Vic Peltior and her partner only want to get on with their lives. Unfortunately for them, there are people who want them to do -- or be -- something else.

Swords and personalities clash, and a mysterious new villain threatens to put our heroine in a tight spot. Can Vic and company overcome it? Do they dare?

Masks XXIV: Establishing a Balance

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part One

The meeting - as is true of so many gatherings of the type - was held in a little-used section of a large and otherwise busy warehouse. Only a few lights were on, in an area surrounded by dusty crates, some of which formed a zig-zag path in. There was a card table with folding chairs, but no-one was seated. However, the lightweight table had multiple photographs and diagrams on it, along with some printed instructions. One man, tall and wide and muscular, addressed the best-dressed of the small group. Smiling confidently.

"Boss, I'll get 'er done if it harelips ever' cannibal in DC!" said Aurness, with humorous determination.

"Remember, there's only two months at the most."

"Should take less than a week to arrange. Then one night for three teams to hit the three targets at the same time."

"Then, as you say, git 'er done," said the arranger, Parker, now also smiling.

* * *

The pair on the couch in front of the apartment's television appeared mismatched in several respects, despite their current display of physical intimacy. One was Caucasian, one was Black. One appeared to be in her mid-teens, the other in her late twenties. However, both were in good physical condition. They were also very affectionate towards each other.

Vic Peltior was a young woman with vaguely Asian features, though her eyes lacked the epicanthic fold. Her hair was dark brown, and rather short. Her skin was dark enough to make her look perhaps Mediterranean. She had taut muscles and high, firm breasts, something which was currently very obvious. She had broad shoulders tapering to a slightly narrowed waist, downward from which her body flared into very feminine hips. Just now, she was casually picking out a tune on her guitar, Smokey.

Meanwhile, Michelle Peltior was much darker, a bit taller and better endowed, as well as wearing makeup, which her partner wasn't. She appeared to be older than her wife. In fact, they were very close in age.

"I like the fact that when it's just the two of us in here, I can go without a bra," said Vic, lowering the guitar, stretching and scratching. She leered at Michelle. "Actually, both of us can."

"You don't need one as much as I do," said Michelle, smirking back. "I also suspect you like to go braless when you play your guitar due to the vibrations affecting certain parts of your anatomy."

"No comment," said Vic, with mock solemnity. She sighed, and lost some of her light mood. "Would you believe that I still find putting on a bra a bit... arousing?"

"Of course. You are such a boy when it comes to things like that. I will note that I sometimes get turned on by women's underwear, too, though that's because of who's been wearing it. However, after the hard day I had, right now I need to rest for a while before I'll be ready for anything more than snuggling, so keep that in mind. Not that I object to your snuggling..."

"I can definitely wait," said Vic, reaching for the remote. "What was so hard today, though?"

"One of my older regulars died. Her will requested that I do her hair one more time."

"You had to give a perm to a corpse?!" said Vic, startled.

"It's not the first time," said Michelle, smiling a bit. "It's not that bad, actually. They don't talk or move around, unlike my usual customers."

"I should hope not."

"The funeral home employees do most of the work, and help when I need the body moved."

"Yeah, let's watch TV. Get both our minds off that."

Vic's brilliant phone rang while she and Michelle were watching a nature show. Which meant they were actually paying a lot more attention to each other than to the program. They had hoped - given that this was a Friday night - that both their work weeks were over. Vic gave an exaggerated sigh, then vaulted over the back of the couch. She landed within reach of the phone, where it lay on the table near the apartment's entrance. She grabbed it and took the call just as the first ring faded. The office was hours closed, but the Bureau of Special Resources had, well, special resources for dealing with certain problems. Mostly due to the small number of employees in the local office.

"Request for super help with a police matter has been sent to this office," said the automated voice, "with attached sound file."

The voice changed to that of a police dispatcher.

"All units, two-eleven in progress at the 6ixth-4rth Bank branch on Richmond with shots fired. At least three suspects, armed with automatic weapons and wearing body armor."

"Gotta go!" Vic shouted at her wife, as she ran for the bedroom. "Bank robbery with armored robbers."

"Go!" said Michelle, tolerantly. "Save folks' money! Oh, and put on a bra!"

As Vic drove - Code 3, with lights and siren on, definitely with a sports bra under her armor's body stocking - she tried to get more info. There wasn't much from that scene on the police scanner except the bare minimum. However, a call to one of her police contacts revealed more. The Detroit police department had asked specifically for her help, partly because she was a super, partly because the bank was federally insured (though Vic was pretty sure that would only be pertinent during the after-robbery investigation) and partly because of her own armor. However, after she hung up but while she was still en route she heard a report on the scanner that the robbers had fled the scene, somehow evading all pursuit. The radio didn't have any specific message for Vic, though, so she continued her drive, now Code 2.

By the time she arrived there were multiple units on site, plus a CSI team. Vic knew a few of the officers and investigators, as well as the two ranking detectives present. That pair guided Vic through the scene and briefed her on what had happened.

"We got lucky," said Sergeant Müller, as he led Vic around the building. "Someone out jogging late spotted a vehicle parked after hours at the car wash over there. While the jogger was looking to try and see what was going on - thinking the van might have been stolen for a joy ride and just left there - he saw the flare of an oxy-acetylene torch being lit at the bank's back door. The jogger had his cell phone with him and called it in while he ran home."

"The suspects were obviously breaking in after hours to avoid a confrontation," said Lieutenant Boucher. "However, they were well armed and wearing body armor, probably just in case."

"When the first units showed up the suspects fired short bursts of full auto, just to make the responders keep their heads down. Then they used military-style withdrawal techniques to get away while under return fire," said the Sergeant, whom Vic remembered had been an Army Ranger. He shook his head in reluctant admiration. "The executed a standard break contact drill; sequential suppressive fire and retreat."

"They knew what they were doing all around," said the Lieutenant, obviously impressed. "Including their choice of which bank branch to hit. Turns out the main branch is closed for remodeling, and this branch and two others in the city were chosen for holding those assets while it was out of service."

"Probably because they were pros, the responding officers got off lightly," said Müller. "The robbers were more interested in getting away than fighting it out. There were some minor injuries on our side, but no-one killed or even seriously hurt... except in the pride, I guess. We figure they got away with nobody on their side hurt. No signs of blood or anything like that. They even took their equipment."

"To quote from Juggernaut," said Lieutenant Boucher, who was old enough to have seen the movie first run in theaters, though only if his parents had taken him, "'God save me from enthusiastic amateurs.' Give me a pro any day. Yeah, they're harder to catch, but they're also less likely to hurt anyone and more likely to just give up when they realize they're caught."

"There were still a lot of rounds fired, though," said one of the other cops, with a sweeping gesture.

"Yeah, I can see the bullet holes," said Vic, nodding slowly. "On both the bank and that car wash back there. As well as on those first responding units."

"That's how they got away," said Lieutenant Boucher, nodding towards the car wash, which was just beyond the back parking lot of the bank, with only a narrow grass strip separating the properties. "They stashed their vehicle in the closest stall, and those all exit beyond those trees, so there's concealment for a getaway. As they withdrew they ran to the vehicle - we think it was a full-size van - threw their gear in the back and just drove away. We didn't get plates, make or model."

Vic was a bit surprised there was no leaking plumbing at the car wash, but all the pavement there appeared to be dry. In spite of the bullet holes. Which she realized were mostly in the upper part of the metal wall.

"That convenient hiding place for their van may be why they hit this branch and not one of the other two where the extra money was stashed." Vic paused, frowning as something occurred to her. "Or were those also targeted?"

The Lieutenant looked startled, then quickly stepped away and got out his phone.

Well, at least I made some small contribution to the case, thought Vic, with a slight smile.

The detective finished his call quickly, sighed, put his phone away, and turned back to Vic. Who decided to get the man's mind off that possible oversight.

"I see they cut the wires into the building," said Vic.

"Yeah. This branch lacks some of the modern security measures they're installing at the main office, so once the robbers cut the phone and power - both available through above-ground utility poles instead of going underground - the building was completely isolated. The security company does a query of the alarm system by phone every fifteen minutes, but the robbers apparently knew the timing. They started their operation right after one query."

"They could probably detect the query by an induction probe," said Vic, nodding. "Wouldn't even need anyone at the bank or the security company to tell them the schedule."

"That's our current evaluation," said Boucher. "We know they had one of those folding ladders. Inside jobs give you inside information, but that's also a potential source of leaks about the job."

"Professionals," said Müller, nodding.

"Any idea how they planned to get into the vault?" said Vic.

"It looks like they used shaped charges all around the frame at the other two branches," said Lieutenant Boucher. "At least, that's the evaluation of the person I talked to. She said that something had cut through all the way around, leaving burn marks, and the door just dropped out of the frame. Minimal damage in the vault."

"Probably military veterans," said Müller, with an assured nod. "Maybe even Special Forces or something like that."

More information quickly became available. This robbery had been abandoned, with only some minor damage to the outer door at the rear entrance. The thieves hadn't even made it to the second set of doors. However, as the investigators continued studying the scene of the attempted break-in here, Lieutenant Boucher was soon given additional information about the other two crime scenes. Shortly before he had called to check on the other branches, the security company watching the banks had reported a loss of communication with them. When they were checked by police, the responding units discovered that the thieves were long gone, leaving obviously violated vaults. Besides the deft treatment of the vault doors, the safe deposit boxes had been opened quickly and efficiently, most likely through expert application of a portable concrete saw.

"Damn," said Vic, when the Lieutenant relayed the information. "This was definitely a well-planned job. Three teams, organized to hit three targets at the same time."

"No warning, no bystanders, no fuss, just get in, do the job, and get out," said Sergeant Müller. "Bet we don't find a fingerprint or hair tag one at any of the scenes."

"No bet," said Vic, with a sigh. "Well, at least I didn't have to fight anyone tonight."

"There's always tomorrow night," said Müller, darkly.

One thing Vic tried which she was careful not to emphasize that she was doing was to take her helmet off for a careful sniff around, as she was also looking closely at various items at the crime scene. Her sense of smell was not superhuman, but even the human level of odor detection could be useful. Many humans were unknowingly anosmatic, and simply didn't realize what they were missing. Even the majority of people with a normal sense of smell didn't pay much attention to it.

There were many strong odors around the doors, mainly of hot metal from the torching. There were multiple body odors as well. However, one thing stood out.

"Garlic," said Vic, frowning.

"Beg pardon?" said Sergeant Müller, confused.

"Have you or any of the other responders had garlic in a recent meal?"

"Uh, no?" said the Sergeant, not enlightened by this. However, he dutifully asked around. "Nope. None of us. Do you think that's a clue?"

"Probably not," said Vic, with a sigh. "Could be a security guard had a sandwich or something with garlic, and didn't wash his hands before he pulled on the door handle to check it, some time before the robbery. Or any of a multitude of other sources. Ah, well. Keep me appraised."

"Will do," said the Sergeant, looking impressed. "Uh, don't forget the car wash stall."

"Right," said Vic, nodding as she turned to head there.

* * *

"We got two outta three, boss," said the big man, gesturing at the neatly organized piles of loot as the other entered the walled-off part of the warehouse. "Not a bad haul, if less than we could'a got."

"That's about what I was expecting, actually," said Parker, nodding. He sighed contentedly as he looked at the haul. "Excellent. My accountants will tally everything and calculate your share. Meanwhile, I want you and your men helping with security. Just be sure they know to be discreet."

"Wouldn't'a picked 'em otherwise, boss," said Aurness, grinning.

* * *

"You're awfully quiet today," said Michelle, the next morning, as the couple did minor Saturday chores around the apartment, post breakfast. "What's bothering you?"

"Those robberies of the bank branches," said Vic, frowning as she loaded the dishwasher. "Most people are saying they were planned by a mastermind, but I'm not seeing that. There's none of the usual flourishes and stylistic touches. Just a set of exquisitely well planned crimes. Which were then carried out by professionals. Maybe by teams brought in from the outside for the job, then paid off and dispersed once it was over."

"Well, you're the one who has personal experience with masterminds," said Michelle. Now it was her turn to frown. "Didn't you tell me, though, that some of them didn't fit the pattern?"

"True," Vic admitted. "They're rare, though, and even they will usually have some sort of trademark, a way to let others know who was behind some clever scheme. There's nothing like that which I can find in this case."

"So if that is eliminated, what does it leave?"

"A bright and experienced non-super planner and organizer," said Vic, nodding confidently, as she closed the dishwasher door. "Maybe with more than one person involved in the planning part."

"Was the haul enough to justify someone like that going through all the effort? Like, maybe enough for organized crime involvement?"

"Good questions," said Vic, nodding again. "Yeah. Even with a haul of just two-thirds of what they might have gotten, they got a lot. Just how much will have to wait until customers reveal what they had in the safe deposit boxes. It's a good bet organized crime is involved. I think I need to make some calls."

"So if there's no super involvement, why are you working on the case?"

"That's part of the 'Other duties as assigned' in my contract," said Vic, with a humorless grin. "Supers working for the Bureau are supposed to help local law enforcement when asked. Sometimes they abuse that, but usually they don't bother asking unless there's something about the case which they think I can help with. Like the fact that the suspects were wearing armor of their own and using automatic weapons, this time."

Vic sighed, and gave her wife a tired smile.

"Well, the calls can wait for Monday. I don't think there is any hurry. Right now, I'm in for the weekend. I hope."

Masks 24: Part Two

"What is with this city, anyway?" said Michelle, as, together, she and Vic moved into their den and the couch in front of the TV.

"Part of it is that it's a crossroads," said Vic, shrugging as they sat and unconsciously snuggled closer. "Part of it is that all the empty - in many cases abandoned - properties and even entire neighborhoods here make hiding illegal activities relatively easy.

"Of course, a lot of illegal business takes place in what look like respectable establishments," Vic continued, as she put an arm around Michelle. "Caviar - which it really isn't, but that's what everyone calls it - gets traded to Russians and Belorussians over the counter in some food shops. Fresh from American streams and lakes. All illegally."

"Caviar?!"

"Yeah," said Vic, with a slow nod. "That trade is a lot bigger in Chicago, but there's still some here. Eastern Europeans are so mad about caviar they've just about wiped out their native fish. They come here and either fish for it themselves or buy it on the black market. Most of them don't even understand they're breaking the law, 'cause they're getting it for themselves and their families and friends and not for resale and, besides, everyone knows the US is a lawless place. When they're arrested they'll compound the offense by trying to bribe local or federal agents. 'Cause that's SOP where they're from."

"Crazy."

"Especially since the species which produce the best American caviar are already endangered and protected," said Vic. She gave a tired, humorless laugh. "You should hear the federal and state Fish and Wildlife agents talk about this. They're almost religious in their fervor to stop the trade."

"There's a lot more than caviar going on, though," said Michelle.

"A whole lot," said Vic, nodding tiredly. "That's just on my mind because we - the folks at the local office of the Bureau of Special Resources - were part of an inter-agency briefing on the topic yesterday morning."

"Ah..." said Michelle, with nod and a knowing smile. "Well, we have today off - I hope - so let's relax a bit before we start on the day's chores. No more talk about fish or fish eggs."

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

The crime scene in Detroit was quiet the next workday morning. In fact, the whole city seemed subdued this Monday. As if the shock of the two spectacular robberies and the failed attempt at a third the previous Friday had spread, even to the law abiding, and was somehow causing a downturn in crime. Including casual traffic violations; even vehicular accidents were down. Local radio and TV news had covered the crimes, starting with the late editions that night, with weekend papers subsequently picking up the story of the events. By the start of work Monday morning a major portion of the population was keeping their heads down, often literally.

Vic was, as usual for early on a Monday morning, in a briefing. This particular time it was a group affair, intended for all the local federal law enforcement officers in Detroit. Vic glanced around and quickly found her boss, who nodded to her. Bruno Drake was a grizzled man in his late fifties, with short, grey hair and a conservative manner. As usual he wore a bowtie. However, he was not the person the assembled federal employees were here to hear. They had a visitor who had come to Detroit specifically to give a warning about a strong potential for theft.

As a result, the handful of field agents and the Special Agents in Charge for the local FBI, Marshals' Service and BSR offices were gathered in federal building's conference room, which had been reserved just for this purpose. The guest was introduced around the gathering by the local FBI office's Special Agent in Charge Dianne Colby. Vic had never met their special guest before but she knew who he was: Malcolm (Double Dutch) Vandemeer. He shook hands with everyone.

"I've heard a lot about you," Vic said, managing not to gush. "Some of it from Fen."

He laughed.

"Try not to let that color your view of me," he said, still grinning. Then he sobered, and looked around the room at the handful of people. "What I'm going to tell you today needs to be taken seriously."

The small, not very formal meeting was called to order, and Dutch proceeded.

"There is an exhibit of Asian - mostly Japanese - art coming to town. One of the main exhibits is a special display of a pair of samurai swords - or katana - called the Balance Blades. They are both shown with their associated wakizashi - which were actually acquired separately and later - but it's the big blades which are the problem. Every time they have gone on public display - and a large number of times besides - those swords have been targets for thieves."

"They're that valuable?" said one of the other special agents.

"In more ways than one," said Dutch, seriously. "Doesn't matter whether you believe in magic; other people do. Some of them would do anything, anything, to get those blades."

"The exhibit has agreed to post three times the usual security," said Colby. "However, a number of authorities have urged further precautions, especially since all this material is on loan from other countries. Some have even tried to get the exhibit cancelled, or at least have the swords removed from it. Both the exhibit's owners and the city are determined to continue as planned."

"They're fools for doing so," said Dutch, flatly.

"Why are you so, well, passionate about this?" said Vic, puzzled.

"Because," said Dutch, his young-old eyes narrowing, "every time - Every time! - those blades are exhibited, there's trouble."

Vic remembered that he was nearing a century of age, despite looking much younger. She wondered just how many times he had seen this same scenario play out.

* * *

Whatever the risk of crimes involving the swords, they were only one concern in Detroit at that time. Something more immediate soon required Vic's attention, due to an apparent use of powers in the case. A vehicle described as a black SUV had driven by a crowd waiting to get into a theater, and an energy blast had shot out the open rear passenger window of the vehicle. Fortunately, the single shot had missed the people, but there was substantial damage to the building. In spite of the miss, several of those outside had been injured by the resulting spray of debris.

As Vic drove up at the scene, several officers seemed to recognize her Corolla wagon. They waved her into a parking place which was out of the way of traffic but near the location of the incident.

"Thanks," said Vic, as she got out.

"Your car is getting to be as recognizable as the one in that old TV detective show," said one of the officers, grinning.

Vic had no idea what he was talking about, but there were more important things on her mind than having that reference explained. She soon found the senior officer on site.

"Witnesses say it was obviously a power in use," said the uniform, when Vic asked him for the details. "The black SUV had the rear passenger window down, and someone shot an energy blast of some type from inside as it drove by."

"That could be a direct power use," said Vic, frowning. As usual when in the field but not expecting a fight, she was in her armor but carrying her helmet. "It could be a gadgeteer device, which would be an indirect power use. It could be some sort of black market energy projecting device, perhaps even a captured Shilmek weapon. It could be a legal energy emitter, like a laser drill, which someone hacked to increase the output and range."

"So how do we tell which this was?" said the cop, looking confused.

"Find good video, or the people who did this," said Vic. She sighed and shook her head. "I'll take photos and samples and send them off to our experts. I seriously doubt they'll be able to tell anything beyond what type of energy caused the damage."

"Well, whichever it was, it wasn't a normal crime," said the officer, firmly. "We'll need your Bureau's help to figure out what happened, and maybe to catch whoever was responsible."

"That's what we're here for."

* * *

"Wow, he wasn't kidding," said Vic, working on the computer in their apartment that evening. "Dutch, I mean."

"About the swords?" said Michelle, from where she sat on the couch, reading articles to keep up on her job.

"Yeah. Every time someone exhibits those - and people who own them seem compelled to show off that they own them - someone steals or tries to steal them. Seems there's this long tradition, going back centuries, that those swords - made by different master sword smiths in different eras of ancient Japan - were paired by a warlord a few years after the second was made, and that they somehow balance each other, mystically. The folklore is that one of the blades was made by a man who made a deal with a demon and the other - older one - by a man who was actually a priest."

"Pretty heavy stuff," said Michelle, shivering just a bit.

"Well, the blades are priceless separately, each touted as the last made by their respective master. Together, they're priceless squared.

"There's also whole books of folklore about those blades. Supposedly, if you put the newer blade point-down in moving water, the edge facing upstream, leaves will be attracted to the edge and sliced in two. If you do the same with the other sword - the one made by the priest - leaves will go around it."

"Y'know, that could be caused just by the different finishes on the blades affecting the surface tension differently," said Michelle, thoughtfully. "Has anyone actually tried that? The water thing, I mean."

"Not in modern times. The swords are just too valuable." Vic jabbed a finger in the air from her seat at the computer. "However! According to legend, it was tried in the past and that's what happened. Also according to legend, the blades must be kept together. The good of one counters the evil of the other. That's supposed to be why the original owner of the second blade acquired the other one, to keep the evil one under control. Supposedly, even now, if they are separated, the evil blade will, well, commit evil. Or, rather, cause others to commit evil, or aid their evil acts or something. The legends are vague and the actual facts few."

"So it's 'legend' this and 'folklore' that and 'myth' the other," said Michelle. She shrugged. "That could be all these stories are."

"People have committed mass murder over myths and legends," said Vic, quietly. She sighed, and stretched a bit. "Think I'll practice my guitar some."

"Just as long as it's something I can sing along with," said Michelle, grinning.

* * *

The atmosphere for this meeting of partners in crime was far different from the earlier ones.

"Ah don't like this, boss," said Aurness. "Robbin' banks - especially after hours - is one thing, but these swords are in a public exhibit. Lots of guards, lots of security cameras and alarms..."

"I don't like it, either," said Parker, scowling. "Those are the orders."

He sighed, and shook his head.

"I think the bank robberies were tests, to make sure we could handle things. Maybe to fund this new operation, too."

"Ah hate when someone gets clever like that," muttered Aurness.

"We're professionals," said Parker, flatly. "Let's act like it."

* * *

"I don't like this, boss," said one of the more technical henchmen hired for the job, as Aurness and his people brainstormed the next day. "It's possible, but barely. Timing has to be exactly right. There's no margin. Maybe we should skip this one."

"Ah don't give a rodent's rectum whether you like it," said Aurness, hotly. "We were hired for a job, and you agreed to be part of it. If you want out, just say so."

"Yessir," said the man, almost but not quite coming to attention.

"Ah mean it!" said Aurness, standing and looking around the cheap hotel suite where the gang met to plan. "Any of you want out, now's the time. Won't be held against you. Ah know this is a tough one."

No-one said anything. No-one moved.

"Good enough. Now, get back to work. Like Ah said, this won't be easy. If anybody can think of a way to make it easier, sing out."

* * *

That group was not the only one preparing for illegal behavior. In a large, heavily modified garage, four young men carefully examined the new equipment they had just installed in an SUV with a dark paint job.

"You ready for this?" said one, as he finished and closed the hood.

"Revved up like a deuce," said another, with a grin and two thumbs up. The third echoed the second's gesture and grin.

* * *

Vic wasn't surprised to be called to her boss' office the next morning. She was only mildly surprised to see a visitor there. A man a bit below average height, in early middle age and with male pattern baldness and thick, black-rimmed glasses. Not unlike her boss, except that Drake was a bit taller and in much better physical condition.

"Vic Peltior, this is Ivan Travers," said Special Agent in Charge Drake, as the two shook hands. "He's from the Office of Scientific Investigation and has some equipment he would like you to evaluate."

"It's not just 'some equipment," said Travers, with the zeal of the true believer, as he lifted - with a bit of difficulty - the case from the floor beside him and used both hands to present it to Vic. "It's state of the art armor. Far better than that collage you're currently wearing! Just try it out and let us know how well you like it!"

"Uhm, okay," said Vic, accepting the case... with one hand. "I'll let you know."

"Excellent! The manual is in the case. If you have any questions, so is the contact information!"

Vic expected him to leave after that, but instead he spent over twenty minutes expounding on the virtues of this state-of-the-art armor. The more she heard the more Vic's stomach sank. The man was touting as new developments by his office things which Vic's existing armor had included for months or - in a few cases - years. As well as some features which had been rejected. The only desirable feature this new armor had which her old lacked seemed to be an independent air supply, and according to Travers that in the new armor would only last for five minutes. It also lacked several things which Vic had found valuable on her armor. For example, there was no specific provision for stowing her accustomed weapons. The few questions she asked got positive but vague responses about the new armor's capabilities. Finally, Travers actually did leave. Vic - still holding the case - turned to her boss, feeling a bit confused.

"I don't have to wear this on the job, do I?"

"Not unless you want to," said Drake, flatly. "I have a feeling this is a pet project of Travers' and that he has an unrealistic idea of just how good it is."

"Yeah. Well, he may simply not know the technical details well enough to accurately describe them. I'll try this stuff on tonight when I get home."

"Thank you. OSI has been pressuring various federal agencies to evaluate this equipment for months, and we got the short straw. Don't be afraid to be critical, but try to be diplomatic."

"Yes, sir."

Part Three

Vic - in her old armor, the helmet in her left hand - got out of her Corolla wagon at the scene of another "super drive-by" attack. This time, what was apparently the same black SUV from which the energy blast had been directed at the theater crowd days earlier, had made a different type of attack. Vic found it odd that even though there had been several more-traditional drive-by shootings lately in Detroit during that same period, the energy blast attack - and now this one - were "the" drive-bys on the minds of most police and civilians alike.

There were multiple, deep gouges on the brick wall backing the crime scene, all well above head height. One of the gouges still had a shiny, metal disk embedded in it.

