since the guy is from out of state. They put a rush on this and some of their people unlocked his phone and computer very early this morning. According to them, the devices were secured with a common, Black Web encryption package which was broken by the FBI a couple of years ago, but is still being sold by its vendors as unbreakable. We also suspect that he's been responsible for multiple killings for hire and several 'warnings.'"

"Wow..." said Vic, startled. She gave a wry laugh. "So me having a public ID may lead to several unsolved cases getting solved."

"True, but I wouldn't recommend this method of bringing a hit man out," said Grimwaide, seriously. "Not even for a super. Anyway, we're still going through his records. Aside from the encryption, he used code words and terms and personal slang for a lot of things. Since he's refusing to help us with this, figuring those out is going to be a lot slower."

* * *

That same morning, the Assembly had an unusual guest. A US Army secure information specialist landed in a helicopter on the pad atop the mountain the team's headquarters was burrowed into. He entered through the security station built immediately below the outside level. Once cleared, he was escorted to the base's main conference room. He brought no references with him, his information being conveyed entirely in person, by voice, from memory.

"Are any of you familiar with Project Iceworm, in Greenland in the early Sixties?" said Colonel Woll. Who was far too young to have been personally involved in something from that time.

"Oh, yes," said Dr. Gorgeous, nodding. She and the other team members were seated around the large, oval table in the team's main conference room, a recent replacement for the large, rectangular one which had originally been here. The Army officer stood at the end nearest the big display screen, but had not requested to use it. "It was a project to dig a nuclear-powered base into the ice sheets of Greenland."

"Actually, that was Camp Century. Iceworm was the secret project Century was the cover for. Iceworm involved digging what were basically single-unit ballistic missile launch sites into the ice in several places. No live missiles were actually emplaced; this was all experimental. Like Century, prefabricated structures were inserted into cavities excavated into the ice. As happened with Century, they soon learned that ice was actually much more fluid than expected, even when hard-frozen, and that it could exert a lot of force. However, while they were still digging the holes, something else happened at one of the test sites. Something much more urgent than ice flow.

"During the initial phases of the project, one construction crew working a few miles from the west coast of Greenland, several miles south of the Thule base... uncovered something," said the Colonel, looking like he had a sour taste in his mouth. "Something which had been there for thousands of years. It killed - and ate - six of the construction workers before they put it back on ice, with some help from outside. The crew knew even before they revived the thing that it was from another world; it was found in the remains of a crashed spaceship.

"The construction crew thought the creature was a crew member, and that they were recovering it for examination. Later investigation showed that the thing was actually either a pet or a specimen the crew of the wrecked vehicle had picked up on another world, and that while frozen, it was still very much alive. It may even have escaped during flight and caused the crash."

He shook his head.

"If it hadn't been for Kid Dynamo... No-one knows how he found out about the problem or got there in time, but he was the one who figured out what powers the thing had and then how to stop it."

"So they just left it buried in the ice?!" said Champion, not sure how she felt about that.

"It had been there for thousands of years. They figured it would be there for thousands of years more. The event was in 1960. Nobody knew about global warming back then. The whole thing was quickly investigated, quickly buried - literally as well as bureaucratically - and forgotten."

"That's one dangerous pet," said Thunderer, not sure she believed this tale.

"Ever see what happens to a hog which goes feral?" said Maciste, dead serious. "They have been known to kill and eat people."

"What I'm upset about is that they found alien artifacts and literally covered them up," said Thunderer, obviously irate. "That's a violation of multiple laws and treaties both the US and Denmark are signatories to. The stuff they left there could have helped us against the Shilmek!"

"There are provisions in all those laws and treaties which allow delay of notification of alien artifacts in matters involving national security," said the Colonel. "The matter was actually due be declassified a few years ago, but release of those items was put on hold because of the problems with the Shilmek. Only, due to the delay, nobody officially knew this incident existed to look at!"

"So, is this... thing, this creature, what the Moon Scouts were actually looking for?" said Champion.

"Not likely," said the Dr. Gorgeous. "They were digging in apparently undisturbed rock nearly four billion years old."

"This was much younger," said Colonel Woll, nodding. "The test cores from where the construction crew found the creature showed that at the depth of the wreck the ice was only about ten thousand years old at most. They knew from the condition of the ice around it that the wreck had melted at least a few meters into the ice where it landed. So, this thing couldn't have been in the ice more than a few thousand years. As a double-check, we - or, rather, my predecessors - asked the surviving Subterrans to look in their records. They found no mention of the crash."

"That ship on the Moon couldn't have been there for billions of years... could it?" said Champion, still worrying about that.

"The Lunies say it was there for at least several million years," said Dr. Gorgeous. "It was in a huge and very old lava tube which was in turn covered by later lava flows. This shielded the ship from impacts and observation and most radiation. I doubt we'll ever know why it was there or what it was really after, but it appeared satisfied by whatever the Moon Scouts dug up."

"We're getting off topic," said Thunderer. She stared directly at Colonel Woll. "Why is this thing so dangerous?"

"It can produce telepathic compulsions," said the Colonel. "It started out influencing just one or two of the construction crew at a time, but expanded its capacity rapidly. By the time it was defeated only two men were completely free of it, and one of those was Kid Dynamo. As best they could tell, it's not actually intelligent. Maybe as smart as a clever monkey. It would... consume one or two crew members, then go into a digestive torpor. While it would make some effort to conceal itself before this - and insert compulsions to obey and protect it which continued while it was digesting - the two resistors were still able to find it before it revived. They then flooded the chamber where it holed up with water, which quickly froze. Yes, they're sure they got it. Not only did the predation stop, they could see it in the ice."

"You say the number it could influence kept increasing," said Dr. Gorgeous. "Are there any hard estimates for a limit on that?"

"No. It wasn't free long enough, fortunately. Also, we don't know why those two weren't affected. Maybe they never would have been, due to some innate resistance. However, if its domination ability continued to expand at the pace measured during those two days, within a month it could have controlled all of Europe."

"So why are we getting this briefing?" said Dr. Gorgeous, pointedly.

"After the report from the troops in the second helicopter, Greenland called in some of its supers to check the silent ships. None of them were confirmed resistors, but the degree of the compulsion was unknown, so it was decided to risk those proven to have strong wills. None were able to resist the compulsion, however. Fortunately, the team had the sense to program their autopilot ahead of time for a quick pass over the ships, and as happened with the troops they were all right afterwards."

"Didn't they have any psi shielding?" said Champion, surprised.

"No," said the Colonel. "Psi effects are not common, and domination even less so, especially since those planetary domination dampers were installed. Neither Greenland nor Denmark have anybody handy who are known resistors, either. So, they're putting out a call for people who can investigate with a reasonable chance of not falling victim to the effect. Otherwise, their only option is to call in a missile strike."

"So, this thing was dumped into the ocean as the ice thawed," said Dr. Gorgeous, frowning as she worked out several scenarios in her head. "Or maybe the ice melted enough for it to revive, and it went into the ocean as the likeliest close source of nutrition. Either way, it revived and swam out to the retrieval ship. Has anyone backtracked to see if it got any other ships on the way?"

"We thought of that," said the Colonel, nodding. "So far it doesn't seem to have. We're still looking."

"So," said Dr. Gorgeous, again. "It got in, maybe just by holding onto the cargo pod. However it acquired access, it took out the whole crew - through domination, physical superiority or a combination - before they could send out a distress call. Several hours after that, it just as quickly took out the crew of the Coast Guard vessel. It's domination is strong enough or different enough that even with the planetary counter-generators it can still control people at a distance of at least hundreds of meters... This is not going to be easy."

"Also," said Champion, "if it did swim from the ice sheet to the ship it is at home in the water; even very cold water. So sinking the ships may not kill it, even if you use missiles to blow them to pieces."

"We know this won't be easy," said the Colonel, quietly. "That's why we're informing as many teams as we can."

"What are the chances that any of the two ships' crews are still alive?" said Champion.

"We have no idea. We're trying to get drones in there now. We - the governments of the US and Denmark - are hoping one of the super teams we've asked for help will be able to find out more quickly than we can. T.O.W.E.R. has offered to help, and actually has jurisdiction, since the ships are currently in international waters. However, as a courtesy they're holding off until Denmark gives the OK."

* * *

Several teams in the eastern US were not contacted by the government on the matter of the mind-controlling alien creature. The reasons for these omissions varied. For example, The FX was too new to be on the list of the person deciding whom to brief. Tricorne was left out because their means of public contact were through The FX. Fortunately, communications between established teams was good, and the Assembly contacted the trio about the matter.

"Too bad Vic couldn't be here to help us teach, this year," said Gadgetive, a bit wistfully, as she channel surfed madly from the big couch in the entertainment corner of the main room.

Blue Impact and Energia shared glances and slight smiles. She'd never admit it, but the team's gadgeteer had come around to "tolerating" Vic.

"Well, she's working full time, now, and she just moved into a new apartment," said the team leader.

"I think most of the slack has been taken up with that local martial artist Vic's teacher recommended," said Energia. "I am also very glad we were able to get someone in to teach about magical things. That gal Dr. Piano recommended does a pretty good job, despite describing herself as a 'layperson in the mystic arts.' I've sat in on a lot of her classes at The FX."

"There's no such thing as magic," said Gadgetive, absently. "Clarke's Third Law."

Blue Impact - who had quite a lot of first-hand experience with magic, due to her long association with Dr. Piano - opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by an alarm from their communication system.

"Speaking of Dr. Piano, I wonder what the Assembly wants with us?" she muttered, as she hurried to that corner of her lair.

"Who was speaking of Dr. Piano?" said Gadgetive, confused, as she and Energia joined their teacher.

Champion greeted the trio briefly, and asked them to activate their holographic video conferencing system. She explained she had an important briefing for them and several other teams, which included graphics. Soon Tricorne was looking at a map of the ocean west of Greenland. As Champion gave the preliminaries, this changed to a satellite image, which was then zoomed in on the targets. The members of Tricorne noted that The FX was among the teams participating, thanks to their recently installed communications upgrade.

