Due to a long history of oppression and harassment, most supers in the Masks world have a separate, costumed identity for using their powers. Vic, unfortunately, does not have that option.

Masks XXVI: Lost and Found

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part One

The young married couple were in their bedroom, one of them having just emerged naked and still a bit damp in the hair from the bathroom. Vic had made triply certain all the shades and curtains in their apartment were drawn before starting her shower. Sometimes their lovemaking involved more than one room. However, that was not what was occurring at this time.

Vic Peltior was a young woman who appeared to be about sixteen, and a mix of Asian and Caucasian, though her eyes lacked epicanthic folds. She actually had French ancestry on both sides of her family. Her hair was dark brown, and rather short; though she often wore extensions, just now she was completely natural. As well as completely naked. Her skin was dark enough to confuse people as to her ethnicity. Many thought that perhaps she was of Mediterranean extraction. She had taut muscles and high, firm, small breasts. She also had broad, muscular shoulders tapering to a slightly narrowed waist, below which her body flared into very feminine hips, which were positioned on quite fit legs. Just now, she was standing before her licensed cosmetologist wife, prepared to yield as gracefully as she could to the inevitable.

Michelle Peltior was much darker of skin, with full, curly hair, though with dark eyes similar to those of her wife. She was a bit taller and better endowed than Vic. She was also wearing makeup, which her wife wasn't. She appeared to be a several years older than the other woman. In fact, they were very close in age.

"Okay, I'm naked and freshly bathed," said Vic, not shivering from the cold but the anticipation. "Now, what's this all about?"

"You know I have met a bunch of your costumed peers," said Michelle.

"Yeah," said Vic, noncommittally.

"Well, some of them have asked me for advice."

"I hope you've been charging them for that," said Vic, interrupting.

"Some of it," said Michelle, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, they want to know about hair and makeup, about overall style and appearance, and even about costume technology. For superheroes. So I've been studying up on those things."

"So you want to try some things on me before you recommend them to a client," said Vic, in revelation.

"Bingo!"

"You just like to play dress-up with me as the dressee," said Vic, blushing.

"Guilty," said Michelle, smirking. "Oh, don't tell it so scary. I do need to practice some things and we both think it's a turn on."

"There is that," said Vic, grudgingly.

"Anyway, now I need to Barbie you."

"You what?!"

"What I want to try involves the application of, well, pasties and a guard or concealer for your groin, all matched to your skin color," said Michelle, holding up the appropriate silicone appliances as she explained. "It's a good thing you don't have much body hair; they're self-adhesive. The straps on the pasties are to provide support for those who need it. If you were bigger up top..."

"I've never heard you complain," said Vic, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, for women with more or who just aren't as perky these appliances provide support as well as cover. All of this is intended to be worn under sheer or very conforming clothing, so nothing shows. All these pieces therefore have tapered edges. Which means great care is needed to apply them correctly."

"So you're practicing on me," said Vic, trying to sound sour but unable to hide the fact that what her wife was proposing excited her.

"These are often used under skin-tight super costumes. Well, for those who want the natural look without looking too natural."

"I don't wear a costume. I wear normal clothes or armor."

"Yes, dear, but since you introduced me to The FX I have been asked for a lot of advice about super costumes. They've even been recommending me to other supers they know. I'm working with the owners of Curl Up and Dye to help them."

"Oh. Well, that makes sense. I mean, I knew they were already asking you for advice on stuff."

"All, right," said Michelle, cheerfully. "You ready?"

"No, but go ahead," said Vic, with a sigh. "You would anyway."

"Now you know I wouldn't so anything without your consent!" said Michelle, pouting. "Okay, if you consent, let's get started."

Vic did and they did. Shortly, the super martial artist was regarding her reflection in the full-length mirror on the wall of their bedroom.

"Wow. That's... spooky."

She looked completely nude, but also featureless on the breasts and crotch. Indeed, like a doll.

"See how these strips pull the breasts up?" said Michelle, tugging a bit on a silicone strand connected to one of the pasties. Both pasty and strand were securely adhered to Vic's skin. "Well, they would, if you needed that. Also, note how the edges blend smoothly into the skin, so no seams show through clothing."

"If you don't stop rubbing there..." said Vic, smirking.

"Oh, stop. You boy. You still think wireless bras come with a data plan. Get your mind on something else for once."

"How about the fact that there are actually women..."

"As well as men," said Michelle, pointedly.

"Okay. People who wear revealing costumes but who don't want to reveal anything." Vic watched her reflection as she posed. "This looks like something Dare would wear. I mean, only this. Just to make people look at her more closely."

"Ah, but that's only part of what I want you to try," said Michelle, with a knowing smile. "The FX has a new member, a young woman who has chosen the mask name Mighty Gal. Which, surprisingly, was available. She's in her late teens, and is both about your size and built a lot like you. She asked me to design a new costume for her - to her general specifications - then to have it made after she approved one of my sketches."

"A new, custom costume like that is a pretty large expense," said Vic, impresses.

"Well, as usual with teams, the FX is helping pay for all this."

Michelle now held up what looked like the flimsy aluminum wrapper from a jumbo candy bar, complete with printed pattern.

"Now I'm a manikin," muttered Vic. "Where's the rest of it?"

"This is the rest of it. Don't worry; it stretches."

Soon, though with a lot of tugging and smoothing, Vic was in the silver lamé costume.

"There's no armor," said Vic, actually turned on by what she now saw in the mirror. The costume indeed adhered to every curve; almost as if it were painted on. If she hadn't been "Barbied" by her wife... "No padding of any kind. Not even airbrushing. Just the printed pattern on the fabric with her logo, in gold print. No footwear, except the integral socks. Which I'm half surprised don't have individual toes."

"There's no mask, either," said Michelle, pointedly. "My client is a physical super who doesn't bother with a secret ID. She wants to show off her muscles - and I am definitely admiring yours - but not show her naughty bits. Oh, and there are booties. It's just that her feet are a lot smaller than yours, so I didn't even bother with them."

"Which is a polite way of saying that I have big feet," said Vic. She shifted uncomfortably. "It's... very snug."

"Like I said, she's a physical super," said Michelle. "She's actually just a bit taller than you, so it will be even tighter on her. Okay, you can take it off, now."

"Gladly," said Vic, with a feeling of relief. Though she ended up needing help to peel the snug-fitting outfit from some parts of her anatomy. "Wow. This is even tighter coming off."

Soon, though, the outfit was back to being the size of a large candy bar wrapper.

"It's one of the new memory fabrics," said Michelle, as she put the costume back in its box. "Something developed thanks to the tech transfer we're getting from the Shilmek. Unfortunately, so far the material is not compatible with Zip Strips."

"Which is why I had to go in through the neck," said Vic, nodding. "It felt like it was actually shaping itself to my body. Which is probably why it felt tighter after I wore it for a while."

"It's also very, very tough. The material is formed through an additive process, and the whole outfit is a single molecule. Or, at least, that's what the literature says."

"I bet if it is torn the whole thing comes apart very quickly," said Vic, with a snicker.

"No, it's supposed to be ripstop," said Michelle. She smiled at Vic. "I won't say they thought of everything, but they did take into account what a physical super crimefighter was likely to encounter."

"Except going to the bathroom," muttered Vic. "You really need to include one of those concealed openings."

"Except the crotch shield blocks that rather necessary biological process, anyway. Though the designers of those are working on that."

There was some additional discussion about modern costuming for masks - especially heroes who wanted to stay legal while showing off - but this quickly segued into a form of verbal foreplay which was soon very non-verbal. The slow removal of the silicone appliances from Vic was a major part of this.

* * *

"I think Roy is showing signs of having powers," said Karen. "His gym coach mentioned that he's broken several of the non-super school track and field records for his age group. Something they look for on Pine Island."

"Or maybe he's just a natural athlete who has had a lot of early training," said Randy, with a shrug. "I admit he's about the right age for first showing powers. Though in the early part of the typical range."

"You showed powers early," said Karen, raising an eyebrow.

"Mine were artificially triggered, remember," said Randy. He frowned, thinking. "Okay; neither of us has anything scheduled for Saturday, if I remember correctly."

"No, I'm free."

"I'll make an appointment for us to take him back to the island then. The experts can give him some of the basic tests. Unless you think we need to do something earlier."

"No, that should be fine. I just hope Sarah isn't envious of him getting all this attention. She goes to primary school, there, so there's no hiding this from her. Especially if Roy does have powers and switches to the super class lineup."

That settled, Randy turned back to his computer and his waiting e-mails. However, a Subject for one attracted his attention. Though it affected the school, it was for Randy, and not Template. Though there would probably be a copy waiting for her, in her office on the island.

"Uh-oh..."

"What now?" said Karen, as Randy opened and quickly read the e-mail.

"Lysander Douglas has died."

"That name sounds familiar."

"He was a billionaire, and a major supporter of several super teams and the school. His descendants are known to be mostly anti-super. If he did leave supers anything in his will I hope they don't challenge it."

Part Two

"You seem down," said Vic's boss, the next Monday, after the usual group briefing. He had waited for the rest of those in his charge to disperse, subtly signaling for Vic to stay as they left. Bruno Drake was a grizzled man in his late fifties, though he dressed like someone much older. He was of average height, and had short, grey hair and a conservative manner. As was his usual habit, he wore dark pants, a white shirt and a bowtie. He and his sole empowered agent stayed behind in the federal building conference room as the others headed back to their office. He favored her with a smile. "Remember, it should be a quiet night, tonight; the Red Wings are out of town."

"It's just..." Vic began. She sighed. "There's all these volcanic eruptions and earthquakes and floods around the world I'm not qualified to help with."

"You don't have the powers for handling the major components of such disasters. Nobody can do everything," said Drake, philosophically. "Not everyone can be America's Guardsman or the Walrus. Of course, even they have problems they have to call in help for. You do very good work as it is. Work which someone without powers - no matter how well trained - or with inappropriate powers or training would either not be able to do at all or would do badly. Or perhaps die trying to do."

"Yeah, I know," said Vic, with another sigh. "It's just..."

"Oh, I definitely understand," said Drake, with a wry chuckle. "Just keep in mind that even with Lady Green on the Detroit payroll, the city still keeps asking us for help. Though, again, tonight will hopefully be quiet."

"Lady Green doesn't like needing help at all," said Vic, laughing. "I understand there have been a few spats between her and her city government handlers."

However, when she was called to Drake's office only a couple of hours later, Vic was wondering if she had done something wrong.

"Things are quiet in Detroit just now," said Drake. "They also have Lady Green to help with super related problems. How would you like a paid, two-week vacation to train some people in anti-super criminal measures?"

"Do which?" said Vic, having a bit of difficulty switching mental gears.

"The Bureau of Special Resources has an agreement with the UN to aid their T.O.W.E.R. branch when requested. Recently, they - the UN - relayed a request from T.O.W.E.R. for more and better training in certain areas. Their troops are having unexpected trouble with low-level supers."

"Okay, is this in New York, or..."

"At the new UN base on an island off the west coast of Africa, actually," said Drake. "Used to belong to the Democratic Republic of Congo, which tried to build a luxury resort there. The UN acquired the island few years ago, intending to use it as a base for medical missions in the area, including vaccination efforts, which they are already doing. There's a lot more resources there than they need for that, though, and T.O.W.E.R. convinced the Higher UN heads to let them have a big chunk for their own use."

"Whoah!" said Vic, impressed. "Uh, I don't know...

"Did I mention they want two trainers?" said Drake, innocently. "An expert and a partner used to the expert's methods. We'd like your recommendation on who the second could be."

"So Michelle and I could both go."

"You told me she has her teaching certification, now."

"That she does," said Vic, nodding. She grinned. "She's also been talking about taking a vacation. I'll run this by her and see if she wants to go."

"Well, it won't be for another couple of weeks," said Drake. "Just let me know by the end of this one."

* * *

"Another island?!" said Michelle, rolling her eyes.

"Well, yeah," said Vic, a bit awkwardly. "We're both included in the offer, though. It will be a nice, warm vacation during a cold, Detroit Winter"

"That sounds both interesting and fun," said Michelle. "However, I need more information."

"I'll get it. Meanwhile, what do you want to do about supper?"

"Wok on the Wild Side?" said Michelle, hopefully.

"Always a safe bet!" said Vic, with a laugh.

As Vic's Corolla wagon pulled into the parking lot she noticed something. Something she gleefully pointed out to her wife. Once inside, they placed their order, then chatted with the co-owner, Charlie.

"So how are things?" said Vic, after their order was sent back to the kitchen.

"Well, Xian and I are now worried about having a kid ready for high school," said Charlie, with a sigh. "Also, you remember that upscale restaurant on the other side of the parking lot?"

"The one that kept making anonymous complaints to the Health Department and getting you inspected?" said Michelle, with considerable snark. "Yeah, we noticed they'd closed."

"They got a C grade on their own recent inspection," said Charlie, nodding. "Worse than trying to get us in trouble with the city health inspector, though, was that they kept telling people to park in our lot. Many of their customers would do that, despite the signs saying we'd have anyone not a patron here towed. When we did, both the car owners and the staff at the restaurant would come over here and complain. As well as occasionally make threats. We upgraded our security cameras and put in some additional ones, thanks to them."

"Oh, yeah," said Vic, nodding. "Nasty, snooty owners, staff and customers, some of the latter possibly with organized crime connections. My contacts in the Detroit police department have a lot of stories about them."

"Well, after all that, the place went out of business. Only partly due to their health inspection, rating, too. They were actually trying to blame us, for 'presenting an anti-family atmosphere' for their drop in customers, when they were the ones with the drunken parties and two shootings. One of them in our parking lot!"

"I hadn't heard about the shootings," said Vic, startled.

"Both of those were just in the past couple of days," said Charlie. "Fortunately, they happened after our business hours, when we were closed and our place was empty. I think the second one was an attempt at revenge for the first one. Both seem to have been gang related."

"Yow," said Vic, alarmed. Partly due to not knowing about all this ahead of time. "Yeah, I need to catch up on local law enforcement gossip."

"Anyway, your order is in and your food will be out shortly."

"Thank you," said Michelle, smiling sweetly. "Meanwhile, I think I see a table with our name on it!"

As usual, the food was quite good. Fortunately - since they were wanting a quiet meal - this was not a karaoke night.

"I think I actually have room for desert, for a change," said Michelle.

"That's what happens when you try to keep up with me in our workouts," said Vic, teasing. "You want to get something here, or stop someplace on the way home?"

"We usually just eat and run," said Michelle. "Let's try... Oh, hello, Sheila. We were just deciding to look at the desert menu."

"I personally recommend the apple pie," said Sheila, smiling, holding the desert menus but not offering them, yet. "It's from a bakery, but they're family owned, like this place, and I know the family. It's really good pie."

"Well, you've sold me," said Vic, with a bit of a laugh. "I'll have a slice a la mode."

"Ooh, that sounds good," said Michelle. "I'll have that, too!"

* * *

"You up to a trip to Sawbucks tonight?" said Michelle, the next evening, shortly after Vic got to their apartment.

"Yeah. We haven't been there in a while."

"You driving?" said Michelle, needlessly, since Vic was the only one with a car.

"Huh?" said Vic, startled as much by the question being asked as what was being asked.

"What's got you so distracted?"

"Sorry. Just... lost in thought."

"About what?" Michelle persisted.

"We had a bad situation with the local police today," said Vic. "Guy had a MedicAlert wrist band advising that he was a regenerator. He got seriously injured as a bystander in a robbery, and the police officers who arrived first ignored the band, then called him in as dead, without actually checking. He almost did die before the coroner arrived, realized what was going on, started treatment and called an ambulance. The officers are defending their action, saying they had no reason to believe that the guy wasn't already dead. Since this involves a super, our agency is getting involved. I had to interview the guy - who is already fully healed and back at work and not happy over almost dying from the officers' negligence - and the supervisor of the officers. Who, themselves, are always mysteriously unavailable, so I can't interview them.

"Anyway, this isn't the first time that particular pair of local LEOs have nearly gotten someone killed through not doing due diligence, though it is the first time involving a super. I don't even understand why they're still on the force. They are completely unrepentant, and refuse to learn from experience; they even violate the Detroit PD use of force rules and in some cases blatantly break the law, themselves. It's only a matter of time until they do kill someone. Yet we can't get the police department to get rid of them or even to limit them to desk duty while they're investigated."

"You," said Michelle, pointedly, "need a break. In fact, we could both use a vacation. You can tell Drake that we're going to that island. I already cleared it with my boss."

"Well, this counts as detached duty for me, and you should be able to use some your built-up leave. There are a lot of cases I'm involved with which are simply on hold just now, due to lack of evidence. I'm mostly working at a desk and doing paperwork. Which is boring."

"As long as we're back in time for the wedding of Solange and Popcorn Dash," said Michelle, firmly.

"Not a problem."

"Okay, with that out of the way, maybe you can provide some more details on something I heard which involved the local FBI."

"Shoot."

"Is it true they are involved in a cold case kidnapping from the Twenties?!" said Michelle, sounding both surprised and uncertain.

"That involves the FBI office, yeah, but we heard about it," said Vic, with a tired grin and a shake of her head. "Weird case. Kidnapping was big business in Detroit in the Twenties, and - as with murder - there's no federal statute of limitations on that crime. Six-year-old first son of a local businessman was kidnapped. He - the father - was told to throw a valise full of money from a certain train at a certain time at a certain spot if he ever wanted to see the boy again. Well, he followed the instructions to the letter, and never heard anything more."

"That's terrible!"

"Yeah. Only, there has been a recent development in the case. Some workers doing maintenance on a trestle a couple of weeks ago found the badly weathered valise in the weeds under it, still full of money."

"So, did he throw it off at the wrong spot or did the kidnappers just miss it, or what?"