Vic identified herself at the plastic tape barrier and was let onto the scene. Her badge was becoming largely superfluous when she was in her armor, which definitely helped speed things. She zeroed in on the Detective in charge, a man she had worked with before.

"Detachable hubcaps, huh?" she said, to break the pause after a terse exchange of greetings.

"Yeah," said the Detective. He began explaining what had happened, using his hands to indicate locations and motions. "The SUV drove down this way first, briefly aimed at the crowd to launch the two spinners on that side. Then it straightened out and sped off. Fortunately, the rolling blades of death - as one reporter is already calling them - hit the curb and bounced into the air. You can definitely see the damage where the curb was hit. People were still hurt when the first two glanced off the wall and dropped back to the sidewalk."

He stepped closer to the street, Vic following, and gestured down the block.

"Maybe because those missed, the SUV made a U-turn in the intersection - you can see the tire marks from here - and headed back. They launched the other two spinners and left in a hurry. Both of those also hit the curb, bounced up and hit the wall, one of them sticking. Again, the one which bounced off hurt people.

"We have nineteen in the hospital. Most of the injuries are minor, fortunately. Three people are in intensive care, but all are expected to make a full recovery."

"This definitely seems like mad inventor work," said Vic. She looked around and sighed. "The mechanics of spinning up the detachable hubcaps and launching them all seem to have worked perfectly. The driver even aimed well. They just didn't think about the effects a concrete curb would have on the discs' trajectory. Right now, whoever built those is probably having a good rant, blaming everyone and everything but themselves for the failure.

"Oh, what was the crowd here for, anyway?

"Charity concert," said the Detective. "To raise funds for low-income people who want to buy a newly-refurbished home but can't afford the down payment. Part of a cooperative effort between the city and several companies to try and help revitalize the city."

"I read about that," said Vic, nodding. Then she frowned. "The idea was that the developer bought some abandoned houses from the city, refurbished them and planned to use the funds which selling them raised to repeat the process. Only not enough people who would want those homes could afford them."

"Yeah, that's it," said the Detective, nodding. He gave a heavy sigh. "The concert promoters say they're going to continue with the event, and most of those waiting in line have said they still plan to attend."

"Now I'm wondering if this attack was to keep more abandoned properties from being refurbished," said Vic, frowning in thought. "Maybe... maybe the people responsible for these attacks are squatting in one of the abandoned homes."

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. I'm going to check whether anyone at the previous incident - in the crowd or involved in organizing the event - is also involved in that project. Problem is, even if we're right, there's a lot of abandoned homes - even entire neighborhoods - in this town."

"You local police are better equipped to check that than the Bureau is."

Vic spent the better part of an hour on site, asking questions, taking photos of the actual "rolling blades of death" and the damage to the wall and arranging to get copies of the police reports. Since powers had apparently been used in both of the black SUV attacks, the Bureau of Special Resources was taking an official interest in the SUV and its occupants. Which was why Vic was again out well after her usual workday.

"Still no license plate for the SUV," she said, with a sigh, to the Detective as she wrapped up her part. "No description of those inside the vehicle; not even a reliable number of occupants. I bet there won't be fingerprints or DNA on the spinners, either."

"No bet," said the Detective.

* * *

Vic had tried the new armor on that first night, and quickly formed her opinion. Just to be fair, though - as well as to present the image of being diligent in evaluating it - she tried it a few more times, including during a couple of workouts, and didn't bring the case back to the office until the end of the week.

The next Monday, even before Vic could get to her desk, she was called to Drake's office. She felt irritated when she saw that Travers was also there. He didn't look happy.

"I didn't even file my report, yet," said Vic, once the terse greetings were over.

"I'm afraid it's my fault he's here," said Drake. "I told him Friday afternoon the armor was ready for pickup. When he got here, he wanted to know why you weren't keeping it and I told him you hadn't liked it."

"What's wrong with it?" said Travers, the image of barely controlled offense.

"Let's start with the undergarment. It has toes."

"Uh..." said Travers, uncertainly. This was obviously not the sort of objection he had prepared to defend against.

"Okay, those aren't that bad of an idea, and in an elastic garment they work okay. However, they make that undergarment much slower to put on than the one I currently use, and there are times when I have to get into the armor quickly."

"You'll get better with practice," he said, confidently.

"This isn't about me," said Vic, tightly. "This is about something which protects me and helps me do my job. No matter how much I practice - and I do practice putting my armor on - yours is slower with such a needlessly detailed bodystocking underneath. Even though it does fit very well. How did your people get my measurements, by the way?

"Then there's the fact that there are too many pieces which have to be put on individually. My existing armor has been refined so that I can leave most of the pieces connected, meaning that I only have to put on three sets of armor pieces and adjust six straps. Those straps, by the way, fasten with Velcro, so that..."

"Velcro wears out!" the man snapped. "Buckles last forever!"

"Velcro can be replaced as it wears," said Vic, angrily. "Buckles also take approximately forever to adjust!"

"You just haven't been taught the right way to adjust the buckles on this suit," said the man, scornfully. Obviously meaning that he didn't think Vic knew how to adjust buckles, possibly because she appeared to be so young.

"Even if they were more durable, the buckles mean there are more steps to donning and - just as important - doffing the armor. Finally - and I admit this is another minor point - the color is too dark. I need high visibility a lot more often than I need stealth, and the pearlescent finish on the current armor gives that. It's also more reflective for light-based attacks, adding to the protection."

"Stop making excuses! This is your issued equipment and you will wear it!"

"Like Hell I will," said Vic, mildly. "My old armor was developed over a period of several years with help from specialists at the Bureau. It's not perfect, but overall it's much better than what you brought. Oh, and I didn't see any of their names on the list of people who developed the new armor. Which means that whoever made this started from scratch. Needlessly. I don't know the people who made this, I had no input into developing it, it doesn't work nearly as well as the current armor. I'm not wearing it."

"It offers twelve percent better protection!"

"By whose measurement? Even if it were much tougher than what I have, it hampers my mobility so much that I'd get hit far more often, meaning that I'd actually be in more danger. No. I'm not wearing it."

"Yes. You. Are. Or you'll suffer the consequences!"

"Did you just threaten a federal agent?" said Vic's boss, his tone deceptively mild.

"You're damn right I did! I know all about your prima donna super, and how she needs a firm hand. You've obviously been going far too easy on her, letting her get away with things just because she's a super. Well, that ends now!"

"Indeed it does," said Drake, standing. "Get out of my office."

"What?" said Travers. He had the nerve to look surprised.

"The Bureau of Special Resources fulfilled the request from the Office of Scientific Investigation to have Vic evaluate your armor. You are in no position to change her evaluation, and certainly can't make her wear the armor. Her evaluation will be sent in printed form to your superiors when it's done. For now, you're done. You can go."

"Now see here!"

"You're already getting a complaint for your attitude, from me directly to your boss," said Drake, loudly. "I suggest you leave before I have you arrested for interfering with the operations of a federal law enforcement agency and threatening my best agent. Oh, and take that case with you."

The man grabbed the case and left in an angry hurry. He even slammed Drake's office door on the way out.

"So petty," said Vic, with a tired sigh.

"Well, hopefully, once you send your report - which I want on my desk before close of business today - that will be the last of our involvement in that matter," said Drake. "Oh, and in another matter, we now have a name - though it's still tentative - for that nutty female super you had the encounter with. Turns out she calls herself Dare."

"Well, that fits," said Vic. She grimaced. "Especially considering the way she dresses."

"Anyway, the Monday morning briefing will be at the usual time. So, you go get ready and I'll do the same."

* * *

Chief of Police Soviren and the Mayor Minot were having a news conference. They weren't doing very well. In fact, it was more like the news conference had them.

"Why can't you stop these attacks?" shouted one reporter.

"If you know where and when the next one will be, please tell me," said Soviren, pointedly. "They seem to be random in both scheduling and location. As well as what the exact nature of the attack will be!"

"Keep in mind that there have only been two of these attacks with no deaths involved," said the Mayor. "During that same interval there have been four conventional drive-by shootings, with three dead and nearly two dozen in the hospital. We are therefore giving those precedence."

"How many of those traditional drive-by shooters have you caught?" shouted another reporter.

"Uhm, none," said the Mayor obviously uncomfortable making that revelation. "We are still working on those events."

"That's not surprising," shouted someone else. "Detroit's murder solution rate is only fourteen percent!"

"We are considering multiple options to help improve the safety of the public overall," said Chief Soviren, heatedly. "Especially in regard to these super drive-bys. I can't go into details just now, though."

The briefing was ended soon after this.

* * *

Vic finished a run on the treadmill and began her cool down. Michelle had already started supper. Vic's excellent sense of smell was providing multiple temptations, but she still put in her time. After finally stopping, she took a quick shower and headed to the apartment's kitchen. The meal wasn't quite ready, yet, but Vic figured she should help. She might also be able to sneak a carrot or two.

The meal itself was spent in small talk. This was an unwritten rule, something Vic had picked up while interning with Tricorne: Don't talk business during a meal. Afterwards, though, as they settled into their individual pursuits - Michelle reading beauty business magazines to stay informed about fashion and the connected technology, and Vic catching up on e-mail - they both felt free to talk about work. As usual, Michelle was more interested in what Vic did than vice versa. Vic soon brought up something connected indirectly to her job with the Bureau.

"Because of these bizarre super drive-bys and some other matters, the city has decided to hire a metro," said Vic, sourly.

"A which?" said Michelle.

"A mercenary super, hired by a city. As a combined figurehead and super crime fighter."

"Is that even legal?!"

"If they're properly vetted, trained and deputized," said Vic. "Doesn't mean it's a smart thing to do. Though I have to admit they often do good work."

"I don't see why they'd bring in outside help they have to pay for, when they get your services for free."

"Hon, as highly as you think of me, I can only be in one place at a time," said Vic, grinning, and leaning back in the computer chair a bit to meet her love's gaze. "Seriously, though, while the city can ask for my help, where I go and what cases I work on come down from my boss. Who has different priorities than the Mayor does. Or even the police chief."

"Do you know who the city has picked, yet?"

"No. They don't seem to have made their choice, yet. Last word I have is that after two rounds of eliminations they still had six finalists in consideration."

"I have to tell you, a lot of people are scared of that black SUV," said Michelle, seriously. "I know it's silly - the Mayor even pointed out how much more common other crimes are - but half my clients are worried that the 'demon van' is coming for them next."

"Hey, the population is under a million," said Vic, tongue in cheek. "The odds aren't great, but they're there."

"Not helping," said Michelle, rolling her eyes.

"Ooh, here's something interesting," said Vic, partly to change the mood. "The UN has bought an island off the coast of southwest Africa to use for a T.O.W.E.R. base, as part of their post-war expansion. Makes you wonder where they got the budget..."

"I told you about that almost two months ago," said Michelle, rolling her eyes. "It used to be a private resort for some dictator and his friends. A sort of imitation Riviera off the African coast. Only he was deposed a few years after it opened, and the island was abandoned, because it never came close to breaking even."

"Yeah, but what's new is the problems the UN is having repurposing the buildings there," said Vic, triumphantly. "The dictator vanished, and now they're saying either that he's living there in hiding and sabotaging things, or that his ghost is haunting the island."

"Okay, I hadn't heard that," said Michelle, a bit grudgingly. She shivered. "Weird."

Part Four

"This time it was a sound attack of some sort," said the Detective, as Vic came hurrying onto the crime scene of yet another "super drive-by."

Unlike the previous two attacks, this one had been during business hours. Additionally, the target was not a crowd, but a downtown real-estate company. This turned out to be one of the business working to refurbish and resell abandoned houses in the Detroit area.

"So does this confirm our suspicion?" said Vic, as she examined the shattered safety glass from the front window of the business. The sound weapon hadn't been very selective; many other windows on either side of the target had also been affected. However, this one by far was the most damaged. "Or did they target this company to make us think that was their motivation after the police chief mentioned it in a news conference?"

"Given their lack of sophistication and subtlety so far, I'd bet on the first," said the Detective. He sighed tiredly. "At least this time your boss won't be paying you overtime."

"Don't bet on it," said Vic, with a tired sigh of her own. She - and Michelle - had known going in that her job would sometimes involve long hours, but not that there would be so many nights when she got home late. "We're so understaffed thanks to budget cuts I'm pulling double and sometimes triple duty."

"Part of the problem with finding these guys," said one of the police department investigators on the scene, "is that there are a lot of black SUVs in this town. This one doesn't stand out unless it's actually making an attack."

"No plate?" said Vic.

"Oh, lots of people saw the plate," said the Detective, sourly. "All agreed it was covered in mud."

"Well, that's an old trick, but it works," said Vic, now feeling as sour as the Detective. "After the attack just stop in an alley, knock the mud off, and drive on."

"Yeah," said the investigator. "They're using some pretty esoteric weapons, but otherwise seem, well, pretty simple. If not simple-minded."

"I wonder if it's kids," said Vic, thoughtfully. "Maybe gang members."

"It's possible," said the Detective. "We actually checked our contacts with the gangs. Nothing. If these super drive-by attacks were gang supported or simply being committed by someone connected with a gang, that gang would be bragging and the others would be complaining and maybe retaliating. So far, all is quiet."

* * *

Despite the attack taking place during the day for a change, Vic - as she expected - still ran late. When she called Michelle to make her apologies, Vic discovered that the beautician was also running late. They therefore changed their plans for supper. Vic swung by Michelle's place of work. They changed into casual clothes in the back, then Vic drove them to Wok on the Wild Side.

"I'm glad you thought of this," said Vic, with a satisfied sigh as they sank into the cushion of their booth seat. "Been a while since we were here."

"Hey, you're not the only one who had a long day."

"More clients worried about that SUV?"

"It's not just that. There are rumors that the city will declare a curfew. So we've been extra busy, as people come in to get serviced now instead of when they usually would. We had to extend business hours to accommodate the rush. Of course, that also means we're getting overtime."

"No wonder you wanted to splurge," said Vic, grinning.

They were cuddling, about to kiss, when Vic suddenly became alert.

"What is that?"

Michelle heard it too, now.

"What in the world..." said the beautician.

Together they rose and headed towards the noise. A well-dressed, middle-aged couple were yelling at Xian, one of the co-owners of the restaurant.

"How dare you behave like that in here?" the man said. He and the woman - His wife? - both appeared very agitated.

"We don't throw anybody out, as long as they don't cause a disturbance," said Xian, trying to stay calm and polite. "That includes you."

"Did you just threaten me?" said the man, his tone deadly.

"Need any help, Xian?" said Vic, pulling her badge holder out and opening it, all one-handed. She held it in clear view as she and Michelle approached.

"You mind your own bus..." the man started, whipping around to look at whoever was talking.

He froze. Though not because of the badge. Because Vic and Michelle were holding hands.

"More of them! That does it! Matilda, we're leaving!"

"You didn't pay for your food," said Xian, loudly, as the pair hurried out.

"Want me to get their make, model and license plate?" said Vic, as the pair hurried out.

"No. Good riddance. Anyway, if we needed it I'd get it off the parking lot security camera."

"I didn't know you had a parking lot security camera," said Michelle, surprised.

"Oh, yeah. Put them in three years ago, to catch someone who was vandalizing customers' cars. After the first camera itself was vandalized a couple of times, we put in two more, making sure to hide them. They're still there, as part of our regular security setup."

"Well, if that's settled, we're ready to order," said Michelle.

"What got him so upset?" said Vic, ignoring the hint.

"Oh, he caught Charlie and me kissing," said Xian, with a shrug. "Threatened to report us to the owners. Don't think he liked it when I told him we were the owners."

"Do they not know you're family owned?" said Michelle, smirking.

"Nope," said Xian, with a responding smirk. "In spite of the 'Family Owned and Operated' sign on the window. I doubt he'd think Charlie and I and our adopted kids are family, even if he did."

Fortunately, that was the most excitement Vic and Michelle - or anyone else in the restaurant - had that night.

* * *

Vic's job sometimes required her to do things which she really didn't see a reason for. Just now, for example, she was on her way to interview a witness to the super drive-by sonic attack. A man who had been at the real estate office when the incident occurred. For this meeting, Vic had to drive outside the city. Which may have been why she had been given this task rather than relying on someone from the Detroit police to make the trip. Though that still didn't explain why it was her and not someone from the state police.

Bureaucracy works in indecipherable ways, thought Vic, as she neared her destination.

The business was on land in a rural area. Even before Vic saw the sign saying this was a dog breeding enterprise, she could smell the dogs.

Vic had called ahead, of course, and the man she was here to interview was actually waiting for her outside. He approached as Vic exited Monstro.

"Adam Cortez," said the man, by way of introduction, smiling as they shook hands, standing there in the warm sunlight. "Welcome to Clever Pup, Inc. If you come this way, we can talk in my office."

"Mr. Cortez," said Vic, who couldn't help but smile back as he led her inside. "What, exactly, is it you do here?"

"We sell Newfoundland Border Crossings," said the man, proudly.

"The which?" said Vic, obviously confused.

"We breed, raise, train and sell dogs which are half Newfoundland and half Border Collie," he elaborated. "They're very intelligent, with strong instincts. For example, some of them like to herd balls out of the water. They're fantastic working dogs as well as great pets. Just be aware that if you don't keep them busy, they'll find something to do. Like disassemble your couch."

"Not apartment dogs, then," said Vic, grinning. Though she had a bit of a pang remembering how her family's dog, Coco, hadn't recognized her after her change.

Cortez opened a door with his name on it and motioned her inside.

"They could be, but it would be a stretch," said the man, smiling and nodding, as they both took seats. He behind a modest desk; she in front of it. "My brother and partner here breeds bagels. That's basset-beagle hybrids. Much more suitable for small homes, largely due to being smaller, themselves."

"Can they track, though?" said Vic, curious, as she pulled out her PAD and stylus. "Either of those."

"None of them have been trained for that; at least so far," said Cortez. "They'd probably be good at it, but not as good as breeds specialized for hunting by scent."

"Well, getting back on my track," said Vic, "or, actually on that track for the first time, you were at the real estate office when the sonic attack took place."

"Oh, yeah," said Cortez, with a grimace. "My ears are still giving me trouble. My attorney says I can have whoever did that charged with assault, on top of whatever else they face, from the businesses there and the city."

"Did you actually see the attack?"

"Yes. I was sitting in the waiting room of the office, waiting for my appointment - we're trying to buy more land so we can expand, that's how popular these two new breeds of dogs are - and just looking out the window, bored, when I saw a black SUV coming up the street. I actually thought 'Wouldn't it be funny if that were the one making the super attacks.' Only, when they actually did, it definitely wasn't funny."

"Yeah," said Vic, nodding. "What do you remember about the attack?"

"I noticed the SUV slowed, and thought it was going to park, only instead there was this huge burst of sound and the window blew in. I'm just glad it was safety glass. I got a few cuts from some flying bits but nothing serious."

He shook his head.

"Frankly, if the sound was loud enough to do that, I'm surprised I can hear at all."

"I'm told by the crime scene techs that the audible noise was due to harmonics generated by the vibrations of the window and wall. That the attackers actually used ultrasound," said Vic. "They apparently chose a frequency range intended to affect glass. That and the whole wall and just about everything else directly affected - probably including the people - vibrated from the ultrasound and that vibration caused the audible sounds."

"Ah," said Cortez, nodding. "I am enough of a music aficionado to understand all that, actually."

"Oh?" said Vic, perking up a bit. "You go to any local concerts?"

"Not really. Too tired when I'm not busy and too busy when I'm not tired. I do listen to a lot of music, though. Here, in my car and at home."

They spoke about music for a bit more. Then Vic, a bit reluctantly, got back to the reason for her visit.

"Did you get a look at the people in the SUV?"

"Just the guy in back," said Cortez. "He had the window down and was aiming this thing like a megaphone on steroids out the window. It blocked most of my view of him, but I could see that he was white, maybe late teens or early twenties. Oh, and he seemed pretty big. The top of his head was above the top of the window, his arms were long and he had large hands."

"That description could be very useful," said Vic, noting those details on her PAD. She was glad this was one of those which would reliably translate cursive into type; at least, as long as she wrote clearly. "Anything else about the people or the SUV or the device?"

With a bit of prodding, the man was able to provide clues to make, model and year, but also noted that the vehicle appeared to have been heavily modified. Vic didn't tell him about the suspicion that the perpetrators of the attacks were youths who had taken over one or more properties to have a secret garage for building street rods.

"Thank you," said Vic, rising and extending her hand. "You've actually been a big help."

"Well, I'm glad of that," Cortez responded, as he also rose. He clearly switched to salesman mode as he pumped Vic's hand. Grinning, he said, "Keep us in mind if you ever need a dog who will give you a challenge!"

* * *

"You look cheerful," said Michelle, ironically, that afternoon when Vic got back to their apartment. On time, for a change. Which, combined with her spouse's expression, made her worried enough to quickly get up and hug Vic as she entered their apartment.

"Lieutenant Arthur Knowles is pressing sexual harassment charges against me," said Vic, sourly. "Boss told me as soon as I got back from interviewing the dog breeder."

"Wait, what?!" said Michelle, baffled. "You didn't do anything to him!"

"He's claiming I insulted his sexuality in front of others. Which I didn't. I just pointed out - probably too bluntly - that he didn't understand our relationship - yours and mine, I mean - even after being shown our wedding photo."

"What's going to happen to you?" said Michelle, concerned for her spouse.

"Well, there are multiple witnesses who were there and didn't see or hear what he's claiming. So, while I have to go through the motions, it's very unlikely there will be any real problems coming from this."

Vic heaved a great sigh.

"Meanwhile, to reduce tensions, I've been asked to go to the east coast to speak with a paleogeneticist who claims he has some special revelation of great import about powers. Then I have to go to the Assembly base. Partly to brief them on what the paleontologist says and partly as an official Bureau visit."

Part Five

The Bureau had been nice enough to arrange for Vic to stay in a good-quality hotel in the city where paleogeneticist Dr. Oliver Gumprich had his office. Which caused a few problems when Vic registered. She had a bit of trouble convincing the desk clerk she was actually old enough to be in a room without an adult. Fortunately, Vic had enough forms of ID - including a Bureau credit card - to reassure the woman. Though Vic figured some phone calls were made after she headed upstairs.

The next morning Vic was up early. She took advantage of the hotel's breakfast buffet, then headed for her appointment. The office building was on a local university campus, part of their anthropology complex. The route was fairly direct and there was plenty of guest parking.

The receptionist Vic spoke with in the main building seemed to think she was a student. Which was fine with her. Supplied with directions, she quickly found the right office. Dr. Gumprich was middle-aged and balding but what hair he had left was long. He was also a bit plump and obviously not used to much physical activity.

"I wish to state up front that my work is, of course, understandably controversial," said Dr. Gumprich, once they were both seated. Vic noted that he liked to talk with his hands in motion, even when he wasn't actually indicating anything concrete with his gestures. "Most attempts to duplicate my methods to extract DNA and RNA from fossils have failed. Even my own attempts succeed only about one time in twelve. I've just been very diligent about finding suitable fossils. More diligent than my critics!"

"I was briefed on that," said Vic, nodding. Not mentioning that many of the evaluations of Dr. Gumprich's work - and the doctor, himself - had been at least politely critical. Some had openly called him a fraud.

"According to my studies, there are traces of super genes going back hundreds of millions of years," said Dr. Gumprich, his voice oddly monotone for someone making such a statement. "No idea where they came from in the first place - perhaps panspermia - but they have caused the rise of multiple, technological cultures on Earth!"

"That's... quite a claim," said Vic. She had read about his work before coming here, of course, but he was telling her more than what she had been able to glean from the online digests. "Wait... could this have any connection to that old spacecraft on the Moon which created the Moon Scouts?"

"It's possible, but I haven't been able to get any hard numbers on when it arrived there," said Dr. Gumprich. He scowled. "It's gone, now, so I can't ask it."

She remembered that on his record there were repeated requests to various authorities - most of them directly to the Lunies, instead of to any US government agency or the UN - to go to the Moon and speak with the ancient computer on the ship. As well as that he blamed the Lunies for "letting it get away without proper examination."

"Getting back to my discoveries," he continued, "My examinations of the mineral beds which were the source of the fossils I used revealed interesting and worrying short-term changes in the Earth's atmosphere in the periods when what was preserved was laid down. Most worrying is that the evidence seems to indicate that the industries of the Ordovics raised the carbon-dioxide levels of the atmosphere and caused a significant deoxygenation event, ending their era with mass extinctions. Then the Silurians basically did the same thing millions of years later."

He glared at Vic.

"Now, we humans are doing the same thing. We're doomed!"

"Uh, sir, people are already aware of the problems with the rising level of CO2 in the atmosphere," said Vic, hesitantly. "We're already working to reduce it."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Haven't you heard about all this fuss over global warming?"

"I'm talking about something far worse," said Doctor Gumprich, agitated. "Deoxygenation!"

"If our efforts to reduce CO2 to head off global warming work," said Vic, patiently, "then there won't be a deoxygenation event."

"I knew this was hopeless!" he cried, jumping to his feet and storming around the room. "I had to try though. Get out! Get out of my office and stay away from my laboratory!"

Vic was glad to go.

* * *

Vic's appointment with the Assembly was not until the next morning. This meant Vic now had time on her hands. She thought about heading south to visit with her three friends in Tricorne. However, driving there and back would have taken most of the available daylight time, with little left to actually visit. She also had the impression that Tricorne - now working full time with their combined obligations of superhero team and instructors of other supers - was very busy. She thought about checking out of her hotel room early and driving to a hotel or motel closer to the Assembly base. However, that would not give her much of a head start on the next day and would also still leave her with a lot of free time today. She also couldn't think of anything between here and there which she wanted to visit to use up the time. Vic therefore settled for a combination of playing tourist, eating several good meals and taking advantage of the hotel's workout facilities. She especially liked the pool; Vic hadn't been swimming for fun in years. Her one-piece had been packed on a whim, and now she was glad she had it.