"Drones have been sent around the ships, which showed no signs of life... until the drones were shot down," said Champion. "We think the creature must be in torpor, with the crews of both ships given instructions to stay out of sight and protect it."

"There aren't that many resistors handy for a quick response," said Blue Impact, frowning. "Are you planning to use some sort of artificial psi barrier for the rest?"

"Yes, but we really want to get more information before we go in. Working against that, the more time we take the more likely that thing is to awaken and either take some action to get more people under its control, or simply eat more of the crews. From what little we know of its past behavior, we may at most have another two days."

"Has anyone checked to see if this thing is controlling any sea life?" said Energia.

"Yes," said Dr. Gorgeous, nodding. "As best we can tell, everything from cetaceans down to shrimp are avoiding the two craft. There have been studies in the past which showed that most terran animals instinctively avoid areas with intense psionic fields. We really need information about what's going on inside those ships, though."

"Genius crumbs," said Gadgetive, knowingly. "Micromechanical probes. Ike Kenniman was telling me about this. Before he did, I didn't know the technology had been developed except irreproducibly by a few mads. This new stuff, though, is mass produced. Probably due to the knowledge infusion from the Shilmek after the war. Unfortunately, I don't know where to get any."

"That is news to me," said Dr. Gorgeous, looking impressed. "I'll send out feelers to see if we can get some of that quickly enough to help."

"Bowman might be able to provide more information about that," said Energia. "I remember Template telling me he was interested in microtechnology."

"What we really need," said Dr. Gorgeous, frowning, "is to find Kid Dynamo. However, he hasn't been seen since the mid-Sixties. The Intrepids say they're looking for him."

Part Five

Vic's manager at the local office the Bureau of Special Resources maintained in Detroit was Bruno Drake. Though their office was tiny, in both physical size and number of personnel assigned to it, Drake took his job very seriously. He was a grizzled man in his late fifties, with short, grey hair and a conservative manner. This included his way of dressing; he was very fond of bowties, for example. Vic found that as a manager he was a good boss who cared about and for those under him.

"How's the new apartment doing?" he said, as Vic came in for a debriefing about a recent encounter between the martial artist and a new costumed crime fighter in the Detroit area.

"Well, except for addicts who keep ringing or knocking and then demanding to speak with 'Joey,' and several other tenants mad at us 'cause we won't share our private WiFi's password, and a manager who not only won't do anything to help with either problem but who is being investigated by the local police for possibly taking payoffs from Joey to look the other way, it's doing fine."

"Good lord," said Drake, looking distressed and shaking his head. "I knew you had been through a lot of crap since moving into that place, including being swatted - the local police told me about that - but not that things were so bad."

He sighed, and leaned back a bit.

"Don't be afraid to talk to me about these problems; I might even be able to help. However, the reason I asked you in was to get your report on that new costumed crimefighter you were sent to evaluate this morning."

"That woman is crazy," said Vic, flatly. "I got on the scene in time for the cleanup, and she actually had stopped the robbery with a minimum of collateral damage. The responding police actually praised her performance. However! She was wearing a very thin, glove leather costume and had lots of tattoos. I know that because the costume had multiple cutouts, so she was showing a lot of skin. So I can tell you that she's probably caucasian. She also obviously had nothing on under the leather, and I didn't need my sense of perception to know this. Also, the costume had nipple piercings on the outside, which I think actually went through her nipples and may have helped hold the costume in place."

"Neither flamboyant costumes nor exhibitionism are
new," said Drake, calmly. "They aren't restricted to women, either. The Silk Titan of the late Thirties had a costume so sheer he got arrested several times. Neither are they - necessarily - signs of insanity. Impracticality in some cases, yes. Poor taste, yes. Poor judgement, definitely. Though with powers the impracticality aspect may be more apparent than real."

"Well, her speech and actions were also... off. I mean, she talked more spacey than Sharma of the Assembly. Oh, and she never gave me a name, either birth or mask. I don't have a good idea of her age or her abilities, either, though she's definitely at least a low-level physical super."

"Again, that spaciness could all be an act, a presentation," said Drake. He frowned. "Though, yes, I will put out a notice, for both our people and the local police, to watch for her and report her activities. Besides the concerns you expressed, her actions do occasionally indicate that she's a loose canon and possibly a danger to the public. Though the problem may simply be that she needs some training and experience. Just keep an eye out for her."

* * *

Of course people - governmental, super and other -kept track of who bought the assets of the Wold family and their associates. I even kept track of those involved, including the contractors I hired for work at that park I now owned.

When the Five died, I took action, cashing out just about everything I had and borrowing an uncomfortable amount to buy a big part of the Wold family business. (Well, big for me. By their standards it was a minor amount, but still more than they wanted in non-family hands.) Without Louis Carstairs to oversee things, the financial empire he had been in charge of for such a short time continued on in its operations through a combination of sheer inertia and desperate efforts by his underlings to recover from his depredations. Mostly the inertia. The family tried to regain control, and did manage to recover to an extent. This effort allowed me to make a deal. That's how I wound up with what I actually wanted: Complete and sole ownership of the old office building and the land around it. The family and their financial managers saw those as less important than the assets I traded for them.

Later, as the family's financial woes continued, they sold the biggest chunk of the business to a financial conglomerate. That company, in turn, sold pieces to pay some of the outrageous debts Carstairs had accrued in those last, mad days when he thought he and his four partners were going to rule the world. Even the new parent company eventually failed and declared bankruptcy, taking with it most of what the family had built over centuries. A few components continued on, too resilient to be dragged down with the rest, or simply too isolated from it.

I definitely noticed when billionaire Hiram Fosworth then purchased most of what was left. He also earlier tried to obtain the business park with the old office building, but I had beaten him to that and the land around it by several days. He wasn't the only one who wanted those, either. Even after I sold the property to Dr. Gaunt - for a price which allowed me to pay off my own acquisition debts and also turn a tidy profit - both he and I continued to get offers. I can imagine - but won't - Gaunt's response to those attempts.

I then quickly grabbed that property back after the office building disappeared (Gaunt leaving it in much the same limbo Carstairs had, for the roughly the same reasons) getting it at a bargain price due to the strange happenings connected with that event. For the next couple of years, people - including some acting in Fosworth's name - kept making offers of varying legality, trying to "persuade" me to part with the property. Finally, after the thirteen mystics cleansed the place most of the offers - including those on behalf of Fosworth - suddenly stopped. Which meant I had a good idea of what these people wanted it for.

I am still fighting off multiple attempts to acquire the land, from many different sources. Some of these attempts are surprisingly clumsy. Most are less so. A few have been surprisingly sophisticated. All have been unsuccessful. I have felt the need to inform certain individuals and agencies of some of these attempts, and most of those investigations have resulted in - at the very least - close examination of those behind the attempts. That ended those particular efforts. However, the attempts continue, regardless.

Tough. It's mine. I'm keeping it.

* * *

The Assembly were only one of the several super teams engaging in quiet desperation as they prepared to deal with the alien creature. However, some groups had a more direct connection than others to the past of this threat. Once the military briefing for their team was over, the Intrepids got busy. Some were busy thinking. Or perhaps brooding.

"You seem to have a problem with Kid Dynamo," said Solange, when she found the Black Mask in the main break room of the team's artificial mountain base.

"He's a narcissist," said the Black Mask, sourly. "That's why he told me all that personal history. To get the information on the alien we may have to listen to a lot of other, irrelevant stuff. He considers telling his life story to be far more important than stopping the creature."

"He could have changed," said Solange, gently. "That was years ago, after all. Lots of people change for the better with time."

He was well aware, of course, that she was referring at least in part to herself.

"For the safety of the world, let's hope so."

"Has there been any progress in contacting him?"

"We - the team collectively and I privately - have sent messages to Hiram Fosworth. There have been no replies."

He sighed, stretched, and sat up straight.

"Frankly, I doubt we will need his help, or that it will be useful if he ever deigns to provide it. He gave what he considered a full and thorough report at the time. Whatever his other failings, he liked to talk about what he had done."

"Well, Runner is due to be here soon," said Solange, turning back the way she had come in, looking over her shoulder at him. "They'll announce her arrival over the PA, but I thought I'd give you a heads-up."

"Thank you," said the Night Master.

She thought he smiled at her, but as always his face was difficult to see, in the shadows under his wide-brimmed hat.

* * *

Dr. Fenrisa (Runner) Freysdottir was visiting relatives in Central Kentucky when the call went out for help with the alien creature. Several teams and individuals thought to contact her, as an expert on psionics. She was making the rounds in response, now, doing what she could to provide pertinent information. The Intrepids were second on her list. She was currently sitting in a chair the team kept on hand just for her. This piece of furniture allowed the little furry genius to sit at a level similar to that of the humans present at the meeting room table.

"The good news is that the telepathic domination dampers we installed around the world after the Five Great Powers were beaten will greatly reduce this thing's range," said Dr. Freysdottir, in her high, clear voice. With her long hair, pointed ears, thick coat and slight muzzle she looked like a midget werewolf. Those she spoke to knew that she also had one of the most developed brains on the planet, as well as many centuries of experience. "The bad news is that our best evaluations show it can still control almost any creature close enough for it to see well."

"Do your people have any additional information on this thing or anything like it?" said Bowman. "Or the crashed spacecraft?"

"Sorry, no. The crash was in a very isolated area. As far as we can find out, there wasn't anyone in the area at that time. At least, not anyone who reported anything."

"We need resistors to help with this thing," said Bowman. "Can you or any of your kin participate?"

"Yes, and we will. However, I suggest a multi-level, combined approach. Natural resistors. Powerful psis to help defend non-resistors. An area-denial device also active, just in case. Individual psi-defense generators for everyone, just in case. This is an unknown, so the more prepared we are the better."