"No telling. Since it wasn't found before now, maybe the latter. We'll likely never know, about that or what happened to the kid. However, the businessman's descendants were definitely happy to get the cash back, especially since the bills now have collector value. Seems the family fortunes have taken some hits in the time since the kidnapping. The workers who found the valise are even going to get a reward, too. Which was posted by the father in 1923, and never rescinded! He put that money in a bank account and earmarked it for disbursal to anyone who provided information on his son or the ransom, so it has actually earned a lot of interest. Almost kept up with inflation."

* * *

"We definitely have enough, well, junk for a super museum," said Junker, with a grin. "We are also now a recognized independent state so a lot of the US regulations regarding mad science devices don't apply to us any more. That and our teaching of masks history mean that we're considered a safe and appropriate place to send mad and mastermind creations. Well, by some people...

"Anyway, teams refurbishing their bases or lairs after the Shilmek attack have found stuff they forgot about, or which has just been there a lot longer than any current member, and they finally decided to get rid of some of it. Much of that stuff has been offered to us, since we have lots of room on the island and were one of the few large super institutions to survive the attack without serious damage."

"We already have Dr. Taylor's flying Model T," said Template, pursing her lips in thought. "The Assembly sent us their Rampaging Turk - which was not easy to ship here; the thing is basically a tank on wheels. Those and a few other items can form the core of a super transport exhibit. The computing office here already has several important pieces, including Fremont's century-plus old mechanical data processor, The Woggle-Bug. Those items could be the core of a computer exhibit. We probably need to hire a professional curator, though."

"There's lots more stuff than that, just in what Pine collected," said Junker, nodding. "I guess we better - at a minimum - find a protected place for all of it. As well as getting a conservator."

"First, though, catalog what we already have!" said Eve Hind, firmly. "Determine how much room and other resources we'll need to safely display or store that. Then we can worry about accepting more donations. Though if they come with money..."

"Understood," said Template. The school was doing better, financially, than they had expected a couple of weeks earlier - due in large part to a generous endowment from the late Lysander Douglas - but was still short on resources. Given all the demands of money for repairs, refurbishment and improvements after the war that condition was likely to continue indefinitely.

Actually, the island as a whole, as a new nation which had recently withstood a major attack, was underfunded. They were still trying to create a civilian government, with Eve currently serving as benevolent dictator. Between the local civilian population, those of the school staff who wished to be involved, and the UN personnel based on the island, there were often heated discussions about what form the government should take.

All those at this meeting knew they were in for interesting times ahead.

Part Three

A small hatch opened in the large, heavy door. Someone barely seen peered out.

"Are you one of Chuck's Children?" asked the low, gravelly voice.

"Rock and roll never forgets," proclaimed Vic, boldly.

"Enter," said the voice, as the door slowly opened with an ominous creak.

Vic and Michelle entered the darkened hallway. They passed through double swinging doors and the muffled sounds that they had heard all the way out in the parking lot became louder and more identifiable. Then they passed through another pair of doors, and were in the main room, surrounded by amplified music from a live band. This chamber was deep, wide and tall, with a bar to the left and tables all around a central dance floor. The stage on which the band played was at the far end. It was also very noisy.

"You weren't even born when that song came out," said Michelle, grinning and speaking loudly as they moved towards the bar.

"Neither were you!"

Soon they had a pair of beers and were looking for a table.

There was a house band, which was already playing when the pair arrived. Soon, though, those performers took a break, and a set of several songs was played by a local guest band. Then the house band came back. Then another guest band. The genres of the music varied with the group playing, but nearly all the pieces were from the past thirty years. Most of it was from the previous decade.

"I like my boss," said Vic, grinning as she spoke loudly to Michelle. Even between sets, the background noise rose enough to make casual conversation difficult, "but his idea of popular music is 'The Little Blue Man.'"

Naturally, she had to look that up on her phone. Maybe it was the alcohol, but what Michelle read gave her the giggles.

They drank, they snacked, they danced, they simply enjoyed the music. Until, a bit reluctantly, they headed home. Though only after waiting long enough for Vic's regeneration to remove the alcohol from her system.

* * *

Energia was flying. That was not unusual; she loved to fly. Even the location and time were not unusual. Though Energia wasn't so much on patrol as simply out flying. After all, she could fly, so why wouldn't she? She was careful to avoid airspace assigned to commercial or military air traffic, as well as prohibited zones. Her earbud would warn her if she accidentally approached one of those volumes. Energia frequently patrolled the air in this region during the day, when Tricorn wasn't busy. However, she did not let the familiarity of the situation make her complacent. She had enemies, and even without those she had to watch for low-flying aircraft. Ordinary birds and insects could also pose problems, despite the lenses in her mask protecting her eyes. She was also careful to follow the "see and be seen" mandate. For her, being seen was not difficult, since she was in full, colorful costume, cape and all. There wasn't much private air traffic in this volume, but she still kept an eye out for it.

She was just starting to enjoy herself when she caught sight of a flash, in the distance and well to the left of her line of flight. That direction was towards New York, and given the altitude and location of the fireball the source could easily be an airliner. Immediately, Energia switched her earbud to the emergency channel. She caught the tail end of a Mayday call which cut off abruptly. Immediately, an air traffic controller came on. The woman repeatedly called a commercial airliner - a heavy, likely with hundreds of people on board - asking for details of their abbreviated emergency call, with no reply. Energia was already accelerating and climbing when the ATC began calling for super help. Energia quickly realized that her evaluation was correct, and soon had additional details. An airliner had exploded shortly after takeoff from Idlewild Airport.

As she flew, Energia heard further information about the situation. The accident had occurred well above Energia's safe altitude limit. There was no time to go to Tricorne headquarters and get her pressure suit. There was no time to look for some sort of supplemental oxygen supply. Even at this distance Energia could see that the aircraft had broken into at least three large sections and several smaller ones. Worse, the main part of fuselage was engulfed in flames, with additional pieces coming off it.

Energia could feel her ears pop as she gained altitude. Fortunately, the plane had still been climbing after takeoff, so it wasn't much above the altitude to which she could safely fly. Also, flying this high meant she could go faster.

The accident turned out to be further away than Energia first thought. By the time she got there most of the wreckage had fallen far enough that the parts were low enough for her powers to reach. Energia headed for the largest piece, which was most of the fuselage.

However, once she actually started working on the debris Energia discovered another problem. The plane was largely constructed of modern composites, which her magnetism had trouble interacting with. She had to use direct force, which reduced Energia's fine control. She could see people inside, some of them obviously hurt, but just now there was little flame. Nearly all the fuel storage for this model was in the wings.

Those were also falling, of course, streaming fire, and had flaming bits were separating from the wings as they fell. For now Energia ignored them, as they seemed to be heading for the ocean. Besides, she was having enough trouble getting control of just this part of the fuselage. She was the first super on scene, though she could see others flying in and hear, over her earbud, more people promising to be there soon. Energia focused on controlling the largest piece of fuselage, leaving the other parts to the new arrivals.

Now, where to put this?

"This is Energia. I have the largest part of the wreckage. Where can I set this down?" she asked, over the emergency frequency.

"Go straight west," one authoritative voice replied above the resulting clamor; she sounded like the ATC who had first called on the emergency channel. "We have you on radar. There's a park with a baseball field. That should be empty right now, and there's good road access for emergency vehicles."

Energia began herding the fuselage down and towards an open area of land she could see, off to the west, hoping that was the park the air traffic controller had mentioned. The flames on this part of the airliner, fortunately, were already out, but Energia could see that some of the people inside were obviously hurt; none were moving. As she descended she could tell that there were subdivisions in the area, but she also saw major roads. Knowing that she needed to get the aid to the people in the fuselage as quickly as she could, she found the baseball field the voice on her earbud had recommended and headed quickly for it.

The load was heavy, and required delicate handling, but Energia was able to ease the still smoldering section of airliner down onto the baseball field. This success was partly due to last minute help from Kestrel, who arrived for the end of the descent. He was one of the more cocky masks Energia knew, but he was also capable and competent, a flying light brick, like Doro, and at least in this emergency he kept his mouth shut and his mind on business.

That done, Energia, Kestrel and a few other fliers then corralled most of the still falling debris. This unfortunately included several the bodies. They put everything in the park, where both civilians and non-flying supers were already putting out the fires and helping the injured. Energia could hear sirens in the distance, heading rapidly towards the scene.

There were, unfortunately, very few survivors, though without super help none would have made it and likely many on the ground and ocean would have been injured or killed.

* * *

The rest of the flying heroes, many of them already exhausted, landed in the park beside the biggest part of the fuselage. They joined the supers and civilians working on the ground, and began helping evacuate the few passengers and crew not seriously injured. Those rescuers with appropriate skills treated inside the plane sections the victims too hurt to be moved. Energia saw the first ambulance approaching. It simply bashed through the locked gate blocking the access road. She could also see a gathering crowd of watchers. Many of the onlookers were recording the unfolding event on their phones. Well, there were already enough people working on the problem; as long as the watchers didn't get in the way Energia didn't care.

Cleanup took over three hours. Sometime during that period Energia called Blue Impact to explain what was going on. The leader of Tricorne and Gadgetive arrived in the team's large apergy flyer, though this was only after all the work was over.

"We couldn't get here in time to help with the rescue," said Blue Impact, apologetically, as the canopy opened. "Too many other things going on just now. However, I figured you could use a ride home."

"Definitely," said Energia, tiredly blowing a loose strand of hair out of her face. With a bit of help from Blue Impact, Energia climbed over the sill and into the front cabin of the flyer. She groaned with relief as she sank into her usual seat. "It's not so much that I'm physically tired, as that this was a very emotionally draining situation. Though, yes, I am definitely tired."

"If you're like me, you are probably having flashbacks to the war," said Blue Impact, sympathetically. "Come on; we'll head back to the lair and get you a good, hot meal."

"That sounds wonderful. Though only after a quick shower."

* * *

"I am really glad you've decided to go to that island to help me teach the T.O.W.E.R. folks martial arts," said Vic, later that same day, obviously happy. "I wanted to go, but not without you!"

"I can tell you're excited about this," said Michelle, carefully straightfaced. "Your high-beams are on."

"Huh?" said Vic. She followed Michelle's gaze down to her chest.

"You need to wear a bra if you want to keep those from showing," said Michelle, smirking. "Even if you don't need the support."

"Oh... Well, better two small bumps than an erection," muttered Vic, shifting uncomfortably.

"You'd know more about that than I do."

"I just don't... I wonder if the ease with which I get aroused is due to my regeneration perpetually keeping me physically in my late teens," muttered Vic, doing relaxation breathing to try and get her rebellious anatomy under control.

"Face it, dear," said Michelle, still smirking, "you're in your mid-teens. Which is one of the things I like about you."

"Hold on," said Vic, doing some smirking of her own. Her "high beams" were now even more prominent. "Are you saying you have a... thing for younger women?"

"Dear, you're about the same age I am."

"You know what I mean."

"Well I do appreciate your... youthful stamina."

The rest of the evening was spent with both of them enjoying that stamina.

* * *

"So you identify as female," said the psychologist, one Doctor Henry Graves.

"Well, yeah," said Vic, indicating her form with a vague, inclusive gesture. "No real choice, there, but I do consider myself a woman."

"So, no gender dysphoria at all?"

This interview was something Vic had actually been looking forward to, though not necessarily for any potential therapeutic benefits. A recent policy implementation at the Congressional level meant that Vic needed the man's approval to leave the country. The psychologist had recently been put on retainer for all of the Detroit federal law enforcement agents. Which, of course, included Vic. Because she would likely be leaving soon for her detached assignment, Vic was being given priority in the combination evaluation and therapy sessions. She saw it as one of the last steps in getting approved to leave the country. So far, though, this session was not going as Vic had imagined it would.

"I feel quite comfortable with my body."

"There are many people born female - genetically, and not only those wrongly assigned due to being intersexed - who don't."

"I know," said Vic, nodding. "The doctors and other researchers who examined me say my transformation even altered the structure of my brain, so that the part involved in gender identity matches my body and genes."

She shrugged.

"I'm only male in my memories. Though some people who don't want to admit that there's natural variation might say my former gender is also reflected in my tastes for partners. Uhm, sexual partners."

"So you haven't even considered hormones and surgery," said Dr. Graves.

"Wouldn't work. I have regeneration."

"They know of ways to repress that, now. Not unlike the treatments used for traditional transplant patients."

"I didn't know about that," said Vic, surprised. She considered for a moment. "Nah. I don't think that's an option. Leaving the practical considerations aside - I need the regeneration for my job - I am comfortable being a woman."

Part Four

The old bakery turned superhero lair was well-lit and well-ventilated these days. However, there were times when this pleasant environment did not suit the psychological atmosphere of the inhabitants. This was definitely the case when Blue Impact left her private corner, under the stairs, and came into the main part of the largest room of the structure. The other two members of Tricorne were sitting in the entertainment area, not watching TV.

"There is a lot of criticism of the super handling of that airliner explosion, yesterday," said Blue Impact, without preamble.

"Yeah," said Gadgetive, her tone full of scorn. "Let's see them fly up and catch a falling plane."

"Most of it involves what happened after the pieces of the plane were on the ground," said Blue Impact, a trace of anger in her voice. "Most of it. A few people are claiming that the quick response was due to supers causing the accident in the first place. That they were waiting to 'come to the rescue.' Of course, some of the same people making that accusation were earlier claiming that the supers 'took their sweet time' getting to the accident."

"So they switched after someone pointed out how quickly I go there?" said Energia. She sighed and shook her head.

"Pretty much," said Blue Impact, dryly. "Except that some didn't switch, and are still claiming both."

"So what are the other complaints?" said Gadgetive, who had only recently - and reluctantly - accepted that some humans could hold multiple, contradictory beliefs at one time.

"One of the more absurd is from the groundskeeper of the baseball field. He says the supers who put the plane parts there ruined the facility, when they could have just as easily put them somewhere else. He's notably vague about where 'somewhere else' is."

"Even though that's where we were told to put the wreckage by someone official," said Energia.

"I didn't say any of the complaints were reasonable," said Blue Impact. She put a gloved hand on the younger super's shoulder. "Don't worry too much about these. Most will fade away on their own. The rest we can worry about later."

* * *

Others were also concerned with the situation.

"Okay, this meeting is to discuss the aftermath of the airliner explosion," said Brade, at the meeting in the conference room at the headquarters of the Bureau of Special Resources that same afternoon. "Just as a reminder, nobody here should take sides or make comments based on the political affiliation of the person they're responding to. The informal agreement between the bulk of the masks community and governments in areas where they are able to operate includes the understanding that we will stay out of and away from politics."

She followed this announcement with a review of the situation. Then Brade yielded the floor to a series of experts who each covered some aspect of the passenger airliner tragedy in more detail. The Brade again took the floor to reveal some late-arriving information.

"We got lucky," said Brade. She winced. "A lot luckier than the passengers on the flight, anyway. A documentary crew getting some background footage was on a boat, taking high-definition video of planes taking off from Idlewild. They got this."

The large screen at her end of the briefing room lit, and began showing what Brade had described. There was no sound, but the video was excellent. The recording had obviously been made with professional equipment. Not only was it clear and sharp, it was stabilized. As the plane climbed a glowing figure could be seen approaching.

"Nukula, the Atomic Housewife," said Doro, startled. She gave her head a quick shake. "Or, more likely, an android of her, since she was confirmed dead years ago. Probably made by the same person or persons who left that fake Afterglow in the crater on the administration island at the illegal combat facility."

"That's the opinion of our experts," said Brade, nodding. "That the Afterglow android was a test unit, put there not only to deceive us but to see how well their technology could deal with hard radiation. Which instruments in the area say the object in this video was giving off."

The figure raised its hands and a beam shot out, striking the tail. It then flew off as the plane - no longer under control - suddenly angled abruptly upwards, slowing and breaking apart as aerodynamic forces tore the wings off.

"I think we know the rest," said Doro, feeling both sick and tired. Taking the hint, Brade stopped the playback. "Only, why?"

"There was an important senator aboard," said Brade. "With his entire entourage. Someone campaigning for a thorough investigation of the super fighting organization which was recently raided. Fortunately, thanks to the quick action by Energia and other supers he and his staff - all seated well forward in First Class - survived."

"Surely that will only increase the attention brought to the organization and those behind it!" said someone else at the meeting.

"In a rational world, yes," said Brade. "In ours?"

She gave an exaggerated shrug.

* * *

The Roy's parents reviewed the results of his powers test that Sunday. The evaluators had determined that they boy had Mental Domination, Energy Control, and Transmutation. There was no explanation of his physical superiority, except to say that Randy's previous guess about him being non-physically super but well-trained was probably correct.

"That's a strange mix," said Karen.

"They all count as mental powers, though," said Randy. "I'm just relieved he didn't get Mastermind."

"Yeah, but Domination? We'll have to be very careful."

"Fortunately, he's already going to school on the island," said Randy, looking confident in spite of his wife's concern. "They watch closely and specifically for kids abusing powers like that one."

"So, do we tell him, or..."

"We tell him," said Randy, firmly. "That way, when he figures out how to use those powers, he already knows that we know."

* * *

Telling Roy about his powers didn't have the impact his parents thought it would. His response was basically "Okay." However, there was a presentation Karen and Randy made a few days later which did have a strong emotional impact for him. The two adults called him into their shared home office; with Sarah trailing along, puzzled at the activity. Randy closed the door once the four of them were in the windowless room, and Roy's mother took a padded envelope from the top left drawer of one of the pair of desks.

"We don't have a full costume for you - getting one depends on several circumstances, including whether you actually want to be an active costumed adventurer - but we did get you this."

Karen poured the contents of the mailer out into Roy's hands.

"Whoah..." said Roy, wide-eyed, staring at the padded stack of disposable, generic masks he now held.