She had a bit of trouble with some of the other guests using those facilities - nearly all of them male - hitting on her. Until she started her weight training. Then they mysteriously went silent. Most apparently cutting their own workouts short to leave quickly.

The next morning Vic had another good breakfast, checked out and headed for the mountain base of the Assembly. It was definitely a good day for a drive. Especially one where much of the distance to be traveled was on good but winding roads through mountain forests.

* * *

She made good time, largely because the route to the Assembly's reception building was clearly marked. Getting into the actual base was a different matter; all public records still said it was in the mountain which the Shilmek had hit during the war. Even though the mountain itself was largely gone. They knew she was coming, of course. Vic parked in the lot beside the small, dignified building - part office, part museum - which was the team's public face, and headed for the front entrance.

"Excuse me?" said a voice. This turned out to belong to one of the institution's security guards, who was hurrying around the corner of the building to intercept her. His name tag read Phillips and the photo on that matched his face. "Mrs. Peltior? You can come in this way, and skip the tourist attraction."

He guided her in through a side door and then down a staircase into the basement. From there they boarded a little subway car which took them into the basement level of the Assembly base. Vic's heightened senses were good enough to let her know that there were subtle - though very mundane - illusions at work to reduce the likelihood of someone figuring out which of the three surviving peaks housed the actual base. The car was brightly lit and completely enclosed; she couldn't even see the tunnel they passed through. There were pads on the bench seats and the walls for comfort. She and her escort arrived in short order at the security checkpoint in the lowest level of the Assembly base.

"Here we are," he said, smiling as he exited and held the door for her. "Welcome to the Assembly headquarters!"

The reception center, subway and basement security station down here - like the visitor center - were all new construction, expansions of the old Guild Hall/Border Patrol base. The basics had been started before the Shilmek war, with the new facilities then completed afterwards. As one of the few recognized super bases in this part of the world to survive intact, the Assembly had been heavily burdened with taking up the slack while other teams reorganized or formed from scratch. Of course, the Assembly had also benefitted from increased funding because of this.

Vic noted that there was no easy way to tell which direction the little car had traveled between the reception center and the actual base, or even the speed. The Assembly owned several hundred acres in this wild area, with at least three peaks included besides the one damaged in the war.

"You folks have sure expanded since the early days," said Vic, as she was thoroughly scanned. "More land, bigger facilities, bigger staff, bigger responsibilities."

"You got that right," said Phillips.

Vic noted that he was also scanned. These people took security seriously and were very thorough. She certainly didn't blame them for any of that. Besides needing to be on guard against the more traditional enemies of masked crime fighters, efforts by various governments at various levels to reign them in or control them were on the rise. Being employed by a federal agency which handled super matters, Vic was intimately familiar with some of these attempts. Naturally, when complaints were made, the governments responsible denied they were happening.

A long elevator ride upwards was next. Once out of the surprisingly roomy elevator her escort's last chore was to bring Vic to the Assembly's main meeting room. Several members of the team were already there, and the rest arrived very quickly. Formal introductions were then made. Greetings - many of them made with open emotion - were exchanged between Vic and the others. While some of these people had never met Vic some had, and they had all heard of her. Some had fought beside her. They were also all in the same, dangerous profession. Soon the supers were seated as a group at the central table, Vic looking around in open curiosity.

"I've never been in your base before," said Vic. "This part, though, is familiar, from the 3V conferences when I was with Tricorne. Though since the view never moved I never saw most of what's here."

Champion was the most impressive - in several ways - person in the room, and the leader of field operations. However, the current chair was Dr. Gorgeous.

"From what Brade told us this is more of a social visit than anything else," said the team's brain.

"Mostly. She has the idea - and is probably right - that a personal visit helps promote cooperation. The main thing is to help super teams and Bureau personnel to get to know each other, and understand the differences in how the different groups work. Brade wants as many of these interactions to be personal and friendly as possible, rather than purely bureaucratic."

"That might just be useful," said Dr. Gorgeous, nodding. "The mask community is small enough for that. Such an effort is especially beneficial when it involves those federal agents who have worked with super teams, as you have."

"Exactly," said Vic, nodding. "Think of this as an extended business lunch, where I get to know the members of your team and you get to know me and through me the Bureau."

* * *

Vic was given a thorough but very casual tour of the base, even being shown some of the private quarters. She spoke with all the team members and many in the support staff. The garage was especially impressive. It held a bizarre mix of vehicles from several eras, some of them actually confiscated from villains in the early days of the base. Though the uneven lighting and odd echoes in the large volume were a bit disturbing. Vic was told that these persisted in spite of several upgrades, most likely due to the space having been modified several times with no unified plan.

"As the team acquired newer vehicles the older ones were mothballed and pushed back into those smaller chambers, to be held in reserve," said Joseph, who was in charge down here. "Many of them are museum pieces, now. We really should find some place to donate them to, but the place just wouldn't seem the same without them."

"You have a Rampaging Turk," said Vic, impressed. "I've seen photos of the Scarabmobile but never thought I'd see it in person. There it is, though."

She particularly liked Champion's little rally car, and definitely noted the honored place it had in the current ground vehicle section. She remembered, of course, that this Champion was the third, as well as that there were rumors this one had previously been male. Champion seemed familiar with Vic's history, as well.

"You and I should compare notes," said Champion, with a slight smile, as they completed the tour of the garage. "I saw what you drove here in, and have heard stories about its performance. The similarities between us go well beyond our taste in vehicles."

"Well, I am supposed to get to know you folks, and let you get to know me," said Vic, a bit uneasily.

Champion laughed.

"There's no hurry. Or pressure. For now, though, how'd you like to go for a ride in my little roadster?"

"Really?" said Vic, suddenly much more eager.

"Yeah. I'm supposed to show you the way into the garage from the road, so you don't have to go through the reception center for future visits. The easiest way to do that is for me to drive you to your car, then let you follow me back here."

"Let's go!"

* * *

As planned, Vic spent several hours at the Assembly base. She especially enjoyed lunch in the large cafeteria. One of the last parts of the facility she was shown was the aircraft hangar, which was modeled after some of the Swiss military aviation bases which were actually built inside mountains. The team and the support crew were especially proud of their new apergy flyer.

Despite the thorough tour, most of Vic's time at the Assembly base was, indeed, spent socializing. Vic actually enjoyed herself. She was a bit worried the team would get an emergency call which would cut her visit short. However, this didn't happen.

Surprisingly, Vic found herself especially resonating with Thunderer. The sonic-powered super had freelanced as a solo mask more than any of the other current members before joining the Assembly, and had many tales about heroing in several parts of the country. Though most of those seemed to involve making jokes about how the business was different in different places. One of her favorite riffs was how difficult New York was to get around in for a mask.

"The joke in the Big Apple is that they put extra fare machines on the roofs of the busses," said Thunderer, smirking.

"Because the stereotype is that costumed supers there who can't fly jump onto the roof of a bus to get somewhere," said Vic, with a grin, nodding.

"Or ride the subway. Which I've not only see but done, myself! The more mundane passengers just take it all in stride."

Vic actually found herself reluctant when the time came to leave. As she got back into Monstro, she was assured by the garage staff that the automatic security systems had already been told to recognize the Corolla wagon as friendly. The concealed entrance would automatically open for her, in either direction of travel.

"So I can't ever sell this car," said Vic, tongue-in-cheek, "or the system won't let me in."

That brought a bit of laughter. Waves were exchanged as she started down the tunnel towards the concealed exit.

* * *

The greeting Vic got from Michelle upon finally getting home that evening was far more intimate than the farewell at the Assembly's base. Afterwards the two of them lay together in their bed and simply cuddled for a long time.

"So, now that we can talk, how was it?" Michelle finally asked.

"Fantastic, I especially liked what you did..."

"I meant the trip, idiot," said Michelle, laughing.

"I'm very glad to be home," said Vic, giving her a kiss and a hug. "The Assembly are nice people, though a huge contrast to Tricorne, or even the FX. I had been told that every team and every base is different, and I'm definitely seeing that. On the other hand, Doctor Gumprich is... worrying. He may be right about some things, but even if he is, his personality is so grating and his presentation of his data so egotistical no-one will take him seriously. Well, in person. He might have a different response in scientific journals."

"Poor man," said Michelle.

* * *

At the Devon household things were not so copacetic. The parents - better known as Colossa and Template - might both be masked superheroes, but their kids were still kids.

"What are you doing in there so much?" said Roy, as his little sister finally came out of the bathroom which had been assigned to the kids.

"One of my friends made me eat some prunes, and they gave me the runs," said Sarah, scowling.

"Oh, that's bad," said Roy, wide-eyed. "You sure they're a friend?"

"What's bad about it?" said Sarah, suspiciously.

"Prunes will clean you out. Eat too many of them and you diarear everything in your body into the toilet, until there's nothin' left but a sack of skin, sitting there!"

The five-year-old's eyes got real big and she began to back away. Right on time there was an ominous gurgle from her gut. Sarah gave a little gasp, then turned and ran.

"Mooooooooommmm!!!"

Part Six

"Has he started puberty early, or something?" said Randy (Template) Devon, pacing irritably around the kitchen.

"He's ten years old," said Karen (Colossa) Devon, patiently, as she stood by the central table, hoping her husband would be reasonable about this bit of childhood mischief. "You have to expect some rebellious periods. As well as needing time to learn which pranks are going too far."

"Sarah is five, and a lot better behaved!"

"Well, since she got over the Terrible Twos," said Karen, trying to use humor to bring her husband's mood down.

"Exactly! Roy wasn't this bad then!"

"Don't be so hard on him," said Karen sternly, now trying a different tack, since humor hadn't worked. She knew Randy could be emotional, and sometimes needed a firm hand to bring him back.

"I gave birth to him," snapped Randy, "I can be hard on him if I want to!"

"Listen to yourself!" said Karen, hotly. "Listen to how you're talking, what you're saying and how you're saying it!"

Randy opened his mouth to yell something angry, but stopped. He closed his eyes, took a deep, ragged breath and let it out slowly.

"Sorry," he said, opening his eyes. "I don't know why I'm taking this out on you."

"Because you're angry at Roy and know you shouldn't yell at him," said Karen. She moved closer, put her hands on his shoulders. "Just... back off. Get some distance, and cool down."

"Yes, Ma'am..."

"I'll talk with Roy. Later."

She sat in one of the chairs around the kitchen table. After a moment, Randy sat, as well. He suddenly looked tired.

"God..." he said, quietly. "What are things going to be like if he gets powers?"

"We'll handle it. I mean, you run a school for super children, including troublemakers. You're a pro. You'll do fine."

"I hope so. It's just... it's all so different when it's your own kids."

* * *

"Oh!" said Michelle, as she paused with her chopsticks on the way to her mouth. She smirked. "Have your heard that former President Harvey Thurlin - in his obviously ghost-written autobiography - is claiming that his actions during his presidency were deliberately planned to - How did the book put it? - 'reveal the machinations of the secret masters of the dark state.' Then rants about how nothing has changed, in spite of his sacrifices."

"Yeah, that definitely sounds like bigger words than Thurlin liked to use," said Vic, smirking as she very deftly freed her chopsticks from their wrapper by tapping the blunt end on the table then yanking on the exposed parts of the wooden sticks. Leaving the wrapper free to topple out of the way. For the two of them there was nothing unusual about any of this, including the casual and nearly inhuman grace with which it was done. "Though that definitely sounds like one of his excuses."

Wok on the Wild Side had no real policy regarding what types of eating utensils people could use. Each place at a table or the diner-style counter was supplied with both eastern and western utensils. Both Vic and Michelle tended to use the chopsticks, though for some foods the fork, spoon and knife tended to work better. At least for them.

"What are you doing reading anything by - even through a ghost writer - that man?" said Vic, looking irritated.

"I didn't. There was an extensive review in one of my magazines, complete with quotes from the book. The reviewer really eviscerated the book, and Thurlin, too. Unfortunately, only metaphorically."

"Oh..." said Vic. She sighed and shook her head. "Well, all I know about that book is that even before it hit the shelves it was a best-seller just from the pre-orders. I'm guessing, or hoping, that most of the buyers are people who are just getting it out of curiosity."

"Don't be surprised if a lot of the people who buy it are his supporters," said Michelle, sourly. "There's still a lot of them around, too. I sometimes get customers who rant about how 'the machine' conspired to remove 'that great man.' Though, fortunately, there are fewer every year."

"This, too, shall pass."

"Well, in response to people saying it was ghostwritten, Thurlin is claiming it's an unauthorized autobiography."

Vic grinned at that, but the light mood didn't last. She sighed again, and focused on her food. She liked the menu here, and the atmosphere, and the people. She also appreciated that Michelle liked it; had, in fact, been the one who introduced Vic to the place. It was also close enough to their new apartment to be convenient without being so close that meals here were routine.

Despite not being in any hurry, they soon finished with their meal and ordered desert. The waitress - Sheila, again - had only been gone for a couple of minutes, when Vic suddenly raised her head and looked around.

"What was that?"

Michelle, knowing that Vic's hearing was much better than hers, just shrugged. The martial artist super continued swiveling her head, trying to clarify and locate whatever she was hearing.

"Okay, I see them, now. There's a couple of uniforms at the counter. I wonder if I should..."

"Not this time," said Michelle, putting a calming hand on Vic's arm. "Let's just sit and enjoy and let others handle whatever the problem is."

"Yes, Ma'am," said Vic. She was obviously reluctant, but complied.

However, the voices at the cash register quickly grew louder. Then the police officer speaking to the co-owner suddenly used a racial epithet against Xian. Michelle tensed.

"I changed my mind," said Michelle, obviously angry. "Sic 'em!"

Vic nodded. Smiling grimly, she rose and headed to the counter, pulling out her badge as she moved.

"Excuse me," she said, holding up her ID, as she approached the pair of uniformed police officers.

"Get out of here, girlie, if you don't want to get included in this!" snapped the older and more aggressive officer.

"I'm Federal Special Agent Vic Peltior. Is there a problem?"

He swung around, putting his hand on his PR-24 (which Vic couldn't help but mentally identify as a tonfa).

"The problem is that if you don't want to be arrested for trying to use a fake ID you better mind your own business!"

"No, Vince, that's her!" said the other officer, speaking for the first time, and looking alarmed.

"Who 'her'?" said the older man, not taking his eyes off Vic.

"That fed that looks like a kid. She does undercover work at raves and stuff."

Not exactly the situation, but close enough.

"This is a valid ID," said Vic, patiently. "Listen, I've been here for over an hour and haven't noticed anything. Is there a problem?"

She left unsaid that the only untoward event she had witnessed during that period was the one the cops were causing.

"We... got a report of a disturbance," said the first officer, vaguely and reluctantly. He covered his sudden change of attitude well, but it was still obvious to Vic.

"Like I said, I was having a meal with my spouse and didn't notice anything. This is a nice, quiet, family establishment. If there was a complaint of a disturbance, I'd say either someone got the restaurant wrong, or they're playing a prank."

While Vic watched, the officers went through the motions of checking out the complaint - a lot more politely, now - but left quickly.

"Thank you," said Xian, gratefully. "Would you like some egg rolls?"

"No, thank you," said Vic, smiling. "We've already had our main course and actually ordered desert. I also think, given what just happened, it would be a bad idea for me to take anything which might be interpreted as a bribe or payout."

"Well, thank you, again." He sighed. "I wonder if this has anything to do with that uptight couple who left without paying the other day."

"I remember them," said Vic, her smile vanishing. "Could be. That guy struck me as both petty and vindictive."

* * *

"There's going to be a demonstration - a protest - downtown this evening," said Drake, the next morning at a special meeting of the three workers under his command, plus some FBI personnel also based in the Federal Building. "I'm telling all of you just to make sure you don't get caught by surprise. However, Vic, Carl and his team, and myself will be at the demonstration. Primarily as witnesses, but also just in case."

Vic sighed in resignation and nodded. A glance at FBI Special Agent Carl Duquesne showed he was having a similar reaction.

"While the black SUV attacks are the expressed reason for the demonstration, there will be a lot of other complaints aired. People will talk about the high murder rate; especially how so many murders go unsolved. About how the politicians keep offering the same bland reassurances and proposing the same solutions which have never worked before. There will be talks about police harassment of innocent people, because of race or sexual orientation or whatever. Also addressed will be political corruption, focusing on the police and other city government offices. Just... stay away if you don't have to be there and don't want to be involved in a huge get-together which might just turn into a riot."

Vic nodded more firmly this time. As someone who had occasionally been harassed because of her apparent age or powers or involuntary sex change, and who was married to a Black woman, she definitely had an interest in seeing such problems aired. She just hoped the demonstration - both sides - stayed peaceful. Actually, as she thought about the matter while part of her brain noted the details her boss was going over, she realized that often for recent events, both demonstrators and police started out peaceful, but outside agitators - some actually from well outside the area - deliberately upset things. She resolved to be on a special lookout for those. Vic also worried that the black SUV might make an appearance, just to thumb its metaphorical nose at the city residents and authorities.

"Officially, we in federal law enforcement have nothing to do with the event," said Drake, looking around the room. "However, those already mentioned and some folks on loan from the Bureau of Special Resources office in Chicago are going to be there as observers, and for just in case."

"Chicago?" said Vic, surprised.

"They have the closest Bureau office with other super operatives available at that time. Given the SUV and the Dare situation they might just be needed. Though, hopefully, not."

"Just who are they sending?" said one of the FBI agents.

"Ruckus, Tomboy and Vigilant," said Drake, with a slight smirk.

"Yow!" said Vic, startled. "They, uh, all have a reputation for..."

"Violence," said that same agent.

"Well, let's say 'vigorous response to aggression,'" said Drake, now appearing a bit concerned. "I just hope they aren't seen as provocative by the demonstrators."

* * *

Fortunately, the Friday protest went peacefully, and for the most part smoothly. There were a few technical and organizational glitches but people were able to speak their grievances and be heard. The main disappointment was the complete lack of any official presence aside from police, ambulance and firefighting personnel at the periphery of the crowd. No-one of authority with the city appeared on the scene, much less addressed the crowd. Which may have been part of the reason things were mostly peaceful.

Oh, there were a few minor assaults and several accidents, including a couple of incidents where someone unintentionally ingested something toxic or allergenic. Otherwise, the local news had little to report on except the event, itself, and the points it raised.

"I just realized," said Vic, as she, Drake and the other feds gathered under the lights near their vehicles after the demonstration, "they were using an old-fashioned wired microphone."

"Yeah," said Agent Duquesne, nodding. "Protestors learned years ago that wireless mics could be jammed, or taken over. Especially the new, WiFi ones."

While no city officials made an appearance at the protest, the next morning both Mayor Minot and Police Chief Soviren made announcements in regard to the points raised by the demonstrators. Neither took questions. The Police Chief closed his press conference with a short statement justifying the reduction in number of police personnel working on homicides and other serious crimes.

"Remember the old saying: Less is more."

"Did he just quote Big Brother?!" said Vic, startled, as she and a few others watched the local news on the TV in the Federal building's break room.

"Che Guevara," said FBI Special Agent Chet Davis, sourly.

"So how does he justify diverting all those officers to investigating less-serious crimes?" said one of the incredulous FBI women also there. "Usually stuff involving swindles of wealthy people and businesses?"

"Why should he justify that?" said Davis, sourly. "It would just be highlighting what he's doing that people object to. Well, the unimportant but noisy people."

"At least the demonstration went peacefully," said Vic, optimistically.

"Yeah, but there's more coming," said Carl.

Part Seven

The second of the protest rallies was held just four days later, starting late the next Tuesday afternoon. This one promised to be significantly larger than the first. Part of the reason for the size increase was the success of the first as an event. Part of the reason was the failure of anyone in political power to give even a believable appearance of doing something useful to address the problems the first rally had pointed out. Again, Vic and her boss and some of the FBI agents were present. This time, unfortunately, the Bureau of Special Resources supers from Chicago were not available. Which may have had something to do with that happened about an hour and a half along, once night was fully underway.

Vic was walking around the periphery of the large group of citizens, barely listening to the current speaker, not really paying attention to what was happening on the stage. She was bored to the point of lethargy. Not because there weren't good points being made, but because it was all being phrased as political jargon. She had almost reached Drake - he was standing in the well-lit area where local law enforcement had their on-scene command center - when there was some sort of disturbance at the makeshift stage where the speakers stood to address the crowd.

"Hey!" a woman shouted over the PA. "If you idiots want to feel safe, well... You're not!"

Vic thought the voice sounded familiar. However, the source was a mystery. Looking at the stage, she saw that those standing there - including the man at the mic - were as confused as she was.

"You're all a bunch of sheep, just waiting to be sheared! Or slaughtered for a nice rack of lamb!"

"Oh, no..." said Vic, aloud, as she finally placed the voice. "Dare!"

The woman's voice continued, mocking those participating in the demonstration, the police, the city's administration, even the super drive-by black SUV attackers who were ostensibly the reason for the rally. Meanwhile, Vic found her boss and informed him of her suspicion.

"Yeah, I'd come to the same conclusion," said Drake, almost snarling.

He was with Captain Markle, who was in charge of security here. The Captain had a similar reaction. He spoke to several of his aides.

"That's about the last thing we need, is her stirring things around. Find her and arrest her for creating a disturbance!"

Vic then joined the other feds and some of the city police providing security for the event in a frantic search for whoever it was who had usurped the PA system.

They found her - or, rather, she revealed her location - when a couple of technicians decided to check the wiring under the stage. There was a sudden interruption of Dare's rant. Then both techs came flying out, hurled by a superhuman force. Realizing the jig was up, Dare burst through the flooring of the platform.

"Hello!" she shouted, grinning manically as she jumped onto the stage, knocking several people down as her bizarre, snugly fitting thin leather costume threatened to slip out of place but somehow didn't. "Goodbye!"

She leapt for the horizontal bar of a traffic signal, obviously intending to use that to swing further down the street. This intent was interrupted by a thrown hanbo, which struck across the backs of her hands just as she reached for the bar. With her hands momentarily stunned, she dropped - rather gracelessly but landing on her feet - to the pavement. Vic was already running towards her.

"Sorry, kid," said Dare, still smiling, "I've got an appointment elsewhere."

She blurred to one side and grabbed a manhole cover. This she then flipped towards an ambulance, which was surrounded by paramedics, police officers and civilians.

Vic frantically lunged in front of the massive, cast iron disc, hoping her armor would protect her. It did, mostly, though both it and Vic took some damage. Fortunately, the worst of the damage to Vic consisted of having the wind knocked out or her. By the time she was recovered enough to sit up, there were already three paramedics working on her.

"I'm not badly hurt, and I have regeneration," she said, pushing them away. "Did anyone see which way Dare went?"

Several people had. Unfortunately, they all gave different directions for her escape into the night. Vic sighed, and rather gingerly got to her feet. By that time her boss was there.

"Here's your stick," he said, handing it to her.

"Hanbo," said Vic, reflexively. She put the "stick" away and stretched, gingerly. "I'm really glad I'm wearing this instead of that stuff whatsisname tried to foist off on me. It might have offered a little more protection - or not - but I wouldn't have been able intercept that cover wearing that stiffer rig."

"You sure you're not seriously injured?" said Drake, concerned. "Your armor looks like shit."

"Yeah. It did its job, though. I'm also glad I have spares for all this, thanks to the Bureau."

"I think the excitement is over for the day," said Drake, looking around and noting that the demonstrators were leaving. "Let's get back to headquarters and find those spare parts. I have a feeling you'll be needing them."

"Probably not tonight," said Vic, with a sigh. "Though, yeah, eventually. Soon, most likely. Might as well be ready."

* * *

Vic called Michelle even as she and Drake were walking to his car. As he had for the previous demonstration, Drake had given Vic a ride to save parking spaces. Also, he was using a marked federal government car, which tended to get more respect than Vic's unmarked wagon. Even when it was recognized.

On the way, Vic made a phone call, feeling relieved that her Bureau-issue brilliant phone was undamaged.

"Are you sure you're all right?" said Michelle, concerned, after her wife's initial assurances and some exchange of basic information. "The TV didn't show anything useful, or even change view, after Dare left the stage."

Vic remembered that a local public access channel had been set aside to cover the protests. Apparently, the volunteers running the cameras had abandoned their jobs when Dare burst through the stage. Which she felt was understandable.

"Yeah, a bit banged up but nothing serious. The good news is that the protest is breaking up early because of this disturbance so I'll be home a bit earlier than expected."

"I'll make sure of that," said Drake, loudly enough for Michelle to hear. "I'll also make sure she gets hazard pay for this entire day. She probably saved a bunch of lives."

"I'm just glad you're all right," said Michelle. "Love you!"

"Love you," said Vic. She put her phone away and looked at her boss. "Do I have official permission to call in some favors tomorrow, and see who I can get here in time for the next demonstration?"

"Definitely."

"Good. I think I can get at least Tricorne, and maybe some or all of the Assembly."

"Go for it. I'll clear it with the city."

* * *

The next day Drake had a pair of visitors at his office. They obviously didn't like each other, which was understandable, since one was from the Mayor's office and the other was one of the organizers of the demonstrations. However, they were united in one thing: They didn't want any federal agents at the next demonstration.

"All you did was provoke her!" snapped the organizer.

"Dare almost certainly didn't know we were there before my agent acted," said Drake, patiently. "We were keeping a very low profile."

"Doesn't matter," said the suit from the city. "She pulled a harmless prank and was leaving when your pet super tried to stop her. If he had just let the woman go it would all be over. Instead, Dare almost killed dozens."