"Working against that approach is time," said Bowman. "There are many lives at stake. Also, the families are understandably beginning to raise a fuss. They haven't been told what's going on, but that something is going on is obvious."

"Yes. I suggest we send an initial party - with powerful psis and available resistors - out immediately, with other resources sent there as they become available."

Bowman nodded. This entire meeting was going out over the secure 3D videoconferencing network most large teams were part of these days. The previous team Runner had briefed simply hadn't had the necessary equipment.

"The Greenland Coast Guard is about to deploy drones which will apply the microprobes," said Bowman. "That should give us more information."

One logistical problem which this situation had brought home was that none of the hoppers available to the teams planning to help were intended to land on water. None of the teams even had a single supersonic aircraft which was amphibious. The fastest way to get a US team to the drifting ships was to take a hopper to an airbase in Greenland and a helicopter from there. This was already being arranged. Before that, however, a small team gathered from among resistor volunteers in Europe would go in.

Some supers had volunteered to fly or teleport or otherwise go there on their own, but that had been vetoed; none of the volunteers were known resistors. Of course, one additional reason for speed which no-one stated openly was a concern that some individual non-resistor might decide to act on their own anyway. Which would give the creature a superhuman servant.

"I think that's all for now," said Bowman. "We..."

"Alert!" came the call over the base intercom. "Unscheduled inbound helicopter approaching!"

"With that, I think I better get out of the way," said Fen, rising. "I'll meet you in the hangar later."

"I think the rest of us better get in the way," said Rapscallion, as the team members also stood.

* * *

Unlike the previous helicopter arrival of the military liaison, this approach was unannounced. It was met with radio warnings and a scramble by base security. The Intrepids couldn't just shoot it out of the air, however. As it approached the helipad beside the parking lot at the foot of the artificial mountain, it was surrounded by armed security flyers. As well, the pad itself was quickly surrounded by obviously armed security team members. The vehicle was physically blocked from setting down... until the pilot radioed - a note of irritation in his voice - that he was carrying Hiram Fosworth.

The helicopter was then escorted to the helipad by security fliers and the just-arrived Jet Jaguar. Those all landed in a circle around the vehicle. Ignoring the weapons pointed at her, a woman jumped out from the copilot's position, ran quickly around, opened the port side door and pulled out the folding steps. Fosworth and several aides climbed down and started walking towards the public entrance. Only to find themselves blocked by the entire active membership of the Intrepids.

"Hello, Hiram," said the Black Mask. He gestured at the aides. "They stay here. Just you."

The billionaire scowled, obviously unused to being told what to do, as well as doing without his assistants. The Black Mask cut any objections short with his next question.

"Do you really want them to hear what we will be talking about?"

"That is a very good point," said Fosworth. He sighed, and nodded to the men and women.

They reversed course and headed back to the helicopter. From what the others present could be see of the interior of the large flying machine before the door closed, they would not suffer during their wait.

The team members and their guest headed for the front entrance to the public offices of the Intrepids. These were in a nice, modern Greek Revival style building, which was situated with its back against a vertical flat area cut into the side of the artificial mountain. Once through the security there, the group proceeded to the tunnel into the mountain, and the actual base.

"Is all this really necessary?" said Fosworth, impatiently, as he was scanned in the security station just beyond the heavily armored door into the base proper. "This is the second such indignity you have subjected me to. I have done nothing to warrant such treatment."

"The first security scan was a simple detector gate at the entrance to the public area," said Bowman, who was all too familiar with someone important or self-important objecting to being checked. "This is much more detailed, since we're letting you into the area where we work and - in some cases - live."

"As for whether you deserve such treatment," said the Black Mask, in a firm tone, "that remains to be determined. You are neither a team member, a staff member nor a trusted ally. You get the same treatment as all visitors."

"I'm not just some visitor; I helped found this team!" Fosworth glared around at the others, before ending back at the Black Mask. "Or did he not tell you that?!"

"Of course he did," said Rapscallion, smirking. "A lot of other stuff about you, too. Which is one reason we're extra suspicious. Also, some of us have been members longer than you were. You've been gone a very long time. Enough time to change a... man."

"I don't like what you've done with the place," muttered Fosworth, as he was finally cleared and they walked to the elevator. "Too slick, too modern. What happened to the classic lines of..."

"The old base was completely destroyed by the Shilmek," said Solange, angrily. "Burned out, deep into the bedrock."

"Something you would have known, if you truly valued your time here," said the Black Mask, ominously.

"Or just kept up with the news," said Rapscallion.

The elevator arrived, they boarded, and started...

"Why are we going down?! The conference room is near the top!"

"Again, this is an entirely new base," said the Black Mask, in a tone of exaggerated patience. "In fact, while most of the construction is completed, we're still working to finish some parts, and adjusting others as we use them and see that we need something different."

Fosworth was obviously waiting for more information. None of the team members gave him any.

Once in the main meeting room Fosworth by habit went to the head of the table. A position normally taken by the chair, currently Bowman. Who sighed in an exaggerated manner and sat to Fosworth's right. At least the guest chair used by Runner had been replaced by a regular one while they were gone. Their guest didn't seem to notice that he had violated protocol. Or perhaps just didn't care.

"I understand that you are interested in learning about the alien creature I put into suspended animation in Greenland back in the early Sixties," he said, in a slightly bored tone, as if directing a routine board meeting.

"Very much so," said Bowman, nodding. "It has revived and taken over two ships. It currently seems to be in a digestive torpor."

"Yes, well, this is the time to deal with it, then. It's active influence is minimal while it's out like this, though you'll have to deal with those it has already controlled."

"We know all that," said Rapscallion, impatiently. "How long does the torpor last? What are it's weaknesses?"

"I have no idea about the first," said Fosworth, blandly. "I put it back on ice as soon as I realized it was asleep. As you should have done."

"We weren't even informed of the problem until an unknown interval after it went into torpor," said the Black Mask, with more tolerance that most of his teammates would have shown. "So, it could awaken at any time. What else can you tell us about it?"

"Well, it's quite large. About double the size of a Komodo dragon, which it looks a lot like, 'though it walks upright most of the time. That reminds me; it can run and crawl through narrow spaces on all fours pretty well. It also knows to restrict access to the area where it is resting. When I put it on ice I had to feed a fire hose into its burrow through a pretty narrow path it left in the debris it used to block the tunnel to the room where it holed up. The technician I was working with had already turned off the heat in that area, and that might have been enough, but with cold water pouring into a frigid room and freezing quickly, I knew it was encased in ice the way it had been when they found it."

"I thought they were able to dig around it and see it in the ice, afterwards," said Bowman.

"We did do that. It was in an underground room. After the ice froze - by that time there were some other Army men there - we dug the room out and peeled away the walls. There it was. We put more ice around it, filled the tunnel, and that was that."

"You just left it there," said Solange, tone accusing.

"As well as the alien spacecraft wreckage," said Bowman.

"Well, my part was over by then. I moved on, figuring the Army would deal competently with the aftermath. Not my fault if they didn't."

Part Six

They grilled him for over an hour more, getting some additional details, though frustratingly few of them. All of this information was served with a large helping of self-aggrandizement and matter-of-fact bragging. Fosworth clearly found the entire process boring and not worth his time, but was determined to make the most of it by making the most of his contribution in stopping the monster. He made clear through his attitude that he was cooperating for the good of the c\o\m\p\a\n\y\ team.

"One final bit of advice," he said, obviously deciding unilaterally that the meeting was over. "That thing is fast, strong, tough and cunning."

"It would be far less of a problem with your help," said the Black Mask.

"Not my problem any more," said Fosworth, blandly. "I'm retired. Just remember, this won't be easy."

"Of course this won't be easy!" said Bowman, slamming his fist on the conference table and actually yelling at the older super. "That's why we want your help! Real heroes don't retire unless they're disabled! What makes you think you deserve the easy path?!"

"This isn't about taking the easy path!" shouted the former Kid Dynamo, outraged at such treatment. "This is about changing paths! I was sick of the hero business, especially with the way supers were being treated in the early Seventies."

"That's enough!" said the Black Mask, perhaps the only person present who could make such a declaration stick. He turned to Fosworth. "Thank you for the information. If we need any more of your help, we'll be sure to let you know."

"You're welcome," said Fosworth, in a tone which was anything but gracious.

Security guards were called to escort him out of the base and back to his helicopter.

"Just remember," the Black Mask said, once Fosworth was gone, "whenever he said 'I' you can probably substitute 'we' and whenever he said 'we' you can probably substitute 'they.'"

* * *

"All right," said Bowman, tiredly, back in his usual seat, "the information from the microprobes should be coming in by now."

He looked to his right as he activated the main display and set it to their contact channel. Indeed, there was a message from the Danish government that the probes had been deployed and information was already flooding in. Bowman set the display to show what those requesting the help had discovered.

"Okay, we don't have a lot of time before we're supposed to leave, so let's get this done. The way this works is like one of those virtual tours. The data from the probes is used to create a composite, explorable image. I'll start with this view, then move in and around the two ships to see what we can see."

"What information do these probes provide besides visual images?" said the Black Mask, as what was shown shifted.

"Three channels of infrared, plus sound and atmospheric composition," said Bowman, as the view moved into the pilot house of the Coast Guard ship. "Nobody there. No signs of violence."

He had just moved the view into the access corridor behind the bridge when the PA system came to very loud life.

"Security alert!" shouted whoever was currently at the microphone. "Intruder alert, in the mountaintop garden!"

"Great," said Bowman.

As one, the team rose and rushed into the hall outside the meeting room and towards the elevator. Fortunately, all the team members were in good physical condition. Also, security knew to divert an elevator car to their floor. It was waiting, door open, when they arrived.

Bowman got the view from the topside security cameras on his pad as the elevator rose.

"Well," he said, not certain how to parse what he was seeing. "Looks like an elf maid. A rather irritated elf maid."

"I wonder if Runner could act as an intermediary?" said Rapscallion.

"If this is a European elf - which it appears to be - they tend to look down on the Bluegrass elves," said Solange.