"Don't put one on unless you mean it," said Karen, seriously. "However, if you do need to use your powers, one of these can protect you, as well as the rest of the family. Also, remember that this, alone, will not keep people from recognizing you. You have to become a different person. Develop a different way of speaking, different mannerisms, until it's not an act, but an alternate way of behaving. You'll have to practice."

"I hate practice," said Roy, in an irritated mutter.

"Then throw that away, now," said his mother.

He dithered, but in the end kept the masks.

"Remember, these powers are not something you can show off," said Randy.

"I want super powers!" yelled Sarah, breaking the mood.

"I thought you wanted to be Princess Sparkla," said her mom, with a tolerant smile.

"I want super powers, too!" yelled Sarah.

"You'll probably get them," said Randy. "In fact, if you get them you'll likely get them earlier than Roy did, since girls mature faster."

"Yay!!!"

For the rest of the day her parents had to deal with a preteen girl running wildly around, deliriously happy.

"At least she's not jumping off things, trying to fly," said Randy, though only when he was certain Sarah couldn't hear him.

* * *

The following Monday was one of those rare days when Vic was already home when Michelle got back to their apartment. They went through their usual greeting ritual, culminating in hugging and kissing for a considerable amount of time. Then Michelle went into their bedroom to change out of her work clothes. Which smelled rather strongly of hair and hair care products, as well as carrying a slight singed odor from some of the hot hair curling tools. Michelle came back out to find her wife busy watching local news. Except that Vic wasn't actually paying attention to the program. Michelle had already noticed that Vic seemed preoccupied with something. She had a good idea of what was bothering her spouse and decided to broach the subject.

"You're home early," said Michelle, casually.

"Yeah. Boss suggested it, rather strongly, after some stressful events at the office this afternoon."

"Legal stuff involved?"

Vic made noncommittal noises. Giving up on being subtle, Michelle hit the problem head-on.

"I hear you're being sued over an arrest you made," said Michelle.

Vic gave a huge, much-put-upon sigh, and used the remote to mute the TV. She turned to look at Michelle.

"Actually, no. I helped the city arrested a young man with powers," said Vic, sounding tired. "Now his parents are accusing me, personally, of being prejudiced against them because they're rich."

"Wait, what?!"

"It's related to affluenza," said Vic, sourly. "They're rich - old money - and they have the attitude that anyone who tries to claim that any member of their family is at fault at anything is a hater, who likely hates them because they're rich."

"Is this guy actually guilty?"

"Oh, Hell, yeah. Well and thoroughly documented guilty. As well as proven dangerous. Otherwise the Bureau wouldn't have been involved with the arrest."

"So their actions against you probably won't go to court."

"They're not trying for a trial. There isn't any lawsuit, despite them threatening one. They haven't even filed any charges against me. They're expecting support from the court of public opinion. Which is already firmly against them. Unfortunately, they're also letting their Congressional representatives know about my 'overreach.' So there could still be repercussions."

"Ow... Well, you knew the job would be dangerous when you took it."

She slid onto the couch beside her wife and cuddled in close.

"Just like I did, when I married you. So don't worry about me. If those idiots cause trouble, deal with it. I'll help where and when I can. Remember the money I was left by one of my customers. It's put safely away in case of emergency. You needing legal help or losing your job both count."

"Thank you," said Vic, kissing Michelle on the top of her head. "Your support means a lot."

She suddenly chuckled.

"Drake says this makes it all the more important that I get out of town for a while. I think he really wants us to go and teach T.O.W.E.R. how we do things in the Bureau."

"Then let's go, and soon," said Michelle. "I'm actually looking forward to the trip!"

* * *

"All set," said Vic, with a satisfied smile, to her boss, a couple of days later. "We've had our shots - even though I don't need 'em - and we have our passports and our flight reservations. We've let the apartment building manager know we'll be out of town for a couple of weeks, and there's no pets to feed or plants to water. We've even arranged to take a shuttle to the airport, tomorrow. So we don't have to pay for parking."

"Good," said Drake. "Can you get a ride home, this afternoon?"

"Sure."

"Leave your car here and your keys with me, then," said Drake. "I'll make sure those improvements we've been discussing are made while you're gone. Including the installation of that pusher rack."

"Bar," said Vic, as she took the car keys off her keyring. "I know it looks like a rack, but it's called a bar. Also known as a bull bar and a lot of other things, but always a bar. A grill guard is similar but is primarily intended to protect the front of the car; not to push things."

"Which is more than I wanted to know about the topic," said Drake, dryly. "Now, get out of here. Go, enjoy yourself, while teaching others."

"That is one order I will gladly follow," said Vic, already heading for the door.

* * *

"On top of everything else," said Dr. Halvargardsen, the Pine Island geologist, at yet another school council meeting, "there's an eruption of La Soufrière volcano, on Saint Vincent island in the Grenadines."

"Is that eruption part of the disturbance we found in the trench?" said Eve, obviously concerned.

"No," said Dr. Halvargardsen, flatly. "Oh, everything is connected if you look far enough. However, any connection between and eruption and the ongoing disturbance in the trench is indirect in both time and space."

"So what's the worry?"

"There probably isn't one. However, it could affect air traffic in the region. It might even blow ash over Pine Island. Just a heads up."

Part Five

At the Detroit Metro Airport the next day there was still one surprise for Michelle, though it was a minor one.

"'Victoria'?" said Michelle, looking over Vic's shoulder as her wife checked their luggage. "Oh, right; you changed it when we got married. I'm so used to everyone just calling you 'Vic' I forgot."

"Yielding as gracefully as I can to the inevitable," said Vic, a bit pompously.

The trip was almost entirely first class, with the short exceptions being that the couple was seated in coach for the first leg, from Detroit to Atlanta, and in... something else for the last leg, from the African mainland to the island. Exactly what their ride would be on that final part of the flight Vic hadn't been able to determine ahead of time. Except to learn that they would be on a UN military transport which they would board at N'djili Airport. Fortunately for their comfort, all the long flight across the Atlantic had them seated in the frontmost row.

As they settled in at the front of the cabin for the long leg of the trip after their first plane change, Vic leaned back in her heavily padded seat with a sigh of satisfaction. After a moment, however, she turned to her wife, wanting to make conversation before takeoff.

"One of the other Feds in the office building where I work heard about my trip and asked if I was going to go see the _Silbervogel_," said Vic. "You know; where they put it in that South African aerospace museum a couple of decades after it landed after taking off from Germany, near the end of WWII. Fortunately, titanium and stainless steel weather well."

"That's nowhere close to where we're going," said Michelle, confused.

"Took me the longest time to get him to understand that Africa is a whole continent, with several countries. That we would be three thousand klicks from the nation of South Africa."

"Then he asked you what a kilometer was," said Michelle, smirking.

"Pretty much, yeah... Then he wanted to know if we'd be seeing the Rock of Gibraltar."

"Ow..."

"I wasn't actually surprised. This guy doesn't understand that there's a difference between Austria and Australia. He's in the local federal office which oversees international trade for the Detroit area, too."

* * *

The nineteen hour trans-Atlantic flight was routine to the point of being boring. Fortunately, both Michelle and Vic were able to sleep much of the way. This was made easier by a large part of the flight occurring at night.

The last leg of their trip turned out to be on an elderly United Nations C-130, though they did not learn that until after they exited the long-range airliner, the next morning. Their UN T.O.W.E.R. contact met them with an electric cart as they got off the trans-Atlantic jet, still in the international section of N'djili Airport.

"Mrs. and Mrs. Peltior?" said the man wearing the distinctive T.O.W.E.R. uniform, as he offered his hand. He had a pleasant, middle-class English accent. "I'm Lieutenant Carl Spivak. Since you're going straight to a UN controlled island you can skip DRC customs. Your luggage is already being loaded on our transport. Which I will be happy to take you to."

"If that's your cart," said Michelle, shaking his hand. "We will go gladly!"

"We're both well-rested but pretty stiff after that long flight," said Vic, also taking the offered hand. "We aren't sure where to go from here, either. So a ride and a knowledgable guide are definitely appreciated."

The Lieutenant loaded their carry-on luggage onto the small, electric-powered transport, helped them in, then took the driver's seat. Thanks to him, the pair from the United States only had to briefly show their IDs, at the entrance to the section of the airport reserved by the UN, instead of being stuck at customs trying to explain Vic's armor, specially equipped bicycle and martial arts weapons.

"There's also a problem that same-sex marriage is illegal in this nation," said Spivak, casually but quietly, as the small vehicle pulled out onto the reserved section of the tarmac and headed for a hangar clearly marked UN. Outside of the air-conditioned building the Sun beat down on them, and they quickly became hot. "It's somewhat possible that, once they realized you two are a couple, a disapproving airport employee could have deliberately misdirected you out of the international part of the airport, in the hopes of getting you into trouble with DRC law enforcement."

"Not that, again," said Vic, voice almost a growl.

"Yes, unfortunately," said the Lieutenant, nodding.

"Dear, I hate to tell you, but there's a lot of people back home with the same attitude," said Michelle, hugging Vic. "Some of them influential."

"No-one warned us!" said Vic, startled and scandalized. "I mean, about the law, yes, but not that foreigners just passing though..."

"Our own regulations prevent us from taking any notice of sexual orientation. In guests or employees. However, someone happened to notice the situation with you two and - since it was already planned to have someone meet you at your arrival gate - made the arrangements much more proactive. Here we are."

The mid-ranking T.O.W.E.R. officer took them to a somewhat worn-looking C-130 currently parked just outside the front entrance to the United Nations hangar. There, Michelle, Vic and their carry-on luggage were first taken inside and upstairs before they were led down a jetway and loaded onto the four-engined turboprop plane. They were assured by the ground crew that their checked luggage was already aboard.

"Seems a bit wasteful to have this whole plane just for us," said Vic, as she and Michelle fastened the four-point harnesses for the sideways bench seats on one side of the plane.

"Oh, we have nearly a full load," said Lieutenant Spivak, smiling, as he likewise took his position, on the opposite side of the fuselage from the couple. "Of cargo, anyway."

Takeoff was a bit noisy but uneventful. Soon they were out over the ocean.

"The UN owns the whole island," their escort explained, speaking loudly to be heard over the noise of propellors and turbines, as the plane banked on approach to their destination. Their destination now became visible on ocean through the windows on Spivak's side of the plane. "Eventually the airport there will be upgraded to take even the largest aircraft, so we won't have to go through the DRC. However, for now only aircraft requiring little or no runway length or which can use unprepared ground are able to land and take off. There are several facilities on the island which have already been refurbished and made habitable, and have subsequently been assigned to different agencies with the UN. T.O.W.E.R. has been placed in the largest set of buildings so far repaired, at least in terms of useable floor space under the fewest roofs. That's all of the central luxury resort hotel, the connected convention hall and casino and several other buildings in that complex. We all - all the UN forces on Roosevelt Island - share the airport and many other facilities."

From the air the unfinished resort looked impressive, even beautiful, though the landscape was obviously largely artificial. Also obvious was that the work had stopped well before the landscaping had been completed, and that no work had been done for several years. Their guide pointed out numerous features as the plane circled. Then, as the C-130 lined up for the main runway of the small airport, Spivak made sure Vic and Michelle were well secured. Again shouting a bit to be heard over the ambient noise, he continued relating the history and current state of the island. Vic realized he was doing this at least in part to take their minds off the approach and landing.

"Work on the resort was begun by Joseph-Désiré Mobutu while he was the self-appointed president of Congo, but was soon put on hold. In part due to legal challenges over which nation actually owned the island. After the addition of more territory to his country and a name change to Zaire the project resumed. His idea was to make a playground for the rich and famous, a west African version of the French Riviera. This in spite of the fact that he later moved politically towards Communist China and claimed he was anti-capitalist and anti-imperialist. After Mobutu was deposed the task was pursued - sporadically - by some of his successors. None of them got very far with the project. Since the work was never finished, just how successful the resort would have been commercially is a matter for speculation. As for Mobutu, he died of prostate cancer in Morocco a few months after fleeing Zaire.

"Which was ironic, considering that one of the projects most nearly finished on the island before he was kicked out was a hospital which would have offered new treatments not yet approved in other countries. He supposedly even offered sanctuary to several mad doctors so they could advance their work.

"The beaches are beautiful, but artificial. Without constant maintenance they are being eroded away."

"That was an impressive amount of work," said Michelle, also half shouting to be heard over the ambient noise.

"The island was also claimed by the Cabinda province of Angola, but with that province's status already being disputed the claim wasn't pursued very far," Lieutenant Spivak continued. "Also, the island is far from shore and was originally desolate, so they didn't protest much when Mobutu took it over. They did fuss a bit when he began building the resort. After he was gone Cabinda again forgot about it. Until the UN bought the facility from the Democratic Republic of Congo three years ago. Then we also had to buy it from Cabinda, just to avoid a protracted disagreement over the ownership!

"Anyway, the climate is tropical warm and dry, only marginally wet enough to avoid being classed as a hot, semi-arid climate."

The plane was now descending towards the runway. Their escort went silent, though he looked at the pair of women and meaningfully tugged his restraints tighter. Vic and Michelle followed his example.

The landing, fortunately, was uneventful.

* * *

The passengers and crew had to use a portable stairway to debark, since the jetways had never been installed at the unfinished airport. The air, as promised, was hot and dry, but distinctly smelled of the ocean. Vic could see rolls of hot air coming up from the concrete. The plane's crew entered an older but well-cared for, UN-marked car but Lieutenant Spivak seemed to be waiting for something. The duo from Detroit waited with him, with their carry-on luggage.

As several soldiers unloaded the plane onto a couple of trucks, a staff car - only slightly newer than the one which the C-130 crew had entered and also in excellent condition - rolled to a stop near Spivak, Michelle and Vic. A high-ranking officer exited and approached the trio. Lieutenant Spivak snapped to attention and saluted.

"Michelle and Victoria Peltior, this is Major Houston Lee. Major, these are our guests."

The Major was surprisingly youthful in appearance, with close-cropped dark blond hair and an athlete's build. He smiled a bit stiffly as he greeted the two guests.

"Welcome to Roosevelt Island," said the Major, extending his hand to the newcomers. "Purchased by the United Nations in July of 2019, and named after Franklin Roosevelt."

"Major Lee is one of the products of the UN's super creation program," said Lieutenant Spivak, as Lee shook hands with the civilians. "He has minor physical enhancements and the ability to 'ignore' obstacles over short distances. For example, he can pass items through closed windows."

"I am very much looking forward to participating in your training sessions," said the Major, grinning. "Duties permitting, of course. Though just now international super criminal activity seems to be in decline, so I should be available."

"You had to jinx it," said Vic, rolling her eyes. Fortunately, the Major gave a short but apparently sincere laugh.

"If you come this way, you can ride with me to the hotel," said Major Lee, with a gesture towards his staff car. "The Lieutenant will see to your luggage."

I will not be posting over the New Year's weekend. The story will resume Monday the 2nd.

Part Six

The trip from airport to hotel was... interesting. Some structures - including the actual pavement of most side streets - had obviously not been completed, and nearly all of the construction showed serious signs of deterioration. Michelle found herself appreciative of the air conditioning in the car. It removed both much of the heat and most of the smell of decay.

"Reminds me of some sections of Detroit," said Michelle, quietly. "Though with less graffiti."

"Decades of ocean weather without maintenance will cause a lot of damage," said the Major, his tone philosophical. "That building, over there, in good shape, though, is the local UN headquarters. It was originally intended as the center of administration for the resort, and was not only completed, it was partially equipped. The government used it as their offices during periods of construction. We still had to make some serious repairs and replace pretty much everything inside except for most of the plumbing and electrical infrastructure. This was not surprising, considering its age. There wasn't even an internal computer network."

"I see a lot of people going in and out over there," said Vic.

"You have good eyes," said Major Lee, sounding impressed. "About the only scratch-built installation the UN built here is the hospital, which is on the other side of our admin building. It's a modern facility intended to treat UN personnel who are injured or infected on the job. It can actually hold a large percentage of the UN personnel on the island. We expect the extra capacity will be used by UN people based in other areas. That is, not only with we treat UN personnel, but people our field teams send here."

"Oh," said Michelle, suddenly, as they got closer to the building and she could see those there more clearly, "that reminds me of something I've wondered about before. Why are people wearing different colored vests and helmets? Even the soldiers in uniform are wearing vests of several different tints, and they and most of the civilians are wearing or carrying colored helmets."

"The different branches of UN field forces get different colors," said Major Lee. "For example, UNHCR get blue vests and helmets. As you might imagine, with this island being so close to several needy nations in Africa, they have a large presence, here. We in T.O.W.E.R. get safety orange vests and helmets. I understand the reasoning behind the choice, but it does make us a bit of a target. On the other hand, it also makes clear to all that we are not a regular military force."

There was a main road with four wide lanes and a center median running between the airport and the most luxurious hotel. This structure was near the center of the island, on the highest ground. The pavement of the road looked like it was in good shape. So did the hotel, and the convention center attached to it.

"Wow..." said Michelle, looking up and up at the hotel as the staff car approached.

"It's the tallest building on the island," said Major Lee. "As well as the highest."

Somehow, the truck with their luggage - and Lieutenant Spivak - had managed to beat them to the hotel, without passing the staff car. There must have been another route. As the staff car and it's contents arrived at the hotel, the truck was already parked in the shade under the overhang at the main doors. The couple's luggage was being offloaded onto some sort of rough dolly. Something obviously not a hotel luggage cart.

The Lieutenant moved quickly to the car and opened the door for Vic and Michelle, while the driver opened the Major's door. Salutes were again exchanged.

"This place was completed and used to house guests of the regime as well as officials, anyone visiting to see the construction," said Major Lee, as they formed up to go inside. "It is a fully equipped hotel and convention center. All of it now under T.O.W.E.R. management."