"Dare assaulted two technicians," said Drake, pointedly, absently noting the pronoun error in regard to Vic. "One of whom will be in the hospital for weeks, then require months of physical therapy. My agent was trying to arrest her for that. To state it plainly: Dare committed a pair of felonies before my agent intervened."

He had the distinct impression that the injuries to the sound techs were news to both men. Or perhaps had simply escaped their notice. After all, none of their people had been hurt. Both remained adamant in their demands that Drake and his people (they apparently thought he was also head of the local FBI) stay away from the next protest. Fortunately, the person representing the demonstrators had no authority to back his demands, and the city suit refused to place the city's demands on the record.

Drake told them that unless he was so informed by his own boss - Brade - or the Chief of Police or someone officially speaking for him or the city government, that the federal presence at the protests would continue.

"If only so that we won't be accused later of ignoring the situation."

The two men left, both unhappy. Not that Drake was in a much better mood than either of them. Still, he felt his duty required him to have people at the demonstrations.

* * *

That same day, there were people in other places who were also unhappy. One of them was Randal Devon. He was sitting in his home office, scowling at his computer display, when his wife came in to check on him.

"What's wrong, now?" said Karen, a bit tired of her husband's traditional pre-school histrionics.

"The Island administration has a request to accept a new problem student," said Randy, sounding very tired. "This isn't your usual case of a rogue super kid who is in trouble with the law. Not that this guy isn't. No, he's... like an extreme version of the typical gadgeteer or maybe mastermind. No social awareness whatsoever and a complete unwillingness to consider the effects of his projects on other people or property. Even after the fact. His parents are facing bankruptcy because their insurance refuses to cover the boy any longer and they - both the parents and the insurance companies - keep getting sued over his 'experiments.' He's had multiple charges against him, which keep getting thrown out because the boy is demonstrably not, well, socially competent. So there are also court costs - including settlements with people and businesses he's harmed - and bills for therapy, which hasn't helped him much, and a lot more. Part of the problem is that he's so smart - if incapable of self-restraint - that he's almost impossible to control."

"What's he done that's so bad?" said Karen, starting to share he husband's alarm.

"For one of his 'experiments' he dumped an entire box of various sized super-hard, super-bouncy rubber balls at the top of a staircase in the second tallest building in his city."

There was a moment of silence. Then Karen burst out laughing.

"Yeah, it sounds funny," said Randy, who couldn't help grinning despite his words. "However, by the time the balls got a few floors down they already had enough energy to cause damage. Lights were broken, doors dented, people injured. One of the emergency sprinklers was actuated, which caused a fire alarm. Guess what happened to the people who tried to evacuate down that stairway?"

"S...stop..." gasped Karen, leaning weakly on the edge of Randy's desk. "Oh, God..."

"Anyway, the parents can't find an appropriate facility to take care of him, and probably couldn't afford it if they could. So they worked out a deal. If the island accepts him the federal government and the family's city will pay most of the costs. On the surface this seems ideal, since we have a school for supers - which is used to handling gadgeteers and masterminds - and the super hospital, which may be able to find effective treatments for him, and the super care center, if they can't."

"Only, he's such an extreme liability..." said Karen, sobering and nodding.

"Yeah..."

Randy heaved a great sigh.

"Yeah, I think I'm going to recommend we take this kid. Maybe we can help him."

"I hope so, honey," said Karen. She looked at her husband. "This does tend to put Roy's actions into better perspective."

"That it does."

* * *

Special Agent in Charge Drake smiled in satisfaction as he saw Tricorne and over half of the Assembly arrive in their respective flyers early Thursday afternoon. Vic had informed him of the latter team's recent acquisition of an apergy flyer similar to those used by Tricorne for the past few years. Drake was a bit surprised at how different in appearance - overall shape as well as size - the two silent vehicles were. Both, however, were alike in the way they settled gracefully into the spaces provided.

"I wonder when we can get one of those," Drake said, wistfully.

"Problem is," said Vic, "they are not commercially available yet. Maybe in a few years. For now, each one is built from scratch. Very expensive scratch, at that. Keep in mind that super teams had hypersonic and suborbital vehicles decades before even most militaries did."

Drake greeted the eight costumed supers, Vic close behind him. He took a moment to note how different the costumes were, not just in result but in the intent behind them. Drake had just started telling them the plan for their deployment, when a uniformed city police officer came hurrying up and handed him a message. He read it and scowled.

"Vic, can you finish the briefing? I need to go talk to the local police."

"Sure, boss," said the martial artist, grinning. She turned towards the other supers. "Okay, we're all here strictly to observe and show the mask; or helmet, in my case. Hopefully to intimidate any troublemakers into reconsidering..."

* * *

Drake's scowl deepened as he left the briefing in Vic's capable hands. Even before he could deploy his super assets, he was being summoned to the presence of the police captain in charge of security for the event. Drake knew Markle to normally be a reasonable man. Which gave the head of the local branch of the Bureau of Special Resources good reason to suspect that the trouble was actually coming down from the city administration.

"People with masks must either unmask or leave," said Captain Markle, without preamble, when Drake arrived. That the Captain didn't like delivering this message was obvious. "Your people are driving our facial recognition software crazy!"

"You do know that's the entire point of them wearing masks, right?" said Drake, dryly, to the Captain. "They don't want the government knowing who they are."

"Sorry," said the Captain, who was well aware of the spuriousness of the reason being presented. "Orders. Direct from the Chief."

Special Agent in Charge Bruno Drake sighed, and pulled out his Bureau-issue brilliant phone. He needed several minutes to actually connect with Soviren. Very much not to his surprise, the Chief was currently in the elaborate police "War Room" he had been instrumental in establishing a few months before. He was currently there to monitor the situation at the demonstration. Finally, Drake got through.

"There was no problem with you agreeing to my suggestion to bring in supers to help with security ahead of time," he said, after explaining the reason for the call. "Why now?"

"You didn't tell me they'd be hiding their true identities!"

"That's bullshit," said Drake, trying to stay calm. "What else is a mask - and costume, for that matter - for? For that matter, your system has also been flagging my Special Agent Vic Peltior, who doesn't wear a mask."

"He must be doing something to confuse the computer! It keeps identifying him as a woman!"

"Vic Peltior is female," said Drake, tiredly. He realized that Vic had only been flagged when she had her helmet off. Protective helmets with visors were so common for motorcyclists and others - including riot police - that the software had been told to ignore them.

"Hold on... Yeah, he - I mean she - has been identified as present at multiple crime scenes."

"She works in law enforcement!" said Drake, with exaggerated patience. "The computer would probably make the same association for any of your plainclothes detectives or crime scene investigators!"

"I don't have time for this," said the Chief, angrily. "Tell them to unmask."

"They won't do that."

"Then they can just leave! This is straight from me and the Mayor! We won't have 'secret,' masked people on our streets! The citizens need to trust us!"

"The city and the state both have specific exemptions in the disguise laws to allow recognized super crime fighters to wear masks," said Drake.

"Well, our computer doesn't recognize them! Now get those masks off or get them out of there!"

"What makes you think that even without masks any of them would be recognized by your system?" said Drake.

The contact was interrupted from the Chief's end. Drake sighed and put his phone away. He walked slowly back to where the two teams and Vic were waiting.

"Sorry to have made you folks come all the way here just to tell you to leave," said Drake, sourly. "After approving the arrangement ahead of time, the Chief of Police has changed his mind and said you have to either take off your masks or get out of town."

"That's crazy!" said Energia, angrily.

"I doubt it would stand up in court, but in the short term what he says goes," said Drake. "It's either do what he says or get arrested for aggravating the protest by confusing their facial recognition system."

"Which doesn't make sense," snarled Energia, cutting off several other members of the two teams. "I mean, my costumed identity is far more likely to already be in their system than my civilian ID is!"

Since Energia was accurately voicing their own concerns, none of the other supers in the two groups felt like adding anything. There was a great deal of grumbling and discussion among them, but the costumed supers eventually decided to comply with the bizarre order by leaving. They began, in no hurry, to walk back to their respective apergy craft. Except for Energia, the only flyer among them, who just took off under her own power.

"I hope she's not going to do something stupid," said Thunderer, looking at the receding figure.

"She's not stupid," said Blue Impact, firmly. She then sighed and amended her statement. "Though she can be impulsive."

"You can stay," said Drake to Vic, as the other supers left. "However, keep your helmet on. For some reason they find your face objectionable."

"Say what?!"

Drake gave her a humorless smile and explained.

"To echo Energia, that's crazy," said Vic, though more tiredly than angrily. She put her helmet on. "Ah, well. I'm just glad I spent so much effort making this whole outfit comfortable for long-term wear."

"That's the spirit. Now, go. Mingle. Look as intimidating as you can."

Vic mock-saluted and wandered off.

Part Eight

Soviren was very upset as he left the War Room at the main police building. How dare that, that... Fed call him like that?! How dare the operator at police headquarters forward the call like that?! She was so fired! Right now, though, he needed to get outside, get some fresh air. He stormed out of the building and into the parking lot, leaving it to his escort to keep up. The police Chief intended to walk around a bit to cool off, then get in his limo and have his motorcade take him to the office of Mayor Minot. Part of his job was to assure that insecure man that all was well. Unfortunately, no matter how much either of them wished all were well, it wasn't.

"Have you lost your mind?!"

Those in the parking lot looked up, startled, at the irate comment from above, the security detail quick-drawing their Personal Defense Weapons. Above them hovered a woman in an easily-recognized, colorful costume, hands on hips, glaring down at the Chief of Police.

"Special Agent in Charge Drake gets clearance ahead of time for some of us volunteer crime fighters to help corral this Dare woman, and after we're on scene you decide you don't want us?! Make up your mind! We have better things to do than travel back and forth on your changing whims!"

She wore a light green body stocking which covered everything below her chin, and included integral gloves and socks; it also contained some flexible armor and subtle padding to disguise her true figure. (Much of that was, of course, not visible currently, due to the rest of her costume covering it.) A sleeveless red leotard went over that, with fake muscles airbrushed on the fabric to further disguise her figure. Next came her green mask, a disposable peel-and-stick accessory with polarized lenses built in, as both glare defense and to foil identification through iris patterns. Medium green boots with turned-down tops and a bit of heel, and a green utility belt and short cape completed the outfit. With all that and her bright red hair in a high ponytail, she was both clearly visible and quite distinct. Especially since she currently had her glowing plasma wall up, at about a quarter of full strength.

"I honestly don't understand you," said Energia, staring at the speechless man from her position above him and his security team. "You perform lip service, order things done which you know won't help, cancel things which will, lie about how much you've done, then act insulted when someone even suggests you need to actually do your job."

"You don't get to judge me!" Soviren suddenly shouted, his tone and volume in stark contrast to the super's calm if angry words. "What have you ever done for this country?!"

"Wiped out most of a Shilmek task force during their invasion, for one thing," said Energia, dryly.

"Huh?" said Soviren.

"You still don't get it," said Energia, more resigned than angry, now. "I suspect you never will get it. You will just continue, failing miserably at your job, completely oblivious, until you finally do something so bad you're replaced. Hopefully with someone more diligent."

She turned and rose into the air, as he spluttered after her.

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the demonstration, the masked volunteers - having been informed that they weren't welcome at the event - were still trying to leave. Given the police and news helicopters flying around, they actually had to call air traffic control for clearance. That finally came, and the two very different craft lifted off. They quickly climbed straight up out of sight.

Perhaps because of this, the protest hadn't even properly gotten started when, soon after the departure of the apergy vehicles, trouble appeared.

Dare bounded onto the repaired stage from apparently nowhere and grabbed the mic. She began shouting into it, but since the PA wasn't turned on yet only a few heard her. However, just her appearance was enough to cause multiple reactions. For example, the relatively few protestors already present were rapidly leaving. Dare was just realizing that the sound was off when she saw several uniformed police officers running towards her, weapons out.

The situation escalated rapidly from there.

Dare grabbed the mic stand, lifted it over her head, started to smash it on the stage. However, when she saw the charging uniforms she instead threw it at one of the the officers. What saved him from likely severe injury was that the cable was still attached. The mic tore free, but only after the path of the stand had been diverted enough for it to cleanly miss the cop.

The bizarrely costumed woman struck a pose and opened her mouth, obviously intending to snark at the cops and fleeing bystanders. However, seeing the thrown mic stand as a potentially lethal attack, the other officers opened fire. Dare stared in disbelief for a moment as 9 millimeter bullets and 00 Buck pellets whistled past her. Then she screamed and threw herself at the nearest officer.

He died, in a quick and gory fashion. Dare continued on, grabbing one of the few protestors still present and tossing her at another officer, killing both. She blurred forward and grabbed an officer, lifting him over her head to smash against the pavement. She dropped him with a yell as something struck her from behind.

The thrown hanbo caught Dare squarely in the back of the head. It didn't hurt her; Vic didn't expect it to. It did get her attention. She dropped the cop and whipped around, looking for the source. Dare quickly found Vic. This was no great feat. Everyone else who could was running away. Vic was just standing there, in her repaired armor, relaxed, watching Dare. Who smiled.

"I remember you," she said. Her smile turned to a sneer. "The prudish one, who doesn't approve of the way I dress. Well, let's just see if I can manage a bit of attitude correction."

She darted forward. Vic spun out of the way and tripped her. Dare's face actually left marks on the pavement, though not because the pavement was having any effect on her. Suddenly berserk, she popped back to her feet and swung clumsily at Vic. Who ducked under the swing and hit Dare in the solar plexus, putting the Purple Art and her ki manipulation to good use.

Vic had met supers with skin like armor, and some who were just tough all the way through, as well as a few who had both forms of protection. As she had feared, Dare had both. However, that punch had far more effect on the rogue super than Vic was expecting.

Dare backed away, gagging, now looking frightened.

"Stand down," said Vic, voice and gaze steady.

Instead, she fled. Far faster than Vic could have followed, even in Monstro. Vic sighed, and turned to help with the injured.

* * *

The meeting in the Mayor's office the next morning was by no definition quiet or businesslike, despite its small size.

"This whole mess is because you put all those supers there, in spite of being told not to! You provoked that woman needlessly!"

"I got approval ahead of time to have supers on the scene," said Drake, stiffly, as he stood across the desk from the seated Mayor. "Just like I did the first two times. Except for our office's one agent, they were already gone for several minutes when the trouble started. Also like the previous time, my agent did not act until Dare started hurting people."

It was just the two of them in Mayor Minot's office. This surprised Drake; he thought the man would want witnesses, or at least security to make himself feel safer. Still, Drake considered this setup to be to his advantage. Especially given the digital recorder running in his pocket.

"Your excuses don't matter to me," screamed the Mayor. "I'll have your job!"

"I don't work for you, remember?"

"I'm the mayor of a major American city! The President will listen to me!"

"I have documented every step in this process," said Drake, loudly and clearly. "If you try that I will defend myself and my agents with the facts, and you will look like the fool you are. I suggest you stop this nonsense and help us catch Dare, instead of worrying about trying to blame others for your failures."

Mayor Minot grew red in the face and his mouth worked silently. Drake was pretty sure he wasn't breathing just then. He was beginning to worry that he'd have to call for medical aid when the man suddenly gasped, leaned forward to use his arms for support on his desk, and took several deep breaths.

"Get out," the Mayor finally husked, not looking at Drake.

"Gladly."

On the way out, Drake did tell the Mayor's secretary that he was concerned about the man's health. That let him leave with a clear conscience.

Now, he had to prepare for his next meeting, this one with the police chief.

* * *

"Y'know what's weird?" said Vic, in her own follow-up meeting with Drake later that afternoon. "I mean, especially weird, about this encounter with Dare. This time she didn't seem to remember that we'd met two days earlier, at the previous rally. Though she obviously remembered the time before that."

"Dare has more than once been seen in widely separated areas at close to the same time," said Drake, frowning in thought. "Maybe even at the same time. It could be super speed, or there could be more than one of them."

"That's all we need," said Vic, with a groan. Now she frowned thoughtfully. "Although, I'm sure this was the same woman as first two times I encountered her."

Before they could go any further, though, Drake's phone rang. He answered, and then mostly listened. Vic could hear Chief Soviren's voice but not make out the words. Drake finally hung up and sat there for a moment, hand on the phone. Then he sighed, leaned back and looked at Vic.

"The exhibit hall was robbed. Several items were stolen, including those two swords. Probably during or shortly before the third protest."

"They just now discovered that?!" said Vic, outraged.

"Businesses and city offices for a couple of blocks around the small park where they held the demonstrations were closed as a precaution, remember," said Drake. "That included the exhibit hall, something which many people have complained about. That includes folks who made a trip to the area specifically to see the exhibit. As I understand it - the Chief was none too clear - no alarms sounded and the security guards didn't notice anything. Anyway, the staff came in early this afternoon to get ready to open tomorrow and discovered that fakes had been put in place of several items. Including the balance blades. They actually took an inventory before calling the police, who in their turn waited a while to notify the State Department, who then called me. Naturally, the Mayor and Chief are blaming us. Including you and me, personally."

"Let me guess," said Vic, sourly. "Whoever committed the theft used the distractions of Dare's attack and the subsequent search for her."

"Possibly. The theft may have occurred before last night. The previous check was made the day before the first demonstration. The thieves must have prepared very well to get everything done in a relatively short period of time," said Drake. He sighed and shook his head. "Real professionals."

"Now that makes me wonder about something else," said Vic, gaze distant. "Just how many top-notch professional criminal groups are there in the area?"

"I think I know where you're going with that," said Drake, nodding. "Maybe some or all of those bank robbers are involved in this. It does bear their mark... or lack of marks, actually. We might be able to tell if it's the same people, if I can get more details on this new robbery."

"Even if that speculation is true," said Vic, still thinking it through, "that doesn't help us much in finding them."

"It might," said Drake, nodding. "Like you implied, there can't be that many teams this talented around here."

"I'm starting to think that the balance blades are somehow responsible for all this fuss," said Vic, scowling.

"There does seem to be something in the air," said Drake. He sighed and stretched in his chair. "I've never seen so many people - all the way up to the Mayor and Chief of Police - be so determined to make so much trouble for so many people. Including themselves."

"Thing is, the blade which would do this is supposed to be kept in check by the other one. Even if the thieves separated them, this all started well before the swords were stolen, when they were together."

"You didn't know?" said Drake, surprised. "For liability reasons - and in violation of the specific instructions of the owner of the swords - the insurance company insisted the blades be in separate cases on opposite sides of the exhibit hall. The owner was already raising a fuss about this. Now, the swords are gone."

"Oh, that's just perfect," said Vic, sourly. "So, the insurers don't believe in curses?"

"I'm starting to wonder if they're a victim of this one," said Drake, shaking his head again.

"Huh. Well, as my grandma likes to say, 'Beware of self-fulfilling prophesies.'"

"Hah! Okay, yeah, this could all be due to a combination of coincidence and greed. No curse necessary. Whatever is going on, we still need to try and solve the crime."

"Why not just leave this to the locals?" said Vic.

"Several reasons. First, the swords officially belong to a Japanese citizen who has government influence, and they are only here with his and his government's permission. That makes the theft of special interest to our government. You better believe several federal agencies - including the local FBI office - are giving this matter their attention.

"Second, there's a good chance that whatever buyer the thieves have lined up - and pros like we think they are would have a buyer ready before committing the crime - is probably at least from outside of the state. More likely from outside of the country.

"There's also the fact that if there is something supernatural going on you're much better equipped to deal with it that anyone on the police force."

"We're back to that, are we?" said Vic, reluctantly.

"Look, I don't like fooling with supernatural stuff any more than you do," said Drake, consolingly. "However, you're the closest thing to a supernatural expert available to the local feds."

"Okay, okay," said Vic, her tone resigned. "Let's just hope there's not anything supernatural involved. Especially an ancient, Japanese curse."

* * *

Vic and her boss were far from the only people grousing about the Detroit Chief of Police.

"That idiot police chief is claiming I 'harassed' him!" said Energia, outraged, as she read her online news clipping service in Tricorne's lair the next morning. "Since when is it harassment to tell someone what they're doing wrong?!"

"Since always, for some people, I'm afraid," said Blue Impact. "Especially powerful people who aren't used to hearing any criticism."

"Things like this are why secret identities are a good idea," said Gadgetive, not even looking up from where she was browsing channels on the big TV in the entertainment section.

"Yeah, but this could cause me a lot of trouble, and the team as well." Energia looked at Blue Impact. "So, teach, how do I fight this without taking off my mask?!"

"He hasn't actually taken any legal action against you," said Blue Impact, thoughtfully. "He apparently thinks that just complaining to the press that you spoke to him out of turn is enough to raise outrage from the public on his behalf. I'll check on the details, but a simple press release from the team might be enough to head off any trouble from this. For what it's worth, I don't think you did anything wrong. Just not particularly... diplomatic."

"I hope this doesn't drag on, like that drunk driver thing," said Energia, sourly. "Even after he was convicted, he and his family kept trying to sue me for daring to interfere with him living his life the way he wanted to."

"The injunction took care of that," said Blue Impact, confidently.

* * *

The Monday morning briefing for the Detroit office of the Bureau of Special Resources was a bit of a downer this week.

"Crime, overall, is up for the area," said Drake, glancing at his notes. "Apparently, so many people committing spectacular crimes and so far getting away with them is encouraging others. Additionally, there have been multiple sightings of both Dare and the black SUV, but most remain unconfirmed."

"Dare probably made some brief appearances just to show she's not afraid of the cops," said Vic, nodding unconsciously. "The SUV sightings are probably just ordinary black SUVs, since there have been no reports of attacks."

"What caused Dare to change like that?" said Cindy Larsen. "I mean, her first few appearances she was just... wild. Why start murdering people, including cops?"

"I think it was just a matter of time," said Vic, slowly, after Drake passed the question to her. "With her powers, she got used to having things go the way she wanted. Being frustrated at the second protest made her come back to get it right. Except that the second time she showed up, she was not only frustrated again, people actually started shooting at her. Whether or not she's bulletproof, she panicked. Panicked people do stupid things. Super panicked people make huge, stupid messes."

"All that is beside whatever her attitude toward others is," said Drake, picking up the topic as Vic ran down. "The FBI profiler who has been helping us in this matter says there's a good chance she's a total narcissist due to her powers causing her to develop an exaggerated sense of self-worth. If this is true, in her mind nothing matters except her. Anything she wants is fine, and anything - or anyone - interfering with what she wants is an enemy, to be attacked and eliminated."

"If the profiler is correct," said Cal Pavolin.

"We should assume the worst-case scenario is true and work to stop her based on that," said Drake. "If things don't turn out that badly, so much the better."

"She could come to her senses and surrender," said Cindy, hopefully.

"That's possible," said Drake. "Let's not count on it."

Part Nine

"I remember when some important people were wondering if I would ever be able to adult," said Vic, wistfully, as she and Michelle cleaned their dishes after a nice supper in their own dining room, that evening. "These days I sometimes feel like I'm the only adult in the room."

"I know what you mean. People - customers and even people I work with - just seem not only short-tempered these days but... irrational!"

"There's definitely something in the air," said Vic, shaking her head. "Maybe it's the swords. Maybe it's the heat. Maybe it's the fact that the weather keeps threatening to storm, then doesn't. Maybe it's politicians overreacting to people demanding that they do their jobs and do them right, causing a positive feedback loop. It's out there, and unfortunately I'm one of the people dealing with it."

"Well, you just be careful," said Michelle, putting a hand on her wife's arm. "Wear that liner for your armor under your regular clothes when you're not wearing the armor. I know it's hot, but it'll at least give you some protection."

"I'm more worried about you," said Vic, quietly. "You don't have any armor."

"Yes, dear, but I'm not the one fighting crime," said Michelle, with a sweet smile. "Oh, don't look so worried. I am being careful and will continue being careful."

"From what I've heard you say, some of your customers aren't all that stable."

"Oh, they're plenty stable," said Michelle, airily. "They're just stable in a position somewhere in an idealized past which never existed. Which is why they know everything is wrong, these days, including history."

"I just can't get over the feeling that all this stuff is going down due to some sort of outside influence," said Vic, scowling as she dried her hands. "There's an odd sort of... tension in the air which seems to be aggravating things."

"As my granddad used to say," said Michelle, smirking as she finished loading the dishwasher, "blame it on the blue tailed fly."

"Now I want to play that song," said Vic, grinning. "Where's Smokey?"

* * *

"The good news is," said Blue Impact, as Tricorne gathered in the lounge area of their headquarters that same evening, "the police chief of Detroit hasn't pursued his attack on you. The bad new is, he has continued the activities which were already causing trouble there between the police and the citizens. Including all the things you called him on."

"He apparently couldn't hear what I said over the sound of my ovaries," said Energia, sourly. She gave her head a vigorous shake. "I just wish it would go ahead and storm. I can feel it trying, but it just doesn't happen. It's like when you feel a sneeze coming on but don't sneeze."

"Well, something's got to break soon," said Gadgetive, actually looking over at them from where she sat on the edge of the couch, channel surfing. "In Detroit with the political situation and here with the weather. All the social indicators - which the mayor and police chief in Detroit are denying even exist - are that several factors are approaching critical. If they don't get some relief soon in at least one area of concern..."

"Yeah," said Energia, nodding slowly.

* * *

The black SUV finally struck again, and again at night. It pulled up to face an empty storefront downtown - a place closed for renovation - and turned on its over-cab light bar. The beams from this were so bright they quickly started a fire inside. The painters' dropcloths caught almost immediately, and those flames began to spread.

The SUV sped off as fire alarms sounded and sprinklers came on. However, concerned citizens - read: paranoid people certain they were the next target - were already calling 911 even before the SUV stopped. The calls were taken seriously, of course, even though most calls reporting the "super van" turned out to be about unrelated vehicles; all calls to 911 had to be responded to. However, when the fire alarms went off in the attacked business the police dispatcher immediately bumped up the priority assigned to those super SUV reports from that area. Additionally, a call was placed to the local office for the Bureau of Special Resources. This call was automatically forwarded to Vic.