"Well, she's currently just looking around, so let's give her a chance to talk," said Bowman.

Accordingly, the team members slowed as they approached the security lock for the mountaintop garden.

Bowman nodded to the head of the security squad waiting just inside the closed outer door. At his gesture, his men and women backed past the inner door. With that closed, Bowman opened the outer door. This was disguised as a rock face in the knoll on the top of the mountain, which held the elevator and the airlock. With vines and other plants growing over most of it, the actual door was very well disguised. Which was likely why their strange visitor hadn't found it.

"Hello?" he said, as the team members walked out into the carefully landscaped area around the knoll.

"Oh!" said the very fey looking woman there, obviously startled by their arrival. She was wearing a plain, sheer gown of some sort, something very impractical but extraordinarily fine. "I'm, uhm, looking for my brother."

"Let me guess," said the Black Mask. "Your brother is Hiram Fosworth!"

"Yes! I know he's somewhere close. I just want to talk with him! It's important!"

"Well, you better hurry," said Jet Jaguar. "He's getting read... Ow!"

That last as Solange stepped on his foot.

"What the Hell is wrong with you?!"

"Fosworth was here," said the Black Mask, trying to salvage the situation. "He has already left. What is it you want to talk to him about?"

"That's his helicopter, isn't it?" said the strange woman, her tone accusing as she peered down at the landing pad. "I recognize his company logo!"

She launched herself off the top of the mountain, diving towards the helipad. Solange suddenly realized the strange woman was barefoot, since the soles of her feet were the last part of her to disappear over the edge.

"Just for that, you go after her!" snapped Bowman.

"Of course I go after her!" said Jet Jaguar, taking off. "I'm the only one who can fly!"

"He still has trouble with this stuff," said Solange, in a stage mutter, as the rest of the team hurried back inside, to the elevator. "His brain just can't accept that you don't always tell everyone everything."

* * *

Jet Jaguar was there when brother saw sister. As he and others later reported, their reunion did not begin well and quickly deteriorated.

"What the Hell... Laurie?!"

"Don't you 'Laurie' me, you son of a bitch!"

By the time the main part of the team got back to the helipad there was a screaming argument well under way. Jet Jaguar stood by, in his highly streamlined and armored costume, watching helplessly as brother and sister had at it.

"You had an abortion!"

"You frittered away your fortune!"

"I gave most of it to good causes! Yet you somehow see that as equivalent to an abortion! That just proves all your priorities are screwed sideways!"

"Of course they're not the same! With money you can get an abortion! With charity you get nothing!"

"With charity you get everything! You never did anything except for yourself!"

Fosworth's people were standing beside the helicopter, watching helplessly. No, correct that; they were cowering against the helicopter.

"I had to take charge!" Fosworth shouted. "Use a firm hand! You wouldn't even open the box Great-granduncle Hiram left us!"

"Of course I didn't open the box!" Laurie shouted. "He warned us not to! I knew that doing so would let the magic out and ruin everything! You went ahead and did it, anyway! Even though you're his namesake! It's taken years for the magic to recover!"

"There is no magic!" Hiram screamed, red-faced in fury. "It's all alien science! You're just too much of a romantic to admit that!"

At Bowman's gesture, Jet Jaguar came over to join the rest of the team.

"I doubt this will become violent," the team's chair said, quietly. "There are also lives at stake on those two ships. Let's get out of here."

"Five-to-two they're still at it when we return," said Rapscallion.

There were no takers.

* * *

On the way to the hanger Bowman finally finished checking the imagery from the microprobes, on his pad.

"Yeah," he said, putting that away as the elevator neared the hangar level. "There's no sign of the thing on either ship. It seems to have laired somewhere the probes haven't reached. It's probably still asleep in one of the cabins on the retrieval ship and, well, most of the people are still alive. We need to get there now."

"Something else to consider, once we have this monster business settled," said Solange. "What happened to the wrecked spacecraft the creature arrived in?"

"Probably on the bottom of the ocean, still near wherever the ice melted enough to release it and the creature," said the Black Mask. "Remember, the creature was out of the ship and in the abandoned base, so they wouldn't have been together. There's also probably a lot of debris from the base, confusing the situation."

"When does the first team get to the ships?" said Rapscallion.

"In just a few minutes," said Bowman, anxiously. "That's why we need to boost now! If they need backup, we and the Intrepids are supposed to be it, and they should already be on the way to Greenland."

"Well, we can't have those newbies showing us up!" said Rapscallion, cheerfully, putting on a burst of speed as the elevator finally opened on the hangar level. "Who did they find to be the first-in supers?"

"Some regional supers - a couple of lone wolves and members of two different teams - who are all known resistors," said Bowman, as they hurried towards the hopper which their staff had made ready for the trip. "Uhm, Vulcanic, Hope Springs, Cull and Joseph."

"Joseph?!" said Rapscallion, grinning as they climbed inside the suborbital transport. "Oh, I am going to have fun with that one. Hi, Runner. We need to go, now!"

"I wondered what was keeping you," said the Bluegrass Elf, who was already the hopper.

"Everyone securely fastened in?" said Bowman, as he took the controls. "Okay, here we go!"

The airbreathing engines wound up as the concealed hatch in the side of the mountain opened. Bowman firewalled the throttle and the magnetic launcher hurled the craft out through the opening.

* * *

"The Greenland Coast Guard had lost contact with the first team of supers," said their Danish liaison, as the Intrepids and Runner hurried from their hopper to the amphibious helicopter waiting for them. "They landed successfully on the Coast Guard ship. Then we got a couple of terse messages that they were being attacked by a flying super, then nothing."

"Damn," said Bowman. "Just what we were worried about. A rogue super who is a non-resistor got there first."

"Their plan was to come in at wavetop height, to reduce the chance of being shot down," Champion elaborated, as the Assembly joined the Intrepids, who were already on board. "One of the supers on that team is checked out in large helicopters, so there were no military personnel aboard. Just like us."

"That's what we should do," said Bowman, nodding. "Come in low and fast, except we'll land on the water and swim, climb or fly aboard. Any ideas about a different course of action, now?"

"Fly in as quickly and directly as we can," said Champion, as the last ones aboard finished belting in and the door was closed. "Stay near the water until we're right on top of the Coast Guard ship. We drop Jet Jaguar off as soon as we see the controlled super flying towards us; he diverts the guy and we land. Or ocean, rather."

"We need to hurry," said Dr. Gorgeous, from the pilot's seat. "Sea state is already rough and is forecast to get worse."

"Let's go!" shouted Bowman, as the rotor of the flying machine wound up. "Oh, and lets get the anti-domination devices distributed and checked."

"I thought you had them," said Rapscallion, looking concerned. The others ignored him.

* * *

The flight was not a short one; the incident had begun with the ships well out to sea, and they had drifted south and west since. The increasingly rough weather didn't help.

"Much longer, and the current those two ships are in turns southeast," said Dr. Gorgeous. "We need to settle this before they near inhabited land."

The trip was normal - even boring - for most of the flight. However, as they came closer to the drifting ships, Runner suddenly came alert.

"There's two alien mind signatures!"

"It has reproduced?!" said the Black Mask, as surprised - and distressed - as they had ever seen him.

"That seems to be the most likely explanation."

"How could a single..." said Jet Jaguar, stopping in confusion.

"Some female insects can store sperm for decades," said Bowman, frowning.

"More likely, this alien creature is neither male nor female, but parthenogenetic," said the Black Mask.

"Like Godzilla, in that weird movie," said Rapscallion, nodding.

"Great," said Champion, sourly. "What if it reproduced before finding the ship? The one we were worried about might not even be the original!"

"We deal with this," said Bowman, determination in his voice, "then worry about cleanup."

"Speaking of cleanup," said Jet Jaguar, "I should bail, soon."

"Yes," said Bowman. "As our only flyer, your job is twofold; warn us about people trying to shoot us down and divert the rogue super."

"We're gonna need a bigger flyer," muttered Rapscallion. Jet Jaguar ignored him.

"Everybody have their survival gear on?" said Bowman, looking around. "Even during Summer, the water is cold, here, and we could all have to bail."

"Looks like it," said Champion, who noted that while some people - including her - had less to worry about from cold water and were dressed appropriately, everyone had flotation gear. She suddenly pointed. "There's the ships! It looks like the landing pad on the Coast Guard ship is empty, too!"

"Did someone from the first team get away?" said Solange, trying to get a better view. "Or did the controlled people on board push it into the water?"

"Either way, we should land on that pad," said Dr. Gorgeous.

"Right," said Bowman. "Jet Jaguar, deploy! Doctor, get us on the deck!"

"One advantage of the higher waves," said Dr. Gorgeous, as the team's flyer launched, Rapscallion quickly closed the door behind him, and the helicopter dropped, "we blend in better."

"Let's just hope we blend in enough," said Bowman, managing not to cringe as the Assembly's tame mastermind piloted them between wave crests, somehow without getting a rotor tip or sponson wet.

Just before reaching the Coast Guard ship Dr. Gorgeous pulled up hard, bringing them almost to a halt. Then she plopped them onto the landing pad as the stern of the ship began settling into a wave trough. The landing was just barely noticeable.

"Champion! Maciste! Tie us down, quickly! The rest of you, out after them!"

"Always obey your pilot," said Rapscallion, as he was the third through the doors.

While the two designated secured the helicopter, one on each side, the rest of the costumed figures quickly spread out onto first the pad, then the deck around it. There was no visible reaction.

"Less trouble than we anticipated," said the Black Mask.

"Yeah, tell that to JJ," said Rapscallion, pointing.

"Oh..." said the Black Mask, looking up. "Uhm, can any of you help him?"

"Anybody recognize that super?" said Champion, as she ran towards one of the fifty-caliber pintle mount guns standing at the ready to repel boarders or aerial approach.

"RedBird?" said Bowman, frowning. "Flyer - obviously - and medium-level physical super."