"There's a whole upper-crust beauty parlor, in the hotel, on the second floor, on the balcony or mezzanine level," said Lieutenant Spivak, as they started inside. "Barbour shop, too. Plus there are several of each - a couple actually completed by someone, with equipment and products and signs of use - in various places around the island. Though all are currently closed. In fact, there are no private businesses operating on the island just now. Maybe at some time in the future... Heaven knows, there's plenty of room."

"Speaking of which, I hope I don't get lost," said Michelle, as she saw the size of the lobby beyond the automatic doors. As well as the shops the Lieutenant had mentioned, plus several others, on the balcony. The cool, filtered air inside was very welcome. "This place is like a maze! Not just this hotel, but the whole island!"

"Only some of the street signs were installed," said Lieutenant Spivak, sympathetically. "However, there are maps of this whole island, and some show the planned street names. We occasionally put up our own street signs - usually when a contractor has finished refurbishing some facility for us to use - and we normally use the names the original planners intended. I'll get you and Vic copies of the maps we've made."

"You don't have to check in," said Major Lee, straightfaced, as they crossed the lobby. "In fact, the registration system was never installed. Though the internal phone system works just fine. We even have satellite TV and Internet."

The Major bypassed the registration desk, and led the small party directly to the bank of elevators. The privates who had accompanied Lieutenant Spivak from the island's airport wheeled the cart with the visiting couple's luggage in line behind them. An elevator opened as soon as the Major pushed the button.

"Everything seems to be working," said Michelle, as she and Vic crowded with their guides and the luggage cart and its handlers into the large elevators.

"Power was originally from a set of diesel engines turning conventional generators," said Major Lee, as the doors closed and they began their quiet ascent. Which took them surprisingly high in the building. "The demand we have is a lot lower than the maximum planned for the local distribution system, which was never completed or actually run at anywhere close to full capacity. Now, most of our electricity comes from a mix of solar panels, windmills and combined wave and tide generators, with superconducting coils for brief periods of high demand. Though we keep the diesel plant in ready condition for meeting prolonged demands or in case of unusual weather conditions. We hope to eventually get one of the Kenniman Kinematics Aesir fusion units for our main power source."

The doors of the elevator finally opened again and the smiling Major led the way to the quarters which had been assigned to the pair from Detroit. He produced a pair of large, old-fashioned brass keys. He opened the door with one, then handed Vic and Michelle each one of the two keys.

"Wow," said Michelle, as she and the speechless Vic saw their room. Or, rather, rooms. They had been assigned a suite on the top floor of the hotel. A suite intended for the most upper of the upper crust... with two exceptions.

"This is actually the third nicest set of rooms in the hotel," said Major Lee, as the pair from Detroit looked around the suite. "After the Emperor's Suite and the King's Suite. This is the Prince's Suite. It's available, so we figured we might as well use it for you two. The Emperor's suite has been repurposed as our main office, here on the island. The King's Suite has been subdivided into more offices, a storeroom and Commander Walters' quarters. He's in charge of the UN forces here."

Lieutenant Spivak - with occasional comments from Major Lee - showed them around the rooms. By the time they finished an aide had arrived with the promised maps.

"Here we go," said Lee, finding the sheet he wanted. "The gymnasium is in this complex. You just go down to ground level and follow the signs to the convention center. We repurposed the largest hall as our main gym. That's where you'll give your demonstrations. Lieutenant Spivak can show you the hall and where we keep the training equipment. We have scheduled your first two sessions for tomorrow, at nine and two."

"That definitely sounds workable," said Vic, nodding.

"I'll also show you where the mess is," said Spivak. "There should be time enough time for that, then you can come back here, unpack and relax a while before we begin serving lunch. Oh, and the pool deck is on the third floor."

"This is sounding better and better," said Michell, smiling.

"Okay, lead on," said Vic, grinning.

* * *

After a brief tour of the larger facilities, the couple came back to their suite and unpacked. There was plenty of room for their gear; even for Vic's bicycle. In fact, Vic could ride her bike in the largest room of the suite.

"Look at this closet!" said Michelle, opening both of the folding doors to the compartment and stepping back to stare in wonder. "It's bigger than our whole bedroom back home!"

"I hope we don't get spoiled," said Vic, who was already trying the bed. "Wow. Wake me in time for lunch."

"Hey, you said we needed to stretch out and get in a little practice this afternoon."

"Right, okay," said Vic, reluctantly rising. "Let's use the den. It has plenty of room and that thick carpet should be almost as good as a mat."

* * *

Lunch was actually quite good; and very welcome, since Michelle and Vic's breakfast on the plane had been rather meager. The pair ate with Major Lee and Lieutenant Spivak, who then introduced them around to several members of the other UN forces on the island. This included Commander Walters, though he arrived last.

"Sorry to be late," said the Commander, as he joined the small group. "There was a matter which required my attention. So, how are you two getting along on our little island?"

"Feeling a bit spoiled, actually," said Vic, enthusiastically. "I'm also impressed by the menu. Were those fresh vegetables?"

"We actually have a garden," said Walters. "Though a lot of the food served here we buy on the mainland. We also make certain to hire talented cooks."

"This is a beautiful place, but it's rather out of the way," said Michelle.

"Also, a lot of the beauty seems to be artificial," said the more pragmatic Vic.

"We occasionally tell people that this island was used as a base by the Dread Pirate Roberts, centuries ago," said the Commander, straight-faced. "That the place was built-up and maintained by the descendants of those left behind to guard the treasure left here. That the treasure was what Mobutu was actually after, with the resort construction being just a cover for his search. It's amazing how many believe that.

"As for the artificiality, it's slowly fading. We - the UN managers of this island - are determined to let it return to as close to a natural state as we can, compatible with our needs... as long as we don't have to spend any money on it. Of course, our needs are far less intrusive than a resort would have been."

"Interesting," said Vic, looking thoughtful. "Though that little story about pirate treasure might cause people to sneak onto the island who wouldn't, otherwise."

"People sneak out here anyway," said the Commander, with a careless shrug. "We catch all of them, anyway. A few more won't matter."

Vic wasn't sure about that, but kept quiet.

* * *

Vic had expected to be placed in the role of debunker of myths about supers. This had happened in previous instances when she was working with groups of "norm" law enforcement people. She had thought, though, that since T.O.W.E.R. was dedicated to handling super problems worldwide there would be a lot fewer myths to dispel. What she hadn't expected was that many of the questions and "facts" people brought up with her would be personal.

"I understand you two are friends with Constantine," said Major Lee, as he showed Vic and Michelle around some more of the facility, after the meal.

"Not friends, exactly," said Vic. "I helped find and rescue some of Moldaria's national treasures after they were released by the US government and stolen on their way home. He likes to show his gratitude, but I've barely spoken to the man."

"Ah. Well, I've scheduled a meeting with our unit's doctor. She has some information about the level of fitness you can expect in the troops you'll be teaching."

Vic wasn't sure - and neither was Michelle, when Vic asked her about it later - but thought she had somehow disappointed the Major.

"Captain Spaulding will give you the briefing on what physical training our troops already get," said Lieutenant Spivak. "If you'll follow me..."

"Well, hooray for Captain Spaulding," said Vic, with a grin. Spivak just looked puzzled. Vic nervously cleared her throat. "Okay, lead on."

Part Seven

Captain Spaulding turned out to be Dr. Marie Spaulding. She was careful to explain that T.O.W.E.R.'s field medical people were referred to as Corpsmen (even though T.O.W.E.R. was not a corps) and were very well trained in both normal medicine and the medical needs of supers.

"That's good news," said Vic, nodding. "What about their - not just the medical people but all the T.O.W.E.R. personnel - physical conditioning?"

"It is very good," said Dr. Spaulding, in an accent with Vic couldn't place but which she found very charming. "Not only do we have an intensive exercise program, but many of our people have hobbies which keep them physically active."

She gave the details of the official program, and examples of the hobbies. Vic was impressed.

"There's three reasons behind our fitness program, as is true of all military and paramilitary organizations," the doctor explained. "The primary one, of course, is to have our people ready to act in what is often a very physically demanding mission. The secondary one is to create a sense of community among the troops. The third is to keep them busy so they have less time to get into mischief."

All that was said with a straight face, but Vic thought she could detect a hint of amusement in the doctor's recitation of the third reason.

"I've heard that a bored soldier can be dangerous," said Vic, nodding. "They can hurt themselves or others, because if they aren't given something to do, they'll find something to do, and that may not be something they should be doing."

"It's hard, sometimes, to find the right balance," Dr. Spaulding admitted. "Too little planned activity can be bad for discipline, as too much can be."

"I'll cut out nearly all the calisthenics, then," Vic said. She looked through the list Spaulding had given her. "Wow. Your description of their training reminds me of a group in my home town which holds Evolution in Action Fun Runs. However, we'll still need to warm up so I'll have to include something besides the stretching. I'll also have to include all the stretching, of course. Otherwise, there's too much chance of pulling something."

The doctor nodded. Working with Vic, the pair quickly and efficiently planned out the times for the lessons Vic would give. As well as what the warmup exercises should be.

* * *

Vic had thought that with their sleep on the plane and being in an unfamiliar place she and Michelle might have trouble sleeping that first night. However, given their busy afternoon and the comfort of the bed neither had much trouble drifting off.

The next morning at breakfast, Michelle had more questions for Lieutenant Spivak.

"What happened to all the stuff the contractors left behind?" said Michelle. "I think it was you who also mentioned that some of the shops were open before the work was abandoned. What happened to all that stuff? Did the shop owners take it?"

"Most of it was just abandoned. We hire people to go through what was left here. Anything which appears valuable we try to track down the owner. If it seems valuable but we can't find an owner, it's put in the big storeroom at the hotel, behind the registration desk. Feel free to go through that and pick out what you want. Just don't be obviously greedy. Everything else is shipped to the mainland in bulk, for companies there to sort through.

"Oh, and any commercial product is fair game. You can raid vending machines and canned goods in the abandoned shops and kitchens all you want. Just be aware that a lot of that stuff has already gone bad, given time and weather."

"Couldn't you earn money by selling the things they left behind?" said Michelle.

"We get a small payment per tonne from the mainland companies who dispose of the bulk material. So, yeah, in a way we're already doing that."

Vic, who had experience with her wife's acquisitive nature, kept quiet.

* * *

The gym at the convention center devoted far more space to seating than to the central, focus area. Vic figured the structure had been built to host various major sporting events. It was currently set up as a basketball court.

The first class was always the hardest, Vic recalled Coach Trujillo saying. She was finding that true, as she nervously eyed the UN T.O.W.E.R. personnel waiting for her to begin. Most appeared eager, if obviously unsure what they were there for. Some were openly skeptical. A few were obviously hostile, having been ordered to take the course, which they thought the didn't need. Vic took a deep breath, and stepped out in front of the group.

"Good morning," said Vic. "Welcome to the first training session."

"Well, I'm still confused by what you're supposed to do here," said Captain Lawford, with a dismissive smirk. "We have both basic and advanced combat training, as well as weapons."

He intended to say more, but trailed off, looking puzzled, as Vic turned away from the assembled soldiers and walked calmly to the right basketball goal. She stopped, and turned to face them.

Abruptly, Vic jumped straight up. She delivered a from snap kick to the hoop as she rose past it, then hit it with a stomp at the top of her leap, then caught it with a hook kick on the way down. Each time rocking the goal and producing the sounds of a solid contact. Her bare feet touched silently back on the polished wooden floor.

"I'm going to teach you how to fight people who can do things like that."

Vic definitely had their attention. She walked back out in front of the group.

"Now, I can't turn you all into black belts in two weeks, but you have - as mentioned - already had basic and even some advanced unarmed combat training. You can consider this as an additional two-week clinic which will teach you the basic principals of what I have been taught in martial arts and what I have developed on my own in several years of fighting supers. You can then expand your skills from there as you see fit. So, with that out of the way, let's get started."

Vic gave them no more time to ask awkward questions. She gestured, and Michelle came out onto the court with her.

"Pick a partner. Just now, for simplicity's sake, you can pick someone you have worked with before. However, try to find someone your own size. Later on we'll mix things up, so you know how to defend against someone larger, smaller, faster, and so on.

"First, though, we're going to warm up. So, everyone onto the mats..."

After the meeting with the T.O.W.E.R. doctor, Vic had altered her teaching plans. She was now going emphasize stretching over calisthenics. Which still elicited a lot of groans from her students, as they clumsily made their way through the unfamiliar exercises. However, they all finished the warmup to her satisfaction. As the doctor has promised, they were all in good shape. Vic then led them through basic self-defense moves. This was more to judge their level of competence than to try and teach them anything useful in this first class.

Vic was a bit surprised at how quickly the time allocated passed. As the end of the two hours approached she lined them up and prepared to bow them off.

"One final bit of advice," said Vic, just before dismissing that first class. "Whether you come back tomorrow or not, stretch some. Or you'll be really sore the day after."

There was some fortunately good-natured grumbling at that. However, since the class had been roughly equally divided between teaching the attendees basic techniques and demonstrating things more advanced which Vic implied they would learn in later classes, she seemed to have won them over. Even the skeptics such as Captain Lawford.

"Whew," said Vic, to Michelle, after the last of the students exited. "I don't know about you but I'm going to go soak in our suite's jacuzzi for a while, then have a big lunch."

"That sounds like a very good plan," said Michelle, smiling.

* * *

The second class, held that afternoon, went much easier, and not only because Vic already had one under her (red and white) belt for practice. Both she and her second class had a much better idea of what to expect. There were a few repeat students from that morning, but most of the substantially larger second class were newcomers who had heard about the first class. Vic felt pleased that what those in her second class had heard had been favorable enough to increase the attendance. It didn't hurt that Lieutenant Spivak was in this class.

Vic basically taught the same things for this second class, but with more explanation of the basic techniques and fewer demonstrations of advanced material. This actually seemed to work well. By the time the class was bowed off Vic already had a good idea of what to teach the next morning. Well, after warm-up and review.

This set the pattern. Each class was as much a learning experience for Vic as it was for the T.O.W.E.R. personnel. She honed her methods, as she honed the skills of her students.

* * *

Vic had expected to be asked about super matters in general, and some supers in particular. She hadn't expected that most of the enquiries she was confronted with would be on the level of soap opera factoids.

One effect of the first day of her clinics was that both Michelle and Vic were treated with a lot more respect by those among the T.O.W.E.R. personnel who had previously tended to ignore them. They were also included more in group matters. This included being invited to sit at tables with the regular troops during meals. The change also meant they were asked a lot of questions. Not all of which were related to martial arts.

"Is it true that Hugh Manatee is the great-grandson of the Walrus?" one corporal eagerly asked, during breakfast the next day.

"Uh, no," said Vic, who had never met either super but had read and heard a great deal about them. Especially Hugh Manatee, with most of that information coming from Energia. "The Walrus is a supernatural, maybe a type of selkie. Hugh is a genetic super whose powers were triggered by his marine biologist and mad scientist grandfather experimenting on him."

"What's the difference?" said the man, obviously puzzled.

Both Vic and Michelle wound up explaining a surprising amount about basic super matters to people who were assigned the task of dealing with supers on behalf of the UN!

Between breakfast and lunch Lieutenant Spivak - who had been assigned as their liaison with T.O.W.E.R. - showed the pair more of the island and its personnel. This included the one approved beach. As well as some of the people using it. Most of them were non-T.O.W.E.R. UN staff. As Vic and Michelle already knew, the regular UN staff outnumbered the T.O.W.E.R. people by nearly three to one. Still, there were only a few hundred people on the island. Few enough that someone with a good memory could know nearly all of them. Lieutenant Spivak apparently had a good memory, and was able introduce Vic and Michelle to the people at the beach. Many of them by name and rank. Since nearly all were casually dressed, being able to provide the latter information was especially impressive.

One of the non-T.O.W.E.R. UN people was dressed as a stereotypical surfer dude, complete with board. Spivak seemed to want to avoid him, but the man insisted on coming over

"Word up, dude!"

"What?" said Vic, startled.

"This is Corporal Mikhail Mazurkiewicz," said Spivak, without enthusiasm. "He's our Chaos Muppet."

Spivak sounded mildly exasperated.

Vic couldn't help but grin as she spoke with the Corporal. His use of US slang was a deliberate mixing of East and West Coast. Mazurkiewicz ("Call me Mike!") not only had a sense of humor, but a knowing one.

After he went back to surfing Vic and Spivak continued down the beach. They soon came across a pair who were dressed differently from each other, were of two different skin tones and had different accents, yet seemed to be good friends.

"Strules and Husebo," said Spivak, with a sour expression. "Both privates. They're an odd couple. Strules is a slacker, always finding ways to avoid doing work. Meanwhile, Husebo is what you Yanks would call a go-getter. Yet the two of them hang around together and are often involved in the same off-duty activities."

Introductions were made. Strules was quite pleasant while Husebo was polite but cool.

"See what I mean?" said Spivak, as he and Vic proceeded along the beach. He pointed to a woman running along the beach, attired appropriately. "Oh, here comes Captain Spaulding. Good morning, Captain!"

"Hello," she panted, with a brief wave. She didn't stop.

"Well, I suppose that will have to do for today," said Spivak. "I need to get you back to your rooms so you can get ready for lunch."

Actually, it seemed a bit early for that, but Vic and Michelle had little choice but to follow the Lieutenant to their transportation.

"You've probably noticed already that we don't have much of a night life on the island," he said, as he drove them to the hotel. "There are occasional talent shows and nearly nightly volunteer concerts, plus we get satellite TV and Internet. That's about it."

"Actually, our lives have been very hectic lately," said Michelle. "We both welcome a chance to rest and relax."

"Got that right," muttered Vic, with feeling.

Sorry this is a bit late. The contractor was here and his electrician kept turning off the electricity without warning. Fortunately, my computer is on a UPS but I still shut it down while they were doing electrical work.

Part Eight

Vic checked the mats, then straightened and nodded.

"You've done that three times, already," said Michelle, rolling her eyes. Both were in their white aikido gi and ready to show their hosts how it was done. "I understand that you're nervous, but enough. This is the second day of classes. You should be settling down, not getting even more on edge."