Who was half-expecting the call. Vic had been feeling uneasy all day, thinking that there had to be news soon, of Dare or the black SUV. When the call finally came and turned out to be for the latter, she was actually a bit relieved.

In full armor, held securely in the driver's seat by her harness, with lights and siren going, Vic tore through the late evening city streets in her souped-up Corolla wagon. The police dispatcher knew she was on the way and alerted patrol cars along her path, greatly helping her progress.

A report came over the main police band that officers were in pursuit of the black SUV. Vic modified her course to intercept. Then came the report of a multi-vehicle TA, police cars involved. Vic came on the traffic accident scene while the officers were still staggering out of their patrol cars. They seemed to be having trouble standing and walking, as if the pavement were unusually slick. Vic could see that a large strip seemed to have some sort of oily sheen. Vic parked her Corolla nearby and got out to help the officers. The pavement was, indeed, slick. Fortunately, only police cars were involved in the actual accident, though traffic was stopped on the broad, one-way street. Of the black SUV there was no sign.

"Anybody hurt?" Vic asked, loudly.

The answer was largely negative. She still gave the dazed officers a quick check. What injuries there were, fortunately were limited to bumps, bruises and being severely shaken and maybe a little stirred. Since there were multiple signs that some of the vehicles had spun out - and at least one had made several rotations on its roof - this was understandable. From what she could see of the vehicle damage, the conditions of the officers involved were better than Vic expected. She already knew some of the police officers there, and the others quickly introduced themselves. There were wreckers and ambulances and even a street sweeper on the way, the latter to clean the pavement.

"They oiled us!" said one of the cops. "Just... watch your step."

"Yeah, I saw the oil on the pavement," said Vic, nodding. "Real spy movie stuff."

"Looks like we lost 'em," said Officer Medura, a tall, stacked redhead who seemed to have a bit of a crush on Vic. Fortunately, she knew when to be all business, such as now.

Vic walked back to her wagon, not slipping at all on the oily pavement. She might have been showing off a bit. She was planning to get out her medical kit after checking the police scanner, but before she could get to her car:

"Look!" shouted a bystander, pointing. "There they go!"

There, indeed, was the target vehicle. They weren't in a hurry, either. The big SUV trundled calmly through the next intersection on the cross street. The windows on the right side were down just enough for the front and rear passengers to each stick an arm out and flip off the wrecked police.

"I'm on this!" yelled, Vic, running towards her car.

"Medura! Murphy! Muravachick!" yelled Treals, the senior officer on scene. "Go with her! I'll take care of this mess!"

Vic was actually glad for the company. She waited for the trio to get in; fortunately without any argument over who went where.

"Fasten your seat belts," said Vic, as she shifted into reverse to back clear of the accident scene, deftly maneuvering around the stopped civilian cars. "We're expecting turbulence."

Once in the intersection behind them, she shifted into first and cut hard right. The small wagon lunged ahead, the tires slipping just a bit as the small amount of oil on them quickly wore off.

* * *

"What's the plan?" said Vic, as they took a hard left at an insane speed onto a parallel street to the one where the accident had occurred. This was quickly followed by a hard right, putting them onto the cross street about half a block behind the suspect vehicle. The tires seemed to be oil free, now; there was not the least bit of slip. They could see the truck ahead, still trundling lazily along.

"You pull alongside on their left," said Muravachick. "Medura and I point our guns at the driver and order them to pull over. If they don't, we shoot out their tires!"

"Sounds workable," said Vic, hitting the gas. The wagon's headlights soon gave them a better view of the vehicle ahead than the orange street lights had. "Y'know, now that we're closer, that thing's not actually black. It's Navy."

"Still looks black to me," said Medura.

Unfortunately, while the Corolla's siren was off the flashing, colored lights were still on. Vic actually saw the driver of the SUV do a legitimate triple-take as he looked in his side mirror. He stared for a moment, eyes wide. Then he hit the gas, himself.

"Catch them!" shouted Muravachick.

"This is a rally car, not a muscle car," shouted Vic, as they followed the SUV through a turn at a speed the three police officers obviously thought was suicidal. "That thing must have at least 500 horsepower! We're cutting them off in the turns, but if there's light traffic on a straightaway they can lose us, easy!"

Traffic was light. However, the driver of the SUV kept making turns, even after pulling away while going straight for a bit. He didn't seem to learn from that.

"Can we hope that they're total amateurs at car chases?" said Officer Medura, holding the arm rest with both hands, in spite of the four-point harness.

"Looks more like they learned escape driving watching bad TV shows," said Officer Murphy.

"Whoah!" said Officer Muravachick, alarmed as the SUV heeled well over in a hard turn. "We better figure out a way to stop them before they kill someone."

"Yeah," said Medura. "Especially since they'll probably get out without a scratch while killing an innocent bystander!"

"Shooting out their tires at this speed is too dangerous," said Vic. "I've already backed well off, but they're still running. It's been called in. Should I break off pursuit?"

"Wait until we get confirmation from Air Five that they have it," said Murphy.

The police helicopter crew did, indeed, "have it." Vic slowed and pretended to lose the SUV. The helicopter then followed the vehicle's roundabout course all the way back to a supposedly abandoned house in a mostly empty neighborhood.

"We've got them," said Muravachick, in quiet triumph, as the wagon pulled to a stop a safe distance from where the SUV had gone to ground.

* * *

As police vehicles began arriving at the location Vic became increasingly confused. She expected the operation against the headquarters of the black - well, Navy - SUV to be a multi-agency operation. While there were over fifty law enforcement officers involved by the time they actually started the planning phase, she was the only one there who wasn't with the local police. In fact, Vic had the distinct feeling that she was only allowed to stay there because no-one had thought to tell her to leave. Though at one point she was told to move her car. Vic was directed to park behind a barricade of patrol cars. She, Medura and Murphy then stood beside Monstro, waiting, while Officer Muravachick went to see if they had any orders.

"Good thing it's a quiet night, crime wise," said Medura, in an irritated mutter, when she realized the size of the force gathered in the mostly empty neighborhood. Including two SWAT teams. All hopefully out of sight - and sound - of the supposedly abandoned home where the SUV had finally stopped. Given how overgrown the yards here were, such discretion wasn't difficult. There were even small trees growing wild on what had been lawns.

"They woke people from the city real estate office downtown and made them go in and look up that house," said Muravachick, as he came back from speaking with the person in charge of the operation. "Place is officially bank property and long empty, like most of the houses around here."

Several unmarked cars drove by the home as casually as they could. Which was not very casually, given that there was no other traffic in this area at this late hour. However, the scouts reported no lights on and no sign anyone in the house was actually keeping watch. Several individuals were summoned to hear the report of the reconnoiter mission, one of them Muravachick. Vic and the other two officers who had ridden with her tagged along. No-one objected, or even seemed to notice.

"They probably think they're home and safe," said Lieutenant Carpenter, who was in charge of the operation. "We have every street around them blocked. At my command SWAT will move in."

"That thing has off-road capability," someone pointed out, beating Vic in making that point.

"Doesn't matter. We have them surrounded. We will capture them."

Vic wasn't so sure.

Part Ten

"I've got a bad feeling about this," said Vic, as she, Murphy, Muravachick and Medura left the briefing.

"You're not the only one," said Murphy, in an irritated mutter.

"Well, why don't we all wait by Vic's car, and if things do go south try to... do something constructive?" said Medura, with an uncertain movement of her hands.

"Sounds like a plan," said Muravachick, tiredly. "It's vague, but open-ended and flexible."

Soon after the quartet got back to the Corolla, the signal was given. Two dozen SWAT personnel advanced on foot, from four different directions. At ground level, those waiting beside the wagon could not see what was happening. Even when Vic climbed onto the luggage rack she couldn't see much. The terse comments over the police officers' radios were far more revealing, though still inadequate. Rather than putting her helmet on, Vic hopped off the roof to better hear what was coming over the radios of the three officers with her.

The SWAT team fired flash-bangs through pretty much every window in the house and the attached garage. They then used shotgun breaching charges to shoot off the hinges of the front and back doors of the house and the only human door of the garage. They entered.

There was a burst of noise over the radios, accompanied after a short delay by a huge blast of sound through the air from the direction of the house. The latter was loud enough to actually hurt Vic's ears, blocks away.

All this was quickly followed by a roar and a crash as the suspect vehicle rammed out through the garage's closed overhead door, turned hard and cut through the house's overgrown back yard.

Vic jammed her helmet on as she ran to the driver's door of her car, deftly fastening it in place as she threw herself into the seat. The others barely had time to get in before Vic had the engine started, her seat harness already fastened and the car in gear. The three officers frantically - and with some difficulty, since the car was already moving - fastened their own four-point harnesses.

"That was an electromagnetic pulse, among other things," said Vic. "I'm now feeling glad they made us park so far away."

"Yeah, it looks like the vehicles closest to the house aren't moving," said Murphy. "Including the ones which are supposed to block the roads. Their lights are out, too. The SWAT team's radios also seem to be out. That doesn't affect people, though! Wouldn't the SWAT team go ahead and grab those guys?"

"That sound was a sonic-based attack. Probably the same one they used before. Though I think this time it was adjusted to affect people more than glass."

"Ow," said Muravachick.

"My armor has protection against sound attacks," said Vic, suddenly concerned for her passengers.

"We all have earplugs," said Murphy. "The kind that only close up when there's loud sounds. Guess we better put them in."

He did so, and made sure the others did likewise.

"Yeah, but this...," Vic dodged frantically around a dog in the street, which was running desperately away from the target house. "Whoops! Sorry. This weapon produces sounds which can affect the whole body. That's how they got the SWAT folks."

"Air Eight is on them," said Medura, who was again in the front passenger seat.

"So are we," said Vic, with grim focus. "Whoah, they know it, too."

This as the SUV - its lights off - went over a curb to cut across a large, open and very overgrown lawn behind a big but empty house, before bumping over another curb and back onto pavement. The SUV lost more time bulling through the high grass, weeds and the occasional small tree than if they had just followed the road to the street they were now on. Which allowed the Corolla to close much of the distance.

"Air Eight says this street dead-ends," said Muravachick, as Vic - keeping to the poorly maintained roads - turned onto that street. The SUV was now much closer ahead, and lit by the police helicopter plus the wagon's headlights. "Looks like there's a fence, there, too. We might be able to cut them off."

"We might have to backtrack if they decide to go cross-country again," said Vic. "So watch out."

"Air Eight can keep after... Look! They're hung!"

Indeed, the SUV had tried to ram through the wire fence just past where a lot had been cleared at the end of the street and never built on. Beyond was some sort of farm field, but the SUV wasn't going to reach it. The heavily modified vehicle appeared to be securely caught on the wire grid fence. All four wheels kept alternating between full-forward and full-reverse, but the truck currently wasn't going far in either direction.

"They'll probably bail," said Muravachick, as Vic slid the wagon to a stop crosswise in the street. "Vic, Murphy go left! We'll go right!"

Vic and Murphy exited the left-side doors on the Corolla and ran towards the SUV, plowing through the uncut grass and weeds of the empty lot. All three officers were in good physical shape and Vic was slowed a bit by her armor, so they were about even as they approached. The left-side passenger door on the van opened and someone stumbled out. He was holding some sort of contraption. Vic yelled a warning and threw herself in front of Murphy. There was an odd flare and all the electronics they were carrying died. For both of them this was mostly com gear, plus some sensor and display equipment in Vic's helmet, and the loss did not slow them.

Vic lunged ahead, did a quick leg sweep and takedown of the young man, then turned her attention to the driver while Murphy took over and cuffed the first guy. The driver had his seat belt unfastened and was trying to get out, but the door wouldn't open far enough due to the wire fencing. Vic shoulder-rammed the door closed, used her tonfa to shatter the side window and clear the broken glass, then tossed that aside, grabbed the driver and pulled him out. All before he could barely do more than register that there was someone there. The driver was soon zip-cuffed and face-down on the ground beside the first man.

Muravachick and Medura had only a little more trouble with their two. Despite one of them being the very large man Adam Cortez had described to Vic several days before. Apparently, none of the four had been wearing seat belts, and they all were rather shaken by their rough ride and sudden stop.

"They're kids!" shouted Muravachick. "Just kids!"

"Yeah?!" yelled the big guy, who had been in the right-rear seat. "We were old enough to give the whole city the runaround for months!"

"Which just means you had time to rack up more charges for us to place against you," snapped Muravachick.

"Anybody have a working radio?" said Murphy. "We need to call this in and mine's fried."

Unfortunately, the EMP weapon's effect was radial. Vic assumed the electronics in the SUV were hardened, since it was still running. She reached inside and turned the ignition off. She had a quick worry about Air Eight, but realized its spotlight was still shining down on the scene. She could still hear it, flying well overhead, too, despite her helmet's sound system being inoperative. Either the pilot had noted the effects of the previous burst and deliberately kept clear, or - Vic remembered this now - there was a policy for the helicopters to stay high. Partly to maintain a good view of what was happening on the ground and partly to avoid gunfire which might be directed towards them.

"I bet my wagon's fried, too," said Vic, tiredly. "Argh. I've lost count of how many times it's been repaired due to damage from my job."

"At least you have a job!" screamed the left-side passenger, the one who had used the EMP device. Vic had him pegged as the gadgeteer for the group.

"Why are you worried about that pile of junk?!" yelled the driver. "Look at my truck!"

"A) You, as the driver, are responsible for where the truck went," said Vic, offended on behalf of Monstro, "and B) we caught you, didn't we?"

Police cars and vans soon began arriving. The four from the SUV were formally arrested before the new witnesses. The area around the hung vehicle was taped off until the bomb squad could disarm any mad tech inside. That might be a while, since they were working on the house, first. Fortunately, the Corolla was fine. Vic later learned that the EMP device hadn't completely recharged from the first burst. Thus the range was much more limited the second time. She was a bit surprised to learn how short the interval between uses of the device was.

"Whoof!" said Vic, checking the time on her wagon's clock. "Not even Midnight, yet, we caught the bad guys, and my car's still working! Well, I'm in a good mood."

Indeed, there was a good mood all around. That would change as higher-ranking officers arrived, but for now those gathered on the dead-end street were quietly celebratory. Oddly, for what was supposed to be an abandoned neighborhood, civilians were soon milling around the perimeter of all the law enforcement activity, watching silently. Vic found that a bit unnerving.

* * *

"I'm hoooooome!" Vic called, as she entered the apartment, putting the case containing her armor down beside the small table at the door.

"Oh, thank God," said Michelle, hurrying in from the kitchen to give her wife a fierce hug. "The news is full of dire guesses about what was happening with the SUV chase!"

"Sorry. If I'd known you were worried I would've called," said Vic, hugging her back. "My cell phone was fried, but I could have borrowed one. Oh, well. Nobody hurt, beyond cuts, scrapes and bruises, and we got the four main culprits plus their SUV and the home and garage they were operating out of!"

"Wow! I am very glad of that. I'm also really glad you're all right. Okay, come on. We'll get you cleaned up and ready for bed."

Michelle wrinkled her nose.

"Is that you or that undergarment? Or did you get skunked?"

That last was pure hyperbole. Which made Vic grin.

"Options one and two, combined. Remember, you're the one who said I should wear it under my clothes."

"I washed and dried it after you got home this evening. How did you and it get so stinky in just a few hours?!"

"This is the other one, which I wore all day then left with the armor when I first got home. I bet the one you cleaned is still hanging in the utility room. I was... in a bit of a rush when I left. Sorry."

Vic gave vent to a huge yawn.

"Oog, sorry, again. Suddenly getting very sleepy."

"Well, to repeat, let's get you cleaned and into bed. At least you had a good supper before you had to leave. You can give me the details while we're in the shower."

"Wait... We're both showering?"

"Might as well save water," said Michelle, with a leer, as she headed for the bathroom. Vic quickly hurried after her.

* * *

"That's when I left for home," said Vic, as she briefed her boss the next morning. She then had to cover a huge yawn.

"You sure you don't want some time off?" said Drake, concerned.

"Yeah. I slept good the previous few nights. One night short on sleep isn't going to hurt me."

"I just don't want my only super agent falling asleep on the job," said Drake, grinning. "Especially while driving that hot car of hers. Remember, Dare is still out there. There's even a chance that whoever stole the balance blades hasn't left the area yet."

"Has there been any more information on either of those cases?"

"Not much, unfortunately. Dare - or someone mistaken for her - has been spotted at a distance a few times, but none of those are confirmed. There's even been a few reports of the 'super drive-by' SUV since it was captured, which of course were all groundless. Not a whisper about the swords, though. They're probably out of the country by now."

"Probably..." said Vic, a bit reluctantly.

Whatever else might have been said was interrupted by Drake's phone ringing.

"Yes? What?! All right. Thank you. We'll get right on it."

He hung up, wrote something on a note pad and looked at Vic.

"Speak of the devil."

"Confirmed sighting of Dare?" said Vic, perking up.

"Dare or someone very much like her is causing trouble at one of the local malls. Did you get the repairs to your armor finished?"

"I just needed to grab the spare helmet," said Vic. "Asked Cindy to ship the other one back to headquarters for repairs, since she's in charge of supplies for our office. Nothing else was damaged. Oh! I also need another issue phone. Already told Cindy about that, too."

"Good."

He handed her the note.

"Get out there. Protect the public, assist the police, and if you can, capture Dare."

"Got it."

Part Eleven

The boss is right; we really need to get some sort of air transport for our office, thought Vic, as she drove her wagon - code three the whole way - to the subject mall. Her boss had called the police dispatcher to let them know Vic was on the way. At least this time the drive was in daylight. Though this also meant much more traffic.

The police bands were not very informative. Those actually engaging Dare were too busy to do much talking. The rest could only say they were on the way or urgently occupied elsewhere. Paramedics were already on scene, and were talking about the wounded and what care they needed. The dead they didn't mention.

According to the initial reports and the scarce updates Vic gleaned from the radio, mall security and a few cops had already tried to stop Dare, and failed. Disastrously. In some cases terminally. Far more police were on the way, including two SWAT teams. Vic had little hope they'd settle the matter before she got there. Dare was a small, fast target, and if she had overcome her previous fear of getting shot, and if she actually was bulletproof...

Like most cities, Detroit had traffic lights which could detect approaching emergency vehicles and change to accommodate them. This included Vic's Corolla, through an arrangement with the city's emergency services. With that, and the dispatcher actually vectoring a couple of squad cars to run interference, she reached the mall in record time.

Vic waved her thanks to the drivers of her escort, as she hurriedly parked outside a service entrance and ran into the mall through a door labelled STAFF ONLY. The officers were following, but falling behind. Vic adjusted the radio in her new helmet to pick up the appropriate police bands, but kept the volume low. Vic had never been in this mall before, and wasn't sure where she was in relation to the trouble. She slowed as she approached the doors into the public part of the mall. As it turned out, she was in a service corridor which let out beside the Men's restroom off the food court. According to the pedestal map at the entrance there, she still had a ways to go to reach the main atrium, where the reports said the confrontation was taking place.

Vic was disturbed to see that there were still many civilians in the mall. The gawkers she could understand, especially those using their phones to record things. What completely baffled her were the customers in stores who seemed completely oblivious to the emergency, despite frantic workers trying to get them to leave. Gunshots and other sounds of violence were clearly audible, but those customers seemed determined to complete their business, even becoming angry when the staff tried to hurry them.

As Vic moved closer to the confrontation she could also hear shouting, and... a woman's laughter?! Oh, that was not good. Vic altered course and headed for the stairs. Despite her unfamiliarity with the layout her brief glance of the map gave her an idea of what was where, and important things were labeled. Vic charged up the stairs, past several people on their way down and presumably out, through the doors onto the balcony (dodging a couple of idiot bystanders in the way) jumped onto the safely railing and then out into space.

Vic already knew Dare was tough and had decided to go all out with her. She had a good idea of the rogue's location from what she was hearing. The bizarrely-dressed woman had paused for a moment - hanging by one hand from a piece of abstract art suspended from the ceiling - to jeer at the impotent ants below her. Vic's approach was almost completely silent and should have been completely unexpected. However, right before impact Dare turned and stared at her.

What saved Vic's attack was that Dare was still very clumsy with her powers. She raised her right hand in a crude and ineffective attempt to block the martial artist. That was just enough to throw off Vic's aim. Instead of a side kick to her throat - which would likely have ended the fight and maybe Dare's life - her foot struck Dare on the left side of her collarbone. Vic could hear and feel the bone snap. Dare continued her movement, trying to grab Vic, the pain not yet registering. However, the kick shoved the two apart. Vic dropped to the faux marble floor, rolling to help soak up the impact. Dare lost her grip and fell, hitting hard, jarring her broken bone. Now she felt the pain.

Dare screamed once; the sound shattering windows and a few other items and temporarily deafening everyone in the atrium not wearing hearing protection. Then she passed out. However, when Vic hurried to the woman...

"What the Hell..."

The woman on the floor where Dare had fallen was older, with a different build and different hair and fewer tattoos. The outfit, while still some sort of fetish wear, was also different. She appeared to be unconscious. As well as having a broken collarbone.

"Hey," said one of the officers who had cautiously walked up to join Vic. "That's not her."

"Now, hold on," said another officer. "Don't some powers come with a physical transformation?"

"Oh, yeah..." said Vic, wincing as she recalled her own, permanent change. Then she frowned. "This... it seems different from that. She still has a broken collar bone and still needs medical aid, though. Oh, and do you have a neutralizer?"

"Nope," said another - and older - officer. "After the lawsuit a few years ago - before you came to Detroit - it takes a court order."

"I know that, actually," said Vic, nodding. "Given how dangerous Dare is, doesn't the department already have a court order against her? I know I heard something about that."

As it turned out, there was a neutralizer on the way with each of the SWAT teams. The first of which arrived in short order. Vic stepped well back as the beam was turned on the fallen woman. Paramedics were already at work on her.

Vic didn't have a counter unit with her, but her armor was supposedly shielded against the neutralizer's effect. She didn't feel like testing that shielding just now.

* * *

The bureaucratic requirements Vic needed to fulfill before she could leave the mall took far longer than the fight had. Worse, this was just the beginning. She could look forward to a long session with her boss, and another with the police officers' superiors, likely at their headquarters with Chief Sovereign in attendance. As she finally exited the mall Vic sighed, but also smiled. Whatever the truth behind Dare's abilities, however long it would take to finish the required reports - written and verbal - this was a major step in solving yet another major problem. She had decided on this path in her life in large part because she liked solving problems.

There was a sound of distressed metal from above her. Vic reflexively leapt away, going into a diving left shoulder roll and popping to her feet, facing in the direction of the sound, a tonfa now in each hand. A large airconditioning unit from the roof crashed onto the pavement where she had just been walking.

That had to have come from the building's roof, but Vic couldn't see anyone. She quickly backed further away from the building, deeper into the employees' parking lot. Trying to get a view of what - and who - was on the roof.

Another industrial heat exchanger box came sailing into view, on a high arc. It was headed for Vic, but clipped a light post, causing a shower of electrical sparks. This diverted it a bit; Vic didn't need to dodge much. However, she now had a good idea of at least the general area of roof which was the source of the attacks. Vic ran for the building, intending to climb a drain pipe to the roof, stowing the tonfa as she moved.

She was about halfway up when Dare came leaping from above, a ways along from where Vic was. She glanced at the parking lot, then grabbed the vertical support for a parking lot light and used that to swing around and change course for the door. Still well off the ground, she put her fists out to burst through it. She had just noticed Vic above her on the wall when the martial artist jumped off. She landed on the back of the distracted Dare. Again, the criminal super's inexperience aided Vic. Most supers as physically enhanced as Dare seemed to be would have rolled to try and dump Vic off, or even turned to ram back-first into the wall. Dare reached clumsily around to try and grab Vic.

Just before impact Vic bailed, tucked and slapped, hitting the wall on one side of the door in a controlled manner. This allowed her to divert Dare into the wall on the other side the door. Dare hit head-first. They both dropped to the pavement, Vic on her feet. Dare was face-down, and obviously dazed.

Tonfa again in her hands, Vic hammered at the rogue super as she tried to push herself up from where she lay. The martial artist focused her ki through the weapons, also applying the Purple Art. Vic was determined; this woman was going down!

After several seconds of frantic activity, Dare suddenly collapsed. Vic immediately stood and backed away. This time she saw the change.

There was no dramatic glow, or even a shimmer. The form simply was suddenly different. What seemed to be a girl in her late teens now lay face-down on the pavement. Her outfit was a bit risqué, but not nearly as much as it had been just moments before. Her only tattoo appeared to be a tramp stamp - stylized lips with fangs, one with a drop of blood - in the small of her back.

"Now I'm getting worried," Vic muttered.

* * *

"That is making me very worried," said Drake, after Vic finished her report.

"The paramedics said her injuries were extensive, but mostly superficial. Haven't heard from the hospital, yet."

"There are unconfirmed accounts of supers who are able to, well, possess others. Until now I thought they were just myths."

"Me, too," said Vic. "I've got calls in to people who might know about this."

"I will forward this directly to Doro," said Drake. "Hopefully, the Bureau has someone who can give us a clue as to what to do next."

"The problem is," said Vic, slowly, "while we should assume both these women are innocent, they might not be."

"Maybe we can get a Bureau telepath in to check," said Drake.

* * *

"So you're saying there were two Dares," said Chief Sovereign, glaring at the two feds from his seat at the head of the meeting room table.

"No," said Vic, who was in civilian garb for this meeting, "there's probably just one, who can... project her power into others."

"So... Which one do we arrest?"

"Neither, since both may be innocent victims."

"We have to arrest one of them!"