"Incoming!" shouted Maciste.

Crew from both ships were now running for the rear of the Coast Guard cutter. Many were armed. Some of those were already firing.

Bowman shot sticky foam arrows into the paths of some of the approaching crews. Maciste simply leapt across the short gap to the recovery ship and plowed through the opponents there. The Black Mask disabled firearms or disarmed opponents with his own guns. Several of the heroes were hit by bullets, as was their ride. However, none of the hits caused significant damage, partly due to the toughest members - either naturally or due to their armor - of the two super teams covering the softer targets.

Abruptly, the noise of the battle was overwhelmed by a short burst from the .50. Everyone at least glanced over at Champion, then at RedBird. The rogue super had turned and was headed for the Coast Guard ship before Champion sprayed him with those massive, high-velocity slugs. He dropped, recovered a bit, then got body slammed from behind by Jet Jaguar.

The Intrepids' flyer shoved RedBird towards the bow of the Coast Guard ship, then pulled up at the last moment. RedBird hit hard enough to feel throughout the ship.

"He does have his uses," said Rapscallion, grinning.

"That did it," said Runner, as she deftly climbed out from under the landing pad, her small size making that a practical hiding place. "All this noise and vibration has roused the two aliens."

"Can you handle both of them?" said Champion, as she hopped from the pintle mount, vaulted over a corner of the landing pad and planted the landing next to the Bluegrass Elf.

Both were speaking rather loudly, due to the ringing in their ears from the noise the machine gun had made. Given the size of Runner's ears her ringing must have been from cathedral bells. This despite the communication ear plugs all the participants were wearing.

"No; just one at a time. However, the area denial generator is working, as are all the individual protections. The victims will still have their implanted orders, but won't be able to receive new ones."

"So we move fast," said the Black Mask, suiting deed to word.

They split into three teams, with little discussion as to who was on each. One group focused on restraining the dominated humans, and one went for each of the monsters. Fen stayed with Dr. Gorgeous at the helicopter.

Part Seven

None of the three teams had an easy time. The one handling the civilians had to be careful not to hurt anyone, at least seriously. Those hunting the aliens had to avoid the humans the creatures had dominated into protecting them, or else deal with the innocent people a gently as possible, while trying to find their targets.

Aiding the latter two groups were two factors; the continuing updates from the microprobes and Runner.

"Both creatures are still sluggish," she said, over the coms. "If you act quickly you can catch them before they are fully awake."

"At least the lights are on," muttered Rapscallion, as the group he was with moved cautiously through the narrow passageways of the Coast Guard ship. "Heat and ventilation, too."

Because the heat was still on, they had removed their cold water survival suits once below decks. Those were left just inside the hatch they had used to access the interior of the ship. Hopefully, if a quick exit were necessary they'd at least have time to grab those on the way out.

"Best guess as to where this thing has laired," said Bowman, "based on multiple clues, is in the engine room, near the generator. Since that is obviously still running, it will be nice and warm, there. At least off the hull, anyway."

"Given past history, the creature will probably have blocked the accesses," said Solange, nodding.

"Exactly," said Bowman, nodding as he checked his pad's display. "That's why the microprobes are having a hard time entering that area."

"So do we attack, or try to freeze it?" said Solange.

"Exactly what we do will depend on what we find," said Bowman. They rounded a corner and he sighed, audibly over their coms. "Okay, this way is very thoroughly blocked. We'll try another."

"Does anyone else think it's strange that we haven't seen any sign of the first supers they sent?" said Champion, over their earbud coms, as her team moved quickly but quietly towards the engine room of the retrieval ship. "Even their helicopter is gone. Yet they reported landing."

The power and heat were on in the retrieval ship, too, and the heroes searching it had come to the same conclusion about where their monster was. They had also removed their cold water survival suits once inside.

"They were all resistors," said Dr. Gorgeous, calmly, over their coms. "There's a good chance that they were defeated and thrown overboard. Along with their helicopter."

"Weren't they wearing locator beacons, like us?" said a worried Thunderer who, with Jet Jaguar, was with Champion. "Those should have come on automatically when they hit the water."

"I'll call our contacts in Greenland to check," said Dr. Gorgeous.

"Okay, that should be the door," said Champion, pointing towards the end of the corridor. "Or rather, it should be just the other side of that pile of junk. It doesn't look all that bad. Let's try to get through here."

"Champion, you need to carefully and quietly make a path," said Dr. Gorgeous, over their coms. "Be as quick as you can within those constraints. Runner tells me that the creature in the retrieval ship is apparently the original. She's concentrating on both keeping it groggy and exploring its memories."

"Good news, about the groggy part," said Champion, as she and Jet Jaguar formed a human conveyor chain and moved debris away from the hatch, while Thunderer kept watch. "I assume she can only do this with one of them at a time?"

"Correct. That's why she's not telling you this, herself; she needs to concentrate. So be quick, be quiet, and be careful."

* * *

The others on that channel - which was all the rescuers - heard this, of course.

"So, we're after the juvenile?" said Bowman, as his team headed for what they hoped would be an easier entrance than the first one they tried. Unfortunately, that path was not one which had been explored yet by the microprobes, so his decision was based more on hope than evidence.

"It's... not that clearcut. Runner tells me the new one should have all the memories of the first one, though it is physiologically smaller and less mature."

"Which means," said Bowman, quietly, as they carefully made their way through narrow corridors on board the Greenland Coast Guard ship, "it will be easier to capture if we can grab it, but it may be harder to corner before that."

"Correct," said Dr. Gorgeous.

* * *

"Many of the crew members we are encountering are already injured," said the Black Mask, as he and Sharma on one ship and Maciste on the other worked towards containing the civilians and keeping them away from both the monsters and the monster hunters. "Most have not had their injuries treated. That's one reason we're not having a worse time than we are."

"This is plenty bad enough, y'ask me," panted Maciste. "Stopping someone without hurting 'em is hard work! This cold water gear doesn't make it any easier, either."

"They are easily induced to slumber," said Sharma, who sounded like she was giving a report in the team conference room. "Doubtless due to the preconditioning for obedience they have received."

"According to the manifests of the two ships, you have nearly everyone on both ships safely restrained," said Dr. Gorgeous. "It could be that those you haven't found were, well, consumed."

"What about the first group of supers who were sent in?" said Maciste, who wasn't actually as breathless as he had sounded moments earlier.

"We just found the first team," said Bowman, quietly, as he and those with him quickly moved to check those supers. "Looks like they were beaten unconscious and tied up. Probably intended as a meal for the younger monster here, when it wakes up."

"That's actually good news," said Dr. Gorgeous. "Not only that they're alive; they're all resistors. If any of them are still able, they can help."

Bowman, Rapscallion and Solange quickly untied the other four supers and examined their injuries.

"Solange, can you go get the first aid kit we just passed?" said Rapscallion, who had the best medical training of the three. "Better not to use our more limited personal kits yet."

Solange quickly fetched that and Rapscallion did what he could to treat the four supers. However, they showed no signs of waking. With no way of even diagnosing them properly, much less treating them, there wasn't much more the trio could to.

"I don't feel safe moving them," said Rapscallion. "Not without knowing why they're unconscious."

"We'll have to leave them here," said Bowman, with a sigh. "C'mon; let's get to that hatch."

This was just down the passageway from where they had found the first-in team of supers.

"I wonder if this way was left unblocked to give the young one easier access to food, once it woke," said Rapscallion, quietly.

"I hear something on the other side of the hatch," said Solange, in a stage whisper.

Rapscallion, for once, kept quiet.

Bowman nodded, absently, having already heard the sounds. Solange had better hearing, but he was closer. He carefully moved the last bit of distance to the door and put his hands on the lever.

"I'm going to open this," he whispered. "Get ready."

The other two nodded. He set himself, abruptly yanked the lever and hauled the hatch open, stepping aside so the hatch partially shielded him.

The thing was standing just the other side of the opening. It definitely looked somewhat reptilian, but only somewhat. There was neither the time nor the inclination on the part of the supers for a closer examination. With a hissing scream, it launched itself at Solange and Jet Jaguar.

There was a burst of confused sounds over the ear buds.

"What was that?" said Dr. Gorgeous, not the only one alarmed by the noises.

"Thing jumped us when I opened the door," said Bowman. "No time to talk."

Rapscallion and Solange were both medium-level physical supers. Bowman was physically a normal human, but he was armed and armored. While the other two fought to hold onto the limbs of the monster, he grabbed an arrow he had prepared for this creature. Too close to use his trademark bow, he jabbed the arrow hard at the back of the monster. Thin, springy metal bands whipped out and wrapped around the lower torso and one upper hind leg of the creature. While that did little to restrain it, as he had hoped the activity distracted it momentarily from the two supers. It took a moment to claw at the bands, which allowed Rapscallion and Solange to get better grips, while Bowman grabbed another arrow. After a brief but frantic fight, between the three of them they managed to hogtie the alien creature thoroughly. In large part due to long practice, working together.

"So much for groggy," panted Rapscallion.

"That's one down," Bowman likewise panted, as he and the other two checked their wounds. "Damn. Be warned. If the young one was this tough, the adult will be a lot worse."

"At least it didn't have chameleon abilities," said Rapscallion, still breathing hard. "Though it has claws - definitely claws - and fangs dripping what may be venom. Which may be why Vulcanic, Hope Springs, Cull and Joesph won't wake up."

"Roger," said Champion. She turned to Thunderer and Jet Jaguar. "Okay, the hatch opens inwards, and I think we've cleared enough debris to get through. Just be on your guard."

"Well," said Jet Jaguar, "with Runner mojoing this one we should have an easier time."

"You just had to say that," said Thunderer, as Champion cautiously eased the hatch open and moved inside.

"Ugh..." said Champion, barely not recoiling.

"What is that smell?!" said Jet Jaguar, who did recoil, despite not having Champion's keep senses.

"Shhhh!" said Thunderer, though she was also making a face.