"Okay, okay," said Vic, grinning. "Message received and understood. Anyway, we've got people coming in, so it's time to get ready to teach."

"Good," Michelle muttered. She tugged absent-mindedly at her black belt. "You're making me nervous."

At least Vic's students seemed more respectful, after the previous lesson and demonstration. Though how much of that was because they respected what she was teaching and how much was because they were now aware of what she could do was as yet unknown.

The warm-up went smoothly. The Vic had her students sit on the edge of the mat while she gave her demonstration of the day.

"Part of what our system of martial arts teaches is knowing when to resist force with force and knowing when to yield to it. As an example of the latter, let's say you're shoved from behind."

Vic nodded to Michelle, who moved behind her and shoved her in the back. Vic took three quick steps forward and pivoted smoothly around. She now stood in a combat stance, facing Michelle. Vic held the pose for a moment, then moved back to where she had been.

"Of course, shoves come in various sizes. So if you're shoved really hard..."

She again stood facing facing away from her partner. This time Michelle pushed hard against Vic's back with both hands. Instead of stepping away from the force, Vic went into a left shoulder roll, popped deftly into the air from that and did a half turn before she landed in a fighting stance, now facing Michelle.

"You need to train until this is a reflex," she said, relaxing. "The basic technique can be used for shoves in all directions. Or against trips. Deliberate or accidental."

This time she stood facing Michelle. At the shove Vic went into a back roll. From that she popped up, to land in a defensive stance, again facing her partner, now from a safe distance. She relaxed, and looked at her class.

"That's one of the things you can do with the rolling and tumbling I'm teaching you. It's called 'yielding to the attack.' That is, you go with the shove, using the energy you gain from an attack to help you get some distance from your attacker. All right, get with your partner..."

* * *

The next couple of days went very well for Vic and Michelle. Both in the gym and on the island as a whole.

For the fourth day of special classes Vic focused on hardware. That included showing off her armor. However, before she started some of her students had questions.

"So far all you've taught us is basic self-defense with an emphasis on non-strength techniques," said Captain Lawford. He was polite this class, but still seemed skeptical.

"Trust me, you don't want to try and match strength against someone with even mild physical enhancements," said Vic, smiling a bit. "'Soft' techniques work much better."

"She knows what she's talking about," said Michelle, defensively. "Vic has taken down supers who can bench-press eighteen wheelers. Which is not bad for someone who is within human physical limits."

Well, Vic had done that with a great deal of help from the Purple Art, which was still officially secret. Besides, people of such puissance were rare, so T.O.W.E.R. rarely had to deal with them.

"I'm also here to teach you about what we've found to be effective against low-level supers, without having to resort to a neutralizer," said Vic. She gave them a grim smile. "Since the Bureau's main useful tool against rogue supers is other supers, neutralizers are a bad idea for us until after the suspect is contained, anyway. So, I'm gonna tell you about things like ordered polymer, fibre-reinforced flex-cuffs for restraint and doped graphene underarmor with gel lining for your protection. As well as learn what you folks in T.O.W.E.R. recommend - both hardware and procedures - for such situations."

Vic had actually done her research, and already knew a great deal about what the T.O.W.E.R. personnel used. However, she didn't know everything, and getting them to teach her would help them feel involved in the class.

In many ways the technology T.O.W.E.R. used was years behind the state of the art for supers. They didn't have the budget for the latest large items - they only had two hoppers for the entire organization, different older models purchased used from different teams which were upgrading - but they should be able to afford the smaller items Vic was talking about.

"Oh..." said Captain Lawford, a bit startled. "Well, that's all good for us to know."

"In the meantime though, it's past time to bow on. So, let's get busy."

* * *

Michelle and Vic had decided to treat their time on the island as a second honeymoon. A working second honeymoon. As they had expected, they had a lot of time to themselves, and most of the rest of their non-teaching time was with people assigned to keep them occupied. Just now the pair from Detroit were riding in an open-topped, open-sided vehicle which on good pavement could just about travel as fast as a running human. Unfortunately, there wasn't much good pavement on the island. As usual, their guide - who also as usual served double duty as their driver - was Lieutenant Spivak. Along for the ride was a mostly silent Major Lee.

Vic and Michelle had just been warned again not to enter any of the taped-off buildings... which was most of them. Those structures had not been made safe for casual exploration. However, while talking with the Lieutenant, the pair also learned that there were several mysteries on the island. Those included tales of people who had gone missing. Some of those stories had been floating around since well before Mobutu was deposed. One thing which was verified was that the last manager of island resort construction project had mysteriously disappeared, as they were closing down operations. After a pause which started with the UN moving in (though there were rumors of people from the mainland supposedly going to the island even during that period and never returning) the disappearances had supposedly resumed. Nearly all, though, involved people who were not part of the UN force on the island.

"Most likely," said Spivak, "what's happening in at least some of these cases is that someone who is in some sort of trouble at home tells people he's coming here, then goes somewhere else to start over.

"That doesn't mean people haven't gone missing, with no explanation. Even a few members of the UN staff have disappeared without a trace since we took over the island. Most likely these are due to misadventures in damaged buildings and undeveloped sections of the island. Which is why all casual exploration is discouraged. However, we know that drug dealers and their customers are still using parts of the island for deals. In spite of patrols to keep them away.

"Making things more complicated, several of the UN personnel stationed on the island have a hobby of recovering and refurbishing abandoned vehicles. Hence our current ride, which was originally a golf cart. Unfortunately, this means they go around looking for abandoned cars, trucks and vans to work on. It's unfortunate because sometimes they find other things... and sometimes other things find them. I'm not just talking about drug dealers, either."

"There are even rumors of a few mad science creatures roaming around hidden tunnels." The Lieutenant patted his sidearm. "So personnel are urged to go armed whenever they're away from a known safe area."

Vic and Michelle were both a bit spooked by hearing this. Especially Vic, given her recent experiences with badgerbears. At the moment, however, the pair was also a bit of a captive audience. Additionally, they generally appreciated these tours and the oral history related by the Lieutenant. These sessions helped fill the hours between classes, training and meals. However, not all was rosy.

"I just wish I could call my folks back home more easily," said Michelle, with a tired sigh, as they rounded yet another corner in the decrepit subdivision.

The duo from Detroit had already discovered that any phone service outside the hotel and convention center was pretty sporadic, in spite of promises that the island had full satellite access. As it turned out, there were no cell towers. There was an island-wide telephone network, but it operated through an old exchange which was barely kept running by UN techs. Something which Lieutenant Spivak sympathized with. They had to resort to VOIP to place calls to people they knew, which neither of them was familiar with. Combined with the time zone difference, that meant they usually resorted to e-mail.

"We are eventually supposed to have a state of the art cell phone system and computer network installed at no charge by the Gill Bates Foundation, but so far the system we have is very sub-par," said Spivak. "Our techs insist they have already installed multiple telephone substations, with at least one in each building the UN has had refurbished. They also claim they have laid fiber-optic cables between the structures, for an intranet computer system. However, we aren't seeing much improvement. So far the UN have refused to even send anyone more qualified than the people we already have to look at the system to see what's wrong, since it's all due to be replaced Real Soon Now. They just keep insisting we must have things configured wrong. So, yes, the UN presence on the island is definitely a work in progress. Especially in the area of communications."

"The UN brass keep saying they're going to bring in one of the portable telephone communication centers normally used in disaster areas," said Major Lee, who until how had kept mostly quiet. "Only they keep needing them for actual disasters. We don't have the budget to buy even a used one. So we wind up using our radios a lot, not only in training and on missions but in day-to-day operations. We therefore don't normally need cell phone service. Besides, that's too easy to eavesdrop on."

"So there was a phone system already on the island?" said Vic.

"A very primitive one, just to keep various construction offices in contact with each other and their bosses," said Spivak. "It belonged to the contractors, and they took most of it with them when they left. What's still here is a corroded mess. Some of our techs work almost constantly to keep it running."

"I understand that there's a lot of resentment against this base from some mainlanders," said Vic, suspecting that the problems which had been described to them might be due to sabotage or just mundane theft.

"Among other things, this island and the waters around it have been declared a wildlife refuge," said Major Lee. "No hunting, no fishing - not even recreational, to the disappointment of several of those assigned here - and we enforce this. So there is some bad blood with the locals. Especially those who previously earned a large part of their income through illegal trading in endangered sea life."

They were currently tooling along at a jogging pace through an area which had already seen some demolition. As a result, there were many foundations here which were filled with rubble and dirt and partially overgrown. The roads were worse than even what was typical for the island, in part due to their use by the heavy equipment which had performed the demolition. Fortunately, while not actually an off-road vehicle, the converted golf cart had good suspension.

"This area is marked for expansion very soon," said Major Lee. "We'll be putting up new buildings for this, to our specifications, rather that reusing existing structures. Of course, that all depends on the upcoming budget."

They rounded a corner and came across a small group of UN soldiers, most of them in T.O.W.E.R. uniforms. Vic could feel the two T.O.W.E.R. officers with her and Michelle tense, and came to full alertness herself. The cart braked to a stop, and Major Lee jumped out.

"You men! What are you doing?!"

"Ah, soap nuts," said Corporal Mazurkiewicz. He and those with him came to attention and saluted. "Begging the Major's pardon SIR! We are using our free time to scout for an ATV one of the contractors told us he saw in a garage somewhere in this area!"

He and Major Lee exchanged quiet but heated words while the other soldiers remained at attention. The only thing Vic could understand from the exchange was Lee's "If it wouldn't make a bad impression on our guests I'd ream you out here and now. As it is, take your men and get back to your barracks!"

"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!"

* * *

Vic was not dissembling when she told her classes she wanted to learn what equipment T.O.W.E.R. used. Major Lee - as one of the few successes of the organization's artificial super program - was assigned the task of showing Vic some of their personal defensive and offensive equipment. As well as how they trained with it. All this took place in a different section of the same repurposed auditorium which Vic used for her classes.

"These, in particular, are wickedly effective," the Major said, handing her a pair of heavy gloves. "Especially for me. They're built super tough, too, so they stand up to super use."

"I've used weighted gloves before," said Vic, nodding. "Including riot gloves. They didn't hold up very well, because they weren't made for supers."

"I think you'll find that these are particularly durable. Try them against that simulant, over there."

The object he indicated was one of a series of rubber-covered, life-size simulated human torsos, each with a head on a thick neck. Vic had seen similar training aides before, but never used one.

"I particularly like the way the straps cinch those gloves onto the hands and forearms," said Major Lee, showing Vic how they went on. "These are our version of riot gloves, and they have been very useful in our work. They have just under a kilo of powdered iron distributed through the back of each glove. We can't wash them with water; the powdered iron rusts. We have to clean them by soaking in alcohol. Then we have to make sure they're thoroughly dry, since alcohol attracts water from the air."

Indeed, the gloves fit better than any pair of sap gloves or weighted training gloves Vic had previously tried. At the major's direction, she pulled the straps tight and flexed her hands.

"Nice. There's little hindrance to movement. Though these long sleeves feel odd."

"The forearm pieces are made from a combination of stainless steel mesh and ballistic cloth," Lee explained. "The same manufacturer uses similar materials to make safety gloves for workers at slaughter houses. They're blade resistant, and will even help some against things like ice picks. The forearm pieces therefore act as guards against blades and some powers."

"I like the way these have the weight distributed," said Vic, throwing practice punches and trying blocks. "I mean, the gloves on my armor are heavier than these, and have hard striking surfaces, but this is different. They're more like the first pair of riot gloves I had. Only better. A lot better."

With the weighted gloves properly fitted, Vic moved to one of the practice dummies in the T.O.W.E.R. training area which the Major had recommended. She took a couple of trial swings to check balance and distance, then struck the dummy under the chin with a rising backfist. The head came completely off, flew up, lightly struck a roof truss in the gymnasium, and dropped back to the floor. Where it landed with a muffled thud and only a bit of bounce.

Vic looked at the dummy. Looked at the detached head. Looked back at the dummy. The gloves, fortunately, were undamaged.

"Uh... Wow... You don't... normally see that with a rising backfist," she said, feeling embarrassed.

"I'll say," said Major Lee, just as obviously impressed as Vic was embarrassed. "We've had a lot of people hit that thing in various ways, including uppercuts and the sort of strike you just used, with those riot gloves. Only some of the physical superhumans have done that much damage, before. Even I only managed to knock the whole simulant over."

Vic felt a bit better at learning she wasn't the first to do that to one of their dummies, but decided to stick with striking pads and boards for the rest of her testing of the gloves.

Part Nine

Vic was trying something she had read about once. Starting a little less than an hour before class, with only a worried Michelle present, she climbed nimbly to the top of one of the basketball goals. Vic paused for a moment, balanced easily on the balls of her bare feet, eyes closed, at one end of the backboard. She had learned from a trial that the rim wasn't stiff or strong enough for what she wanted. Largely because of the flexible attachment.

She let herself fall forward, then pushed off and dove headfirst towards the hardwood floor. Eyes still closed.

Vic was completely relaxed until her sense of perception told her she was the right distance from the floor. Then she deftly flipped over, landing on the balls of her feet, using everything from her toes to her hips to take the shock. There was only a slight sound on contact.

"I hope you're happy with that," said Michelle, anxiously, as Vic straightened, smiling, "'cause I'm not letting you do it again!"

"It was fine," said Vic, who was actually pleased with her performance. "Okay, let's get ready for class."

* * *

"What's wrong, hon?" asked Michelle, as she watched her wife try to discreetly rearrange her rather modest, one-piece swimsuit.

"This is the first time I've been to a beach since I changed," said Vic, looking very uncomfortable and speaking in a hushed tone. "I've got sand in places which didn't used to be places!"

Michelle actually laughed out loud, which did not comfort Vic. Some of the other beachgoers glanced at her, but she was not the only person there who was laughing occasionally.

"I mean, I've been swimming," said Vic, in a low mutter, "but sand!"

"Surely boys get sand in their suits, too," said Michelle, still smirking.

"Yeah, but their places are... smaller."

Michelle laughed again.

"Well, I'm going back in the water. I haven't been swimming in the ocean before and am going to make the most of it."

Michelle left Vic muttering irritably as she ran back into the water. The muttering quickly stopped, as Vic was distracted by what the running did to her wife's anatomy. The martial artist super was still intently watching Michelle when someone sat beside her.

Vic was mildly annoyed, in part because she had allowed herself to become so distracted that this guy had come up to her without her noticing. Wait, guy? Vic looked around and saw this was, indeed, a guy. Which, for some reason, she found a bit confusing.

"Hello," she said, tone neutral.

"Hello," he said, smiling. "I'm Private Eugene Sanderson. I've been trying to work up the nerve to talk to you and this seems like a good time."

Wait, was this guy hitting on her?!

"You see... We have a lot in common. Only, I was designated female at birth."

Vic did a quick reassessment of the situation. Especially her confusion over the person's physical gender. Some quirk of her sense of perception had probably been responsible for Vic having the initial impression that this was a woman. Only...

"Wait... were you changed due to a power?!"

"I wish!" Eugene said, with a wry laugh. "No, I mean I am genetically XX but am actually a guy."

He sighed.

"I envy you... so much. From the other direction, of course. I even tried to get a morphologist to make the change, but most can't do something permanent. Those who can, charge too much. So, it's surgery and hormones for me. It's working, though."

"Ah, I see," said Vic, nodding and feeling increasingly uncomfortable. "Well, I'm not an expert on transitioning. I literally woke up like this one morning. However, I can see that whoever did your surgery did a good job. There aren't even any noticeable scars."

"Yeah, they did good work. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that you're an inspiration for me. I've even signed up for the Jennings Process."

"I just hope you don't get regeneration," said Vic, with a passion which surprised her.

"Why not?" said Private Sanderson, puzzled.

Vic was amazed he didn't already know. She took a moment to phrase her next comment as diplomatically as she could manage.

"Because that would heal you to what your genes say you should be."

Sanderson paled under his tan.

"Oh, God... I didn't think of that."

"Regeneration is rare," said Vic, quickly. "From what I understand about the Jennings Process it mostly gives people physical augmentation. Making them stronger, faster, tougher and so forth."

"Major Lee has those. He also has regeneration."

"No, he has rapid healing."

"What's the difference?" said the Private, confused.

"Rapid healing is like regular healing, only faster and more thorough," said Vic, surprised that this was something else Eugene didn't already know. "That's why he has a few scars. With regeneration you don't have scars. Your age generally stabilizes, too. Also, some regeneration works outside biological limits. For example, Tiger doesn't need to eat nearly as much mass as he heals."

"I'll have to think about this," said Sanderson, quietly.

"Do yourself a big favor," said Vic, emphatically. "Research powers in general and what the Jennings Process does specifically."

Private Sanderson nodded thoughtfully, then rose and walked slowly away. Moments later, Michelle returned.

"You got a new boyfriend?" she teased.

"Tell you about it later," said Vic, feeling oddly tired.

* * *

Vic, of course, trained in more ways than simply teaching classes. Unfortunately, some of her favorite ways of keeping in shape were not practical - or safe - on the island. Going rooftop to rooftop - as she had at college - would not work, because most of the roofs on the island were in bad shape and there were often large gaps between buildings.

Vic's current athletic shoes had high-traction soles, thanks to the Bureau's tame mad scientists. Like rock climbing shoes, they wore out more quickly than standard running shoes, but she got them free from the Bureau. She had brought three pair with her, two of them new.

Just now, she was using the barely-broken-in first pair as she went from branch to branch through the trees in the gone-wild former park near the hotel. Some of the trees in the developed areas of the island were original plantings or their descendants, and grew in parks and beside roads and around buildings; that is, where trees were planned to grow. Others were volunteers, growing wherever a seed had taken root, often in what had been intended to be open lawns. Vic would have preferred to run along power or phone lines - something she had done before in developed areas - but here all the utilities were installed underground. Which Vic understood had caused problems for those trying to repair them, especially since many of the tunnels the wiring needed were flooded. So, through the trees she went, with occasional forays across low roofs which she had previously tested or were on refurbished structures.