"Why?" said Vic, honestly confused. "Just wait until we straighten..."

"We've already told the press we caught her! We have to charge someone!"

"I don't know anything about that," said Vic, honestly. "My suggestion is - and I've already made this recommendation to Captain Miller - that the police investigate any connection between the two women. If they do have something significant in common, that could lead us to Dare."

"We already have Dare!" yelled the Chief. "Stop trying to confuse the issue!"

"She's not confusing the issue," said Drake. "The issue is confused. Time is required to straighten it out."

"Well, you, young lady, are off the case. Either you're deliberately trying to ruin our success, or you're admitting that you assaulted two innocent women, seriously injuring each!"

"I... What?!"

"That's absurd," snapped Drake. "Both options are divorced from reality, as verified by mall security videos and witness accounts. Vic responded in each case appropriately to the situation. Stop trying to blame her for something which happened before she even arrived on the scene!"

The meeting might have deteriorated into a shouting match, except that Drake now announced he and Vic were finished and started gathering his items. Vic was caught a bit by surprise, but smoothly rose when he did and followed him out.

"Wow," said Vic, once the two of them were alone in Drake's government-issue car.

"I'm a bit surprised at his reaction," said Drake. He looked at Vic. "I'm starting to be more and more certain those swords are still in Detroit."

"Even if they are," said Vic, as her boss put his car into motion, "how do we find them? Were you able to get the main office to agree to send a magic expert?"

"Not yet," said Drake, appearing uncomfortable.

Vic decided to put the matter aside for now.

* * *

"Wait," said Michelle. "You mean Dare is a franchise, too?!"

"Not... exactly," said Vic, as she sank onto the couch with a tired sigh. "More like she's a serial squatter in other peoples' bodies."

"'Serial squatter...' That would be funny if there weren't people getting hurt and even killed because of Dare. Now she's 'borrowing' other folks' bodies, too."

"We're still not sure exactly what she doing," said Vic, shrugging. "The 'borrowing' might be consensual. Or it could be some sort of hive mind type of thing, or a gestalt, where all the members can call on Dare's powers, but have their own minds and memories. Which would clear up the mystery of why she sometimes knew who I was and sometimes didn't."

"I'd be a lot more comfortable if they all didn't remember you," said Michelle. "Especially after you beat two of them senseless."

Part Twelve

"Local police are saying that the word on the street is that whoever financed the theft of the swords is having a meltdown, because they didn't get them."

"Are you telling me," said Vic, slowly, after her boss delivered this bit of news at the next Monday morning briefing, "that the people who stole the swords are keeping them instead of turning them over to their client? If so, are they trying to get more money? Maybe from the original client or someone else?"

As usual, the briefing was in a small meeting room at the federal building, reserved ahead of time by their boss, Special Agent in Charge Bruno Drake. Also as usual, the entire staff of the Detroit Bureau office could fit with space left over.

"That's all speculation. What is known is that certain people are tearing certain sections of the city apart, looking for the folks who were hired to steal the swords."

"This could be very bad," said Cindy Larsen. "This could start a gang war or worse."

"That's possible," said Drake. "On the other hand, with representatives of the boss acting, and possibly forcing the thieves to act in response, we might soon get a break in the case."

"Let's just hope not much breaks otherwise," said Cal Pavolin.

"In office news, thanks to the combined efforts of Cindy, Doro and the tame gadgeteers at headquarters, Vic's usual helmet was not only repaired, but given some improvements we've been pushing for."

Drake pulled a box from under his seat and opened it, to produce the helmet. Vic could see that it really was her old one, but with some modifications. Drake handed it to her, along with several printed pages.

"They improved all the equipment, especially the radio and visor display," he explained. "It also now has built-in lights in the visible, IR and UV range. The display has twice the resolution, too. The radio now has as much better range, and built-in cell capability. All the electronics have also been hardened. So, hopefully, you won't have the problem of an EMP damaging it again. There's also now a PA function, so you can speak to others more easily while wearing it. The only downside is that the battery life is now shorter. There just wasn't enough room for all that and more batteries, and some of the new devices are power hogs. To help deal with this, they included a portable charger which will plug into the cigarette lighter in your car."

"That is fantastic," said Vic, grinning. She pulled the helmet on. "The best part of all? It still fits!"

That brought a bit of laughter. The meeting ended on a high note.

* * *

Vic spent much of both her office and home time over the next several days memorizing how to use the new functions for her helmet and practicing with them. She was very pleased that the total weight and balance were almost unchanged, and she soon adapted to the differences. Michelle made several disparaging comments about "boys and their toys" but actually helped Vic practice. She even suggested several exercises to try with it.

A note at the end of the multi-page printout promised a complete new set of armor in a few days. At a guess, this was a response to the efforts of the Office of Scientific Investigation to have their "more capable" armor replace the suit developed by the Bureau. There were no details, but Vic was actually looking forward to testing the new armor when it came in. Like the improvements to her helmet, the new suit would be made by people familiar with her abilities and needs. People who also, at least presumably, had received Vic's reports on how her current armor had performed and her suggestions for improvements.

All this was training to familiarize herself with the new helmet was possible due to another quiet period in her work. As well, the literal drought had finally broken, though not completely. Though currently soaked, the area - the whole region - was still behind on precipitation, from late Winter on. Some people were angrily muttering vague accusations against those with powers over the lack of rain and snow. Vic recalled her farmer grandfather observing, more than once, that "no matter how much rain you have now, you are only three weeks from a drought."

With the "super drive-by" SUV and its crew captured the demonstrations faded, but not completely. There were still many things happening in Detroit which its inhabitants objected to, and with demonstrations started for one purpose it was easy to continue them for others. However, most of the protests were now much smaller, and dispersed to several parks.

Perhaps because of this reduction in opportunity, Dare's few appearances during this period were non-confrontational, and generally brief. Multiple law enforcement agencies were still after her. She had, after all, outright murdered several people in one event, most of them Detroit police officers, and killed others later. Though - fitting with all the other bizarre things about her - when she appeared she acted as if she were still perceived as a hero.

On the other hand, this reduction in her appearances and the SUV operations made other criminal activities more noticeable. Additional clues as to what was happening with the balance blades were occasionally coming in. Frustratingly, there was enough delay in the information reaching the police - with further delay before it got to the feds - that the response was more a matter of examination and cleanup than catching anyone in the act.

At least no-one is using the swords for their intended purpose, thought Vic, with a shudder.

During this time, most of Vic's workday was spent in the office; the three-desk office she shared with Cindy and Cal. Bored. Both of her office mates were busy, doing the work of a full federal office between the two of them. Vic, blessedly, was spared most of that paperwork, though she still pitched in when they were especially swamped and it was something she actually knew how to do. As well, she did occasionally go out, to train or be the super voice in some local matter involving supers. Those duties included recruiting new supers for the Bureau, now that the budget was slowly coming back up. She was even trying to get the gadgeteer from the SUV into a program to work for the Bureau of Special Resources. So far, he wasn't interested.

Fortunately, new information was turning up on the balance blades. Including from some unusual sources.

"I just got off the phone with Sharma, of the Assembly," said Drake, when Vic went to his office in response to his summons. Drake shook his head. "I swear, talking to that woman is worse than talking to my ninety-three year old grandmother. Anyway, she said that she and some mystic friends had held a... Not, seance, what did she call it...?"

"A reading?" guessed Vic.

"That's it! I wrote down what she told me." Drake handed Vic the sticky note. "Am I the only one who finds it odd that every bit of information she relayed to me was couched in metaphor and rhyming clues, except the Longitude and Latitude, to the second for each?"

"So where is this?"

"Hotel, not far from downtown. It used to be a grand place, but has come down a bit in recent years. So they don't ask questions when someone rents a suite or a whole floor for several days. Especially when they pay in advance."

"Have you given this to the police?"

"No reason to involve them, yet. Right now it's just an investigation. A purely federal investigation. I called the hotel and confirmed that the entire top floor - two joined large suites - had been rented by a group who didn't want room service. Said they were holding a series of sensitive business negotiations, only most of those using the rooms didn't look much like businessmen. At least, not for any legitimate business. I did talk to the heads of the local FBI and Marshal's Service, and they said they have people available to help with a raid. I also spoke with a federal judge, and he's preparing a warrant. I want you to take the lead. Go talk with the heads of the local FBI and Marshals, and arrange a visit in force. Depending on what you find, then we'll tell the police."

"You want me to be the lead?!" said Vic, a bit alarmed.

"Yes. There shouldn't be any problems. All those involved - including you - are experienced agents. You'll do fine."

If the police had come up with the clue they would have had first call, but since this was all through Drake's initiative... Vic nodded, spun around and left.

* * *

With the warrant in the hand of one of the FBI men, half of the dozen federal agents involved came at each of the entrances to the combined suites from stairwells at opposite ends of the hallway. At first glance, the only thing which seemed odd - besides the armed and armored men and women - was that both doors had tape around the seams. Repeated knocks went unanswered. At a nod from Vic a man in each team used a digital passkey obtained from the front desk. They unlocked the doors, threw them open, then quickly jumped back. A man and woman, waiting crouched low, quickly and deftly shoved wedges under the open doors to keep them from closing and also immediately pulled back. Next came the warnings.

"Federal agents! We have a warrant to search these premises! Put up your hands and stay where you are!"

Smoke poured out, setting off hallway smoke detectors.

The first person in was Vic. Unlike her old helmet, the new one activated the filters automatically on detecting smoke particles or any of a wide assortment of gasses. She went in low, trying to get under the smoke. She was only partially successful. The rooms were full almost to the floor, though there was no sign of flames. Still...

"Get fire extinguishers!" she yelled over her new helmet's PA.

Given the smoke, the work of making the preliminary sweep was left to Vic. None of those staging the raid had thought to bring gas masks, since they weren't planning to use tear gas or smoke grenades. Fortunately, there was no-one in either section of the combined suite except Vic. The fire was a smoldering mess, coming from material piled on the main table in one of the two large rooms. Vic grabbed the first extinguisher brought to the door and doused that pile thoroughly. Then she checked the rest of the rooms.

"Looks like this was the only fire," she announced. "I'm gonna open the balcony doors."

"Watch for wires!" one of the Deputy Marshals yelled. "They might have left traps!"

Well, it's a little late for that, thought Vic, since she had already opened every internal door and at least looked in every room and closet and cabinet.

With the outside doors open the rooms soon aired out enough for the other federal agents to enter. Vic could already see people running out onto the lawn, in response to the alarm the smoke had triggered.

"Casey," said Vic, "can you go down and meet the fire department when they get here? Oh, and tell the desk staff the fire is out."

"Will do," said the FBI agent.

"Looks like they piled everything they weren't taking with them which they thought might provide evidence - including the bedclothes - onto that table, sabotaged the smoke alarms and sprinklers and left," said one of the FBI agents, after he made a quick examination of the rooms. Vic later learned he had experience with arson investigations. "Even the sheets, pillows and cushions from the fold-out couches and the Murphy bed. That fire's been burning for a while, too. Just a nice, slow smoulder, hot enough to destroy most evidence but not enough to cause structural damage. I think they might even have wetted some of the things to slow the burn. Though there are empty bottles of bleach under the table, so maybe they just doused the stuff with that."

"That all fits," said Vic, nodding. "The team which did this probably committed those branch bank robberies. They go out of their way to avoid unnecessary damage, but are very thorough about not leaving evidence. Real professionals."

"Looks like they even taped the outside doors to keep the smoke in here. Probably the last man out did that."

Vic looked around at the mess which the robbers had left, and sighed.

"So, two questions for the experts. How likely are we to recover any significant evidence from this mess? How long have they been gone?"

"A lot of people don't know that heat can actually set fingerprints, if the substrate isn't too badly damaged," said one of the Deputy Marshals. "Also, DNA is surprisingly heat resistant. With so much stuff here, we're bound to get something, despite the bleach and fire. That will take a while, though. Just clearing these rooms properly will take days."

"I'd say this fire was set several hours ago," said the fire-expert FBI agent. He coughed, as several others were doing. "Damn, it stinks in here."

"I doubt they did this because they knew we were coming, then," said Vic, frowning in deep thought and scowling inside her helmet. "We didn't even know we were coming several hours ago."

"So we missed them," said one of the Deputy Marshals, sounding irritated. "We just, plain missed them, through pure bad luck. Damn."

Bad luck, thought Vic, with a chill. Or was it evil luck?

Part Thirteen

"We let some of the fire fighters in so they could make sure the fire was actually out," said Vic, when she reported to Drake and the local heads of the FBI and Marshals' Service that afternoon. She was in her armor - hastily cleaned though still smelling of smoke - with her helmet in hand. She grinned. "Our evidence people had a bit of trouble keeping them from throwing everything in those rooms off the balcony into the part of the lawn outside the hotel which they had cleared, though."

"Their job is to make sure the fire is out," said Drake, philosophically. "Ours is to preserve the evidence."

"Fortunately, they settled for tearing out the ceiling panels over the actual fire and checking up there. They found some scorching and heat damage, but no fire. They also set up fans to help clear out the smoke. That seemed to satisfy them, at least for the joined suites. They checked some other parts of the hotel - mainly making sure the alarms and sprinklers there were working - then left."

"So far there's no word from the city police," said the FBI Special Agent in Charge Dianne Colby. She grinned at Drake. "When they do respond, if they call me I'll be sure to tell them this was all your idea."

"Gee, thanks," muttered Drake. He sighed. "Actually, that's a good tactic. Chief Soviren is already a lot more upset with me than either of you. Might as well keep it that way."

This was just the preliminary report. The FBI and Marshals' Service would hear in detail from their own people later about the exercise. Vic had no doubt that her own performance would be closely examined.

* * *

"I have to say, I'm impressed with your performance," Drake told Vic, later, in his office. "Both my counterparts are, as well. You're still inexperienced, but you know it, and know when to ask for more experienced help and how to take it gracefully."

"I'm a bit surprised as such a glowing review," said Vic, shifting uneasily, a bit embarrassed. "I mean, I know there was no way the suspects already being gone was my fault, but I half expected someone to say so."

"Oh, a few people did. We bosses know the timing wasn't your fault. However, we did have some criticisms. You can expect a full review in your in basket, probably tomorrow."

"Gee, thanks, boss," said Vic. She sighed, her smile vanishing. "Any clues, yet, on where the thieves went after leaving the hotel?"

"Nothing yet. However, I'm optimistic. The local FBI has some good people. What they can't do, they know to send to the main lab. Also, I notified Sharma of our miss, and she's promised to keep on the case. We'll find them."

* * *

A call the next morning brought Vic to the evidence room of the FBI's section of the federal building. Multiple items from the shared suites she had led the raid on were laid out on tables. As other lab workers performed their sometimes arcane tasks, their supervisor waved to Vic and motioned her over.

"I need you to check something," said Special Agent Flinders, the chief evidence guy for the local FBI, peering at her over his half-frame glasses. He indicated one particularly unsavory item with his vinyl-gloved hand. "Do you smell anything unusual in this trashcan?"

Not sure she wasn't being pranked, Vic leaned in a bit and sniffed cautiously. She looked startled, leaned in closer and took a good sniff.

"Garlic!" said Vic, as she straightened. "Well, lots of other stuff, most of it nasty, but that's what stands out."

"I thought so. I remembered you saying you smelled garlic at that branch bank. So when I caught a whiff of it I figured I'd verify it with you."

He smirked.

"You aren't the only one around here with an educated nose."

"Okay, that's another link - if a fragile one - between the people in the suite and the bank robberies. Does it help us find them, though?"

"Not that alone, but it's a part of the puzzle." Flinders grinned and motioned Vic to a nearby table. A slim and energetic man, his unbuttoned lab coat actually flapped a bit as he moved. This table held documents of various types which were being processed. Most were at least a little scorched, but even some pieces which were carbonized were being conserved and examined. Flinders picked up a processed piece of paper which had definitely seen better days. "Here's another bit of evidence. A more important one, but connected to the garlic."

The item - laminated between plastic sheets - was a stained and slightly scorched receipt. From a sandwich shop.

"From the information automatically printed on this we know which specific place this was obtained from, and it's only a couple of blocks from the hotel. We also have the date and time, which was recent enough we figured the people there might remember a customer who asked for extra garlic. Two agents went there early this morning, the same time of day on the same day of the week as on the ticket. The employees remembered a customer who stood out because he would come in three or four times a week and place a big order for takeout. One of the items would always have extra garlic."

"I bet whoever got that was a joy to work with," said Vic, with a laugh. For some reason the song "Everything is Food" started playing in her head.

"Probably," said Flinders, with a smirk. "Anyway, we got a pretty good description of the guy who placed the orders. We're running that, as well as the prints and the DNA we've recovered so far, through the system. By the end of the day we might just have at least one name."

"That is good news," said Vic, seriously.

* * *

"More information on the sword thieves," said Drake, the next morning, after calling Vic to his office. "The FBI sent us files on five guys who were in the suite, including photos. Also, overnight there was an increase in activities presumably involving the thieves. Now it appears that not only is the original customer looking for them, but they've split into two groups, one of which is very angrily and actively looking for the other."

"No honor among thieves?" said Vic, not surprised at this news.

"More like temptation getting the best of someone," said Drake. "We figure they split into two groups when they left the suite, each group taking a sword. Now, at least one of those groups appears to have gone rogue. More likely, they both decided to cheat their client, then split over the details once physically separated. Anyway, local police and several federal agencies are already tracking down members of all three groups. Unfortunately, so far law enforcement is still playing catchup with the law breakers."

"Anything specific you need me for?" said Vic.

"Not yet. We probably will soon, though. Just can't say exactly when or exactly what for."

* * *

The break in the swords theft came unexpectedly, as they so often do. Vic was on her way home that evening - in civvies but with her armor's undergarment on under her clothes and the rest of her "duty" outfit in a case in the back of her wagon - when her new brilliant phone rang. Knowing from the ring that this call was forwarded from the city, she pulled over to the first parking space she could find, in order to devote her full attention to the call.

It was, indeed, a call for her help. Vic got the details, then hit her lights and siren and hurried to the scene.

Said scene being a mess. There were over a dozen police cars, about the same number of ambulances and many bystanders milling around the edge of a large section of business district street. Vic parked just outside the cordoned-off area and sought out the officer in charge. She quickly got the low-down on what had happened here.

In response to 911 reports of a gang war, multiple police units had quickly made their way to a location in a business district. Only to discover that Dare had arrived first. The "gang war" turned out to be a three-way conflict between those working for the customer who wanted the swords and the two groups of thieves. Then Dare arrived and managed to take out several members of each group (as well as, unfortunately, several other people) and was proudly waiting for the police to arrive so she could smugly hand over her captives. Only to be informed - at gunpoint, with several of those guns being M-16 assault rifles loaded with "enhanced penetration" ammunition - that she was under arrest.

Outraged, she had fled. So had some of those she had attacked, who took advantage of the police focusing their attention on Dare to escape. Most of those she had disabled were still at the scene, but some of them were innocent bystanders. All were denying being participants in the fight, as well as denying ownership of the various weapons used in the conflict. Among those who got away were the thieves from both groups of sword holders.

"What a mess," said Officer Davis, summing up after that rushed briefing to Vic.

"Well, it looks like you don't need me," said Vic, with a sigh. "Dare is gone. The suspects in the theft are gone. The swords may have never been here."

"Oh, didn't I tell you? Four guys - one of them carrying a long case - were spotted running out of the other end of that alley over there by 911 callers. Thanks to all this mess, by the time anyone could respond they were long gone, but we've still got uniforms canvassing that street."

"Well, if you don't need me here, I'll get my armor on and head over there and see if I can be of any use."

"As long as you're close by in case Dare comes back."

* * *

The officers going building-to-building on that next block had little to show for their efforts so far when Vic checked in with them. At most buildings they couldn't even get anyone to respond. At most of the others they only got a security guard, who uniformly had no idea what the cops were talking about. This was a depressed business area; all of the buildings were closed, most for the night, some for months or years. The two 911 callers who had reported the fleeing people had both vanished. They would have to be tracked down later, through cell phone records.

The officers were still trying to find more witnesses in the area. Vic decided on a different path.

She walked back to the alley she had just gone through, remembering seeing something which would help. Vic went to a fire escape in the alley. There, in near silence, with a casual grace which would have surprised any witnesses, she jumped high enough to grab the bottom of the lowest landing - not the ladder - and swung herself onto it. From there she went quietly up the steps to the roof.

Vic walked slowly around the edge of the roof, looking and listening intently. Her refurbished helmet had external microphones to provide synthesized stereo sound, and smart amplification. That is, faint sounds were amplified, while those already loud enough weren't. There were surprisingly many sounds of activity in the apparently still neighborhood. Even excluding the cops working along both sides of that one street. Anyone looking up would have seen Vic, in her light-colored armor, her head swiveling around to catch sounds, but people rarely look up unless something attracts their attention and Vic was being very quiet.

Satisfied she'd seen and heard everything she could from that first perch, Vic took a short, running start and jumped to the next roof, landing with very little sound. She made another quick circuit, then proceeded to the next roof. Then the next. Then the next. She heard many odd things and even saw a few, but nothing actionable or connected with the thieves.

Just how far she should travel - in any direction - she didn't know right then. Vic decided to go as far as she easily could from roof to roof. That turned out to be about half a block. Clearing alleys between buildings was one thing, but the five lane street at the end of the block was another. Instead Vic descended and crossed to the other side, then went up the fire escape on the building there. There were few bystanders around and none seemed to notice Vic. For her part, she had no idea what she should even be looking for, but felt due diligence required her to cover both sides of the street for the entire block. She seriously doubted the thieves were still anywhere near, but they might have left a clue she or the officers on the ground could find.

Vic went roof to roof all the way to the other end of the block on that side, then descended, crossed and went back up. She traveled via her elevated path back to the building where she had started, with nothing to show for her exertions beyond some exercise.

She sighed, stepped to the edge of the roof and put one foot on the raised lip, resting her forearms on her leg as she idly looked around. There was nothing unusual coming through from the external mics on her helmet, nothing pertinent on the police channels from the built-in radio...

A bit of motion caught her attention, but it was just a uniform finishing at one building and heading for the next. Vic sighed again and relaxed. She noted that she felt a bit antsy, and made herself relax.

Well, at least it's a nice night to be out and about, she thought. Might be late for supper, though. Good thing I called Michelle on the way here.

Again, motion seen from the corner of her eye caught her attention. Thinking this would be another uniformed police officer she turned to look. Only, the motion was not from a doorway. It had come from the end of an alley, just up the street from where she was and across. It didn't repeat.

Probably nothing. Maybe a cat or dog or some other critter. Or even someone working late looking to see what was going on. Still, the police are already past there. I should check it out.

She didn't really want to, and there was more than an uncharacteristic touch of laziness involved. Something about that alley struck her as... wrong, even from this distance. However, Vic stirred herself. She went roof to roof until almost across from the alley, then down the closest fire escape, then across the street. The whole way she kept out of line of sight of the alley. Just in case.

Vic flattened herself against the front of the building there and took a quick peek into the dark opening. There was nothing visibly out of place - to normal vision, to the enhanced vision of the helmet, or to her sense of perception - but something definitely felt wrong. Maybe that was her sense of perception, trying to warn her of something just out of range. Only it didn't feel like that...

The chi of this place is all messed up, she realized. She felt an odd, impish impulse. Or would that be
ki, since the swords are Japanese?

She shook her head. Where had that come from? Even if the circumstances were totally innocent, such thinking could be distracting, and this might be a dangerous situation.

Vic considered her next move very thoroughly. She could go to the roof of this building and look down, but she'd been there just a few minutes before and hadn't noticed anything unusual. She could call on one or more of the police officers canvassing the street, but she couldn't see any of the uniforms at the moment. She could use the new cell phone function in her helmet to call one of her police contacts or the dispatcher for help, but who knew how long that would take to arrive? She decided to simply walk - slowly and warily - into the alley.

In some part of her mind Vic knew she was doing something wrong, but the effect of whatever influence she was feeling was a bit like being drunk. Except...

She stopped, and did some focus breathing. Her head cleared. Just as the three men charged out from behind a dumpster at her.

Part Fourteen

The trio tried to dogpile her. At the moment, Vic assumed they weren't using firearms because they didn't want to alert the cops down the block. Or maybe saw the armor and knew bullets weren't likely to work. In the light of subsequent events, she later decided they just weren't thinking too well right then.

Vic hopped into a right sidekick to the gut of the nearest man, bounced off that into a hop away, and - with that leg still in the air - caught the man on the left with a roundhouse to his ribs. Then she bounced from that into a hook kick for the third man, also to the ribs. All three kicks done with the same leg, without putting it down between. Wallace style.

The men dropped. Vic heard noises from beyond the dumpster, reminding her she still had the volume on her helmet turned up. Oh, well; no time to adjust it right now. The electronics were clipping the volume, anyway, so she wouldn't be deafened. Instead, she jumped over the felled men and ran after the sound.

A man carrying a long case was running down the alley, away from her. Despite the hindrance of her armor, Vic quickly closed the distance between them. When the man realized he couldn't outrun Vic, he stopped.

Incredibly, instead of dropping the case to get more speed, surrendering, or going for a gun, the man quickly knelt, put his burden down, opened it and started to pull out a wrapped, sword-shaped object. Vic moved in and smoothly twisted the wrapped sword from the man's grip, then backhanded him on the side of the head when he tried to retake the blade. She was barely able to pull the blow enough not to seriously hurt him with the armored back on her glove. For some reason her blood was up. Vic looked over as her first set of opponents - or the two still able to - came towards her, this time with guns out. She intended to tuck the wrapped sheath into her belt, to leave her hands free if the thieves tried to continue the fight. However, she found herself doing something very different. The sword was demanding her attention.