"Thing's obviously used this room as a toilet," said Champion, almost gagging as she stepped slowly away from the hatch.

"Well, it is an animal," said Dr. Gorgeous.

"None of the microprobes made it in here," said Champion, quietly, as she scanned the crowded engine room. "However, according to Runner it should be just over..."

"Red alert!" Runner yelled over their coms. "It finally woke up fully, and it immediately broke free of my influence. It's after you!"

The three supers reflexively formed a triangle, Champion and Jet Jaguar standing away from the door on either side and covering their ranged attacker, Thunderer.

"See anything?" whispered Champion, warily.

There were so many places for something to hide in here!

"Noth..."

With a hissing shriek, the thing leapt at Champion from some overhead pipes. The sound momentarily startled all three, but Champion's reflexes took over and she blocked the slashing attack. The creature's claws cut through the soft armor of her costume and deeply into her left forearm.

"Shit!" snarled Champion. She swung at the thing with her right fist but missed.

As it jumped back from Champion, however, Jet Jaguar did a flying ram. He didn't have much room to build up speed, but he still slammed it hard into some piping, then rolled away. Thunderer quickly stepped forward and - hands extended - hit the thing with the most powerful blast of concentrated sound she wanted to risk in a room full of machinery. Steam now began shrieking from the pipes.

The creature was stunned, but not out of the fight. This changed when Champion jumped in and delivered a side kick which sent the thing crashing through the already deformed and gushing pipes and bounced it off one of the huge diesel engines in the room. The tough machinery was actually damaged by this; the creature was rendered immobile. An examination by the trio and Runner soon revealed that it was also very thoroughly dead.

"Great," said Champion, sourly, as they confirmed this. She had to speak very loudly - almost yell - to be heard over the steam jetting out of the broken pipes. "Didn't want to kill it, but I had to stop it and just didn't know how tough it was."

"Nobody is criticizing you," yelled Thunderer, with feeling. "That thing was very, very dangerous. Also: You're bleeding. A lot."

She pulled a knife from her utility belt and cut away the costume around the wound.

"Amen," said Jet Jaguar, also loudly, watching the two women tend Champion's injury. "To the dangerous part, I mean. I hurt both wrists just ramming that thing. It was too tough, fast and strong to take chances with."

"Ugh," said Champion, again, as her teammate worked. "That steam isn't helping the smell."

"It's also getting pretty toasty in here," said Jet Jaguar.

Thunderer deftly bandaged Champion's wound, the treated cloth quickly stopping the bleeding. Meanwhile, with a bit of help from Dr. Gorgeous, Jet Jaguar closed valves to cut off the roaring steam.

"Now I'm wondering if we should just kill the one one we captured," said Bowman, sounding uncertain. "These things are physically dangerous and can control people! Who are part of their diet!"

"Humane killing does seem the safest option," said Dr. Gorgeous.

"Do we know what drugs might put these things quickly and permanently to sleep?" said the Black Mask.

"You're sure they're non-sapient?" said Champion, a bit too loudly. What with firing a heavy machine gun and being in close quarters with roaring steam, she'd had two exposures to an extraordinary volume of sound in less than an hour.

"Yes," said Sharma.

"Yes," said Runner.

"Yes," said Dr. Gorgeous.

"Since the juvenile is safely contained, you don't have to decide whether to kill it just yet," said Champion, after a moment of thought. "However, if it's about to escape don't hold back. At all."

"We still need to figure out how to kill it if we decide we need to," said the Black Mask, only a bit of remaining breathlessness indicating the troubles he'd had corralling civilians.

"All right," said Champion, sounding uncharacteristically tired. "Let's figure out how to do it. Just not as a priority."

"Why do we have to make that decision?" said Jet Jaguar.

"Because there's a lot of folks waiting on us to get finished here," said Rapscallion. "T.O.W.E.R. is chomping at the bit to get in and do the cleanup."

"Exactly!" said Jet Jaguar. "Let them do the dirty work!"

"Denmark and Greenland have already agreed to let T.O.W.E.R. come in after we finish," said the Black Mask, thoughtfully. "Maybe we should let them decide the question of extermination."

"Does T.O.W.E.R. have agents who are known resistors?" said Champion, wincing as she worked her injured arm.

"Yes, as well as personal psi blockers," said Dr. Gorgeous, sounding impatient. "The government of Denmark considered this to be their problem, though, and asked the UN to be allowed to handle at least the direct consequences. The UN agreed, if Denmark then allowed T.O.W.E.R. to do the rest."

"Ah..." said Maciste, who had a large group of civilians surrounded on the fantail of the retrieval ship. "Maybe call whoever our contact is there - in Greenland, I mean - and tell them the situation."

"I told you all that," said Dr. Gorgeous. Those who knew her could almost hear her self-assured nodding.

"Not in a way which registered," said Champion, with a grin. "Okay. If - If! - the younger one is properly secured, then call our contact in Greenland and let them make the decision. Oh, and also let them know the retrieval ship will need some repairs in the engine room.

"Meanwhile, let's get out of here before we roast while marinating in stink."

Part Eight

Vic was required by her job to spend a large part of her working hours in the offices the Bureau of Special Resources maintained at the Detroit federal building. Most of the rest of her payroll time was occupied with training. The smallest part was acting as a Federal Agent in the field for the Bureau. On starting her job full time, Vic was surprised at how little of her professional day involved actually being out somewhere actively working a crime. Some weeks she didn't spend any time actually stopping or even looking for criminals. Even when the local police occasionally asked for her help with non-super matters.

Most of what time she did spend in the field was assigned to investigating situations where powers had been used, or were only suspected of being used. Often, Vic was required to gather evidence to determine whether they had even been used at all. If there was evidence of illegal use, then she was expected to bring the user in, or help other LEO to bring them in. Either way, she often worked with local police on the investigation. Which in most cases meant being there when someone with powers was asked to come in for questioning, during the questioning or both. Vic's area of responsibility was far larger than just the city of Detroit, also including a considerable radius beyond the city limits. However, most of the cases she worked were inside the metropolitan area.

Even in cases where actions of the power user were legal, the individual was often reluctant to give a formal statement. In some cases they did not want to cooperate with law enforcement at all. Considering how some supers had been treated within recent memory, that was understandable, if unfortunate.

Vic was usually able to persuade these people to go through the formal process, by informing them that part of her job was to make sure their rights were respected. A mark of the growing respect the local police agencies and individual officers had for Vic was that they often called her supervisor to specifically ask for her help. A mark of the respect she was gaining with local and regional super communities was that they not only trusted her to watch out for their rights, but they often called Vic for a case involving one or more supers before the cops did.

In this particular call from the local police, however, there was little doubt that the powers had been used and the use was definitely not legal. Someone had apparently done a "drive-by blasting" from a moving vehicle, aiming at - but fortunately not hitting - a crowd outside a movie theater. Whether this had been a personal ability or a mad science invention, there were definitely powers involved. Unless the shooter had somehow gained access to a Shilmek energy rifle, and those generally required the user to be a low-level physical super to safely operate, anyway. The people attacked were waiting in line for an afternoon matinee where, as a promotion, an appearance was being made by the two leads of the featured movie. No-one knew why the attack had been made; nothing about the movie was powers-related. The best guess was that someone with powers had a grudge against one or both stars.

"The biggest problem we have," said Sergeant Dunbar, senior cop on the scene, "is that the best witness - at least so far - is someone who was just exiting a store in the direction the vehicle fled. He had the most warning and the best look. However, he insists the suspect drove off in a Toyota Jeep."

"I think I see your problem," said Vic, with a grimace. "Eye witnesses..."

She was in her armor - more for show than function - but was carrying her helmet to make communication easier. Dunbar kept it to himself, but he was astounded the woman could move so smoothly and quietly, with hard armor over most of her body and an array of martial arts weapons attached on top of that.

"Yeah. We kept pointing out that Jeep and Toyota were different companies, but he insists it was a Toyota Jeep. When we persisted in trying to get a better description, he just got mad and clammed up. We're trying to find traffic or security camera videos. That's not as easy as they make it look on TV.

"Anyway, we did get agreement that the person who performed that attack did so by blasting from his fist. Not a device."

"Right," said Vic, with a sigh. "That does narrow the search a bit. Well, good luck with the security cameras. I'll take a look at the damage on the building and send photos of that to Bureau experts. If they can identify anything specific about the energy blast that could further narrow the field of suspects."

"We're probably both gonna need a lot of luck," said the Sergeant, with a tired sigh of his own.

Vic used her Bureau-issued brilliant phone to take photographs of the scene and send those to both the local offices and the main offices. She also dictated notes of her observations and what the witnesses told her, and sent those along as well, with promises of copies of the police reports to come later. Then she called Michelle.

"Looks like I'll be getting home late," she said, once her wife picked up. "Big mess downtown at a theater promotion."

"Yeah, that's been on the local radio and TV," said Michelle. "As it turns out, I'll be late, too. One of our regulars had a minor emergency, and needed to reschedule. Since there were powers involved at that theater situation, I figured you'd be called in, so I volunteered for the late job."

"I love you," said Vic, with great feeling.

"I love you, too. Keep me posted."

"Will do."

"You still driving that old wagon?" said Dunbar, after Vic hung up.

"Oh, yeah," said Vic, with affection.

"Huh. You're getting to be a real Columbo."

"A which, now?"

"Detective from an old TV show. As part of his characterization, he always wore a rumpled raincoat and drove a tiny, old car."

"I'll have to look that up," said Vic. "Later. Right now I need to finish here."

Vic didn't need long for that work. However, as she headed for her Corolla wagon, one of the uniforms on scene stopped her. She told Vic that the Sergeant had some new information for her.

"We got lucky," said Dunbar, as Vic approached. "One of the shop owners just across the street has an outside security camera which caught the action. He let us view the recording and make a copy. Turns out the suspect vehicle was a late model Toyota RAV4."

"Those don't even look much like Jeeps!" said Vic, outraged.