Finally, her rather gymnastic workout completed, Vic headed back to the hotel suite to shower before her first class of the day.

Vic discovered that Michelle had already showered and applied makeup.

"Mmmm, you smell good," said Vic, leaning in to sniff her wife.

"I raided the storeroom behind the perfume counter on the second floor," said Michelle, smiling. "They had boxes and boxes of unopened bottles of some pretty expensive stuff, just sitting there, going to waste."

"Just be careful about what you try to take home," said Vic, concerned. "You don't want trouble with customs."

"Which is why I will ship stuff. I've already confirmed that there's a boat which goes between here and the mainland four times a week. They do things like UPS pickup. You just have to arrange it beforehand. Fortunately, despite being so physically isolated, this place has good Internet. So making the arrangements is not a problem. Besides, I'm shipping stuff like that to Curl Up and Dye, and labeling it as personal grooming and cosmetic products. My boss has already okayed this, and will get a cut for her business."

"Just... be careful," said Vic, trying to be diplomatic. "I'm aware of your - Ahem! - acquisitive nature."

"Hey, I grew up poor," said Michelle, defensively. "I have an instinctive drive to take advantage of such situations."

"Just don't let that instinct lure you into a dangerous building."

"Don't worry. My sense of self-preservation is also very well developed. Meanwhile, you don't smell so good. Go and get your shower."

* * *

That afternoon, the second class of the day over, Vic made a point of looking over the storage area at the hotel. Partially because she was inspired by Michelle, and partly because someone mentioned - after class - that there were musical instruments there. She focused on the section for items which had been found and designated valuable, but for which owners could not be identified. There were, indeed, several musical instruments in that group.

Vic quickly found a wonderful guitar among those instruments. It was made of Central American "quilted" mahogany on the sides and back, and had a spruce top. Despite her words of caution to Michelle about being greedy, Vic took it. It seemed to call to her.

She didn't just take the guitar, however. Vic first tried it out. Fortunately, it had been put away with the strings slack. After considerable tuning and a long warmup, Vic tried "Eugene's Trick Bag". This complicated piece wasn't as successful as she had hoped. After a bit more tuning and some practice, Vic played the tune to her satisfaction.

"What a magnificent instrument," Vic whispered.

She put the guitar back into its rather plain but sturdy case and took it to her and Michelle's suite.

* * *

"I had to volunteer," Vic muttered, as she peddled slowly through her assigned area.

Vic's bike had flashing lights and a siren and saddlebags like police bicycles... as well as some much less standard equipment, thanks to the Bureau and - before that - the gadgeteers at her college. Michelle referred to it as "the vicious cycle." Just now, though, it was serving strictly as transportation.

Three members of T.O.W.E.R. were missing. They had not returned from a mutual time off, and were all three known to be among those who scavenged vehicles. Vic had agreed to help check one of the areas of the island where they might have gone. Her assignment covered some of the currently more decrepit parts of the island's development; subdivisions where employees who worked at resort facilities were intended to live, but where homes and dormitories had mostly been left unfinished due to the resort never being completed. The roads were in especially terrible shape, here, hence the need for Vic and her all-terrain bicycle. She was also in her armor, since the helmet had both an amplifier for her calls out and audio filters to emphasize human voices coming in. That included cries for help. As she worked Vic could occasionally hear reports from other teams over her helmet radio.

Making matters worse, the pool of potential searchers had been greatly reduced by an outbreak of food poisoning! Vic was glad that her regeneration had kept her healthy in spite of the mystery illness, and that Michelle preferred cooked vegetables. The vector appeared to be the fresh, raw vegetables which Vic liked so much.

Vic had nearly completed her assigned sweep when a message came over the frequency reserved for the searchers.

"All those looking for the missing people, return to base immediately!"

There was no explanation. From the tone of voice Vic doubted the recall was due to the missing personnel being found. Perhaps there was some other emergency which the men and women were needed for. Vic sighed and changed course. The thought that Michelle might be in danger made her put extra effort into the peddling.

Once back at the mustering area, at the UN headquarters building, Vic was given the bad news by Major Lee, himself. Although assigned to T.O.W.E.R. he was still UN and the ranking officer on the island who remained functional in spite of the illness sweeping through the personnel.

"The hotel was attacked by some sort of paramilitary force while the search parties were out looking," said the Major, his face expressionless. "This timing was apparently deliberate. The guilty party, whoever they are, waited until our forces were divided and hit the weakest part, and took a large part of the T.O.W.E.R. and general UN staff there prisoner. Several of our people were injured, though fortunately none seriously. Most of those taken were under the weather from the food poisoning, including Commander Walters. This was also likely deliberate. Sick people would be easier to handle. We were left a message that the captured individuals were being held to guarantee our good behavior. That they would be released, unharmed, when the kidnappers were ready to leave. Your wife, unfortunately, was one of the people taken."

Vic took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. She felt... numb. Partly because she had somehow been expecting bad news connected with Michelle since the recall message.

"How likely are these people to keep their word?" she asked, after taking a moment to gather herself.

"Unknown. Though they did seem to want to avoid casualties in their raid."

"Just how bad is this illness? How many are still able-bodied?"

"Fewer than a hundred are combat capable. Most of those will be assigned to guarding our facilities. We've sent word to the UN, but the island is quarantined until further notice. Even the people who were already off the island, many of them dealing with disease outbreaks on the continent, will be vectored to other bases when they are scheduled to return. The high-ups at the UN are worried that now that this disease is in the population here it might be transmitted person to person."

"What does Captain Spaulding have to say?"

"I was just on my way over to the infirmary to speak with her. You can come along."

Part Ten

"What is this?" said Vic, angrily. "What is causing it? I mean, it can't be coincidence!"

A large part of her anger was due to Michelle being among those taken. The doctor replied while Vic, realizing she was on the verge of losing control, took a series of slow, deep breaths.

"There's outbreaks of cholera in several African countries, but that's not what this is," said Captain Spaulding. She looked tired. "Neither is it any of the other common intestinal diseases. Technically, we are labeling it gastroenteritis, which is simply a general description based on the primary symptoms. It doesn't appear to be bacterial or viral. It may be a prion, but that's doubtful. Our working hypothesis is that the cause is a nonbiological contaminant in the food supply. Perhaps something put in the dirt the vegetables were grown in as a makeshift fertilizer, or even a deliberate poison. Fortunately, the UNHCR units based here are well-equipped and trained to handle diseases and toxins in water. We will find out what is causing this."

"No offense, Doctor," said Major Lee, "but I think we need to bring in a specialist. Someone who is an expert on poisons."

"We have one on island," said Captain Spaulding, nodding, and not in the least offended. "Dr. Julia Rampler. She's with the regular UN forces. I've already called her."

"Meanwhile," said Major Lee, turning to Vic, "you and I - as we are among the few unaffected and we both have combat experience - need to plan."

* * *

"It's a toxin, all right," said Dr. Rampler, later that same day. "Old-fashioned arsenic. More specifically, arsenic trioxide. Given the other contaminants we found, it probably came from ordinary - if also old-fashioned - rat poison. Likely left on the island during one of the early construction periods. Being an elemental poison it hasn't lost any strength. It's possible the poisoning is accidental, but that seems very unlikely. I suspect the arsenical compound was somehow applied after the vegetables were washed. They were put aside to drain while the cooks got busy with the rest of the meal. There were people coming and going continuously during that period, so discovering who did the act won't be easy.

"We're treating everyone affected with arsenic-appropriate chelation. As well as giving them fluids and other medications to treat symptoms and make them comfortable. The dose was, fortunately, not large except in a few cases. Most of those poisoned should be well on the way to recovery in a couple of days."

"That's good news," said Major Lee, nodding. "Not only that you've identified the poison and started treatment, but that you have a likely source. That should help us to find the culprits."

"Then that's our next order of business," said Vic, who, after all, had more experience in criminal investigation than did the Major. She sounded very determined, which was understandable, given that Michelle was among the prisoners. "Something to keep in mind is that water is likely important in all this. The attackers and hostages will all need it to drink, and will have to avoid flooded areas."

Clean water was a valuable commodity on the island. Though the highest point was occupied by the hotel, there were a few pools on that and other slopes which were used to gather and distribute rain water. Originally, the distribution was through a system of pipes. Rusty water could still be seen dribbling from some of the sprinkler heads in the lower parts of the island. These days most of the water which left the ponds simply ran out over the ground, through channels carved by the water itself.

This unplanned distribution of water meant ruin for some parts of the planned resort, while other locations had dry pipes. Entertainment areas and elegant bungalows were flooded and now part of marshes, many of them brackish. This cut down on the areas where people could actually live... or hold prisoners.

"Next, we need to interview the witnesses of the raid," said Vic, focussing on the basics. "They may have important information even if they don't realize it. Then we need to talk to - and check the backgrounds on - all those who didn't get sick."

"You surely don't think this was an inside job," said Major Lee. In spite of evidence he was inclined to defend his people.

"Doesn't matter what I think," said Vic. "That's the procedure. If nothing else, we need to eliminate suspects."

"All T.O.W.E.R. personnel are carefully vetted! So are general UN people!"

"Which reduces the chance of someone on the inside being involved, but doesn't eliminate it. Now, let's get busy. We may not have much time."

As their investigation proceeded a pattern emerged. Vic, Major Lee and a couple of others who had partaken of the poisoned vegetables had not been affected due to superhuman metabolisms. Most of the rest of the healthy were in that state because they normally did not eat the raw vegetables. Some who did eat but not get sick likely just had naturally high tolerances for the toxin. As the twentieth most commonly encountered element many people had previous low-level chronic exposures to arsenic, if only from contaminated drinking water. However...

"These five," said Vic, reading from a hand-written list in her notes as she circled names on the printed list of UN personnel, which was laid out on Major Lee's desk. "They all changed their eating habits for that one meal. Which was obvious enough that several people noted the change. One of the suspects said he'd been told to eat less fiber by his mainland doctor. Which the doctor has denied. These five all atypically avoided the fresh vegetables, even though they all had eaten them before. Two of them are among the three who are missing. Another simply didn't show up for morning roll call. In fact, he hasn't seen since he went to bed last night."

"Three of those on this list are not a surprise," said Major Lee, reluctantly, as he took the sheet Vic had used as a reference. "At least to me. They have a pattern of odd behavior. Those two, though... Brown and Wilniewczyc are good soldiers. Now they're missing and suspected of collaboration. Also, there are some people I would suspect who aren't on that list."

"That's why you follow procedure," said Vic, firmly. "To reduce subjectivity."

"I can see that. I guess. Now, where do we go from here? Arrest the remaining two and question them?"

"These five might not be the only collaborators," said Vic, sounding tired and aggravated. "Or this could all be coincidence. In fact, there might not be any UN collaborators. No, for now we don't tip off the two who are left that we suspect them. We watch them, covertly.

"The witnesses said there were twenty to thirty attackers, all masked," Vic continued, more thoughtfully, "all in military-style outfits, with military-style weapons. However, only a couple of them spoke, and they had careful, BBC-style accents. So they could have all been from off the island. Perhaps mercenaries, hired for one job."

"Which is?"

"No idea. It has to be something which they expect to require some time, though, or they wouldn't have taken the hostages to keep us from acting against them. They might even have been here for a while already, and are planning some operation for which they need hostages. Or experimental subjects."

That last gave Vic a twinge which she barely concealed. What was happening to Michelle!?

"What could their purpose be?" said Major Lee, desperately. "We've been all over this island! There's valuable stuff left, sure, but nothing worth - literally - an operation of this scale or this much desperation."

"Maybe..." said Vic, frowning. "Maybe it's something they think is here. What rumors are there about treasures on the island? I don't mean those Commander Walters spread; everything else people say about this place."

"Uhm, that there are various secret mad science laboratories in hidden locations," said the Major, now also frowning. "There may actually be some reality behind that, since we have found a few deliberately collapsed tunnels. Also, that Mobutu left fortunes hidden in secret locations. Nothing more specific, at least that I'm aware of."

"Wait. When they were rounding people up at the hotel, did anyone report that they took anything else? Has anyone even checked the hotel storeroom?"

"No; but they will, now!"

* * *

As it turned out, there were many items pegged as valuable which were now missing. Discovering what was missing was easy, given the detailed inventory made as part of the effort to find the owners.

"They must have had an entire second team in here to cart so much off in such a short time," said Vic, impressed.

"They knew exactly what they wanted, too," said Lee, sourly, as he and Vic looked over the storeroom. "There was very little searching. They just took what they wanted. They must have had a copy of our list."

"All the more reason to suspect either collaborators or some sort of security leak," said Vic, nodding. She was a bit worried that many of the items taken were musical instruments. Were they after the guitar she had claimed? Could the delay in their operation be due to them not finding that?

Vic shook her head. No, that was ridiculous. They must be after something else. A single guitar couldn't be that valuable, to anyone.

"Are you all right?" said Lieutenant Spivak, who was helping them search the storeroom. He was one of the first to recover from the poisoning, and was still obviously not at full capacity. Vic suspected he had checked himself out of the hospital early from a strong sense of duty.

"My wife has been kidnapped and is being held by persons of unknown purpose and dubious morality," said Vic, angrily. "Of course I'm not all right. However, I'm diverting my concern into activity. After we rescue our people I'll have my breakdown."

"Uhm, okay," said Spivak, not at all put at ease by this.

* * *

Another inventory made by the UN and its contractors listed chemicals and pharmaceuticals the new owners had found at various locations on the island. Given that most of the UN personnel were still recovering from their arsenical misadventure, only a couple of two-person teams were assigned to inspect these stockpiles. One of those teams was composed of Vic and Lieutenant Spivak. The second building they checked showed signs of recent access which was not in the records.

The pair came in - carefully - through the front door, for which they actually had keys. This meant their entry was much quieter than if they'd had to break in. There were no signs of current activity, but they were still cautious. Both were in their protective gear - the Lieutenant in his T.O.W.E.R. issued helmet and soft body armor with plates over vital areas - and Spivak had a short assault rifle and a handgun. Vic, of course, was in her own armor and had her martial arts weapons. She had a tonfa in each hand as they made ready for their entrance. They opened the front door and looked inside, peeking around opposite sides of the frame. Spivak shone his weapon-mounted light around; Vic used the light amplification function of her helmet.

"Looks clear," said Spivak, quietly.

Vic tried the wall switch. There was no response.

"No power," said Vic.

"No surprise," said Spivak, turning on his chest-mounted electric torch to augment his weapon light.

They entered cautiously.

"Smells like the pool at a cheap motel in here," said Vic, wrinkling her nose inside her helmet. "My filters haven't activated, though, so the fumes are presumably at a safe level."

"There does seem to be a strong odor of chlorine," said Spivak, with typical English understatement, coughing.

They opened - carefully, being mindful of traps - all the windows, to let in light and fresh air. The pair soon realized that the place had not only been cleaned of all evidence, but literally sterilized.

"Dozens of empty gallon jugs of bleach," said Spivak, sourly, noting the containers scattered around. "Floor's still wet with it. Probably came from the stores here. We won't get any evidence from this place."

"We do know two things from this," said Vic, firmly. "They must be in a DNA database somewhere - at least some of them - or they wouldn't have taken the time and effort needed to clean the place this thoroughly. They were also here for a while, and might also have used this building as quarters."

"I hadn't thought of that," said Spivak. "Either of those, actually. Anyway, the storeroom should be through that door."

It was. Much had obviously and recently been removed. Including all the boxes of rat poison the inventory said should be there.

"Well, that confirms that deduction," said Vic, sourly. "Actually, two or three of them. Unfortunately, there doesn't seem to be any useful evidence here. At least, nothing which could be found without a good forensic team. Hopefully, that can come later."

* * *

Meanwhile, Major Lee and several of the others who had not been affected by the poison were applying different resources to look for both the hostages and those who had taken them. This included using drones developed for military reconnaissance and disaster survivor searching to check the entire island. This was made easier by the reduced activity, since so many of those who were supposed to be on the base were in the infirmary. However, it was still a long slog. Even with IR scanning to help, there was a lot of island to search.

"Just got confirmation that headquarters - with help from several UN member nations - has established a discreet cordon around the island. So the kidnappers can't get away and reinforcements for them can't get in."

"Excellent," said Lee. "Now, let's see if we can find the mercenaries with technology before Vic does that with detective work."

* * *

Actually, both Lee's people and Vic and Spivak were using a mixture of detective work and technology. The mix was different for each group, though.

"They probably cleaned the place at least two days ago," said Vic, after she and the Lieutenant had completed their search of the odoriferous building. "That was before the raid on the hotel. Which means they were already planning to withdraw from there to another place. Where are there isolated buildings which could be used to hold prisoners and house maybe fifty mercenaries?"

"The workers' quarters, on the south part of the island," said Spivak, after a bit of thought, nodding assuredly. "They're just barracks and a kitchen, easy to secure. There's also housing for their overseers nearby. All isolated from the rest of the island, so they're not likely to be noticed."

"I think we should check there next," said Vic.

"No argument."

They were sitting on a low wall outside the storehouse, with their helmets off, the golf cart nearby. Just appreciating the fresh air after the fumes in the building.

"I'll notify Major Lee..."

"No," said Vic, putting her hand on his as Spivak reached for his HT. "Nothing by radio. That could be intercepted. Also, there might be compromised people at the headquarters."

"I keep forgetting you're older than you look," said Spivak, impressed. "As well as more experienced. Yeah, all of that makes sense."

"Oh, my paranoia goes all the way back to my college days," said Vic, rolling her eyes. "Nothing like being the target of a mastermind to make one careful."