The wrap was whipped away and she grabbed the sheath in one hand, the hilt in the other. Even through her protective gloves the grip felt prickly and uncomfortable, as if the shape was very wrong for her hands. Yet Vic found herself drawing the sword. She then found herself moving smoothly into a fighting stance, sword held in both hands, ready to use. The pair of thieves stopped. Without Vic saying or doing anything more, the pair dropped their weapons, put their hands on their heads and got on their knees. Then lay flat.

All four of the men who had been in that alley were now down and staying down, presenting no threat. Vic still was barely able to stop herself from applying the edge of that wicked blade to the nearest man, the one who had led the second charge at her. The thieves knew it, too; at least the ones conscious enough to realize what was happening. Vic barely stopped herself from swinging, the man she was about to behead looking up in terror from where he lay on the greasy pavement.

Vic knew, of course, of the martial arts teaching to feel the spirit of the weapon. Before now she had thought that advice was purely metaphorical, and only referred to becoming aware of the balance of the object, the way it moved. Now she realized that in some circumstances it could mean something very literal.

"Down, boy!" she said, firmly, glaring through her faceplate at the sword. The fury and urge to violence subsided, but she had the distinct feeling the blade's acceptance of her dominance was only short-term. Still, for now she was definitely in control. "You guys better be glad I have good training. Now, where's the sheath? I gotta safe this thing before it makes me murder all of you..."

An observer might have thought this was all a performance, to keep the men cowed in their defeat. Which they definitely were. They complied, both of them helpfully pointing to where the sheath had fallen. Vic quickly gathered the sheath and inserted the sword. She tossed the wrap in the case, leaving both those where they were for the moment; her attention was on something more urgent.

"Behave!" she barked at the sword, before tucking the sheathed blade securely into her belt. She pried her hand from the grip, shook it out to make it relax, and sighed. Then she looked back at the cowed men. "Now, before it gets loose again, where's the other sword?"

Once more, they cooperated without hesitation. They were all aware of the legends, had themselves been under the influence of the blade for a while, and were now aware of how they had been acting out of character until Vic mastered that particular sword. The fact that she had mastered it went a long way towards making them cooperative.

"Our boss has it," said one of the men, as the other nodded. "He's been looking for us. And... for that..."

Vic nodded back, then used the cell function in her refurbished helmet to call for police backup and medical help. She needed the former and some of these men definitely needed the latter.

However, as she was using that function she discovered a problem with the refurbished helmet's new equipment. When she was using the cell phone function, the external audio cut out. Vic was, of course, watching the four captured men, and saw the two who were still conscious notice something. Before she could look in that direction her sense of awareness revealed the rapid approach of something. Someone. A large man, closing quickly. Vic reflexively dodged, interrupting her call, though fortunately after giving her location and need for backup.

She successfully avoided this new attacker, but there were others with him. Like the first four, all were fit men with skills and experience. Unlike the first four they had modern melee weapons and were working together to use those against Vic. What followed was almost a dance, involving graceful attacks and defenses, punches and kicks and weapon strikes and blocks, dodges and parries. She quickly noticed that the apparent leader - the big man who had led this attack on her - had a sword strapped across his back. She thought she recognized him and some of the others - including one of those already on the ground - from the photos the FBI had provided. None of the current attackers were men to be taken lightly. Of course, neither were the first four, but for some reason they had been far easier to defeat. Vic could tell these men were good, but there was something else going on.

Time to get creative, Vic thought, deciding to figure out the details later.

With a bit of maneuvering, she got the big man away from those who had arrived with him. This was partly helped by the sounds of sirens approaching; the actions of these newcomers became more urgent after that. Which made them more vulnerable. Vic used one of the big guy's punches against him. She blocked, grabbed his arm with both hands and swung him around, as if to place him in a joint lock. Instead, Vic slammed face-first into a wall. This momentarily stunned him. The second sword was quickly pulled from the makeshift strapping.

Vic stepped back, smiling, now in possession of both swords. The smile faded as she quickly realized the blades were fighting for possession of her! She also realized something else. The air entering her mask was currently unfiltered, and after getting up close and personal with the big guy she noticed something.

"I can tell you like garlic," said Vic, startling him.

Fortunately this, plus the sounds of cop cars getting closer, gave her some time. She secured the second sheath, then drew both swords. The "evil" one was in her right hand, the "good" one in her left. The metal of the blades gleamed in the faint light coming in from the streets at both ends of the alley. The effect was intoxicating. Vic shivered, feeling the temptation to cut loose, tempered with the urge to show mercy. Not unlike being human, actually. She noticed that both groups of thieves were now united against her, and those who were able were drawing handguns.

"I'm wearing bulletproof armor," Vic announced. sweeping her gaze over the group of professional thieves. "I'm faster than you. I have a pair of magic swords. There are police running down the alley from both directions. Your move."

There was a long pause.

"Wellll, apple juice," said Aurness, finally. He tossed his gun aside and put up his hands. The others followed suit.

Detroit police arrived shortly after that, to find the suspects all passively waiting for them. Seeing the armored figure holding the two swords made clear why.

* * *

Michelle looked around as Vic came in, carrying the case with her armor. She smiled, and was about to tell her wife that supper was in the oven. Then she saw Vic's face. Quickly, Michelle rose, took the case from Vic and put it down, and hugged Vic. Then guided her to the couch.

There were no words for a long time. Just the comfort of holding each other.

* * *

"One of the weirdest - and most fortunate - parts of this whole sword adventure," said Vic, to Drake the next day, "or maybe misadventure, was that the swords were never used on anyone! I may actually have been the first person in all this to draw them, after they were sheathed and wrapped during the theft from the exhibit center."

"That is a very good thing," said Drake, with feeling. "From what you tell me even someone not outright killed would likely have been missing limbs. Even if those two blades were nothing more than ancient Samurai swords, with no magic involved."

Vic had the feeling - despite her report - that he wasn't convinced the swords were actually anything but what they appeared to be. She knew better.

"The swords apparently didn't reach full power until some time after they were separated by the thieves. The influence of the younger sword may be what caused the sub-group which had it to go rogue. At least, that's what they're claiming. Even after the swords became more active, they didn't seem to actually do more than generally influence those around them. From what I can tell, the 'good' sword didn't find much good in the men who had it, and mainly just guided them to the other sword. Then I got close, and both swords became more active. It seems they considered my martial arts training appropriate to their intended purpose. They may have even influenced the thieves to attract my attention."

"I think we should all all feel grateful you have had such good training," said Drake, emphatically.

Vic realized this her boss' comment was intended to work as a compliment whether the swords were actually magic or not. She had been rather embarrassed about some of the things in her report - including what she felt from holding the swords and her ability to master them. For one thing, that last sounded like bragging... but Vic realized that her reactions to the swords - and their reactions to her - had to be put down in print. Now, though, she wondered if she should have been firmer in her statements. She had a feeling that many who read the report would dismiss all the supernatural elements as products of her imagination.

"I am very glad the owner is coming to town to take the swords back to Japan," said Drake. "He apparently has never had any problem with them. Though I hear he was not surprised to learn that the legends about them are apparently true. He was also outraged to learn that the exhibitors separated the swords, in spite of his clearly stated requirements they be kept together. He's therefore taking them back, instead of allowing them to resume being on exhibit. I'm just glad you were able to get them into the vault here last night. Into our safe."

"The Detroit police weren't happy about that," said Vic, with a shrug. "I just didn't give them much chance to argue."

Seeing Vic with the swords, with several strong men laying, terrified, on the nasty alley pavement, almost begging to be arrested, had meant there was little objection from the responding officers to anything she said or did. Especially when she deftly sheathed the blades and told the police, flatly, that she was taking them to the property vault at the federal building. Vic had made certain the rewrapped swords were - Together! - in the separate safe reserved for her Bureau, inside the federal building's shared vault. She was very glad the night staff here had access to the vault. As well as that Drake had trusted her with the combination to the Bureau's safe. She made a note to recommend that he get a larger safe; the swords had barely fit, and then only after some rearranging of the contents. Hopefully, the new safe would actually be new. Though Drake claimed the very age of the current safe would make it secure against the efforts of modern safecrackers.

Vic, realizing that her boss was speaking again, shook her head and cleared it of those currently extraneous thoughts. She wondered if that were a lingering effect of handling the swords, or she was just tired. Probably a combination, though she was betting on it being mostly due to a lack of sleep.

"Well, the mayor contacted me first thing this morning, on what soon became a conference call," said Drake, with a slight smile. "Multiple members of the city administration joined in, and together they tried to bully me into turning the swords over to them. I made it clear - with support from the State Department - that the swords were owned by a citizen of an allied nation who has influence with his government, and that he was coming to get them. From us."

Vic sighed, and almost yawned.

"It's all speculation, but I think something - maybe the fact that several of the thieves are ex-military, or maybe because the exhibit had them separated for so long - stimulated the swords. They certainly haven't caused any problems I know of since they were reunited. As well as nothing before that except legends and unvalidated cautionary tales."

"No," said Drake, nodding, "they currently seem to be just what they appear to be: A pair of valuable, antique Japanese swords. Let's hope they continue to stay that way."

He nodded, closed one manilla folder and opened another.

"Now, there are important developments in another case," said Drake. "I've asked Captain Miller - who has been appointed the city's coordinator for the Dare case - to meet with us in a bit to give us a briefing. He should be here in about half an hour. So, take a twenty minute break then get back here."

"Yes, sir!"

* * *

"Both of the Dares at the mall were members of a local fetish club," said Captain Miller, once the trio in Drake's office was settled and the meeting was properly started. "They also say they have no memory of becoming her and committing crimes. I say they 'were' members, because the club broke up after a tragedy. One of the main organizers - one Madeline Courtner - was badly injured in a car wreck, and is currently in a coma. What the docs call a 'persistent vegetative state.' Though a light one. She could wake up, eventually."

"What do they mean by 'a light one'?" said Vic, puzzled.

"She occasionally shows signs of increased mental and even physical activity. So far those episodes haven't lasted long, but the doctors are hopeful.

"What do you want to bet those episodes of greater mental activity coincide with Dare's appearances?" said Drake, glancing at Vic.

"Wait, what?!" said Captain Miller. He shook his head. "That woman's in a coma. How could she have anything to do with Dare's activities?"

"Mental powers," said Vic, nodding. "Her unconscious wants to be doing something, possibly because of her inactive state, but her brain is injured and won't let her act normally. So she manifests her power in someone else."

"That's... a pretty far stretch," said Miller, looking skeptical.

"It's rare, but not without precedent," said Drake. "Sometimes it's conscious. There was a case of a mastermind with unsuspected mental powers who was in jail, several years ago. He used his abilities to empower some of his flunkies and make them continue with his operations. Including committing crimes to advance his master plan. Meanwhile, the authorities thought the case was over. Took them a while to catch on to the real nature of the problem."

"There have even been a couple of cases of people who were physically unable to act - one was paralyzed, the other in a coma, like this woman - who were eventually found to be the source of super phenomena," said Vic, nodding. "We studied both those cases at Ramsey. There have also been many, many instances where physical trauma triggered powers."

"Damn," said Captain Miller, looking disturbed. "That would explain everything, but... Even if that's true, how do we stop her?"

"Before anything else, we should talk to her doctors," said Drake. "Depending on what they say, we may have to call in a powers specialist. Likely a mentalist."

* * *

As he entered the federal building room for a hastily called office meeting the next day, Drake was obviously upset.

"Yesterday evening," he said, loudly and slowly, "Madeline Courtner, though unconscious, and against the advice of her doctors, was given Psianninul through a court order."

"Oh, great," said Vic, the only one present besides Drake who knew who Madeline Courtner was.

Their boss quickly informed the other two members of the Detroit office of the Bureau of Special Resources as to the woman's identity, and her likely connection to the Dare case.

"So far, there has been no Dare activity since this forced medication. However, Mrs. Courtner's condition has worsened. The hospital has its own attorneys petitioning the judge who issued the court order to put a hold on it."

"'Mrs. Courtner'?" said Vic. "She's married?"

"Divorced, actually, but she kept her married name. Her ex-husband was also a member of the fetish club, and their divorce is another reason it broke up. In fact, it now appears the breakup was underway before her accident. That just put the finish on things. The wreck which caused her coma occurred when she was leaving a hearing where her appeal to stop the divorce proceedings was rejected. Investigators think her single-vehicle accident - or perhaps even deliberate crash - may have been due to her being emotionally distraught at the time."

"Wow..." was all Cindy could say.

"Now, here's where things get interesting," said Drake, voice rising a bit in volume. "The husband - Alvin Courtner - hasn't been available for questioning. The police haven't been trying for long - just since learning about Mrs. Courtner - but he either hasn't been home or he has declined to speak with them. The family has money, enough to have servants in Mr. Courtner's luxury apartment during the day. He claims his money is the reason his wife fought the divorce; that is, she wanted to continue in the lifestyle to which she had become accustomed. Except she got a generous settlement, so that doesn't really wash. When the servants are there they tell the police Mr. Courtner is not available. When he's supposed to be there alone, no-one answers the door. So far him talking to the police hasn't been mandatory, but that could change."

"I hate getting involved in domestic matters," said Cal, his expression sour.

"In this case we may not have a choice," said Drake. "If Mrs. Courtner is the source of the Dare manifestations, interviewing her ex-husband may be essential. However, for now we are leaving the questioning to the local police. If they can ever get answers from him."

Part Fifteen

Alvin woke slowly, feeling horrible. Even before he opened his eyes the smell told him there was something very wrong. As soon as he was able he made a thorough evaluation of his situation, including an inventory of what he was wearing. He was in a third-full dumpster, and as for what he had on...

"Buckles," said Alvin, sourly.

This was his name for a fetish outfit of his which had multiple buckles. As well as being more revealing than what he wanted to wear in public. He hadn't even brought it out of the special section of the closet since before the divorce, but somehow he was in it now. His psychiatrist thought his problem with occasionally waking in a strange place with no memory of how he got there was due to repressed guilt from the divorce. This was the first time, though, Alvin had woken in a strange place while also wearing something he wouldn't - these days, now that he was older and trying to present a serious image - be caught dead in. This was also the strangest place he had woken in! At least he hadn't been brought around by the dumpster being emptied...

A peek out of his improvised bedroom showed a familiar scene from his times of sneaking home the back way, during his more adventurous days. That was the good news; he wasn't far from his apartment and knew a covert route there. Even better, he didn't see anyone in this area of loading docks and parked, empty delivery trucks.

Torn between getting home quickly - he could tell the time was early morning - and not being seen, he carefully but quickly climbed out of the dumpster. He ran along the lane behind several business, his bare feet slipping occasionally on the slick pavement. He decided the dampness was from rain the night before. At least, Alvin hoped the dampness was from rain the night before.

He hurried through alleys and back ways, occasionally ducking out of sight until a garbage truck or delivery van had passed. Finally, he was at the rear of his building. Alvin looked up at rear of his fourth-floor apartment and sighed.

Taking a moment to gather himself, he jumped, and barely reached the railing on his balcony.

Alvin panted as much with relief as effort as he swung himself over, onto the balcony. He hadn't mentioned his powers to his psychiatrist; they were none of that man's business. Only his ex-wife knew about them, and she wasn't talking. As he reflexively wiped his feet on the doormat, he checked the sliding glass door; locked. Which he expected. Well, at least he didn't need to force his way in, and trigger the alarm. This wasn't the first time he'd needed to enter through this door without his usual set of keys. Smirking, he reached up, hopping a bit, to retrieve the small, magnetic key holder stuck out of sight to the steel of the supports for the balcony above his. That retrieved, he unlocked the door, replaced the key holder, and slipped inside.

"First thing," he muttered, locking the sliding balcony door behind him, "a shower. Then, lots and lots of ice cream. I need a treat."

Not to mention needing to replenish his energy after those superhuman exertions.

* * *

At the Bureau's Detroit office the next Monday the routine morning briefing was mostly about the cleanup involved with the theft and recovery of the Balance Blades.

"Here's the joint report on the swords," said Drake, handing each of the attendees a bound printout. "We all - local police, FBI, Marshals' service, the State Department and even our own head office - agree that while the theft of the swords has been solved - along with the branch bank robberies - and the criminals who performed the acts caught, and that we have a good lead on the guy who hired the team, that the ultimate customer is still unidentified."

"So we still need the guy behind the guy," said Cal, scowling.

"Probably some unethical collector," said Cindy, sourly. "Somebody with enough money to fund the initial bank robbery."

"Maybe. However, the super brains working for the Bureau of Special Resources say there is a larger pattern of thefts of powerful artifacts going back nearly three decades."

"The remaining machinations of the Five Great Powers?" said Cal.

"Maybe. They had a lot of irons in the fire, and their most recent incarnations stoked the fire as they grew old enough to take over such actions. However, the efforts are continuing. They're low-key, and usually attributed to or blamed on - as Cindy said - unethical collectors, but there's a subset of thefts which involve things suspected - or in some cases confirmed - to have some sort of power. A subset mostly involving very clever thefts made through intermediaries."

"Abraham Stone," said Vic, anger in her voice.

"He's one of those being looked at. However, some of the items don't fit his known predilections."

"I hope there's not some secret cabal of immortals - an actual Illuminati - gathering these items for their own individual or group power," said Cindy, looking like she didn't want to believe that but wasn't certain about the matter.

"There have always been people who thought they were in such a group," said Drake, with a shrug. "Some actually were or even still are. They've never been nearly as successful as they wanted to be or even thought they were. Partly because so many of these people will work against others who have similar ambitions. Like the Secrets Keeper."

"Well, no-one that we local feds have caught was actually in charge of the bank branch robberies or sword theft," said Cal, with a laugh. "No matter how convinced they were that they were."

The others weren't laughing, and he quickly became more serious.

"That sort of manipulation is typical of mastermind schemes," said Vic, from bitter personal experience.

"Anyway, Brade, herself, contacted me about this," said Drake. "She doesn't think there's a secret cabal ruling the world, and neither do the Bureau's tame super brains. For one thing, anyone capable of that would also be capable of doing a better job of running things. However, there are, indeed, people known to be trying to rule the world, or some large portion of it. There are probably other individuals and groups we don't know about who actually are trying to rule the world or some large part of it. Gathering powerful magical talismans is one way many of them believe they can gain the power they think they need. Any of them - or even a powerful, unscrupulous collector with strange tastes - could be behind these thefts. So, watch for clues, but keep your priorities on the more immediate, more mundane, more local stuff."

He turned a page in his notes.

"There have been a couple of unconfirmed Dare sightings this weekend, despite Mrs. Courtner being dosed with Psianninul. More when we have more."

Another page.

"Finally, the 'You're Arrested' killings are continuing," said Drake.

"Oh, God..." said Vic, sourly.

"It's now thought that some criminal organization is using these assaults to test potential members. That is, after a certain number of points - and the more difficult the target is to kill, the more points - the person being tested passes and is admitted to the group. So, be on the lookout for those, too. Also, be aware that some of those could be copycat crimes."

* * *

The welcome Vic got from Michelle when she arrived at their apartment that afternoon more than made up for the bad news from the morning's briefing.

"Mmmmm, thank you," said Vic, as they finally broke their clench. "What's the occasion?"

"You sure you're off duty tonight?" said Michelle, coyly, not answering the question.

"As off duty as I ever get," said Vic, with a shrug.

"Good. We're going somewhere special. I've got your outfit laid out on the bed. Don't worry, I'll help you with the unfamiliar stuff."

"Another rave?" said Vic, puzzled.

"Nope. Something more elegant. You go and get cleaned up. We don't have a lot of time."

* * *

Even once they were in Vic's car and on the way, Michelle simply gave turn-by-turn directions.

"I look like a model from a fashion magazine," said Vic, tone carefully neutral. "So do you. Though it looks a lot better on you. So, where are we going?"

"We're going someplace special to celebrate," said Michelle. "You have to drive, since you have the car, but it's my treat."

"Celebrate what?" said Vic, at Michelle's direction turning onto a state route in a different state than the one where they lived.

"Several things. Including going out to eat."

"Makes sense to me," muttered Vic.

Following her directions, they drove for over half an hour along that road, before finally arriving at the turnoff for a hilltop inn and restaurant.

"The Four Queens," said Vic, reading the sign. "Hey, I've heard of this place! The owners are all cousins, and supers. They used money inherited from their reformed supervillain grandfather to open this place, about thirty years ago!"

"Yeah. He earned multiple fortunes in Las Vegas before retiring. When the cousins - then in their teens and early twenties - tried to become superheroes, they all wore costumes based on playing cards, to honor their grandfather. They were mediocre superheroes, though. When they decided to quit that and instead built the restaurant they gave it a playing card theme, too. They've had a lot more success running the restaurant and inn than they had as superheroes."

"Yeah," said Vic. "Diamond was supposed to be a martial artist. Wonder if she still practices..."

"Even is you see her, no talking chop."

"Ow..." said Vic, grinning.

Vic parked at the restaurant, and hesitated, as she looked at the eatery in the fading sunlight.

"This is a pretty expensive place," said Vic, quietly, appearing concerned. "You're the one who keeps saying we have to economize, after losing our deposit in that apartment scam."

"I came into some money," said Michelle, smirking as she undid her seat harness.

"Say what?"

"You remember my client who died, Mrs. Binder? She left me a quarter million in her will."

"A quarter million," said Vic, blankly. "Dollars?!"

"Yep." Michelle laughed. "Oh, she left far more to her children, and to several charities. I was pretty much an afterthought. It's still a nice piece of change for us."

They got out, Vic locked the Corolla wagon, and they started walking slowly towards the entrance.

"What are you going to do with that money?"

"That's what I love about you. Most people would have been all 'What are we going to do?' Anyway, I think I'll just pay off our debts and put the rest in savings. After a few minor splurges, like this."

"They're supposed to have a really good seafood selection," said Vic. "I just hope I can resist rescuing the lobsters this time."

"What?!" said Michelle, almost missing the top step on the entrance stairs.

Vic looked straight ahead, completely poker-faced. They were entering the front door by then, and Michelle had to switch her attention to the receptionist. The time was still a bit before the peak period for the restaurant.

"Peltior, reservations for two," said Michelle.

If the receptionist had any personal reservations about two women dining together, she kept them personal. Without batting an eye she turned them over to another woman, who led the pair to their table. Both Michelle and Vic were impressed by the playing card themed decorations of the place. Including a portrait of the Four Aces in costume, from their superhero days. From the poses, Michelle could believe that Diamond had been - maybe still was - a martial artist. She had seen Vic take similar stances when practicing.

The food was good, the portions were generous and the service was prompt. Though there was the usual reaction to how much Vic ate. As they waited for desert the pair finally started talking about work. As was their custom, Michelle was more interested in Vic's work than vice-versa.

"I'm still amazed those thieves avoided all law enforcement for so many weeks, then just sort of gave themselves away," said Michelle.

"It's weird, all right," said Vic, nodding in agreement. "Those guys weren't stupid, yet those swords just had their way with them."

"So are you saying those guys weren't particularly..."

"Don't say it."

"Sharp?" said Michelle, smirking.

"You said it." Vic groaned. "How long have you been waiting to use that?"

"You'll never know."

* * *

Their meal was fantastic. Michelle didn't let Vic see the bill. After desert they perused the gift shop for a while, mainly to let Vic's system burn off the alcohol she had consumed with their meal before starting the drive home. Then they made a last pit stop.

"I hate having to use a public restroom as a woman," Vic muttered, as they left the Ladies room. Michelle had to stop her tugging at her dress. Together they looked around the gift shop again, though only briefly. "You find anything you wanted?"

"Not really. It's mostly snacks - which we already have plenty of - and tourist gewgaws."

"Yeah, that was my evaluation, too."

Soon they were back outside, in the cool, evening air. As the crossed the parking lot, heading for Vic's wagon, they saw that there were still people arriving.

"Say, does that guy look familiar?" said Michelle, as they neared the Corolla. She frowned and gestured, indicating a well-dressed man escorting a similarly elegant woman of about the same age.

"Yeah," said Vic, in a low voice. "That's the guy who was making the fuss at Wok on the Wild Side a couple of months back. The one who was so outraged he left without paying. That's not the same woman, though."

"Oh, my..." said Michelle, smirking.

Openly holding hands, the couple waved and smiled at the man as they reached Vic's wagon. He seemed quietly furious.

* * *

"Due to her continuing decline, we got the court order reversed and the doctors took Madeline Courtner off Psianninul last night," said Drake. "Unfortunately, it was too late. Her vitals were already very weak, and before the drug could wear off she went into cardiac arrest. She could not be resuscitated.

"Meanwhile, confirmed sightings of Dare continue."

"So she wasn't the source?" said Cindy, surprised.

"The thought now is that Courtner was the trigger, and that Dare is the product of a true Collective. In which case, giving everyone who is a member of the Collective a dose of Psianninul at the same time would break the link."

"If you could get all of the potential members to volunteer," said Cal, "or acquire an appropriate court order."

"Not very likely, I know," said Drake, sounding tired. "We're not even sure we have the names of all the members."

* * *

"Oh, great," said Vic, that evening.

"What's wrong?" said Michelle.

"The city hired Lady Green as their metro," said Vic, sourly.

"I remember you mentioning something about that," said Michelle. "Who's this Lady Green?"

"A mercenary super with a bad attitude," said Vic. "By which I don't mean she's a badass. I mean that she is egotistical, narrow-minded, overconfident, subjective and almost completely non-introspective. She's also an extrovert and on the surface charming and well spoken. Someone who isn't afraid to exaggerate her abilities and accomplishments. Not hugely different from Dare, in fact, except that Lady Green somehow manages to stay on the right side of the law. Oh, and she can fly."

"Of course the bitch can fly," said Michelle, rolling her eyes.

Vic sighed and shook her head.