"Yeah, but they're SUVs, which is probably what the witness meant by 'Jeep.'"

"Did you get the plates?"

"No. Couldn't see who was in it, either. The angle was wrong and the side windows were tinted, anyway. The video was also black and white. Still, with that recording and the witnesses pretty much all agreeing that it was olive green we can make a start."

"Good news. Well, please keep the local office of the Bureau posted."

"Will do."

Vic was about to leave - again - but as she turned away from the Sergeant she heard something over the radio in the his car. A report of a burglary at an all-too-familiar address.

"That's my apartment!" she said, startled. "I mean, if I heard that right..."

The Sergeant called in for a repeat of the location.

"That's it, all right," said Vic, with a growing sense of unreality.

"We're finished here. Go on. I'll tell the responders that you're on the way."

"Thank you!" Vic called over her shoulder, as she hurried away.

Vic called Michelle as she ran to her car, to make sure her wife was still at work. Then she buckled in and drove.

Vic was tempted to use her lights and siren, but refrained. She even kept mostly at or under the speed limit and made all legally required stops.

There was a police presence outside the apartment building - far more cars and officers than Vic was expecting for a simple burglary, including many which were unmarked, which made her wonder if something more serious had happened than she had heard on the radio - but they weren't stopping entry or exit by anyone. There also weren't any ambulances or fire trucks. However, as Vic approached the apartment she did have to identify herself. Seeing that she was still in her armor and had her badge clearly visible, Vic found this irritating. Of course, there were still many police in Detroit who didn't know her.

"Vic Peltior," she said, pointing to her badge. "I was investigating the power assault downtown when the call came through. This is my apartment."

For some reason they found this confusing. Even much later, some of those involved in the investigation thought Vic was there because someone had used powers in the burglary.

Inside, photography and other evidence gathering was underway. Which explained the extra unmarked police vehicles outside. The place was definitely a mess, and several things had obviously been destroyed, including their plasma TV. Their DVD collection had received particular attention, with many discs taken out of their jewell cases and scattered on the floor, then apparently stomped on. There was a great deal of broken plastic, some of it ground into the carpet. Feeling sick at the violation, Vic made photos of her own, taking breaks to report to her immediate supervisor at the local Bureau office and Michelle.

"So far this looks more like vandalism than robbery," Vic said, to the plainclothes Lieutenant who was in charge, once they both had a moment to spare.

"Whose place is this, anyway?" said the Lieutenant - a clean-cut white man who looked too young for the rank - obviously puzzled. "The evidence people don't usually turn out this many this quickly for a simple robbery."

"It's my place," said Vic, flatly. "This could be an anti-super hate crime, or revenge against me as a law enforcement officer."

"Your place?! Uh, yeah. I guess that explains it. Where's your husband?"

"My wife is at work, fortunately," said Vic, tightly. They were in the bedroom, so she moved to the dresser and picked up the framed wedding photo there. "See? There's other photos of both of us around the apartment. Make sure everyone here knows what Michelle looks like."

"So... You're the husband?" said the Lieutenant, now thoroughly confused. "Sorry; I thought you were a girl."

"I am a woman and a super," said Vic, almost shouting. "If you can't get such simple facts straight, recuse yourself and let someone competent take this case!"

"Now, just a moment!"

He was talking to Vic's back, as she left the bedroom, already dialing.

"Bruno?" said Vic. "Yeah, update. Looks pretty certain the place was ransacked rather than burglarized. Either it was someone thinking that drug dealer still lived here and trying to find his stash, or an indirect attack on me. Yeah. Thank you."

She listened a moment more, nodded, and ended the connection.

"Okay, everyone, listen up! Go ahead with your jobs as you usually would, but be aware that if you uncover evidence this was a hate crime against the people in this apartment it will become a federal case! So call the FBI immediately with any evidence to that effect. Thank you!"

She turned back to the Lieutenant, who looked confused. He probably expected some sort of attack against him on the part of Vic, but she was focused on more important matters.

"Has anyone informed the building manager about any of this?" she asked.

"Of course," said the Lieutenant, stiffly.

"Good," said Vic. Though she made a mental note to also speak with Zandelo later. Given the competence - and social awareness - demonstrated by the Lieutenant so far she wouldn't count on the manager being given an accurate report of the crime.

* * *

Getting the various bureaucracies involved in the matter of the monsters on the ships to agree on a plan of action took much longer than had the actual work of securing of the ships. Worse, until Denmark and the UN and the US all reached agreement, the injured on the two ships had to make do with what medical aid the members of the two US teams could provide, with Runner using her healing on those who were the worst hurt.

On the one hand being cautious about what was done in this matter was definitely warranted, and those who had fought the monsters and their victims could understand that. There were physically dangerous alien creatures with mind control powers involved. However, with the main excitement over, the juvenile secured and the adult confirmed dead this now seemed like the time for quick action to rescue the ships and their crews. The enthralled people - including RedBird, who was also pretty badly injured - had been freed from domination by Sharma and Runner. The first super team had also been revived, and was now able to help at least to some extent with the situation. They confirmed that between RedBird and the ship crews they had been quickly subdued and their helicopter pushed overboard.

Fatalities seemed to be limited to five crew on the recovery ship. Which was unfortunate, but since they had likely been killed and eaten before the first helicopter recon that was probably unavoidable. That still wouldn't stop people - including the supers involved - from trying to figure out how things could have been done better.

Using advice from various sources the combined groups of supers were able to drug the younger monster without serious risk to it. Finally, as the sun was setting, several amphibious T.O.W.E.R. helicopters came racing towards the scene.

"Where did those come from, anyway?" said Jet Jaguar, as they were informed of the approach of the aircraft. "T.O.W.E.R. doesn't have any land bases within their range."

"T.O.W.E.R. has a single large warship," said the Black Mask. "That's all the UN would authorize, so they made sure it was as flexible as possible. It's a nuclear-powered submarine aircraft carrier. One reason for the delay was probably so it could get close enough for those helicopters to reach us."

"Weird," said Jet Jaguar.

Colonel Philemon, the commander of the responding T.O.W.E.R. forces, ordered the supers - including those from the first team and RedBird, all of whom were injured to varying extents - to board the on-loan helicopter and leave. Bowman responded reasonably that this would leave the younger monster unguarded, and stop the treatment of several injured civilians.

The Colonel dithered, then had a team rappel down onto the Greenland Coast Guard ship, while the other helicopters hovered nearby. This first-in team included medics to tend the wounded. With a proper on-scene evaluation and handover - and after making sure all those who had just come aboard were protected against domination - the Intrepids and the Assembly, plus Runner, were again ordered to board their helicopter and leave. The four supers who had been on the scene before them were now requested to stay. As was RedBird, who claimed to have no knowledge of what happened after he had reached the ships. This was strange, since everyone else who had been dominated remembered - and was ashamed of - what they had done.

"I hope we're doing the right thing," said Thunderer, as they flew into the darkness to the east.

"Don't worry; they'll be in touch," said Rapscallion. "If only to send us the bill."

* * *

Vic waited until the cops were finished, then changed into civilian clothes; she even put on her hair extension with the lightened tips. She went downstairs to the manager's headquarters. She was surprised to see no-one in the outer office. At her call, however, she heard the manager respond from his inner office, telling her to enter.

"Please close the door," Zandelo said, looking very nervous, as Vic entered. "I can't believe you actually came down here."

"Well, I told the local cops I'd talk with you about the break-in."

"Better and better. I'll have police as witnesses that you planned all this."

"What?" said Vic, confused.

"I can't believe you were dumb enough to actually come in here, you fucking fed," said Zandelo, as he pulled a revolver from his desk and stood to aim it at her. "Now I just tell the police you forced your way in here and attacked me. You're already known to have a grudge against me. I'll just tell them you accused me of being behind the break-in."

Vic sighed. Well, at least he was smart enough - or just lucky enough - to point a gun at her from far enough away he might actually get a shot off before she got to him and took it. Then - snarling - he walked around the desk to get nice and close. He was also still talking instead of just shooting. Breaking Tuco's Rule. Vic didn't really mind having a stupid opponent, but sometimes she wished they were smart enough to surrender then talk.

"I can't believe you want to kill me just because the police are investigating you."

"It's what you deserve for ruining my real estate scam!"

Ah, so there was more involved than just getting a cut from the drug dealer.

"My only involvement in that was being a victim of it!" shouted Vic, genuinely angry.

"You mouthed off to the cops about it. So when I heard you and your bitch were looking again, I worked it out so that you got Joey's old apartment! Only you ruined that, too! I couldn't even get you killed!"

Which meant he was also behind the assassination attempt at the concert. Great. Her building manager was an actual psychopath, likely with ties to organized crime.

"So, in your mind, not letting someone kill me is a crime on my part," said Vic. She shook her head, not sure she believed what she was hearing. "You could have run that apartment scam for years, made good money from it long-term. Instead you got greedy and petty and ruined it not only for you but all your cohorts. You'll be lucky if they don't pay for a hit on you while you're in prison."

"I'm pointing a gun at you!" he all but screamed.

"Oh; thanks for reminding me."

Vic was not overconfident. However, she was confident in her abilities. That confidence proved warranted as she spun out of the way the gun was pointing and stagger-stepped in quickly, to jam her left hand down on the gun, the web between thumb and fingers blocking the hammer, before the man could pull the trigger. She then twisted the gun away from Zandelo and tossed it into the corner. He went face down on the floor and had his hands flex-cuffed behind his back before he realized things were not going according to his plans.

Vic - with a silent prayer of thanks the idiot hadn't thought to start with Michelle - got out her cell phone and made the call. Absently sucking on the bleeding web of her left hand as she waited for someone to pick up.

Part Nine

Late that night, two super teams located in the eastern portion of the United States finally returned to their bases. Many members of both groups would have been happy to go straight to bed, but there was still much work to do. Follow-ups to this most recent - and shared - mission were held in the appropriate main meeting rooms... though only after team member injuries had been professionally seen to. They also had the opportunity to clean themselves, mainly through hot showers, which helped as much as the medical treatment. When the meetings finally got underway there were hot meals available with favorite drinks, waiting at the team members' seats. This helped as much as the showers and treatments together.