"Yow. We've had to deal with a few of those, in T.O.W.E.R., so I understand where you're coming from."

"So, what's the layout of these barracks?" said Vic. "Is there someplace we could look them over without being spotted?"

"Yeah," said Spivak, nodding again, slowly. "A low ridge in the woods nearby. Actually separates the facility from the rest of the island."

Vic stood, grabbing her helmet.

"Let's go tell your boss, then make ready for a trip south."

Part Eleven

"We had just come to the same conclusion," said Major Lee, once Vic and Spivak reached his office at the UN headquarters building. "Our drone team noted the activity there, and pegged it as the location for the prisoners and those holding them. Don't worry; we kept the drone very high.

"We also found people near the north shore of the island, but they only number about a dozen. Presumably, they are there to secure the exit for the mercenaries. There are small boats hidden in the underbrush nearby."

"So we need to go scout."

"Yes. Meanwhile, I'll make ready to follow-up on what you find.

* * *

Vic and Lieutenant Spivak were now riding bicycles. Vic was on her own, specially-equipped two-wheeler; the Lieutenant was on a bike from a pool maintained by the UN forces. These were both trail bikes, designed more for mobility on mixed terrain than speed or efficiency. They were also quiet. That combination of features meant the pair of searchers could approach the ridge covertly, coming in through the young woods. Walking their bikes for the last part of the trip.

"Watch for watchers," said Spivak, voice low, barely more than a whisper, as they dismounted. "If the kidnappers are in the old servants' and overseers' quarters they probably have lookout posts on all approaches. They wouldn't use electronics for keeping watch; too easy to detect."

"Yeah," said Vic, also quietly.

The pair moved into a position behind some wild-grown bushes with a good view of the ridge. There they stopped, crouched and holding still, using their hands for extra support on the steep slope, almost on all fours. Vic had hastily spay-painted her normally white armor in a two-tone camouflage pattern before this trip. Unfortunately, due to the haste with which the paint job had been done, some of the borders of the areas she had taped off - such as the visor, sensors and vents - were left with white rims. Hopefully, those wouldn't make a difference. That the still-tacky paint was holding leaves and other bits of plant growth helped with the camouflage. She looked around for a moment, working the controls of her helmet, then froze.

"I assume the UN doesn't have a reason to put sentries out here," she said, quietly.

"You're already seeing somebody up there?"

"Yeah. My helmet has passive multi-spectral scanning, including thermal IR."

Moving cautiously, Vic pointed them out. She had spotted three pairs of watchers, in concealed locations along the top of the ridge. They were close enough to each other to call for help, but far enough apart that they could cover the entire approach to the road cut through the ridge while being unlikely to all fall to the same sneak attack.

"We go around on the right," whispered Spivak, after examining the placement of the sentries through his binoculars. "Since the road is on the left."

The duo crawled slowly through the undergrowth, occasionally pausing to look and - more importantly - listen. They found no signs their progress had been noticed.

They finally reached a good viewpoint to spy on the barracks and the nearest part of the overseer's quarters. Lieutenant Spivak used his issue binoculars; Vic used her helmet.

"Lots of activity," said the Lieutenant, still quietly. "Can't really see any prisoners, but there's definitely people there who should not be."

"Let's get to Major Lee and tell him about this," said Vic.

"Slowly and cautiously. Remember, we need to be just as stealthy going out. Not only for our own sake, either."

Vic nodded. Despite her impatience and worry about Michelle, she understood that if the mercenaries knew their location had been discovered, that could be very bad for the hostages.

* * *

"We need to get a team to that location immediately!" said Lieutenant Spivak.

"You need to stay here and take charge while I lead the mission," said Lee, firmly. "You are in no shape to rescue anyone."

"I tried to tell him," said Vic, her tone almost plaintive. "He kept turning pale and having to rest on the bike ride back here."

"All right, all right," said Spivak, with a sickly grin. "As my Irish grandmother would say 'When the whole room tells you you're drunk, sit down.'"

Major Lee needed only a few minutes to finish organizing the forty troops he wanted. He had actually been working on his chosen assault team for hours. All he had to do now was send word. By messenger. Not letting the people involved know where they were going until they were underway. Ahead of time, they were only informed to load up for an assault. Vic insisted on being included.

"This won't be my first military operation," said the martial artist, when it appeared that Lee might object. "In fact, I led an action during the Shilmek War, in the battle at the Big Landing. Though that was mostly by default of being the last one standing willing to give orders."

"I remember," said Major Lee, nodding. "You led the rout."

"That was mostly Rocker. Though, yes, I was there and in the fight."

Which was Vic being modest.

* * *

"How did these people go this long without being spotted?" someone in the lead truck asked, once they were underway and Lee had explained the mission. The Major's chief aide was in the second truck, doing the same. They were all maintaining strict radio silence.

"They probably come and go at night," said Major Lee. "Which means they'll most likely wait until nightfall to try and escape. Not realizing we have a cordon of ships and aircraft with IR, night vision and radar waiting, just over the horizon in all directions."

"Which is why we have to hit them now," said Vic, riding beside him on the bench seat in the T.O.W.E.R. truck, her helmet in her lap. "Hopefully, they're on a night schedule, and a lot of them will either be asleep or feeling that they're off duty."

"That's my thinking," said Major Lee. He leaned in close to Vic and spoke quietly. "Though I have a lot more experience going against one or a few rogue supers than against troops like these mercenaries. Who have probably been in combat and may be former military."

"A word of advice, then," said Vic, just as covertly. "Send me and any personnel you have with stealth abilities - or training - in first, to scout. As just one example of why, we might be able to take out the sentries before they can raise the alarm."

That advice was partly to get Vic in the vanguard of the assault. So that she could get to Michelle sooner.

"That's the plan," said Major Lee, in a loud, firm tone.

Vic realized that he needed to be seen by the troops as not only competent, but confident. In charge of the situation. She nodded.

The two troop trucks stopped well short of the ridge, and everyone debarked. Major Lee gave them a final, brief explanation of their jobs. The main body formed into three groups and moved out, through the young woods, into their holding positions. One blind was on the left side of the cut; the other two on the right. Vic and a few others formed into three different and much smaller groups, and moved through the brush at the base of the the short rise. The teams who were charged with taking the lookout stations on the ends could approach indirectly, from along the ridge. Vic, however, was in the team assigned the more difficult middle station, which was the closest to the cut. Once all three teams were in position, this middle one had to go directly up the slope, parallel to the road, towards the concealed sentry post. Fortunately, this team also had three stealth experts. Vic followed their lead.

The operation went surprisingly smoothly. The members of Vic's group quietly and carefully moved into position. Vic was surprised at how close they were when the stealth experts silently signaled a halt. Then they waited.

At the distant toot of a truck horn, the three groups of scouts began their final advances from where each had waited in concealment near their assigned blind. The lookouts, fortunately, were complacent. They had noticed the horn, but it was far enough away that they discounted it. All three groups of attackers were able to get nearly to the blinds before being noticed. Then it was just a matter of rushing in before the alarm could be raised.

With the three lookout posts taken, the main force were given the all clear signal. The rest of the UN troops advanced on the ridge in their three groups.

"We have to move quickly, now," said Major Lee, after he and his group reached the center lookout position. "I notice they have a landline phone installed here, and presumably at both the other two blinds. No telling what their contact schedule is."

Still quietly, but now much more quickly, the three stealth teams moved down the far side of the ridge and towards the relatively flat area containing the barracks and overseer quarters. Followed at a reasonable interval by the three groups of troops.

* * *

Meanwhile, Michelle found herself one of the few healthy people tending a barracks full of sick T.O.W.E.R. and general UN personnel. She had a few people - some whom had not been sick and others who were already recovering - to help, but Michelle somehow wound up in charge. As well as doing much of the work. She was exhausted, and worried about multiple things. Michelle was not the only one so beleaguered among the hostages, either.

"This can't go on much longer," said Corporal Boleslaw Sławków, one of the UN personnel assisting Michelle. "Even though those still sick seem to be getting better. They'll soon have to either let us go, just leave us here, or use us as hostages to get off the island."

"I haven't been able to learn much about our captors," said Michelle, as the two of them worked to change the soiled sheets on a bunk. "What little I have learned is worrying. They seem to be part of or affiliated with the 'You're Arrested' people."

Michelle said this in a quiet, confidential tone. While it was unlikely that their captors had the place bugged, that was still possible. Michelle was certain that they didn't know about what she had overheard, or what she had been able to piece together from that. The only reason she mentioned this, now, was that Michelle wasn't certain she would survive what was coming, and she was certain she wanted someone else to have the information.

"The which?" said Sławków, also quietly, and obviously confused.

"A group which blames supers for all the world's ills, and is trying to get rid of them."

"Well, there are a few supers among the T.O.W.E.R. troops, but even they work to reign in rogue supers. Why would these people target us?"

"I didn't say they were sane," said Michelle, sourly. "I was also able to learn that they're looking for something on the island. Not sure what."

* * *

Meanwhile, the mercenaries who had taken the hostages had far more to worry about than keeping tabs on their prisoners. They had started this job short-handed, been forced to improvise, then found that the actions they had taken which were intended to reduce interference from the UN personnel on the island had been much less effective than hoped. Indeed, given the latest reports from their few remaining people on the inside, it seemed only a matter of time - and not much of it - before their position came under attack. Worse, they were also finding themselves in conflict with another - and unanticipated - group.

"Are the drug smugglers still giving us trouble?" said the leader of the mercenaries.

"Yes, sir," said one of his aides. "Even though they realize we aren't with the UN troops. We stumbled on their camp, and now they're worried we'll tell the UN. I tried to tell them that we're not supposed to be here, either, but that seemed to just make them more agitated. I think they now see us as rivals for a deal of some sort they're trying to pull off. Only the people they're supposed to meet are running late. So they're getting really agitated."

"Or maybe they're after the same thing we are," said the leader, worried. "Double the number of men we have to the north."

"Yes, sir!"

* * *

The two low-ranking T.O.W.E.R. soldiers met covertly, in a secluded spot in the heavy brush which had grown up around the overseers' quarters. They hadn't been noticed, despite the high state of alert among the mercenaries. Sneaking off to plot was something they were good at.

"I don't like this," said Piotr Wilniewczyc. "These guys are competent, but there just aren't enough of them. With the Major breathing down their necks from one direction and the smugglers from another, they should cut and run."

"That's the problem with mercs," said Orson Brown, his partner in crime. "They figure that since they're getting paid to get certain results, they better get those results."

"Now we're caught in the middle. It seemed like such a good idea, too! Selling info to multiple groups. Who knew it would backfire on us?!"

The two were part of a group which had been selling information about UN operations for months, to multiple clients. None of it was actually classified; it was just things like patrol schedules and item inventories. All innocent stuff! Most of the information had been delivered in person, sometimes on the mainland but usually in a covert, night meeting on an isolated beach of the island. Now, two of those clients had people on the island at the same time, looking for who knew what! With one of the groups insisting that the locals supplying them with information stay after meeting them and guiding them here. Promising to get them to the mainland after they were finished. Even though the informers weren't ready to leave, yet!

Worse, the drug smugglers seemed to have the idea that Wilniewczyc and Brown had betrayed them. Their small set of informers had already lost Moses Adamshock. The mercenaries had insisted that the informers negotiate with the smugglers, since they were known to them. Moses had been captured by the smugglers during an attempt to negotiate with them and had likely had already been killed. If he was lucky.

"We were counting on the mercs to get us to the mainland," said Brown, sourly, "only now it looks like they can't even get themselves off this lump of rock and dirt!"

They discussed their options. Including turning themselves in to UN brass and negotiating for a reduction in charges by revealing who else had been selling information. Planning to put as much of the blame on others as they could manage. They decided that was too risky.

"We have to find our own way off the island," said Brown, finally. "We have money and valuable items stashed on the mainland. We can use that to start new lives."

"If we can get to it," said Wilniewczyc, sourly.

The two men agreed to meet again later, then separated. Each privately planning to go their own way, even if that involved betraying the other. However, as he started towards his quarters in the overseers' huts, Brown spotted somebody who wasn't supposed to be there. That guest martial arts instructor, Vic! In that fancy armor of hers! He didn't know why she was there, alone, but suddenly felt an overwhelming anger at her. To his current state of mind, everything which had gone wrong had started with her arrival. Therefore, his problems were all her fault!

Brown moved carefully to ambush Vic.

Part Twelve

Major Lee was a good commander; he knew how to yield gracefully to a situation. He put Vic in the group which was assigned the task of liberating the hostages. Unfortunately, as the group she was with made their cautious way towards the barracks, Vic made the mistake of getting in a hurry to rescue Michelle and moved ahead of the troops.

Brown and Wilniewczyc were not allowed firearms by their mercenary "hosts" but Brown didn't care. Besides, Vic was in her armor, which he recognized from a couple of demonstrations she had given. Guns wouldn't do anything to her through that. However, Brown did have a couple of fighting knives and additionally he was an expert at unarmed combat. He was going to teach this "guest instructor" how real soldiers fought. All he had to do was stick a blade in a soft spot between the hard parts of her armor.

He moved to a high spot in Vic's path and waited. Then leapt.

Vic's sense of perception gave her warning of the attack, and her reflexes - honed through intensive training - helped her avoid it. She spun away from the attack, to face the man lunging at her. Brown may have missed his initial attack, but he pressed on, with a fighting knife in each hand.

Vic, however, had a tonfa in each hand. Working one long and one short, she swung the right one, held long, at Brown. Who dodged.

Vic should have been furious at this added complication, this added delay, and on one level she was. However, at the onset of the unexpected attack she had instantly moved into the state of the mushin no shin, the mind of no mind. Without her conscious thoughts getting in the way, Vic was free to act purely on a deeper level, reflexively, without letting her anger and frustration distract her. Brown found himself disarmed by a pair of tonfa strikes, and then targeted by a double strike to his gut. However, Brown was, indeed, a veteran of combat, and of many bar fights. He grabbed the tonfa and diverted the strikes outward. Brown intended to either yank the weapons from Vic or use them as levers against her if she held on.

Vic instead released her weapons, throwing Brown off balance as he pulled. She grabbed his head with both hands and stepped back, pulling him forward. She quickly lifted her right knee, intending to plant it in his face. However, he went with the head-pulling motion, into a left shoulder roll, diving past and clear of Vic. Ironically following Vic's own teachings. Right leg still in the air, she spun around on the ball of her left foot, shifting her right leg to deliver a front snap kick. Orson, however, stayed on the ground, swinging his legs around to sweep Vic's left leg out from under her. She in turn dropped, and rolled backwards, popping to her feet just in time to meet Brown's rush.

Vic curled and lunged, ramming Brown in the gut with her left shoulder as he charged. In spite of having her feet set he actually scooted her back a bit. However, he definitely got a shoulder shoved deep in his solar plexus. Vic decisively ended the fight by grabbing him behind the knees and yanking back and up in a circular motion, sending Brown in an involuntary backflip for which he was completely unprepared. He slammed hard into the pavement, not out but unable to continue, at least for the moment. Vic put him in a choke, but kept the pressure easy. She wouldn't tighten it unless he struggled. As it turned out, he didn't.

Not only was her attacker down, but now others from the group Vic was supposed to be with had arrived. Brown realized his chance had passed.

"All right, all right," Brown gasped. "I yield."

Vic released Brown and stepped back. She watched him carefully as others in her team quickly moved in. Orson Brown was promptly flex-cuffed, patted down and relieved of his remaining weapons. He was then dragged to his feet and escorted to the rear of the UN forces.

"Okay, let's hope this didn't alert the mercs that we're here," said Captain Antonia Tallarico, quietly. "Move out."

* * *

They now heard gunfire and explosions to their north. The exchanges of gunfire had two distinct sounds.

"Are those our forces?" said one of the T.O.W.E.R. troops.

"Doubt it," said Tallarico, scowling as they stopped to listen. "Sounds too far away."

"Two different groups, well to our north," said Vic, who had both keener hearing and gadgets in her helmet to help determine this. "One shooting 5.56; the other 7.62×39."

"We're almost to the barracks," said the squad radio man. Since they were still maintaining radio silence he was currently keeping track of their progress on a map. Suddenly, there was a crackle over their radios, followed by a familiar voice.

"Watch yourselves; there's at least two armed groups besides our people," said the Major, over their radios. Vic guessed that the time for radio silence was over. "Base says drones show the mercenaries are in a gun fight with someone on their northern perimeter. Which is helping us."

"Maybe we'll get lucky and they'll wipe each other out," said someone else.

"Doubtful," said Major Lee. "However, we need to take advantage of this distraction. Everyone get to the barracks buildings now, and rescue the hostages!"

That was definitely an order Vic could agree with. However, as they hurried towards the servant quarters they came under attack. This due to a group of mercenaries who came running around a corner towards the team, as they approached a retaining wall through the heavy grass now growing on what had once been a large lawn. The mercenaries seemed to be as surprised as the UN troops at this encounter. Both groups reacted by opening fire.

Vic took a few hits to her armor but none penetrated. She wasn't carrying firearms, but the UN troops with her were. Both sides took at least one hit each, then broke while firing to withdraw to cover. The mercenaries pulled back behind the retaining wall; the UN troops dove into a concrete-lined drainage ditch.

Shots came from around and even over the high retaining wall between the overgrown lawn and the higher ground where the barracks building was located. More of the troops with Vic were hit; some fell. Vic, protected by her armor, helped to drag the fallen into the ditch, while some of the UN troops provided covering fire. The ditch offered some protection, but only if they stayed very low. A quick look around showed that about half those troops unharmed were tending the wounded, while the rest took cautious defensive positions and kept the attackers pinned down. Unfortunately, the people with Vic were also pinned down, and from what she could hear over her helmet radio help would be a while arriving. She decided to become proactive.