"I've only had a couple of encounters with her, but what other people - supers and norms - say about her confirms my own evaluation. She's actually a cousin of Death Nell, whom I had trouble with during the war. Powers sometimes run in families. It seems attitudes may, as well."

"Yet the city hired her."

"Well, they're politicians - who are almost by definition more interested in image than substance - and she's a political creature."

"Well, hopefully you won't have to deal much with her."

"There's actually a pretty good chance we won't have a lot of interaction," said Vic, with a shrug. "The sorts of crimes she's likely to be involved with are high-profile, high-visibility and local. Which will likely mean there's less call for my help from the locals for such cases. Meanwhile, most of my cases aren't the kind people in the city government concern themselves with."

Part Sixteen

Unfortunately, the city decided that the best way to introduce Lady Green to the public was to have Vic not only present at the official welcoming ceremony, but to have her formally "hand over" protection of the city to the new hire. Vic and Drake both tried to get her out of this, but Brade reluctantly told them they had to participate.

"Aren't federal employees supposed to avoid endorsing local governments?" said Vic, on the conference call in Drake's office.

"Not for things like this," said Brade. "In fact, we're supposed to show support for local and state law enforcement. Partly because we depend on them more than most federal law enforcement agencies."

She went on to inform them that besides that obligation she, personally, and the agency as a whole were under political pressure to participate.

On the appointed day Vic rode with her boss to city hall, where Drake showed his invitation and was directed to a parking space. This part of the event seemed to be well organized. Trails of multiple signs directed participants to where they needed to go, with several live humans waiting to help. However, once Vic and Drake were in the auditorium Vic got the definite impression the whole affair was rushed. For a while there was even doubt Vic would be allowed on stage during the press conference.

"Who are you, again?" said the stage manager, scowling.

"Vic Peltior. I was invited - to put it politely - to give a short speech welcoming Lady Green."

"Well, you'll have to take off that armor."

"Uh, no. I didn't bring anything else to change into."

"Well, that was just very unprofessional on your part!"

"I wasn't given any instruction on how to dress," said Vic, defensively, "so I just wore my working clothes. Therefore, this is professional of me. This is how most police and members of the public know me, after all."

"Well, that is not my fault!" said the stage manager, haughtily. "If that's all you have to wear, you might as well not appear at all."

That actually suits me just fine, thought Vic.

This ultimatum was quickly escalated up the chain of command and then back down. Eventually, the head of the event confirmed over the radios those working it all carried that Vic was not to appear on stage. He actually seemed to take the information about how she was dressed as a personal insult, and made clear his opinion she had dressed that way specifically to spoil things and make him look bad.

"Well, looks like we might as well leave," said Vic, to Drake, as she came back stage. She managed not to smile.

"Lucky gal," said Drake, after Vic explained. "I still have to make a speech. You can go ahead and wait in my car, if you want to."

Vic had already left the auditorium when someone from the Mayor's office got involved.

"Agent Peltior's armor is how she is recognized!" said the Assistant for Public Relations.

"Exactly!" said the stage manager, taking this as approval of his decision. "Since that is inappropriate dress for this event, she might as well not appear!"

Soon the representative from the Mayor's office was joined by several others, including the actual Chief of Police. They started shouting at the stage manager, then the head manager of the press conference. Those worthies needed a while to realize what all the noise was about, since they had already made up their minds and thought the decision had been approved by the people who were now telling them they were wrong! By the time the event organizers were convinced that Vic had to appear and had to be in her armor - Helmet on! - Vic was almost out the door, prepared and even eager to leave.

She was headed off by one of the flunkies for the head of the conference.

"Where are you going?!" she cried, sounding panicked.

Vic had planned to just sit in Drake's car until he was ready to leave, since they had ridden here together. He had even given her the keys to it. Her helmet had plenty of entertainment potential, including books Vic hadn't read. She wasn't going to tell this gal that, though.

"The stage manager and the head of the conference both told me to leave."

"No, no, no!" the woman cried, becoming borderline hysterical. "You misunderstood! You have to be there, right now, to get your light and sound balanced!"

"Whatever that means," Vic muttered.

She reluctantly allowed herself to be hurried back to the stage by the aide. The TV crews and photographers were all waiting for Vic stand front and center at the podium so they could make certain their equipment was adjusted to handle her light-colored, pearly armor. They made it clear that it was entirely Vic's fault for that work not already being completed.

Helmet on, Vic was required to stand on one spot while the TV news crews and photographers frantically tried to get their illuminations and camera settings adjusted to create a useable image of Vic's iridescent outfit. Which she realized may have been the source of the original objection to her wearing it.

I'm really starting to envy the masks who maintain a secret identity, she thought, sourly, as she stood still, practicing her meditation breathing. They usually don't have to deal with all this nonsense!

"Do you have to wear that?" one of the TV cameramen finally asked, straightening momentarily from his equipment to glare at Vic, and speaking in a tone which strongly implied she had worn her armor specifically to make his job harder.

"Yes!" shouted several people from around the stage, before Vic could answer.

Eventually the camera operators were satisfied, if not happy. Then the sound crew asked Vic to speak into the microphone. That she was able to do this with her helmet on and faceplate closed confused and even angered them further. Eventually they figured out how to compensate for the effects of the PA system in the helmet. Vic was then finally free to wander backstage. Warned by previous experience with public events, she sought and found a women's restroom and made sure her bladder was empty. At the associated water fountain she ensured that she was also reasonably hydrated. Finally, the conference began.

Vic's part came early, right after Drake's. She waited for her cue, then stood, went smartly - almost marched - to the podium and gave her short speech. That done, she sat back down and zoned out. She did get a few bits and pieces of what the Mayor, Chief of Police and few others said, and actually paid attention to most of Lady Green's speech. That mostly due to a motivation of self defense. Vic couldn't help but notice that the woman's costume was considerably toned down from the one-piece, high-cut swimsuit sort of thing she usually wore, but was still all in shades of green. Including her mask and ballet-style slippers.

The ceremony went fairly well, despite the dichotomy between Vic's noncommittal speech politely welcoming Lady Green to Detroit and expressing (false) enthusiasm for her expected crime fighting efforts; and the speeches of those who followed, including Lady Green herself, about how she was here to "replace" Vic. As if the federal agent were actually some incompetent city employee being forced to resign.

After the ceremony was over, Vic and Drake headed for the latter's government issue car. Vic noted wryly that for supposedly important, invited guests they had been directed to a parking space well away from the event's location. However, the martial artist was intercepted by Detroit's new Metropolitan Hero in the parking lot. Lady Green flew ahead then dropped down into Vic's path, obviously blocking the way. She was smirking, which Vic figured was not a good thing, at least here and now.

"So, how does it feel to be out of a job?"

"I'm not out of a job. I'm still employed by the Bureau of Special Resources."

Vic had stopped to talk to Lady Green out of sheer politeness. She noticed that Drake was moving closer.

For some reason, Vic's answer seemed to infuriate the other woman.

"You can't just pretend you don't care!"

"About what?" said Vic, genuinely puzzled. "Look, I've never worked for the city of Detroit. I'm a federal employee, have been for a few years, now. Any benefit I've done for this city was a side effect of my job with the feds."

"Like they'd have someone like you on their payroll!"

"Now what are you screaming about?"

"I'm not screaming!" Lady Green yelled. "The current administration would not have a woman married to another woman on the payroll! Especially someone pretending to be a woman!"

"The federal hiring guidelines say otherwise," said Drake, startling her. "In fact, it's illegal to discriminate against someone due to sexual orientation or gender."

"She is not a woman!" Lady Green shouted, jerking her head back and forth between the two feds. She finally decided to concentrate on Vic. "That's my point! Doesn't matter what some federal bureaucrat says! You aren't!"

"What about what my gynecologist says?"

"It doesn't matter who you've fooled! You aren't fooling me!"

"I have breasts," said Vic, angrily. "I have a vagina, and a womb and two X chromosomes!"

"None of that matters! You weren't born a woman so you can't be one!"

"You weren't born a woman, either," Vic pointed out.

"How dare you!" Lady Green screamed. "You won't get away with such lies!"

Vic noted that the Mayor was hurrying towards the scene, complete with his security entourage. He looked irritated as he approached the two supers.

"I mean you were born a baby, then were a girl, then..."

"The fact that you resort to semantics and sophistry means you admit you have lost the debate!"

"I did no such thing!" said Vic, angrily. "For one thing, we're not having a debate. You're shouting and screaming and I'm just pointing out your errors."

This confrontation might have continued indefinitely, except that Special Agent in Charge Drake took Vic's arm and the Mayor took Lady Green's.

"The two of you are attracting the wrong kind of attention," Drake muttered, as he led Vic away. "You're not going to convince her of anything, and the press was starting to notice. Let's not have more of a scene than there already is."

"Yes, sir," said Vic, in a subdued tone.

* * *

The Detroit Bureau office's next Monday morning briefing was mostly about what wasn't happening. For example, getting the city to pursue warrants to have all the former members of the fetish club dosed with Psianninul against their wills was a non-starter. In fact, the city would not even release the names of the other club members to any of the federal law enforcement agencies. Multiple sets of attorneys were working for and against such a revelation. So far, the result was a stalemate.

"Even though Dare - well, one of them - killed several people?" said Vic, when Drake broke the news at the Monday morning briefing. "Including some cops?"

"They have no hard evidence of either of the women currently in custody on suspicion of being Dare was involved with that," said Drake, sourly. He sighed, and looked tired. "Or that any of the members of the fetish club who remain free were involved, either. Seriously, even if we right now stopped Dare from ever appearing again, straightening out who did what might take years. If it were ever straightened out."

"Especially since neither of those women has changed into Dare again," said Vic, nodding. "Their attorneys are saying that because Dare has made appearances since their arrests, those women aren't actually involved with her at all!"

"We may have to wait for Dare to appear again long enough for you to subdue her. Over and over," said Drake, with a scowl. "The city won't do anything proactive in this case, but they keep calling on us to solve the problem when Dare appears. Then they arrest the person who has appeared as Dare, and just hold them. The city refuses to dose these 'Dares' with Psianninul, because 'it's too dangerous.'"

Their boss rarely expressed his thoughts like this, at least in these meetings. The fact that he was doing so now was taken as by his staff as a measure of just how frustrated he was.

"On a more positive note, the Bureau has several powers experts on retainer, who have been consulted about this case. Several of them are coming to Detroit to examine the two captured Dares. They have also agreed to stay in the city for a few days in case another one is captured. We hope they'll be able to figure out what's going on."

"Since she's a super causing problems, don't we have priority?" said Cindy.

"Yes, actually," Drake, nodding. "Since the city government has openly complained to the Bureau about Dare and asked for our help, and provably rejected the best available methodology for dealing with her - or them - from now on when we - meaning Vic - catches a Dare she will be put into federal custody. I've been speaking with the local FBI office about that, and even about having the first two moved into federal custody. We'll use neutralizers to hold any Dare we catch. If the experts are right, we might not even have to dose all of them with the drug. Just most of them. Even putting most of them under neutralizers might be enough to break the connection.

"Now, I have a little more information on Lady Green," said Drake, after turning to another page of his notes. "Turns out she applied for a job with the Bureau, but that was right before the big budget cut after the war."

"Then I was hired a couple of years after that," said Vic, nodding. She winced. "After they paid for most of my college education. So there might be some job-related resentment involved. Even though the Bureau was grooming me before the war."

"She also seems to be a TERF," said Drake.

"That's not really a surprise," said Vic, with a sigh. "Well, it's a bit of a surprise that it's general, and not limited to me."

"Yeah, sorry, thought you knew," said Cal. "She's on record railing against people who 'pretend to be what they aren't.' Especially those who use powers to 'cheat.'"

Last one!

Part Seventeen

As if to spite the local police, Dare made multiple, all brief appearances over the next three days. None lasted long enough for Vic or even the air mobile Lady Green to reach the scene in time. However, the new metro still blamed Vic and the Bureau for Dare repeatedly appearing and escaping. She claimed that Vic's previous "attacks" on Dare had made her shy and wary.

"Wary, yes," said Vic, sourly, to Michelle that Thursday night, as she did fingertip pushups while on her toe tips. "Shy? Has Lady Green even seen what Dare wears?!"

"Preaching to the choir, hon," said Michelle, who was watching her wife appreciatively.

* * *

"This time I'll get her," said Vic, almost growling, as she headed for a Dare sighting Code 3, the next day, not long after lunch.

The report had come in to the Bureau office from the police just after the 911 call. The police - through virtue of having people closer - arrived first at the small, downtown mall where Dare had appeared, beating Vic by several minutes. After working with mall security to quickly and quietly evacuate all staff and customers they had cordoned the place off. Supposedly, they had every exit - including the emergency ones - at least watched. Vic wondered if they had thought of the roof. For someone who couldn't fly, Dare had a surprising proclivity for using the high road.

Why Dare was there was confusing. It seemed that each member of the Collective who manifested Dare had different motivations for their actions. What was known was that some wanted to fight crime, some to make mischief (including disrupting protests) and some just to show off.

Apparently, this one wanted ice cream.

"Ice cream," said Vic, blankly, when she checked in with the senior officer on site.

"Yeah. There's a small shop about three stores in from this entrance, on the right. She's been in there for nearly half an hour, sampling various ice creams and occasionally making a sundae or whatever."

"Maybe she'll eat herself into a stupor," said another officer.

"Not likely, unfortunately," said Vic, making a pessimistic guess.

"Anyway," said the man in charge, giving the other officer a brief glare, "we took advantage of her distraction to get everyone out of the mall, except for the security staff in the monitor center, and some of our people who are with them. All the outside doors have been chained shut except those on this corner, and have at least two officers standing guard outside."

Vic took a look around. There were bystanders, curiosity seekers trying to figure out what was going on. So far the police hadn't said anything to them. Most of those evacuated from the mall - who presumably knew why they had been ushered out so precipitously - had already left the area. For a public super villain event, this was so far low key. Which was causing its own problems.

"Would you believe we keep having to physically stop people who want to get inside to buy something?" said the officer in charge, looking irritated. "They argue with us, saying they just need a moment. They evade the officers and go around the barricades and if they can't be stopped in time they even try opening the doors, despite the very obvious chains. Some of them have become very upset when told they can't get in, even when the officers explain that there's a dangerous super inside."

"I know the type," said Vic, recalling the previous time she had fought a Dare inside a mall. "They've made their plans and have included no allowance for changes."

She shook her head.

"Okay, back to business. What's that atrium like?"

"Three stories high with a ground area about the size of two handball courts."

"So, small footprint, but high ceiling."

"Yeah. There's balconies for both the upper levels."

"Gotcha. You said these doors at the corner, here, are unlocked? I think I'll sneak in, then, and see what I can do."

"No offense, but better you than any of us."

"Hey, I'm the one in the armor," said Vic, giving him a brief grin before donning and fastening her helmet. "Listen, there's an FBI team on the way with a neutralizer. Be sure they get it inside as soon as they get here."

"Got it."

Incongruously mellow music was still playing as Vic entered the mall through the street corner entrance. Fountains were running, and somewhere, something was beeping. Keeping close to the right wall, she made her way slowly and carefully towards the ice cream shop. Vic jumped a bit as one of the elevators at the back of the atrium dinged, and opened. Empty.

The were other sounds. They were intermittent, and difficult to identify, even with her helmet audio turned up. As she approached the ice cream shop - staying close to the right wall - Vic turned the audio back down. She did not need any distractions right then.

Just before reaching the window of the ice cream shop Vic stopped and flattened herself against the wall. Eyes closed, she focused on her sense of perception. There was no movement within her range, but she got a good idea of the layout, including where the tables and chairs were. There was enough disorder to confirm that the occupants must have evacuated rather quickly.

Vic sighed, and straightened. She decided not to walk in with weapons in hand, which might be seen as provocative by Dare. She could grab what she needed quickly enough. Though Vic had a brief regret she didn't have the balance blades. Quickly quashing that thought, Vic stepped out away from the wall, and walked confidently to the door of the ice cream store.

There was no-one visible inside. Even after Vic opened the door, making the bell ring, there was no reaction. She activated her mask's PA function.

"Hello?" she called out. Then, on an improvisational impulse, "Are you open?"

Still no reaction.

Carefully, Vic made her way to the counter. There was quite a mess behind there; the transparent hoods over some of the ice cream bins had been left open, and dirty dishes were piled on the counter instead of being placed in the sink.

Vic jumped as she heard a toilet flush. She almost laughed at the incongruity.

Dare came walking out from the women's restroom. The (barely) costumed woman did a double-take at seeing Vic. Then screamed as she leapt.

Vic ducked, letting Dare hurtle over her. She felt a bit annoyed that she hadn't even gotten to say anything to the other super. She would have liked to at least try to talk the woman into surrendering. Dare crashed into tables and chairs, sending them flying and coming up hard against the decorative tiling on the wall under the window. She scrambled to her feet and spun around.

Vic swung a punch from her hip at the underside of an overturned table. A spray of plywood and Formica shot outwards, towards Dare's face. The rogue super reflexively shut her eyes, ducked and brought up her hands. She brought them down and opened her eyes just in time to see Vic's right foot almost at her face.

Dare crashed through the ice cream shop's window and onto the marble floor of the atrium. She lay still for a moment, then tried and failed to push herself upright.

Vic hopped out through the broken window, glanced at Dare, then looked out the doors through which she had entered to see if the FBI team were there yet. Unfortunately, they weren't, though the radio in her helmet said they were close. So all Vic had to worry about was keeping Dare under control until they could arrive and get the neutralizer inside.

Yeah; that's all.

Dare tried again to push herself upright. Fortunately, she again failed.

"Stay down!" said Vic, being as intimidating as she could.

Vic had a tonfa in each hand - right one held short and left one long - ready to act if Dare did get back to her feet. She never got the chance to see if that would happen. With a crash, Lady Green broke through the skylight in the roof of the atrium.

She dropped to the floor faster than gravity would have pulled her, actually flying downwards and landing hard but in full control, cracking the marble. Vic had to admit Lady Green knew how to make an impressive entrance.

"Stand down!" Vic repeated, this time directing her words at Lady Green. "This is a federal arrest."

"You're not stealing my collar!" snapped Lady Green, moving across the polished floor towards Vic and Dare. "This is a Detroit police operation and I work with them!"

"You are interfering with the actions of a federal law enforcement officer," said Vic, tone level and dire. Her stance shifted subtly, to get her ready to act against Lady Green if the metro became physically aggressive.

"You're not even a real cop," said Lady Green, with a snarl. "I want this collar!"

She made a show of posturing and posing. As if to intimidate Vic. Who wasn't intimidated. Fortunately, Dare also still seemed out of it.

"How are any of those theatrics making me less want to punch you in the face?"

"Like that could hurt me," she said, smirking.

Vic just looked at her for a long time. The interval and intensity making Lady Green more and more uncomfortable. Vic came very close just then to committing assault. Finally, though, she just sighed, and relaxed.

"You really haven't been paying attention, have you?"

She turned and knelt beside Dare, keeping tabs on the woman with her sense of perception. That left the other costumed super staring after her in complete incomprehension. That changed when two cars came wheeling up, Code 2. When the occupants bailed from the cars and hurried to the trunk of one vehicle, at first Lady Green assumed they were plainclothes city cops, there to help her. Especially when the doors were held open by a pair of city cops to let them enter quickly. However, as the men and women entered the mall - two of them carrying one of the larger and more powerful versions of the portable neutralizers - they quickly ruined the moment for Lady Green.

"FBI!" they announced, those in the lead waving their badges at Lady Green. "Please do not interfere!"

Vic knew most of them, and they recognized her. The neutralizer was brought to the fore of their group. Vic was glad to see that the FBI people were keeping a wary eye on Lady Green.

While Detroit's new official superhero sputtered in incoherent confusion and outrage, Vic quickly stepped well back. The beam from the neutralizer was applied to the fallen Dare. Lady Green didn't bother backing away, but instead decided to strike a dramatic pose. Vic definitely noted that not only did she not seem wary of the neutralizer, but that when the fringes of the beam touched her, Lady Green seemed unaffected.

"Thank you," said Lady Green, when one of the FBI agents placed the neutralized Dare in restraints. "Turn that off, and I'll take it from here."

"Well, look at that!" said one of the agents, ignoring Lady Green. "It's a dude!"

"Huh," said the other. "Weird. The outfit changed, too."

Vic wasn't all that surprised; she had known the fetish club had male members. Lady Green was so astounded she forgot to protest when the FBI agents - carefully keeping the beam on Dare, or whoever that was - moved the rogue super to one of their cars.

* * *

The debriefing back at the Detroit federal offices involved both FBI and Bureau of Special Resources personnel.

"Oh, and the male Dare we neutralized and arrested turned out to be Alvin Courtner," said Dianne Colby, the local FBI Special Agent in Charge.

"The late Madeline Courtner's ex-husband?" said Vic. "Huh. Knew he was a member of the fetish club. Guess I shouldn't be surprised he's part of the Collective."

"There's more," said Colby. "He has powers on is own. Powers very much like Dare's, though not as potent. So they're definitely keeping him under the neutralizer. The experts will decide later whether to give him psianninul."

"My guess is that he was the pattern for the powers used by the Collective to empower Dare," said Drake, thoughtfully. "The other members would then amplify them for whoever was currently Dare."

* * *

As usual, once the joint verbal mission report was over, Vic and Drake had a follow-up later, in his office. Enough time passed between the two meetings that by the second one Vic had some additional thoughts on the matter, and her boss had some additional information.

"I'm a little worried those swords might have had some sort of lasting effect on me," said Vic, to Drake, as a postscript at the end of her extended verbal report on the operation. "I was... Well, I almost lost it with Lady Green. I came a lot closer than I admitted in front of Colby. It wasn't as bad as when I was in that alley, but it shouldn't have happened."

"I think you were just understandably frustrated with both Dare and Lady Green," said her boss, his tone reassuring. He indicated his computer. "Anyway, I just got an e-mail from the experts studying Alvin Courtner. They have already confirmed that everyone who manifested as Dare was copying his powers. Powers which he was not previously known to have."

"That was fast," said Vic, impressed.

"I have a feeling they're fascinated by the situation. Some of them also have powers of their own, which they're using to help with the examination. Anyway, Alvin could have saved us and the local police a lot of trouble by just mentioning that he had powers. Whatever caused the Collective shared those powers - and the form of Dare, which seems to have come from Mrs. Courtner's imagination - with other members of the club. Some of the members are now saying that they didn't just dress up at their gettogethers, but performed some sort of rituals. They have been reluctant to go into details, but we're checking both Alvin Courtner's and his wife's libraries for clues."

Vic nodded, though she knew there would likely be months of work ahead for many different government agencies in this case. With a bit of dark humor, she decided to think of it as ensuring job security.

"There's something else I didn't mention to the FBI; I don't think their agents on the scene even noticed. I want to make clear that either Lady Green is good at hiding any wariness about neutralizers, or she thinks - or knows - her powers won't be affected by them. Though she never got the full effect of the beam, so maybe it was just acting."

"Interesting," said Drake, frowning in thought.

"Well, we have one of the Dares in FBI custody and being examined by Bureau experts," said Vic. "Hopefully that will lead to a solution."

She yawned, barely covering her mouth in time. He boss seemed amused at her sleepiness.

"Well, this day will be over soon," said Drake, philosophically. "Hopefully there won't be any alerts for the next few days. Meanwhile, we have several people who are specialists on powers examining Mr. Courtner and the two Dares in police custody. They'll be busy all weekend, most likely, and may actually have a report in time for the Monday morning briefing. I have the feeling they find the case very interesting, and will likely be putting in a lot of overtime on their own initiative."

* * *

Monday morning once more brought the assembly of the handful of employees in the Detroit office of the Bureau of Special Resources for a briefing. Drake seemed as upbeat as he ever got, and, indeed, what he told them was almost entirely good news. In brief, there had been no more Dare appearances. Despite her threats to complain about Vic "stealing my collar" Lady Green had been silent about events involved in the capture of the latest - and hopefully last - Dare event.

"How likely is it that this is the last we'll see of Dare?" said Cindy.

"Confirming my guess, once we got Alvin Courtner contained and examined by experts they realized that whatever triggered the formation of the Collective - almost certainly Madeline Courtner's accident - he was the model for the powers Dare had."

"Makes sense, I guess, since he was the only one in the fetish club with any sort of overt powers," said Vic. She frowned. "Except, howcome nobody knew he had powers?"

"I have the impression he was embarrassed by them," said Drake.

"They're sure that putting Courtner under the neutralizer for a while will break whatever connection that was?" said Vic.

"Reasonably sure," said Drake. He sighed. "You should know, when powers are involved few things are certain."

"Oh, yeah..."

* * *

The "Adventure Seven" super hero team was actually more of a club, a support group, for masked, freelance crime fighters who occasionally worked together in the Atlanta area and often gathered to talk to peers. They mostly handled street-level problems, not only catching drug pushers and petty criminals, but doing positive things for their community. Using their powers to help those in need, especially during emergencies, was a major part of why nearly all of them had taken up the mask. However, the group had just recently broken a major prostitution business, something which extended far outside their city and even their state. Something they were still celebrating. They had turned people and physical evidence over to the FBI. With that, all the members of the group figured they had done their part. Let the feds handle the rest of it.

The knock on the door during their review session - which had been called primarily as an excuse for members to brag about their accomplishments and have some snacks while socializing - was not unexpected. Major Maelstrom, already up to get coffee, headed for the door, still talking.

"Yeah, right, Water Wizard. I was there, remember? That fire hydrant..."

He stopped in confusion as he opened the door. Instead of a reporter or a citizen wanting a favor, the visitor was in disposable coveralls, wearing gloves, a safety helmet with a face shield and rubber boots. What really got the Major's attention, though, was the muzzle of the large-bore big game rifle almost touching his nose.

"You're arrested."