The post-mission debriefings were harsh for both teams. Not so much due to the performance of any individual - though Jet Jaguar received some personal attention from Bowman - as for how they had allowed themselves to be rushed. Then, for the first time in either team's history, they then arranged a conference call between just the two bases for the specific purpose of comparing notes about their shared mission. Interestingly, the main obvious differences between the two conference rooms as due to the respective ages of the bases.

The Assembly, the younger team, had taken over an existing base. This had been created by the Guild in 1962, less than a decade after the original construction of the mountain lair of the Intrepids. The equipment there had been updated multiple times - most recently during the Assembly's refurbishing - but the chamber still had an air of use and confinement. It gave the impression of occupied space, of tunnels and chambers burrowed into rock. The Intrepids were an older team, but their current base had been built new from scratch. Indeed, some parts were still under construction. Despite occupying a similar underground space, their conference room had higher ceilings and lighter colors, giving an impression of openness.

Once the mutual performance review was through, the two teams moved on to connected matters of interest to both groups.

"The sedative effect of the venom from the creatures' fangs is confirmed," said Dr. Gorgeous, as a way to open this part of the video conference once the greetings were through. "As is the fact that the toxin had a biological half-life in the human body of just six hours. This is likely part of how the original creature subdued those in the Iceworm base and the recovery ship. There do not appear to be any lasting effects."

"Good news all around," said Bowman. "Please send the details to Dr. Whiskers."

"Certainly."

"We still don't know what T.O.W.E.R. did with the younger monster," said Champion, sourly.

"That is bothering us, too," said Bowman. "At first our contact at the UN didn't even know what we were asking about! Even after I explained and she checked, when she got back to me she said she had been given the runaround... which she definitely did not like. Though any or all of this lack of communication could simply be due to the short amount of time which has passed.

"My contact finally went over the heads of the commanders of T.O.W.E.R., directly to some of the people on the UN committee which gives T.O.W.E.R. their authority. The people she talked to were rather upset at the way T.O.W.E.R. is handling the situation, and told their commanders to talk to my contact. They did, but even then, she wasn't told much."

"We've been assured it's in a secure habitat," said Solange, with a scowl, as she cut to the core of the subject. "That's about it."

"Presumably in a place where it is comfortable and can't dominate anyone," said the Black Mask.

"That is really worrying," said Champion. She had actually bothered to change into another of her costumes after showering. She was already healed enough by that time that the medics had declared another bandage unnecessary. "Please keep us informed of any developments with the creature."

"We are planning to file a complaint with the Bureau of Special Resources," said Bowman. "I suggest you do the same. They can't do anything directly with T.O.W.E.R. or the UN, but they can officially point out the problem to the State Department. Maybe even find out the truth about what they're doing with the juvenile through that channel."

"That is a good idea," said Champion, nodding.

"On a better note," said Bowman, "Greenland has already found the crashed spaceship and is making plans to recover it. Turns out it was still almost completely encased in ice, and was grounded on rocks at the coast, near where the construction was in 1960. From their preliminary examination they believe the bodies of the actual alien crew are still inside."

"I hope the UN doesn't grab that, too," said Thunderer. "Say, what happened with the fighting Fosworths?"

"They were long gone by the time we got back," said Bowman, looking relieved. "Our security people and the videos showed that once they lost their main audience - that is, the team members - they wound down and both eventually flew away. Hiram in his helicopter."

"Somebody needs to keep watch on both of them," said Solange, scowling.

"I'm already on that," said Bowman, nodding.

* * *

This was the first time Michelle had been to the place where Vic reported for work. Bruno Drake welcomed her warmly, then had the two women sit in guest chairs, while he went back behind his modest desk.

"I understand you folks had a lot of trouble with the local cops yesterday."

"Not really," said Vic, who was wearing civvies instead of her armor. "They let us drive to the station on our own, after Michelle got home. There was just a lot of time needed before they were finished with us. We got home kind'a late."

"The Feds showed up before we could leave the station," said Michelle, sourly. "Uh, the other feds. Including the Better Business Bureau!"

"They're not actually feds," said Vic, straight-faced. "Though I can see why they wanted to be involved. However, they got there after the FBI did and claimed priority, even over other federal agencies. Including ours."

"Well, there were plenty of alphabet soup groups involved, some of them from the federal government, and I couldn't keep it all straight," said Michelle, with vague, waving motions.

"Trust me, I understand," said Drake, with a sympathetic smile. "For now, everyone involved is willing to let the FBI take the lead. From what I understand, your former landlord is outraged at being charged with federal crimes, especially the hate crimes. 'I don't hate anybody! I just wanted that meddling bitch to mind her place!'"

"Ow..." said Vic, smirking.

"Yes, well, I'll make certain to keep both of you up to date on the case. The way Zandelo is talking - even bragging - we'll probably have the ID of whoever tossed your place pretty soon. Assuming he didn't do it, himself."

"I understand he's the one who called the 'burglary' in," said Vic, nodding. "Maybe he did do it."

"Yes. None of your neighbors seemed to notice anything. Most of them work during the day, so that's understandable. Which raises the question of how he knew to call the cops."

"So who will take over the building?" said Michelle, practically. "We just found that place. We don't want to move again, especially so soon."

"The owners say they already have someone in mind," said Drake, leaning back. "However, they may also be implicated in the scam you two got hit with previously. They own that apartment building as well as the one you're now in, and many others where the scam was run. If they are involved with the scam, they'll probably be indicted, and likely forced to sell. For now, though, your home is safe."

"That's good news," said Vic, with a tired sigh.

"We've also confirmed that your building's manager was the person who bought the hit on Vic," said Drake, looking back and forth between them. "He's probably also behind all trouble you two were having with addicts. Oh, and the girl who kept trying to push past Vic and leave the restroom after the shooting at the concert is the shooter's girlfriend. She was there to confuse things with the police. Only when they started asking pointed questions she decided to save her own skin and turned on him."

"No honor among thieves," said Michelle, firmly.

"The bad news is," said Drake, "since the guy who tried to shoot you was taken into custody, there have been two more reliable reports of someone 'arresting' a super with few or no physical powers. Usually with fatal results."

"Oh, God..." said Michelle, astounded. "It's a franchise."

* * *

"That's interesting news," said Trujillo, the next day, as Vic brought her mentor up to date on these matters. He peered at Vic, who seemed disturbed. "What's wrong? Isn't it a good thing to have the mystery of the apartment scammers cleared up? Even if not completely..."

"I'm concerned with something else, just now," said Vic, with a vague gesture. "We like to think that if a super actually gets killed, it's by another super, or by an extremely skilled normal, or while fighting off a small army, or... The guy who came after me, though, was just a bit above average. Even if he wasn't the same person who killed Mr. Gone, that was probably also someone normal who just had a big gun."

"True. However, Mr. Gone was physically normal, and disdained self-defense training, counting on his intellect or his henches to protect him," said Trujillo. He smiled. "None of which apply to you. Unless you're going to get overconfident and coast."

"Not likely," said Vic, quite seriously. She looked thoughtful for a moment, before speaking again. "Most masks - whether good guys or bad - are high self-evaluators. We're always checking our performance. Did I do that right? Even if so, how could I do it better? Well, except for the paranoids. They're usually inventing scenarios to explain their failures as the fault of someone else."

"That's not surprising," said Trujillo. Who was likely remembering his own time wearing a mask. "Those who don't constantly evaluate their performance and look for improvements don't last long in that business."

* * *

Hiram Fosworth was scowling. He was still sitting at his desk in his main office building in Chicago, well after quitting time. That sort of arbitrary scheduling was for workers, not bosses. The dusk outside made no difference in this artificially lit structure devoted to international business. His aides had learned to leave him alone when he brooded. Currently, he was definitely brooding. All the work he'd put into revitalizing his powers, and now his sister had stolen part of it! Intolerable!!

Well, it wouldn't stand. He wouldn't let it! His agents were already checking into acquiring the old, family farm. He'd originally let it go because there was just him and his sister left. He hadn't needed that albatross of a house or the useless swampland, no matter what family connections there were, no matter what sentiments were associated with it. However, if Laurie were somehow using it against him, he'd just buy it back!

* * *

Many other people were also up late this evening. One group was on Pine Island. While the school only owned a small part of the actual island, they were the only organized bureaucracy here except for the small UN contingent. Even those personnel usually deferred to the school administration. A responsibility those who ran to the school, the hospital and the old Pine base took seriously.

This meeting was unusual not only in the reason behind it, but the uncertainty as to whether it was even worth meeting about.

"The Puerto Rico Trench is becoming more and more active," said Junker, addressing Principal Eve Hind specifically. As usual he wore a blue jumpsuit with many large pockets. "You need to talk to the geologists for the details. I don't understand half of what they say, which gives you an idea of how esoteric all this is. I can tell they're worried, though."

"Is this caused by Pine's work?" said Eve, whose clothing was the epitome of simple elegance, frowning. "Or the demons coming through his volcano? Some combination?"

"Almost certainly not. Either of those, alone or in combination. Oh, there could be trivial effects from those events, but even Pine pulling enough rock and magma above the water to make this island was like a pimple on an elephant."

"Inelegantly but descriptively phrased," said Eve, dryly.

"Of course, that fact won't keep some people from blaming us for the earthquakes," said Template, as usual in her costume and mask. "Which are being felt over this whole region. So, no-one from here should mention any of this except to knowledgeable and sympathetic people."

"Oh, definitely," said Eve, nodding.

* * *

In a marsh bordered by fields on one side and a swamp on another, an elven maid danced and danced and danced... Though only after her chores were done.

She was not oblivious to the problem presented by her brother. In fact, she had already taken measures to frustrate his ambitions. That accomplished, this was more important. Much more important.