Vic moved carefully to the fallen soldier nearest her. A quick look confirmed that he was actually dead. Vic felt a surge of shocked grief, but there wasn't time for that. She removed a smoke grenade from the soldier's harness. She carefully pulled the pin, holding the spoon firmly as she took a couple of practice swings. Then she tossed the projectile in a high arc. It went over the top of the retaining wall and dropped cleanly on the other side. Very shortly after that, white smoke billowed out from behind the wall. Vic could hear coughing and swearing, the latter in at least three languages.

"I don't need to see you to know where you are," she called out, loudly, her helmet amplifying her words. The troops with her, realizing what she was doing, held their fire. "The next one will be a frag grenade. So, drop your weapons and come out with your hands on your heads!"

There was more swearing and coughing, and blind automatic fire. The onshore breeze from the nearby shore quickly cleared the smoke, and there was no movement on the part of the mercenaries to comply with Vic's order. True to her word, Vic tossed a fragmentation grenade to the same spot. Without pulling the pin. While it was still in the air she took off at full speed for the wall.

Vic heard shouts of alarm and sounds of people running, from the other side of the wall. Some of the mercenaries came around the end of the wall which Vic was approaching. The martial artist made quick work of them. However, as she was flex-cuffing the intruders, she heard someone pull the pin on the grenade she had thrown, and then heard the spoon come off. Vic quickly straightened and switched her two tonfa for a hanbo. As the grenade came over the wall towards her, Vic swung her short staff like a one-handed baseball bat. There was the sound and feel of a solid impact, and the grenade went flying back over the wall.

There were more panicked sounds, including desperate swearing and scrambling. The grenade went off. Vic charged up the short, steep slope into the cloud of smoke and dust the explosion had caused and took advantage of the confusion resulting from the blast. Fortunately, few of the bandits had been seriously injured by the fragmentation grenade, due to diving for cover or simply running away. However, some were seriously hurt and a few were dead. All those remaining behind the wall were stunned, with many bleeding. Vic soon dealt with them, as well.

Several of the UN troops Vic was with charged around the wall to join her. They were expecting a firefight. What they got was cleanup. Which they found a welcome change. They quickly corralled the captives, hauling them bodily back to the ditch, and covered the fatalities. The worst of the mercenaries' wounds were treated by the T.O.W.E.R. corpsmen, while the rest of the active troops advanced on the barracks. They were moving slowly, though, hoping that the promised reinforcements would catch up with them.

Vic and a few others were chasing those of the attackers who had fled. Fortunately, none appeared to be heading towards the building where the hostages were being held. Neither were they headed towards the overseers quarters. Instead, they ran east, towards the ocean.

"They're heading for the docks," said Sergeant Stefan Wyszyński, one of those with Vic. He was updating the leader of the raid using his radio.

"They don't know that the UN cordon has already blocked several ships from coming in," said Major Lee, over the radio. "As well as a submarine! They'll be cornered. So, contain for now."

* * *

Meanwhile, the leader of the mercenaries was not oblivious to the attacks, even if he didn't know all the details. Since his small group were being attacked by two forces from two directions he couldn't spare anyone to herd the large, unruly group of hostages. He called in two of his best men.

"Go to the barracks. Select five or six who are sick but mobile. Kill the rest. Go!"

They went.

* * *

Michelle knew the two men were there for not good reasons. The time, the situation (those inside had heard the fighting) their mannerisms, all spoke volumes.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"Select four or five who can walk on their own," said one of the mercenaries.

Michelle knew better than to ask why. She started to turn away, as if to comply. Instead, she continued the motion, accelerating into a back spin kick to the knee of the one of her left, then delivered a front snap kick to the groin of the second. She didn't stop there, of course, but continued striking until certain both were incapable of action.

While Michelle caught her breath, several of the other active prisoners quickly moved in and stripped the men to their underwear, then tied them to empty bunks with bedclothes. More bedclothes were used to gag them. Several of the hostages wanted to make a run for it, but a senior officer - one of the poisoned, but nearly recovered - made them instead arm themselves with the weapons taken from the mercenaries and guard the double doors the men had entered by. Which were the only ways in or out.

"You've all heard the shooting in the distance," said Captain Piri. "We barricade ourselves in here and wait for rescue. The mercenaries have a lot more than us to worry about or they'd have sent more than two troops. By the time they realize we've turned the tables, our rescuers should be here."

Part Thirteen

What should have been a cleanup instead had the UN troops fighting a two-front battle. The only thing keeping the small UN force from quick defeat was that the other two groups were also fighting each other. Major Lee made the decision to have all his forces withdraw to the barracks. Where they were away from the focus of the firefight. The former hostages were very glad to set them.

While the other rescuers secured the position, which was easily defendable, Vic found Michelle. The two had a very passionate and thankful reunion. They scarcely noticed the explosions in the distance. When he finally felt he could interrupt, Major Lee had good news.

"I was able to persuade the person in charge of the fleet surrounding the island to have his forces take a more active role. There's several landing parties on the way from the ships forming the cordon. There's also aircraft from a US carrier softening up the mercenaries and whoever that other group is. Once the reinforcements are ashore the carrier planes will also provide close air support for us and the landing parties. We'll soon have both groups contained and in chains."

"Good news," said Vic, though she didn't let go of Michelle. Who definitely did not let go of her.

"We also have reports that there are several agents of both groups among our personnel, most of them low-ranking support staff. Those individuals have either run for it or turned themselves in. Interestingly, some were working for both groups! Apparently the second group is drug smugglers, who were here to make some sort of pickup. Only the seller never showed. The word I have is that their submarine was driven off by ships from the cordon.

"We only have a few of the traitors so far - which includes Private Orson Brown, thanks to Vic - but there's no place those who ran can go."

* * *

The actual cleanup took time to begin, but once it started all opposition fell apart. By the end of the day both the mercenaries and the smugglers had surrendered to the UN and their allies. There were a few holdouts from both groups who instead tried to escape, but even people swimming were spotted and captured. Given how far the mainland was and how strong the currents, most of these exhausted men were glad to be picked up. Only a few individuals were still missing, having gone to ground somewhere on the island. Or perhaps under it.

"During their interrogation the mercenaries continued to be defiant," said Major Lee, looking and sounding tired, early the next day, as he and Lieutenant Spivak told Vic and Michelle what they had learned. "They told us, independently and repeatedly, that their bosses knew what we were really doing here, and therefore it didn't matter that we had captured them. That the scandal would soon break, regardless."

"So they aren't just hirelings," said Vic, "but believers. Well, some of them."

"What do they think you are 'really' doing here?" said Michelle.

"That took longer to winkle out of them," said Lieutenant Spivak. "Though we eventually pieced together that they think we - T.O.W.E.R. or the UN or some super-allied subgroup of one or both - are working on methods to replace national leaders with doubles sympathetic to supers."

"That... almost makes sense," said Vic, with a grimace. "If you're paranoid enough to think that anyone who is pro-super is either a covert super or a dupe."

"Ironically, both groups of intruders discovered hidden research laboratories we actually didn't know about, some of them obviously meant for mad science," said Lee. "The fact that the mercenaries found those in just a few days and we didn't in months makes me wonder if they had a source of inside information. Especially since we know that a few of our people were supplying them with information."

"There's a big difference, though," said Vic, thoughtfully, "between providing schedules and putting poison in the veggies, and knowing about hidden mad science labs. Especially what's in them. Which is what?"

"We're doing an inventory now."

* * *

UN brass who had been waiting on the cordon ships were already ashore, and conducting an investigation. There had been multiple arrests from among the UN troops assigned to the island. Vic, Michelle and many others were interrogated. Vic garnered a few pieces of information from the process. The first was confirmation of subterranean laboratories and medical facilities. These had long been suspected by the UN but unverified, thanks to collapsed tunnels. Somehow, both the mercenaries and smugglers had found ways in which the UN had missed.

The underground laboratory - actually, several discrete laboratories - would require weeks or even months of careful examination. However, several facts could be discerned just from the quick examination Dr. Rampler and her team made.

Knowing that those on the island were eager for an explanation for what they had so recently been through, the UN brass held a group meeting. There, the results of their initial inquiry were presented. This was done in the same sports center main hall where Vic gave her lessons.

"According to the records we found," said Dr. Rampler, one of the first speakers, addressing the group from a podium on a portable stage which had been moved in for the presenters, "the primary purpose of the clandestine research performed here was initially to improve the health and extend the life of Mobutu. Later, as things went against him, the emphasis was changed to provide him with a perfect disguise. However, there just wasn't enough time to do this to his satisfaction."

"So that was him who died in Morocco?" said the Commander.

"Well, yes," said the doctor, nodding. "Almost certainly."

"That's a relief," said Major Lee.

"It looks like early on they tried for mind switching but found that doesn't actually work," said Dr. Rampler. "As everyone before them had found out. They decided to try for a brain transplant, but the only histocompatible 'subject' they had for their primary patient was female. Mobutu refused to be a woman."

"Mind switching," said Vic, sourly. "Which has never worked even through mad science. Oh, you occasionally have soul switching or possession occur through magic, and this is sometimes mistakenly called mind switching, but it's not. There's also total psionic domination, but that's just remote control."

"Exactly," said Dr. Rampler.

"What about those brain transplants?" said Major Lee.

"Well, from what I understand - and keep in mi... uh, remember that I'm not an expert in this field - if you don't want to have to take immune system suppressors for the rest of your life you have to either grow a custom-designed body in a vat or find a victim who is already completely histocompatible. Then, after the transplant, there's a period of weeks to months of recovery. None of this is new - there have been successful brain transplants, going back decades - but most attempts failed. So there's huge room for improvement. Hence all the research here. Which simply didn't have time to accomplish much."

"That's also a relief," said Commander Walters. "At least we won't have to wonder if everyone here is who they seem to be."

"The lab working on brain transplants was apparently shut down, in a controlled fashion, some time shortly before the turn of the century," said Dr. Rampler. "There appears to have been considerable looting since then - mostly of the narcotics they had there - but no other activity."

"What about the poisoning?" said Major Lee. "That was a dangerous action which seems at odds with the mercenaries' other behavior towards us. They seemed to want to avoid unnecessary casualties."

"We think that was the idea of the person who actually applied the rat poison," said Dr. Rampler. "He simply promised the mercs that - for a fee - he could disable most of the UN troops on the island in a way which would resemble a disease outbreak. They were frustrated, and jumped at the offer without asking questions."

"I don't understand why they thought making most of us sick would keep the rest of us from looking for Michelle and the other hostages," muttered Vic.

"Even some of the less sick were eager to find them," said Spivak, speaking from personal experience.

"Yes, and then they - the mercenaries - seemed surprised when we fought back," said Lee.

"You see this over and over again," said Commander Walters, in a self-assured manner. "Someone is convinced that their opponent is mentally and/or morally inferior, or just lacking in resolve or discipline, and therefore will be easily intimidated. So they do something which they expect will break their opposition. Then they are surprised when the effort not only has the opposite effect, but draws serious attention to them for the first time."

"Sounds like ego," said Vic, tiredly. "Something not limited to masterminds and mads."

"Well, I'm just glad the goons they sent to kill the hostages were overconfident," said Michelle, trying to sound bold but coming off more subdued than she intended.

"She was incredible!" said Corporal Sławków, quickly speaking up from near the back of the hall. "She took out two armed mercenaries like it was nothing!"

"It was not that easy," muttered Michelle. "I was helped by the facts that they were distracted, in a hurry, and expecting no resistance."

"Nevertheless," said Major Lee, patting her on the shoulder, "you acted correctly when you needed to and likely saved a lot of lives."

* * *

"Our funding operation on Roosevelt Island has failed," said the woman, to the gathering of the executive council of the covert "You're Arrested!" group. She grimaced. "By supers, of course. Which just proves that the UN is complicit in their plans for world domination."

"Which means several of our more expensive plans will have to be put on hold," said one of the members of the executive council.

"Or attempt to intimidate the special congressional investigative committee has also backfired," said the woman, tiredly outraged. "In fact, they have advanced their timetable and widened the scope of their investigation! These people do not know how to interpret the messages we are sending!"

"Perhaps we need to be more clear," said another member of the council, his tone sinister.

"I am open to suggestions," said the woman.

* * *

"I will be so glad to get back home," said Michelle, once she and Vic were back in their suite and had finished celebrating her rescue.

"Remember, we still have four days here before we can head back!" said Vic, playfully, as she hugged her sweaty wife. "That's eight more clinics."

"Surely they aren't going to require you to teach after all that's happened!"

"Oh, yeah. If anything, this just shows how much the training I'm giving them is needed. If nothing else, I seem to have impressed them with that grenade trick. Now, c'mon. Let's get a shower."

"Together?" said Michelle, suggestively, a she ran a finger along her wife's collarbone.

"Might as well save water."

Part Fourteen

The pair returned to Detroit on a Friday, finally getting to their apartment that evening. Once they were finally back home, Vic and Michelle still had two days of weekend before both had to be back at work on Monday. Neither had plans for the night - or the weekend - beyond resting. Though they were definitely open to opportunities.

"Well, I think I've learned my lesson," said Michelle, as she sank tiredly onto their familiar couch. They had already unpacked and started the washer for the small amount of laundry which they hadn't been able to clean before leaving Roosevelt Island. Without much conversation to this point.

"What lesson is that?" said Vic, from the kitchen.

"That I don't want to be involved in your adventures any more."

"I don't know," said Vic, only half teasing, as she leaned into the living room to smile at her wife. "You did pretty good. You kept your head and went peaceably along with the kidnappers so you could help the sick captives, then successfully fought back when you had to. I'm thinking about recruiting you for the Bureau."

"No," said Michelle, firmly, with a sharp shake of her head. "No way."

"All right, all right," said Vic, laughing. "You want to eat at home tonight, or go out? I warn you, if you want to eat at home we'll probably have to go to the grocery first. Everything in the pantry is either dried or canned. The fridge is empty. Just like we left it."

"Let's go out, then. Not to Wok on the Wild side, either. I feel a need to dance."

* * *

A small hatch opened in the large, heavy door. Someone barely seen peered out.

"What is the Devil's only friend?" asked the low, gravelly voice.

"Fire," proclaimed Michelle, boldly.

"Enter," said the voice, as the door slowly opened with an ominous creak.

"I'm glad we came back here," said Vic, as she and Michelle walked down the corridor.

"We need a vacation from our vacation," said Michelle in agreement, as they passed through the next set of doors and easy conversation became impossible.

* * *

"Wow," said Champion, looking a bit the worse for wear as the members of the Assembly came together in their meeting room for a post-mission analysis. Dr. Gorgeous was already there, of course. Champion dropped dramatically into her usual chair. "That was a lot harder than it should have been."

"It didn't help that one of the cops was more interested in flirting with you than helping with the problem," said Thunderer, smirking. She also looked like she'd had a hard time, but lowered herself into her chair much more gracefully.

"Don't remind me," said Champion, rolling her eyes. "Why don't you get that kind of attention?"

"I've learned how to read people and discourage that sort of interest subtly," said Thunderer, airily.

"All right, people," said Dr. Gorgeous, "let's try and focus, shall we? Now, start with the call for help..."

"It was from the DC police," said Rebound. "Only, they didn't know they'd been set up. Or, rather, were being used to set us up."

"By whom?" said Dr. Gorgeous, surprised.

"At a guess," said Champion, angrily, "it was by Rasputnik."

"The guy involved with the androids, the mansion and the super combat island?"

"Yeah."

"You're certain?"

"Yeah. He was actually there. I got a good look at him. It was at a distance, but I recognized him from the photos. He seemed very surprised that I was able to notice him."

"I saw him, too, although I didn't realize who he was until later," said Maciste.

"This means we need to warn everyone involved with both of those efforts that he may be after them, too."

"Definitely," said Maciste.

* * *

"We are definitely glad to have you back," said Vic's boss, the next day.

"Things go sour while I was out of the country, having an easy time fighting drug smugglers and mercenaries?" said Vic, with a slight smile.

"Let's just say that Lady Green focuses on general crime and not super civil rights," said Drake. "Not her fault; that's what the city wants. Now, if you're ready, I'll have Cal Pavolin take you to get your car."

"Great!" said Vic. "I'm eager to see what they've done with it."

* * *

"Wow," said Vic, slowly running a hand along a fender of the Corolla wagon. "I've never seen Monstro look so good."

"Your chief sprang for a new paint job," said the boss of the auto specialty shop. "Said to match the original color - which was easy, since it was still the factory paint job - then put on a clear coat of that special, new polymer which we got from the Shilmek after the war."

"Yeah, I read about that," said Vic, nodding. "Just one coat won't make her a tank, but should go a long way to keeping her from getting hurt again."

The shop did a lot of work on federal government, diplomat and corporate limousines. This had been an unusual job for them.

"We sprayed that stuff - which you can't buy, yet, but have to get straight from the company the feds hired to make it - on the whole outside. Even the windows, since it's completely transparent. We couldn't do a lot to the engine which hadn't already been done, but we put in a heavier strut tower brace, strengthened the suspension and transmission and differential, put in a low-restriction, tuned exhaust, plus better brake rotors, calipers and pads, a backup battery, and a few other things. Oh, yeah, and we also installed the pusher bar. All told, we added less than a hundred kilos while increasing the reliability, horsepower and torque, and the skidpad gees. With the torque and horsepower increases coming from the new exhaust."

"I need to take it for a test drive," said Vic, eagerly.

"Keys are in it. Feel free to make suggestions about how you want the suspension tuned. We can't mark the job as complete until you're satisfied."

Vic really should have taken the car to a test track, but just a trip of a few blocks around the area were enough for her to wring the car out. A bit illegally, but completely safely. She brought it back to the shop in about half an hour and made some requests. After a couple more iterations of that she was satisfied. Very satisfied.

"Thanks, guys," she said, shaking the boss' hand but looking around and talking loudly enough for the whole shop to hear. "She's great!"

She turned back to the car, smiling.

"Now I feel like we're ready for anything."